The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield

by Ninya Tippett

  “Is this a mausoleum or what?” I said, pausing by the door and looking around until I found the audio controls mounted on the wall. The entire suite was wired with speakers and each room had a very similar control panel.

  “What are you doing?” Brandon asked distractedly as I punched my way to the playlist selection and chose the one I’d uploaded yesterday. Christina Perri’s first track started to fill the room.

  “It’s too quiet in here. With your desk the size of a dance floor, I'd expected a party,” I said as I walked over to his desk, peering at the papers he had spread around the piano-sized desk. “This must explain why your social skills were pretty rusty when we first met. Your work constantly turns you into a mechanical robot.”

  He lifted his eyes from the screen to smirk at me. “I don’t imagine what else a robot can be but mechanical.”

  “Smartass.” I wrinkled my nose at him as I lifted myself up and over his desk, my legs dangling on the side. “By the way, I wanted to tell you. The esteemed Lady Championettes Society invited me to their tea party next week.”

  His brows shot up mildly in surprise. “That was fast. It’s good though. I expected their group would want to include the new Mrs. Maxfield. God knows it would give them more leverage when they’re going after me for funds.”

  I smiled. “You make them sound like high-class hookers.”

  Brandon threw his head back laughing. “If they were, they’re the most well-dressed, expensively educated and socially well-trained hookers there are.”

  “I’m not sure about joining their ranks,” I said, tapping my chin with my fingers in thought. “Their cause to aid charity is well and good but I’m not sure if I’m a good fit. For one, I don’t like the requirements of either being at least twenty-five or married to some tycoon—as long as you’re rich and influential enough to add prestige and funds to their cause.”

  Brandon smiled. “No one ever said the Championettes were always logical or reasonable. They make no bones about being financially and socially powerful women.”

  “And you’re alright with that?” I demanded. “You don’t mind if your wife joins such a silly group who’s so particular about that kind of thing?”

  “I would say that it was my expectation that a typical Mrs. Maxfield wouldn’t turn the offer down,” he replied. “That it would be more of a shock if she didn’t get invited. But we both know you’re not quite the typical Mrs. Maxfield so do what you feel is right."

  I rubbed my hands together as I deliberated it. "Well, I'll show up. I'll do this if they recruit me. Fel made a good point saying that this gives me an avenue to do the charity work I've been wanting to do but I think I'll have to do something about these ridiculous membership requirements."

  Brandon grinned. "You sound exactly like what a Mrs. Maxfield would be—determined. If you set the course to change or do something, you have it within your means to accomplish it."

  I shrugged. "I can talk them into it, persuade them to my side, but that's about all that I have in my arsenal."

  Brandon shook his head. "That's not all. You have me and what influence I could exert over the Society. You have my entire family to back you up. You even have Jake’s support. Plus you have generous funds at your disposal.”

  When I just raised a brow at him, he rambled on. “I opened your charity account already this morning—the same time I transferred your first quarter million in your own bank account.”

  My jaw went slack. “I have a quarter million in my bank account?”

  Brandon nodded, smiling wryly at me. “You seemed shocked. It was part of the agreement, wasn’t it?”

  It sure was. Now I truly feel like quarter of a hooker.

  I inwardly sighed and chastised myself for my thoughts. Yes, I’d forgotten about the money because I’d gone ahead with this marriage for entirely different reasons now, it would seem. The money had been the last thing on my mind.

  It soured the contented bliss I’d been feeling in the past few days and while it was an unavoidable fact of our arrangement, I didn’t have to think about it. The mortgage was on hold with the bank for some God knows what reason. If I didn’t have to deal with using the money to pay off the rest of it yet, I was determined to put it off.

  “Other than your charity account which I will match up to each deposit I’ll be making to your bank account until they’re of equal value, you also have your own checking account for your personal allowance which Felicity has already been accessing for you,” Brandon continued, drawing me back out of my thoughts. “There should be plenty of money around to give you whatever your heart desires, Charlotte, and if it isn’t enough, you only have to tell me.”

  What if my heart desires something that isn’t green and without a president stamped on it? What if my heart desires your heart? What will that cost me?

  I let out a long sigh and pressed my lips together. “I already have way too much money than I know what to do with. I was used to a very simple life before you came along, you know? If you didn’t come and tempt me with a million dollars, I would’ve never wanted more than what I thought was realistic.”

  Like winning the heart of Brandon Maxfield. That was the stuff of a teenage girl’s fantasies. He didn’t marry someone like me in real life. At least not without the most suspicious circumstances.

  “It’s never wrong to aspire for something better in life, Charlotte,” he said softly, his eyes kind and gentle. “Hope is like a treasure map. You know there’s something great waiting for you at where the X is marked. Even though the journey to get there is tricky and full of dangers and risks, you know it’ll be worth it in the end so you go do it anyway.”

  I didn't disagree. I just decided that some treasures were harder to find than others. Hoping for a perfect happy ending with Brandon would be like looking for Atlantis—futile. It was nearly as mythical as the lost city.

  Which is why you don't think about it. Don't look for what's not there. Just make the best of what you could have, here and now.

  Forcing myself to lighten up and change the topic before I got too maudlin, I smiled and reached over to pick up some important-looking papers off the desk and scanned them. “... facilities expansion... safety standards... requirements stipulated in the proposal... overarching authority for the operations... blah, blah, blah. Hmmm. Mind-blowing stuff. I can see why you can't resist."

  I kept reading on, dodging his reach.

  “Give it back, please,” he said with a visible effort at patience as he held out a hand to me. "I was trying to work, if that wasn’t obvious yet."

  I held the document out of his reach, pretending keen interest on it as I crossed my legs and leaned back, resting my weight on the heel of my other hand which was propped against the desk. "Oh, it's obvious, alright. Can't miss it if I tried. You look as stern as an evil school principal in those movies made to frighten children into becoming real miserable adults who hate the world and everyone in it."

  His mouth twitched with a reluctant smile which he smothered right away. "In that case, I'm tempted to subject you to some kind of disciplinary action right here in my office."

  I smiled and raised a brow at him. "That sounds like something that totally shouldn’t sound like it.”

  I hitched my leg up to drape it over the other, causing the robe to slide open enough to reveal much of my bare thighs and a hint of my lace panties.

  I felt an immense sense of satisfaction watching Brandon’s eyes follow the movements, flaring with heat as they went along. I lightly rested one hand on my knee, flexing my fingers as they slowly traced the line up my thighs in a seemingly casual gesture, which wasn’t really casual at all, before lifting it to flip my hair over my shoulder. My dark, honey-gold hair cascaded into a thick, bouncy curtain on one side of my tilted face, covering my slightly bare shoulder where the robe had slid off. The neckline had gaped and showed off the inner swell of one of my breasts through the low cut of the tank top, hiding the rest away for imaginatio
n.

  I wasn’t a trained temptress but after over a week of living together, it was easy to figure what tormented Brandon sexually. If I wasn’t enjoying this so much, I’d remember to feel nervous and probably fall off this desk.

  “I have a feeling I’m the one being punished here,” he croaked in a low, strained voice as he swallowed hard and glanced up to meet my eyes.

  Flashing him a crooked smile, I shrugged casually. “Punishment is only for those who don’t know how to play the game. For the rest of us, this is merely strategy.”

  Yes. A strategy hopefully resulting to the princess being abducted and ravished by the prince. Yes. Good strategy. Excellent strategy.

  Brandon groaned and shook his head before hauling me off the desk and down on his lap.

  I shrieked a little, losing my balance momentarily, but his strong arms easily caught me around the waist and trapped me against his powerful legs as he leaned back against his chair.

  “You’re a handful, you know that?” he said with a resigned smile. “You’re an exasperating, cheeky little troublemaker who will plague me for the rest of my life.”

  I scrunched up my nose and settled comfortably in his arms, letting my legs dangle over the armrest of his chair. “I would hardly call a year the rest of your life.”

  “It would be if I were to die before the year’s over,” he quipped, his hazel eyes bright with teasing. “If not from a heart attack from one of your antics, possibly from a blood clot in certain parts of my body.”

  I flushed, knowing his unworded implication, but I rolled my eyes in defense. “Yes, body parts like your brain, I’m well aware. I think your overly puffed up chest is to blame. Blocks the blood to the brain.”

  He laughed and stretched his legs forward to accommodate my weight better. “It can’t if it’s going down a different direction.”

  My cheeks were warm and probably as red as a baby’s diaper rash but I forced myself to gaze into Brandon’s eyes, biting my lip nervously and hoping that the next words weren’t going to come out like vomit.

  “I meant what I said on our wedding night, you know?” I said slowly.

  He furrowed his brows in thought—a bit too dramatically to be serious, if you ask me. “Hmm, which one of your many nuggets of wisdom from that night? That you don’t relish being the bun to my bratwurst? That you’re a virgin? That you won’t be able to walk again the day after? Which one?”

  Okay, so I may have said some stupid things but I didn’t need them rubbed in my face.

  “I meant it when I said I want you,” I snarled at him, scowling. “I know it was one lame line but it was my answer to what you proposed on the day after the engagement party at your father’s house. I’ll only say it once and if you still can’t figure it out, then your loss because I’m never uttering another word of it again. Ever. Period. Finito.”

  The fluttering of Brandon’s thick, long lashes as he blinked rapidly—like someone had just snapped their fingers in front of his face a few too many times—was too amusing that I started to giggle but I quickly swallowed it down when his expression didn’t lighten up in humor as I’d expected.

  In fact, he looked downright—stupefied.

  Well, imagine that. Brandon Maxfield. Stupefied.

  I guess if someone rambled on about sleeping with you after they said they wouldn’t ever dare consider it even though they always melted into a gooey puddle of lust at your kisses and touch, you really might feel like someone brained you with a brick.

  “You want me,” Brandon echoed slowly, as if saying the words carefully would ascertain the accuracy of their meaning. “You want us. You want this to be a true marriage. You want you and me and our life together.”

  I smiled broadly at him, slipping my arms around his neck. “You’re spot on, baby.”

  It took him a minute to recover because his face suddenly lit up like Christmas morning and he tightened his hold around me and kissed me deeply.

  If decisions were this damn rewarding, I can’t see how difficult they’d be to make.

  My fingers raked through his hair, grabbing some and pulling it just a bit tightly to signify the urgency of my need but he broke off our kiss roughly, his breathing uneven and his eyes glazed over with wanting.

  “Charlotte, as much as I would love to have you right at this moment,” he started, closing his eyes briefly in an effort to control himself, before looking at me with such intense seriousness. “I want to do this the right way.”

  My brows furrowed together. “I was told there are many ways to do this. I’m not picky with whichever one we want to start with.”

  Brandon groaned softly. “That’s not what I mean. I want to do this the right way, the way it should’ve been from the very beginning. You deserve a proper wedding night—romantic and magical—everything the way it should be for your first time.”

  I blinked, trying to suppress a smile. “Um, this isn’t a fairy tale, you know?”

  He shook his head. “No, but it shouldn’t be on an office desk on an ordinary Thursday night either.”

  “Oh, Brand,” I said, chuckling. “I can’t believe you’re so particular. Is it going to be one of those Saturday specials or something?”

  He smiled. “Just for your first time, it has to be special. After that, I plan to make love to you anytime, all the time, anywhere and everywhere.”

  Making love. If only we could—not just sex but the whole works like falling crazy in love and living happily ever after.

  I couldn’t remember the exact moment I started to let myself dream a little more of what could be instead of chastising myself for thinking my business arrangement with Brandon could be something more. Maybe that hope had been somewhere inside me all along—it just took a lot to coax it out. And now that it was out, it seemed intent on taking over.

  I bit my lip and pretended to mull it over. “Well, since we can’t really go anywhere with your Dad still being in the hospital and you heading back to work full-time by the end of the week, how do you intend to give me my wedding night?”

  “I’ll figure something out,” he promised, kissing my nose and pressing our foreheads together. “I’ll make time. I’ll surprise you.”

  My heart fluttered at his words but I rolled my eyes at him, smiling faintly. “You better if you’re going to make me wait. For a rake hell, you're damned romantic.”

  He frowned. “I’m not a rake hell. That’s Jake’s department. I may have never fully committed to a woman but I didn’t make a habit of dating several at the same time. While that would’ve made for an interesting sex life, I just couldn’t be bothered by the inconvenience of dealing with one needy woman, let alone a couple more.”

  I grinned. "Would it shock you if I told you that I actually believe you this time?"

  He gave me an arch look. "I'd be offended if you didn't."

  Then his expression softened. "I'll be good to you, babe. I promise. I'll make you very happy."

  Don't because I don't want it to hurt more than it already will when it's time to go, I wanted to say but I didn't want to ruin the moment.

  The kiss this time was slow and sweet—the kind that warmed me inside out and made my fingers and toes tingle.

  "It's time for bed," I murmured against his mouth.

  He sighed. "Fifteen more minutes. I just have to read this report."

  I shook my head. "You're not even really supposed to be working yet. This is our honeymoon week."

  "Ten minutes?" he appealed, giving me the full impact of his puppy dog eyes.

  "No," I said as I scrambled off his lap. Because I was wedged between him and the desk, my only recourse to escape him was to climb on the table. "We're going to bed now or I'm dancing."

  I straightened to my full height, shifting my weight between both of my bare feet to assess the stability of the desk. Since it was probably an expensive solid piece of hard wood, I figured it would hold.

  He looked up at me, his eyes twinkling with laughter. "No
, you wouldn't."

  I planted my hands on my hips and looked down on him. "I believe I just got taunted with a dare, Mr. Maxfield. And let me tell you that I, Charlotte Alexandra Maxfield, have never backed down from a dare before."

  I pinched each side of my robe's skirt and did a deep curtsy, grinning at him. "I believe I shall dance."

  "Charlotte!" Brandon groaned, running a hand down his face. "I was just kidding! Get down from there, please, before you hurt yourself."

  "Aw, don't be such a grumpy old man, Brand," I said, giggling at his mortification as I twirled around his expansive desk, humming and moving to Christina Perri's melodious track Distance which filled the room. It was a slow, light-hearted romantic song—the kind that would play as a soundtrack on a Sunday morning while snuggling in bed.

  "Join me," I said, extending a hand down at him. "Show me you can be fun and spontaneous."

  He firmly shook his head. "I would rather not have the desk collapse with my weight, thank you very much."

  I winked at him. "Unless you weigh like a tank, you should be fine."

  "This desk is an antique!" he exclaimed.

  "Yup, a sturdy one," I confirmed, tapping the surface lightly with my toes. "You're going to be antique in no time if you don't get up and start having some fun. Come on!"

  "This is a bad idea," he countered although I could see him eyeing the space around my feet. "Which is probably why the number of times I've danced on table in my entire life is zero."

  I stuck my tongue out at him teasingly. "Your loss. I danced on top of the bar at Marlow's lots of times."

  His eyes narrowed. “You did? Was that appropriate for a girl your age and—”

  “It was just me and some of the girls when we were cleaning up after we closed,” I interjected with a snort. “As bold as I am, I’m not bold enough to go Coyote Ugly at Marlow’s.”

  “What’s Coyote Ugly?” he asked, frowning.

  “Coyote Ugly! You know, the movie!” I said, waving my hands up in the air in emphasis. His brows furrowed further as he tried to think. “Not ringing a bell.”