by Remi Wild
Some Wives Do…Whatever it Takes
By Remi Wild
Copyright 2017 Remi Wild
Published by Ravenna Young
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
This is a work of fiction. All characters are products of the author’s imagination and not based on any real person. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This eBook contains adult content and is not suitable for people under the age of 18.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Other Titles by Remi Wild
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Chapter One
The stifling heat in the OR is more than the team can bear. My scrubs are stuck to my body, it literally feels as though I peed my pants. The air conditioner has been on the fritz since we cut into the current patient, and it didn’t take long for the Mobile, Alabama sun to turn our OR theatre into a stuffy, sterile oven.
Trying to keep my focus, so we can get out of here, I think happier thoughts. I’m suddenly excited for my lunch date with Eric—the thought of an ice-cold glass of sweet tea gives me something to look forward too. The surgery has run long, and since I’m drenched in sweat, I need to shower—I’ll be pushing it, but I’m hoping to make our date.
Staring at the clock, I count the seconds as Dr. Lamberti snips the last of the suture and steps away. The crew are sweating buckets, so when several audible sighs fill the air, I can’t help but giggle.
“Good game,” Dr. Leopold Lamberti says as he exits the theatre. Several nurse’s stare after him. Like the rest of us, his scrubs and gown have become a second skin, snuggly highlighting his muscular torso and delicious ass. They’re drooling behind their masks—guaranteed.
Ah, Leo—tall, dark, scrumptious Leo. That thick deep Italian accent, that’s adopted a slight southern twang, could peel the panties from every woman in the vicinity. Leo is masculine perfection. His status as an orthopedic surgeon is like the fine satin bow on a pristine package containing the world’s most eligible bachelor and the ultimate dream man.
Not that I’m looking. Sure, I check Leo out on occasion, but Eric and I have been happily married for three years. I wouldn’t give him up for the world, he is my world.
Besides, I’ve had Leo. The sex, as epic as his lack of commitment and panty-chasing ways, just wasn’t enough. It lacked magic, connection, intimacy—which was not Leo’s forte, but then neither was monogamy.
I’m a monogamous soul—one man for me, and that man is the love of my life, Eric.
Racing to the locker room, I hop into a change room and struggle out of my scrubs. Wrapping a towel around myself, I scoot towards the showers as I glance at my cell, worried I won’t make lunch. I promised to meet Eric at the office for noon, but I’m going to be more than a few minutes late. It’s no big deal since the restaurant is a short distance from his office.
I send him a text, running a smidge late.
My body crashes into something hard, my hands go up to steady myself, and land flat on sweaty, ripped, olive flesh. Stunned by my handsy move, I look up and into the luscious eyes of the very doctor that all the nurses’ whisper about.
My phone, sandwiched between my palm and his chest, beeps with an incoming text. I try to wrap my hand around it, but it slips from my grasp and crashes to the floor, I barely notice—the hot flesh against my palms forbids it. I hear a locker door slam, it’s enough to snap me back to reality, my hands pull back, gripping my towel tight against my body.
Stupid co-ed locker rooms.
Thank God, I didn’t drop my towel.
“My apologies, Rebecca,” Leopold says, with a deep throaty chuckle as his eyes take in every inch of my exposed flesh. He only ever addresses me by my full first name in the presence of colleagues.
I swallow, trying not to blush. He shouldn’t fluster me, but he does, but not in the want to shag him sort of way—more like the he’s so unbelievably gorgeous that it takes my breath away sort of way. I am only human and although I am married, I am most definitely not blind.
He’s got me flustered, and the bastard knows it.
Dammit…my phone!
Dragging my eyes away from his intense gaze, I search the floor for my phone, but he reaches down to grab it.
“I’m so sorry, Becs.” And there it is—his pet name for me—the one that still makes me swoon, but only because his accent is so friggin sexy. “Looks like your phone is trashed…I’ll have a replacement for you, first thing tomorrow.” He eyes me, his face softens, and I can tell he feels bad.
“You don’t have to, Leo. I have a spare at home.” His gaze intensifies, daring me to defy his offer to replace my phone. His eyes change direction, again, mentally stripping my towel from my body. My fingers white-knuckle the towel, and I straighten, not even trying to hide my annoyance. “Excuse me, perv. I need to hurry if I’m going to make lunch with Eric.”
“Ah, yes. How is Eric? Has he made Junior Partner, yet?” His dry tone dictates his disdain for my husband, a disdain that has been festering since college, since I ditched his cheating ass for his roommate and best friend, Eric.
“Of course, he made Junior Partner—we stayed up all night celebrating.” I throw him a naughty grin. Ten points for me.
He raises an eyebrow, like he’ll play my game, and offers up his own little dig. “Well, I suppose it was inevitable being that it is his father’s firm.” His grin widens, he’s proud of himself, and hoping I’ll retaliate.
Jerk.
No way am I going to bite.
Tilting my head, a smirk contorts my lips. “Leo, I’d love to chat about the love of my life, because I’m so sure you actually care, but I really have to get moving.” I rush past him and lock myself in the shower stall, turning the water to cold. He chuckles as he walks away. I lean against the door, tipping my head back as I close my eyes and take several deep calming breaths.
I shouldn’t have told Leo that Eric made partner. It’s none of his damn business. I shouldn’t even be talking to him. I promised Eric.
Why, after all this time, does Leo still rattle me? It’s stupid, really. I am so in love with Eric that I can’t see straight, but Leo just knows all the right things to say to either leave me in awe or completely piss me off. It’s a complicated history—he was my first love, after all, but Eric is my last, my soulmate. Deep down, I am thankful for my time with Leo because it gave me Eric.
My head nods against the door as a content smile curves my lips—I am exactly where I need to be. Well, I won’t be if I don’t hurry. Opening my eyes, I place my towel and phone on the shelf, step into the shower, and rinse the sweat of the morning away.
Racing to pull myself together, I am more than presentable for lunch at Carina’s,
our favorite restaurant. My golden-brown mane is combed and oiled to combat the humidity and my face is made up to perfection—I look awesome in my fuchsia sundress. Still giddy from our celebratory sex-fest the night before, I can hardly wait to see my husband. He really does know how to rock my world.
***
Whitley, Brown, and Markham reminds me of a Wall Street building. The tall, trendy, retro building located downtown is one of the few decent structures. I greet security and jump in the elevator, while trying to refrain from doing the pee-pee-dance. By the time the elevator hits the fourteenth floor, I am practically delirious, racing to the bathroom and into a stall.
“Hello,” a woman’s voice says.
Startled, I cock my head. Is she talking to me? My mouth opens as if to reply but snaps shut as she continues to speak.
“Yeah, I have to cancel our lunch plans…” She must be on her phone. Whoever she is, she sounds excited, and I can’t help but eavesdrop, I’m sort of committed. “I know, but he cancelled his lunch with the wife to meet with me…”
My skin starts to tingle. Is she talking about having an affair with someone?
My mind searches the faces of the men at the firm—which one of them is being unfaithful? Blood rushes to my face, and I want to punch the whore in the stall next to me, but I don’t…The nosy me wants to know more, so I tilt my head towards her voice.
“I don’t care if he’s married…By the time I’m finished, the wife won’t even be a consideration...I know, right...I’ll call you later.” I hear the mystery woman say goodbye and flush the toilet. Straining to look under the stall, I admire her six-inch, designer, black patent heels.
Who is she?
Her voice isn’t familiar, but I don’t know all the lawyers and there are several legal aids and assistants, not to mention the accounting department. I scramble to finish and exit the stall, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Heels click down the hall, so I poke my head out of the bathroom to see her sashaying towards the elevator in a perfectly-tailored, grey power-suit. Her long, shiny, chestnut curls bounce along her back, and her legs don’t seem to quit.
Her hair is perfection, her figure’s curvy yet toned—the guy she’s after is going to have to be one dedicated husband to pass her up.
So, this is stupid. I have a lunch date, and I’m wasting time pondering on some home wrecker’s phone call. After washing up, I speed-walk to Eric’s assistant, Sharon, to announce my arrival.
As I approach, smiling a greeting, Sharon eyes me, looking confused. She clears her throat and tosses me an awkward frown. “Rebecca, so nice to see you…You just missed Eric. He went to lunch.”
“Darn. I was supposed to meet him. I sent him a text, but had an accident with my phone.”
“He has a lunch meeting at Carina’s. It was last minute, but I believe he sent you a text to cancel, sorry you came all this way…” Sharon smiles sweetly, eying me with concern as my face loses color and I sway.
“A meeting?” I croak the words as I turn to leave, feebly waiving at Sharon.
Oh.
My.
God!
Eric’s the guy!
He has to be.
What do I do?
My mind races with different scenarios, all of them catastrophic, and my stomach churns with nausea. The mystery woman’s words auto-play in my mind, I shake my head, trying to force her words out.
The fact that I’m even thinking about the prospect of this woman potentially chasing after my husband is ridiculous—she never said anything about him wanting her, just her wanting him.
It might not even be Eric, and even if it is Eric, he would never…
Her married guy could be any one of thirty to forty men in the firm.
It could just be a coincidence. I mean, every single one of those men eat lunch…
Right?
My stomach flops, that nagging voice in my head tells me not to ignore this, not to brush it aside. She was very pointed about her intentions.
Her words sink in, really hitting home.
Is she after my husband?
Oh, hell no!
Chapter Two
Desperate to know if Eric’s the guy that the silky-haired bombshell is having lunch with, I find my car and drive to the restaurant. As I pull into the lot, my eyes lock on Eric’s white BMW, and I start to hyperventilate. Burying my face in my palms, I suck in air and try to right my breathing, but I can’t…I’m losing my mind.
There is only one way to calm myself, and that one way brings me back…I need to know what is going on. Truthfully, I’m no stranger to competition where Eric is concerned. He’s a gorgeous guy—blonde, blue eyes that pierce your soul, and an ass that just won’t quit, but his ass is mine!
I won’t be replaced!
It would be impossible for me to sit back and let this play out and even more impossible to ignore it. She’s freaking stunning, she’s actual competition. If I were a guy, I’d have a hard time turning her down.
My thoughts twirl through my head—they’re all bad, snuffing out any potential for reason.
“It’s probably nothing,” I say, not even believing the words.
Who actually pursues a happily married man, anyway?
She does…
It might not even be Eric.
I’m just paranoid.
Right?
What if Eric’s really the guy?
I’m not stupid. If Eric is the guy, I’ll play it cool, so I don’t cause a rift between Eric and myself. Checking up on him after he cancelled lunch isn’t cool, but I broke my phone, so I have an excuse, and I am most definitely going to check up on him.
It takes a few minutes to muster up the nerve to go inside. As I open the door to Carina’s Place, Italian deliciousness wafts past me, my mouth salts with salivation, and my stomach rumbles. Ignoring my hunger, my eyes scan the restaurant and lock on Eric seated at a booth off to the right. His back is to me, and the bombshell from the bathroom is seated across from him, her long, toned legs stretched out from under the table.
Crap! It is him…
My face burns with rage, mentally, I’m dying—her front is every bit as fantastic as her back, and the black-rimmed glasses she’s wearing enhances her beauty in a hot schoolteacher sort of way.
Eric loves smart women—it’s one of the things that attracted him to me.
Crap!
Who is she?
I have to know if it’s Eric she’s after, even though I already know. The glowing demure smile plastered across her glossy plump lips says it all.
My body moves of its own accord, pushing me towards their table. I try to act cool, but I feel insignificant in comparison to this woman. Insecurity isn’t something I normally grapple with, but in this case, I feel it’s justified.
Irrational jealousy burns through my veins, and I find myself fighting the urge to claw her eyes out. Shocked by this, I shake my head. This is all so stupid. I’ve never been the jealous type.
So, she wants my husband.
She won’t get him.
Reaching the table, I plaster a smile on my face and brush my fingers across Eric’s arm. He turns, his eyes bulge in surprise.
“Becky…I’m sorry, Sloan—” He grins, correcting himself. “Fiona and I have a meeting…We’ll have to reschedule our date…I texted you.” He rises from the table and plants a classy kiss on my lips.
Sloan. The Sloan, as in the lawyer that he is working on a record-breaking divorce settlement with?
Gah!
Stupid lawyers and their stupid need to address each other by last name—I assumed Sloan was a guy.
Wrong.
Recovering, I feign normalcy with an apologetic shrug. “I dropped my phone and broke it, so I didn’t get the message.”
He straightens, remembering his southern manners. “Becky, this is my colleague, Fiona Sloan. Fiona is one of our finest divorce litigators.”
Extending my hand, I offer Fiona a welcoming smile. “Nice to meet
you, Fiona.”
She rises and eagerly takes my hand; her hand is soft, her grip firm. “Nice to meet you, too. Eric was just telling me that you’re an OR nurse. That must be so exciting.” Her smile seems genuine, and had I not overheard her phone call in the bathroom, I probably wouldn’t feel the least bit threatened, but that ship has sailed.
“It is very exciting,” I say, returning my gaze to Eric, who has a hand on the small of my back—I love it when he does this. Feeling protected and safe, my tension melts away. This whole thing is silly, and awkward as ass. I shouldn’t have come…I do trust him. “Well, I’ll leave you two to your meeting. I’m going to grab some take out and head back to the hospital. I have another surgery this afternoon.” Leaning in, I plant a kiss on Eric’s cheek and reach up to thumb the glossy residue away. “I’ll see you tonight?”
“Of course.”
Turning back to Fiona, I note that she is already seated and perusing the menu, pretending to be oblivious to our conversation. “Nice to meet you, Fiona,” I say.
She looks up, eyes me momentarily, and then tosses me a cunning smile. “Yes. Take care, Rebecca.”
There was an undertone in the way she said my name, definite daggers. Did Eric pick up on that? Inwardly seething, I smile, wave my fingers at Eric, and walk away.
What the hell was that?
Forgetting about food, I burst through the door, the high humidity slapping me hard across the face, taking my breath away. Coupled with the awkwardness of the last few minutes, I find myself gasping for oxygen, desperate for air.
The way she looked at me, the way she said my name…was she…taunting me? Does she want me to know what she’s up to or is she testing to see if I already know?
Oh, I know…
She wants my husband, and she could care less if I know it.
I make it back to my car, but my thoughts are chaos. As I crawl inside and yank the door closed, every possible scenario flashes through my mind. The heat inside my vehicle is stifling, making it even more difficult for me to breathe. Dazed, I start my car, turning the AC to high as I stare through the windshield. Between the heat and panic, I’m barely hanging on, sucking in air, hoping not to faint.
