THE TROPHY WIFE

by Ginna Gray

  Other than an occasional word or curse, Elizabeth could not make out what Max was saying, but he appeared to be arguing with the person on the other end of the line. As he paced he gestured with his free hand and periodically raked his fingers through his jet-black hair.

  Elizabeth quietly closed the door. She took off her negligee, tossed it over the chaise lounge in the corner and climbed into bed, leaning back against the mound of pillows piled against the headboard. Lacing her fingers together on top of the covers at her waist, she looked around the sumptuous room.

  After a while she picked up one of the magazines on the bedside table and flipped through the pages without interest. Tossing the periodical aside, she sighed. She laced her fingers together again and twiddled her thumbs.

  She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. She'd been in bed for more than an hour. Though she'd been anticipating this night with dread, minute by minute her nervousness gave way to irritation. To come in a poor second to a business deal on your wedding night was insulting.

  Tossing back the covers, she climbed out of bed and marched to the double doors again. This time she jerked both doors open, making no effort at silence. She stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips and glared daggers at Max.

  The pointed reminder that he had a bride waiting in the next room had no effect. Max's focus was solely on the conversation.

  With a huff, Elizabeth banged the doors shut. Spinning around, she marched back to the bed, tossed aside the extra pillows and lay down, pulling the covers up to her chin. "To heck with him," she muttered to herself, squirming into a comfortable position in the bed. "Let him cuddle up with a business contract."

  The slam of the doors broke Max's concentration for an instant. He glanced over his shoulder toward the bedroom, then checked his wristwatch and grimaced. He hadn't realized that he'd been on the telephone so long.

  He did his best to speed up the discussion, but, as usual, Mr. Aramoto was antsy about the latest venture into which he'd entered with Max. Never mind that Max had made the man millions in the past. Mr. Aramoto was notoriously reluctant to part with a dime and always needed to be coddled and reassured every step of the way through any deal. Another twenty minutes passed before Max succeeded in reassuring the man and was able to end the conversation.

  Returning the receiver to its cradle, Max glanced at the closed bedroom doors. "Good going, Riordan," he muttered to himself. "Great way to start off your marriage."

  He checked his wristwatch again, and again he grimaced. He couldn't blame her if she was angry. He was the first to admit that he wasn't the most sensitive guy in the world, but even he knew that ignoring your bride on your wedding night wasn't a bright idea.

  Turning out the sitting room lights on the way, he headed for the bedroom. At the doors, pausing to brace himself to face a barrage of female fury, he drew a deep breath, then went inside.

  Instead of a vitriolic tirade or frosty glares, he was met with silence. The only light burning was the lamp on his side of the king-size bed. Elizabeth lay on her side, facing the center of the bed and him, the covers up to her chin, sound asleep.

  Standing beside the bed, Max studied her and thought about what Mimi had said to him after the ceremony. The woman was brash and bold, and he'd be damned if he could understand the friendship between her and Elizabeth, but he had a gut feeling that she was right.

  He was lucky. Elizabeth had not only the connections and pedigree that he needed in a wife, she was a damned fine-looking woman.

  That was a bonus. Or then again, maybe not. He would not have picked her had he not found her physically attractive, no matter how much he wanted to tap into Houston's "old money." There were other attractive women among Houston society. He could just as easily have chosen to marry one of them, but there was something about Elizabeth that had drawn him from the first moment they met.

  Max slipped the gold cuff links out of the cuffs of his shirt and placed them on the bedside table. A wry smile twisted one corner of his mouth. He remembered how disappointed he'd been at the time to learn that she was married. Especially so when he'd found out that she was married to Edward Culpepper.

  Max did not like the man. Edward was, and he supposed still is, a pompous stuffed shirt. Worse, Max had no respect for the man. Nor did he trust him. By running off with Natalie Brussard and Elizabeth's money, Edward had validated Max's low opinion of him.

  Looking at Elizabeth with her face scrubbed clean of makeup and soft with slumber, it was easy to believe that her soul was as sweet as the rest of her. She looked like a beautiful angel.

  Edward Culpepper, Max decided, was an idiot. With her eyes closed, her long lashes lay like crescent-shaped fans against her high cheekbones. Her unpainted lips were slightly parted. They were soft and full, and damned inviting. So was all of that shining mahogany-brown hair that lay spread out on her pillow.

  He pulled his shirt from the waistband of his trousers, stripped the garment off and tossed it onto a nearby chair. Still watching her, he took off his shoes and socks, then unbuckled his belt and stepped out of his trousers and tossed them on the chair as well.

  It was their wedding night. He would be justified in waking her and consummating their vows, he told himself. If she was as sweet-natured as everyone claimed, she probably wouldn't even object.

  Standing beside the bed, clad in only a pair of black briefs, Max debated. She looked so small. And so peaceful. It had been a long and tense week. Between the hurried planning, the anxiety of the last few days, the wedding and jet lag, she was probably beat.

  Hooking his thumbs beneath the waistband of his briefs, Max stripped them off and climbed into bed beside her. Propped up on one elbow, he looked down and studied her from this new angle. Damn. Everything about her was dainty and ultra-feminine, even the curve of her cheek and her straight little nose. With a resigned sigh, he leaned over and kissed her forehead.

  "Good night, Elizabeth," he murmured.

  * * *

  Five

  « ^ »

  Twenty blocks away, a silver Lexus climbed the dimly lit ramp of a deserted parking garage. A few bare bulbs cast pools of light here and there onto the concrete floor. The only sounds were the hum of the car engine and the crunchy hiss of the tires.

  The Lexus exited the ramp on the third level. Following instructions, the driver guided the car to the center of the floor and stopped near the elevator. The driver put the gearshift in Park, but left the engine running. Just in case.

  Lowering the side window, the driver looked around and shivered. On the sunniest of days parking garages were no cheerful places, but at one in the morning there was something creepy about the cavernous space.

  It had stormed earlier, and moisture seemed to ooze from every pore of the concrete structure. The air was heavy with the dank smells of gasoline and motor oil and rain.

  Growing more nervous by the second, the driver shifted on the leather seat and peered through the gloom. Damn, this place was spooky. And quiet. Too quiet.

  Perhaps agreeing to meet here wasn't such a good idea.

  There was no reason why they couldn't have carried out this business in more congenial and civilized surroundings. Somewhere more public. Like say … over drinks at a high-end club. In this town no one paid attention to the people around them. New Yorkers had minding their own business down to an art form.

  Below, on the street, a horn honked, and the driver jumped.

  Damn! Didn't people ever sleep in this town?

  The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. The driver was beginning to think the man wasn't going to show, when from below came the unmistakable purr of a well-tuned car slowly gliding up the ramp.

  Reaching the third level, the black sedan crept out onto the floor and came to a stop. The dark tint of the vehicle's windows made it impossible to see inside, but the driver of the Lexus knew that the new arrival was checking out the place, making certain he wasn't being followed or led into a trap.r />
  Somehow the man's extreme caution made the situation all the more scary. Watching the other car cruise slowly around the perimeter of the garage, the Lexus driver shivered again.

  There was an almost palpable aura of menace surrounding the black vehicle. Maybe it was the color. Or the dark-tinted windows. Or the eerie slowness with which it circled the garage before approaching. Whatever, the mere sight of the vehicle caused the hairs on the Lexus driver's nape to stand on end.

  The sedan made a complete circuit of the third level of the garage before coming to a halt beside the smaller car. The dark-tinted front window on the passenger side silently glided down halfway. "You got something for me?" came the chilling monotone.

  "Are you Angelo?"

  "Yeah."

  The driver climbed from the Lexus and reached for the handle of the sedan's passenger door but was brought to a halt by the blinding beam of a flashlight to the eyes. "Hold it right there. And keep your hands where I can see them."

  "Now, see here—"

  "Trust me. It's better for both of us if you don't see my face. Just hand me the instructions, nice and slow."

  "Very well. You'll find everything you need in here," the Lexus driver said, shoving a black briefcase through the open window. "In there is a photo of the target, addresses of and directions to both the Houston house and the farm, plus the keys and alarm codes for both places and a telephone number that you can use to contact me, should that be necessary. The briefcase also contains half of your fee. You'll get the other half when you finish the job."

  Holding the tiny flashlight in his mouth, the man inside the sedan opened the briefcase and counted the stack of one-thousand-dollar bills, then aimed the beam of light on the photograph. "Hmm. She's a beautiful woman. You sure you want her killed?" he mumbled around the flashlight in his emotionless voice.

  "Quite sure."

  The Lexus driver sensed rather than saw the hit man shrug his shoulders. "It's your money."

  "Are you going to have a problem killing a woman?"

  "No," he replied in that same flat tone. "Although it seems a shame to whack a looker like this. I just may have myself some fun with her first. Sample the goods, so to speak."

  "That won't be necessary. I want her dead, not humiliated."

  The flashlight beam hit the Lexus driver full in the face again. The voice of the shadowy figure behind the light dropped to a more threatening pitch. "I'll do the job you're paying me to do. That's all you got any say about."

  A slightly sick feeling knotted the driver's stomach at what was probably in store for Elizabeth, but any second thoughts or pangs of conscience were firmly tamped down. "How long do you estimate this will take?"

  "It takes as long as it takes."

  "I'd like it taken care of as soon as possible."

  "Get in line. I have two other jobs to do first for Mr. Voltura. And the big boss, he don't like to be kept waiting."

  "But you don't understand. She's here. In New York. If you do her in the next few days you won't have to fly to Houston."

  "Here? Where's she staying?"

  "At the Ritz-Carlton. She just got married, so she and her husband are registered as Mr. and Mrs. Max Riordan. If you do the job right away, you won't have to go to Texas."

  There was a heavy silence as the man mulled that over. "I tell you what. I'll give you two days. If I can catch her alone during that time I'll whack her. If I don't, well then, you'll just have to wait your turn. I'll let you know how I do."

  "What's your best estimate of how long it'll take?"

  "If I miss her here and have to fly to Houston, then maybe … oh, I don't know. Maybe a month. Six weeks. A word of advice, though. Don't get antsy and start calling me every half hour. I don't take well to being rushed. I do a thorough job and guarantee that nothing will be traced back to you or me."

  The dark-tinted window glided up, ending the discussion, and the sedan glided away. Within seconds the car's taillights disappeared down the exit ramp, leaving the Lexus driver standing in the middle of the deserted garage, chilled to the bone.

  "Well, you've done it," the driver murmured to no one in particular. The words seemed as loud as cannon fire in the vast space. There was no turning back now.

  Elizabeth Victoria Stanton Riordan was as good as dead.

  * * *

  Six

  « ^ »

  Snuggling deeper under the blankets, Elizabeth smiled. She stretched, luxuriating in the warmth along her back and the cloudlike softness of the mattress beneath her. Her heavy eyelids lifted partway. She blinked, then blinked again and stared across the unfamiliar room. Her smile collapsed into a frown.

  Where in the world…?

  Then it all came flooding back.

  She tensed, still as a stone. Turning her head with extreme caution, she looked over her shoulder. Max lay on his back beside her, asleep. Oh, Lord, the warmth she had been enjoying had come from him!

  The covers were pushed down to his hips, leaving him barely decent. Elizabeth's wary gaze traced over the mat of hair on his chest, then followed the narrow line of dark hairs downward to where they swirled around his navel, then went lower still to disappear beneath the edge of the sheet, which barely covered his privates. One of his arms lay across his flat belly, the other was flung over his head. She stared at that tuft of dark hair in his armpit.

  Elizabeth swallowed. He appeared to be naked. Oh, God.

  As carefully as possible, she scooted to the edge of the bed, checking over her shoulder every few seconds. Inch by inch, she eased herself into a sitting position, swung her legs to the floor and stood up.

  Quiet as a mouse, she gathered her clothing and tiptoed into the bathroom. Once inside, she leaned back against the closed door and released the breath she'd been holding. Whew. She'd made it.

  Elizabeth was no innocent. She knew and accepted that the marriage would be consummated, probably sometime soon, but she'd rather the deed not be done in the harsh light of early morning.

  Moving quickly, she stripped off her nightgown, gathered up her shampoo and shower gel, climbed into the luxurious glassed-in stall and turned on the multiple showerheads. Water sprayed her from two large rain showerheads in the ceiling and from numerous sprayers on three of the side walls. Elizabeth poured a dollop of shampoo into her palm and vigorously massaged the suds through her hair. By the time Max woke up she intended to be showered and dressed.

  After washing her hair and body, she stood with her face turned up to the overhead spray, her eyes closed, relishing the soft shower of water running over her skin.

  The shower door opened and Elizabeth let out a squeal, her eyes flying opened. She darted a look over her shoulder just as Max, stark naked, stepped inside the stall.

  Instinctively, she hunched her upper body forward and crossed her arms over her breasts. "Ma-aax! What are you doing? I'm taking a shower."

  "I know." His big hands settled on either side of her waist as he moved up close behind her. "I thought I'd join you."

  He edged closer still, his hands sliding over her wet skin to splay over her quivering belly. Exerting slight but insistent pressure, he pulled her back against his burgeoning manhood. Lowering his head, Max began to nibble on the tender skin just below her right ear. "Mmm, you taste good," he murmured, running the tip of his tongue over the swirls in her ear. "And you smell delicious."

  Elizabeth sucked in a sharp breath. "But, Max, I haven't… I don't… I mean…"

  He chuckled, and she could feel his grin against her neck. "What's the matter, sweetheart? Haven't you ever showered with a man before?"

  "No! O-of course … not."

  "Not even with Edward?"

  "Who? Oh! Uh, no. He … we…"

  "Then he's an even bigger idiot than I thought. And a stuffed shirt."

  "That's true, but— Oh! Wha-what are you doing?"

  "Furthering your education. Ssh," he instructed as his hands slid upward over her slippery skin and cupped her
breasts. "Just relax and enjoy."

  While his thumbs rubbed back and forth over her button-hard nipples, he nipped her ear, then slid his open mouth down her neck, across her shoulder, back up the other side. His hot breath skated over her wet skin, leaving a path of goose bumps in its wake.

  "But, Max, this isn't…" She caught her breath, then a sound, somewhere between a sigh of pleasure and a groan, rolled from her throat as his roaming right hand slid downward. His fingers winnowed through the triangle of feminine curls, then slipped between her satiny thighs. "We … we barely … know each other."

  "Can you think of a better way to get acquainted?" he countered with a note of laughter in his voice. All the while his fingers explored with a gentle sensuality that drove her crazy.

  Elizabeth tried to think, but her brain seemed to be short-circuited. All she could do was feel.

  She groaned again when his fingers found that sensitive nub that he'd been seeking. Whatever protest had been on the tip of her tongue was instantly forgotten. Like a wilting flower on a stem, Elizabeth's head lolled back against Max's chest. She could barely stand. Her breathing became heavy. Her eyes closed, her lips parted. Her whole body seemed to hum.

  Max's hands roamed leisurely over her, as though he were a blind man, committing her shape to memory. "Damn, you have a beautiful body," he whispered in her ear. "I thought you might be skinny, no more than you weigh, but you're gorgeous. And perfectly proportioned."

  "Skinny? Skinny?" Elizabeth retorted, latching on to outrage to momentarily subdue the embarrassment and sensual fire that threatened to consume her. "I'll … I'll have you know—"

  "Take it easy, sweetheart. Don't get your panties in a wad," Max drawled. "That was supposed to be a compliment."

  Chuckling, he reached around her for the tube of shower gel. "And just to show you what a sport I am, I'll wash your back."