Daddy By Design? & Her Perfect Wife

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  “You’re a superb surgeon, Burke. You’ve also worked harder than any of the others. So why don’t you take the weekend off?” he suggested. “Take Monday, too.”

  She was stunned, but not stupefied. “O-okay,” Mel said. “Th-thanks.”

  “I’ll rearrange the call schedules,” Bowen offered. “See you Tuesday.” He strolled out, leaving Melinda alone to contemplate something she hadn’t thought about in years: her immediate future.

  A whole weekend with Jack. Just the two of them. In the same house for days. And married, though not…involved.

  Could that change in three days?

  Mel’s pager buzzed. The readout sent her rushing for the Pediatric ICU. Jamison’s heart valve was crashing and she was on call tonight. Her near-term personal life would have to wait.

  JACK FROWNED at the cubs frolicking around the mother cheetah.

  Again, he thought disgustedly, his frown turning to a scowl as he gazed at the sofa and its sleeping occupant. What kind of moron was Mel’s boss—and how was overworking his students till they fell in their tracks considered brilliant training?

  Bowen and Jensen should be exiled to the same desert island.

  “They could cook rats together,” Jack muttered, powering off the TV and steeling himself to just pick the woman up—like she’s a sack of groceries, pal—and carry her up to bed.

  Again.

  Where he’d leave her. Alone. Again. In her bed.

  He’d leave her there fully dressed, too.

  Because damned if he was undressing any part of Melinda Burke’s exquisite body again unless she was awake—and returning the favor. He was already taking too many cold showers.

  Another unobstructed look at his spouse’s frontal curves would have him instantly and urgently ready to commit an act that’d be classified a felony without her prior consent.

  Which she couldn’t give when she was passed out from sheer exhaustion.

  Dammit.

  He’d heard her come in around one; he’d pulled on knit lounging pants around two and traipsed down at two-thirty to find her collapsed on the sofa in the den. Again.

  Lifting her gently, Jack crossed the carpet and mounted the stairs with his burden’s silky hair rubbing erotically against his bare upper body.

  “Mmm.”

  Was that him or her?

  “Jack?” Mel’s sleepy murmur against his skin sent hot tingles straight to the appendage stirring below his drawstring.

  Until he wondered who else she thought might be carrying her sleeping self around. “Yeah, it’s me,” he growled.

  “Don’t wake me up,” she purred. Her lips curved into a smile that tickled the sensitive skin of his—huh. All his skin was sensitive right now, as sensitive as a hair trigger on a semiautomatic.

  “I’m not. I’m just putting you to bed.”

  “’Sgood.” Her arms curled around his neck. “Think I’ll sleep all day.”

  Right. Like she’d suddenly take another day off. Just for clarity’s sake, though, he said it aloud. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Her chocolate hair slid over him, back and forth. Jack almost dropped her as the sensations rippled through him. He wanted her, damned straight. But carrying her like this—he also wanted to take care of her, protect her, bring her the world on a platter.

  Oh, hell, he sounded like a Hallmark card! He didn’t feel that way about Melinda Burke. Did he?

  Jack pushed open the door to Mel’s room with his foot. The soft jolt halted her head movements.

  “Not kidding,” she declared sleepily. “Got th’whole weekend off. So’m not waking up till I feel like it. No coffee t’morrow, Jack—’kay?”

  “Okay,” he agreed as he reached down awkwardly to pull back the bed covers. “Sleep as long as you want.” He laid Mel down, removed her shoes and tucked her in.

  “’M not sleeping all weekend,” she insisted, burrowing into her pillow. “Jus’ morning. Then I wan’ t’get t’know you better. Much better….” Eyes closed, she flashed a satisfied smile—and flopped onto her other side.

  After a long look at her blanket-covered back, Jack retreated. From her room, down the hallway, finally stumbling downstairs to finish the cheetah documentary while he assimilated this surprise development.

  And contemplated how soon they could start.

  “YOU’RE EATING BREAKFAST.”

  Jack looked up, milk dribbling from his suspended-in-midair spoon. “Ye-es,” he said cautiously.

  “But it’s seven o’clock at night.”

  “So it is, sleepyhead,” he said with a grin that practically seared her insides. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

  At a loss on how to respond—defensively? Or with an expression of gratitude for not being disturbed while she racked up the zees?—Mel spied the coffeepot and helped herself to some caffeine.

  After a sip to clear her head, she managed to say, “Breakfast at night, interesting idea. Guess I’ll join you.” As she turned around, her nose flattened against a steel plate.

  No, that was her spouse’s chest.

  “Oh!” The gasp of surprise came out more squeak like. Mel tried again. “E-xcuse me.” Great. That sounded breathlessly ridiculous.

  Okay, her intergender skills were adolescent, but she was twenty-eight. Why couldn’t she act like it whenever Jack was within three feet of her? She was around men all day; none of them turned her to jelly.

  “Sorry.” His deep voice, well, deepened. His body was an inch from hers. “The bowls…for the…cereal…”

  Mel’s mouth curved into what had to be a fatuous smile, but she couldn’t stop herself. Lordy! Her lips, her breasts, her pelvic region—everything was zinging.

  Until Jack broke away to hurtle across the kitchen to the pantry.

  “I—uh, here. Try this,” he said, returning to shake a cereal box at her like a Native American dance rattle. “If you like it, I’ve got a coupon. It’s supposed to be low sugar and all-natural fiber and…”

  While he continued lauding the flaky stuff, he swooped past her to grab a bowl, tore open the box and tipped it up so far that the cereal cascaded not only into the bowl but all over the counter.

  Mel stood there, wide-eyed, until the significance of his antics hit her. Then she started to laugh.

  Jack froze in the act of sweeping the spilled cereal back into the box.

  The man was as flustered as she was.

  “The counter’s clean,” he said defensively, and she laughed harder.

  What a weekend this was going to be! She could feel it. Right in her pelvic region. “Forget the cereal,” she said with a grin. “Let’s order a pizza!”

  WHILE SHE WAITED for extra-pepperoni, extra-cheese to arrive, Jack sped to the video store to rent a movie. He had no idea what to get, so he picked flicks from three completely different genres: martial arts, action-adventure and supernatural–space terror.

  Anyone would like at least one of those categories, but to be sure, Jack called his sister as he left the store.

  “What are they again?” Tess asked, once he’d convinced her he wasn’t inviting her to watch them. Sheesh! The woman was paranoid—came from spending too much time alone.

  “Hong Kong Hoopla, with the great Jackie C. Bombs Over Terre Haute. And Galactic Ooze.”

  “Gosh, Jack, you sure know how to put a woman in the mood, don’t you?”

  Before he could inform her that these were very mood-and thought-provoking films, Tess went on, “Of course, the way Mel looked at you on our little outing, I think I could show her the home movies of you making mud pies, wearing only your diaper, and she’d be in the mood.”

  “The way she looked at me or the way I looked at her?” Jack stepped out of the way of a gaggle of giggling teens while he waited for Tess’s answer. It was, he realized, an essential piece of information.

  Ever since Canton, he’d been thinking of “getting to know her” in biblical terms; he’d wondered if Mel being so serious minde
d might mean trying that dating routine again first. Finding out her favorite color and political leanings and stuff.

  “Yes,” his smart-aleck sister replied. “Oh! I’ve got another call,” she added, then with a quick goodbye, she clicked off. Hmm. She sounded almost…excited. Over a phone call?

  Who was calling Tess on Saturday night? Jack wondered as he headed for the car. He had to spend more time with her. Definitely. But not this weekend.

  This weekend he and Mel were going to become better acquainted.

  But…he was damned well moving slowly. Carefully.

  Mel had certainly participated enthusiastically that day in Canton, but was she interested in anything more? How much more? Getting naked together? Naked and horizontal? More than once? And how soon?

  He’d bet she wasn’t the most experienced woman in the world. If he moved too far too fast, she might feel obligated to throw him out, and then what would he do until he took the CFP exam?

  More importantly, who’d take care of her and the house and the yard and the old geezers and…?

  Jack looked down at the video boxes in his hand. There was a lot riding on this unexpected weekend.

  Meaning, dammit, he’d better be on his best behavior.

  “I HONESTLY DON’T think a human could jump through plate glass, fall three stories into a bomb blast and just walk away,” Mel said seriously. The last video was over and the silence in the den deafening. And what the heck did she know about post-movie chat?

  “The percussive effects alone would—” She looked over at Jack, who’d been hugging the far end of the sofa all night. His head had fallen back and his mouth was open.

  A tiny snore came from him. How darling, Mel thought, then realized it was probably a comment on the exhilarating company.

  Well, what did she know about watching movies with a guy?

  About as much as she did about seducing him. Mel sighed. Jack’s attention had been riveted on the TV all night; she’d taken that to mean he wasn’t interested in talking. To her, anyway. Or cuddling, either.

  Of course, the movies’ plots had been somewhat confusing; she’d had to watch carefully, too, to follow the stories.

  Which seemed to be less important than the body count, the number of fires and explosions and the inclusion of high-speed auto—or as the case may be, spaceship—chases at regular intervals.

  “Jack?”

  “Yeah!” His head jerked up, his eyes flew open. Surreptitiously, he wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “Classic Chan, right? And Ooze—great effec—” A yawn interrupted his discourse.

  “They were all…” Mel searched for a polite term that wouldn’t commit her to a lie. “Interesting,” she finished.

  Jack nodded, smothering another yawn. “You should see the one where he takes on a Russian Mafia smuggling operation on an island with a volcano about to erupt. Incredible!”

  “I’m sure it is,” Mel said dryly, watching a third yawn form. “Why don’t you go on up to bed?” she suggested.

  For some reason, he went perfectly still.

  “I, uh, think I’ll read a little. I’m not, ah, sleepy yet,” she assured him. “I’d better decide what to do with the rest of my time off, too. I’ve got two whole days to fill. Wow! I can’t remember the last time…”

  Mel quit listening to her own babbling. It was like a conversational bleeder. She had to clamp it off somehow, but how?

  “If you have any ideas for things to do, let me know, okay?” she heard herself say. She was groaning silently over her infantile idiocy when Jack leaped to his feet.

  “Tired!” he exclaimed. “Right. Really tired. Going to b—my room. G’night.” Three long strides took him to the foot of the stairs. As he grasped the banister like a drowning man clutching a lifesaving rope, he added, “Shopping. You should go shopping tomorrow. Mall. Sales. Relax.”

  Taking the stairs two at a time, he climbed out of sight.

  “Guess you got your answer,” Mel muttered to herself as she rewound and boxed the video for return. Maybe he was right, though. All Jack wasn’t much different than all work, if you were trying to build a balanced life.

  And she was. That was her goal, not dancing and romancing the weekend away with a hunky husband she craved the way chocoholics obsess over Godiva truffles.

  Fine. She’d go shopping tomorrow. Spend a little of the money she’d been making. Get some exercise walking the mall. Hmm…if she could find a swimsuit, she could do a few laps in the revitalized pool.

  Maybe that would ease some of this odd, antsy feeling jittering through her insides like confetti fluttering above Times Square at midnight on New Year’s Eve.

  JACK HIT THE POWER SWITCH and jerked the cord from the outlet as the vacuum whined down.

  A few dust bunnies probably remained free to lurk beneath furniture, but, like dirty dishes, he’d learned they were always going to be part of his life.

  Today, though, the repetitive nature of housework was driving him nutzoid.

  No, Jack admitted with a sigh as he wound the cord and shoved the vac into its resting place, what was driving him bonkers was Melinda. Within reach.

  Like a monarch butterfly to those trees in Mexico, irresistible forces drew Jack through the house to the French doors leading to the backyard.

  She’d gone shopping, as agreed—while Jack blitz-cleaned the house and wondered what OSHA-approved activity he ought to suggest tonight.

  But now…now it was four o’clock and Melinda lay on one of the chaises that he and Old Man Lopez and his pal Edgar had scrubbed clean just this week.

  She was wearing the sexiest one-piece bathing suit Jack had ever seen. Maybe because it was on the most enticing—okay, Garden of Eden level tempting—female body he’d ever seen.

  Jack wanted to do more than see it. He wanted to experience it, every inch of it, every curve…. He wanted, in the process, to taste her, touch her, inhale her scent and hear her moan with pleasure.

  He voted for a duet of pleasure-moaning.

  Voting was still in progress when Mel looked up and waved. She turned a page in the book she’d brought home from the mall and went back to reading.

  As she did, Jack caught a glimpse of the cover. Huh. Looked like those books his sister used to read—the ones he and his brothers would steal in order to study the juicy parts.

  He was no earl or pirate or whatever, but he’d sure as heck like to act out one of those steamy scenes with Mel!

  Vivid recollections of their intimate encounters flashed through his mind. They hadn’t exactly been one-sided. And with the book maybe getting her in the mood…

  The hell with good behavior. Let’s go back to getting her out of your system by thorough indulgence.

  Jack cracked the door and stuck his head through. Well, no sense air-conditioning the whole neighborhood. “How about a frozen margarita?”

  Mel’s smile almost knocked him on his keester. From fifteen feet away. “That’d be great, Jack.” Her smile faltered as she added, “Would you like to join me?”

  The wattage kicked up again when he said, “Sure! Be right out.”

  He should have been planning his moves while he got out the blender and mixed the drinks, but all he could think about was the sheer domesticity of the scene. Last night, too: middle-class married American weekend.

  He pictured himself repeating such homey experiences weekend after weekend, year after year.

  Weird. Instead of revolting him, the picture—and repeating it—attracted him.

  Even now, Jack thought, as he poured his slushy tequila concoctions into tall, salt-rimmed glasses, set them on a tray and added a bowl of tortilla chips and some salsa, he was looking forward to more than a little sensual romping.

  For the first time in his life, no-strings sex wasn’t all he wanted. Picking up the tray and balancing it on one hand, Jack walked through the house and out the French doors.

  But it was a helluva place to start.

 
YOU CAN DO THIS, Mel told herself as she accepted the margarita and swirled the straw. She’d thought about it all day. Rehearsed her lines.

  Too bad Jack didn’t seem to know his part. She’d broiled out here for almost an hour already while he puttered around inside. She’d been just about ready to march in and haul him outside herself when he’d offered to bring her something cold to drink.

  Nervously Mel took a sip of margarita. Thinking about a successful outcome to her plan of action made her so hot she was surprised the frozen drink didn’t start boiling right there in her hand!

  Quit stalling, Burke. “Um, Jack…” Oh great, that came out like a gerbil’s chirp. “Would you mind—”

  Jack said, “What?” at the same time.

  Mel slugged back half her drink, then blurted out her request. “Wouldyourubsomelotiononmybackplease?”

  “Huh?”

  She made herself say it slower, but to do that, she had to stab her straw repeatedly into her margarita. “Would you rub some lotion on my back, please?”

  It seemed to require some thought, but eventually, in a strangely tight voice, Jack said, “Sure.”

  Mel put down her glass before she dropped it, handed him the bottle of suntan oil she’d bought earlier for this very purpose and flipped over onto her stomach. She almost flipped back over at Jack’s sharp intake of breath.

  And then his hands, slippery and smelling of childhood summers and swimming and lighthearted fun, began to move, trembling with banked power, in sensuous patterns over her back. Warm, slow, caressing strokes over her shoulders, then below the strap across the middle of her back. From thorax to pelvis, Jack massaged, stroked, aroused her backside.

  She almost came off the lounger when his hands moved to one leg, then the other. From ankle to upper thigh, anterior to interior, his magical touch heated her insides. Not knowing what to do about it, exactly, Mel lay perfectly still.

  What she wanted to do was writhe. Writhe and wriggle. And touch him the same way.

  “Melinda.” His hoarse whisper cut through her sensually induced fog. “Turn over.”

  She did, then curled her fingers around the chaise’s armrests to keep from grabbing him, stroking him, pulling him down on top of her….