Wife in Name Only

by Hayson Manning

  As if sensing his probe, she shut down the emotion on her face.

  A sledgehammer to the gut had him flinching. Zoe had always showed her emotions. When they were first together, she hadn’t had to speak; he’d read her face to know exactly what she was thinking. When she’d stood across from him in a borrowed dress, clutching supermarket-bought flowers and had said ‘I do’ with tears running down her face, he’d absorbed her. Like an ice-axe to the back of his skull, he knew he now watched her shut down before his eyes. Just as she used to before she left.

  “I know we’re married in name only, but with the magazine coming and…well, it means a lot.” She blinked up at him, color slowly edging into her face.

  “What do you mean married in name only?” he said slowly, trying to digest her words. “I came here to work things out. To take you home where you belong. Enough of this shit, Zo. You need to come back with me.”

  She stared at him as if he’d arrived in a shiny rocket from another world. “I am home. I love this place.” She paused. “This is where they’ll bury me,” she said quietly.

  His gut rolled over and played dead. “No, after the publicity shots, we need to get your shit sorted and work out who will take over running the resort, because you’re coming back with me. You’re coming home.”

  She did a cartoon-style double take. “We need to get my shit sorted?” Her cheeks flushed a deep red. “I don’t think so, Rory. My shit, as you so eloquently put it, is sorted. This is my home, and I’m staying.”

  “No. I’ve had enough of you working out what you needed to work out in your head. I’m done with that.”

  “Oh, my God, nothing about you has changed.” Her eyes swam in some sort of liquid blue emotion.

  He hated emotion. Hated the way it made him feel powerless to fix whatever was wrong. Hated the way it pressed into his head, making him feel things he didn’t want to feel.

  “Why’d you leave, Zo?” The question that had been burning him for a year slipped from his mouth. The anger of her leaving still felt like a pressed bruise. He had no idea why she’d left. Now, looking at her happier than he’d seen her in years, his plan to take her home took a giant turn he hadn’t factored.

  She’d moved on.

  Without him.

  She twisted the hem of her t-shirt. Pain flashed in her eyes, and he flinched.

  She took a long breath and studied him as if he were a long-lost treasure that might hold some nice memories.

  That look was a mule-kick to the chest.

  “Bob Henderson was the last straw for me,” Zoe said. “He was like family and the only one who gave us a chance when we arrived in L.A. He treated you like a son, and, without a thought, you took everything that mattered from him.”

  She stared him straight in the eye.

  He rubbed his jaw, perplexed. “It was just business.”

  “But it wasn’t business when Bob ended up in the hospital with a stroke after you took away his company. You couldn’t even be bothered to send flowers, let alone go and visit the man who looked upon you as a son. You ripped away everything he held dear, including yourself, just to make a return on an investment.” She looked up at him, and his heart did a slow swan-dive toward his feet. “I fell in love with the young, ambitious, driven, but kind Rory. I fell out of love with the cutthroat businessman who’d sell his soul for a merger. The speak-or-shut-up guy.” Her quietly spoken words shut down his brain.

  If the previous mule-kick wasn’t bad enough, a four-ton elephant had just landed on his chest and started doing push-ups.

  “Why didn’t you contact me, Zo?”

  “At the beginning,” she said, “I didn’t see the point. Then I fell into running the resort, and, with the whole pretend-marriage thing going on, I thought if I filed divorce paperwork someone would find out, and I’d be screwed.”

  She looked slightly guilty.

  He stared down at the plain band on her finger. He’d worked double shifts on the construction site to get her a solid ring. A ring that would last her for an eternity with him. Sweat trickled down his back.

  “We’d both moved on.” She looked at him sadly. “Rory, we communicated by texting. We hadn’t spoken in a long time. There were nights when you stayed at the office instead of coming home. We were both waiting for each other to call it off.”

  “You sent me a text telling me our marriage was over.” He thought the pain was long-gone, but it still cut.

  “You left me little choice.”

  He frowned. “How’d you figure that?”

  “We had dinner plans, and I wanted to tell you then, but you cancelled. Three times. Three times, you sent a text telling me something had come up and asking to reschedule. And I did. Three times.”

  Color flared into her face, like it was a bad memory that she wanted to get rid of. Fast.

  “The fourth time you sent a text to everyone in your office, and my name was tacked on at the end, an afterthought to your work plans. You advised me you’d be out of the office for three days.” She looked at him a little sadly. “So, yeah, I thought sending you a text was exactly where our marriage was. That night I ate the meal I’d cooked us, packed my bag, and left.” She cocked her head to one side. “Were you only gone for three days?”

  He breathed deep and long, but it wasn’t a soul-cleansing breath. It was a breath filled with barbed wire. “Seven days. I was gone seven days.”

  It stung like a flicked rubber band to his insides. But they were not done. Seriously not done. Her soft fingers curled around his wrist, sending a plume of warmth across his body.

  “Rory, I’m never leaving here. Ever. I’ve found the place I was meant to be.” She paused, determination rolling off her in palpable waves. “You have to let us go. I have.”

  The finality in her eyes shut him down. He forgot to breathe as he stood there reading the ‘we’re done’ look. ‘Totally done’ look. Yeah, he’d do the press for himself, make it the best spread ever, and then he would be gone. Back to L.A to get divorce papers drawn.

  An ancient man shuffled through the door, slightly out of breath. his cane whacked the wooden floor.

  “Miss Zoe. Weather report from Nuku’alofa. Big storm heading toward Niuafo’ou. Category two. Name Esther. My wife’s name.” The old man wheezed.

  Fear flitted across her eyes, and her hand came to rest on her throat. “Okay, Simi. I’ll make sure we’re ready in case it turns. I don’t want to alarm the guests.”

  When the old man smiled, his face creased like aged parchment. “It won’t turn. Hermit crabs stay on beach, not hide up tree. Too afraid of my Esther.”

  Her shoulders visibly relaxed.

  “There’s a category two storm brewing?” Rory forced his feet to stay anchored to the floor. Forced his breath to stay even. Forced back the flinch in his muscles.

  “Still afraid of storms?” she said softly.

  He curled his hands. “Yeah.”

  She gripped his arm. “Your secret’s still safe with me. And don’t worry. If it’s really bad, Smithy will find you. Believe me, he’s a good man. Besides, if Simi says the hermit crabs are staying on the beach, then that’s good enough for me. Still, I’ll make sure everything’s in order.”

  “Hermit crabs?”

  “They work as the island barometer.”

  He opened his mouth to question but closed it again. It didn’t matter; he didn’t want to know. As long as there was no storm heading his way, he was cool. Besides, he’d take his state-of-the-art sat-nav over hermit crab technology any day.

  Simi glanced between her and Rory.

  Zoe smiled at the old man with genuine affection.

  “Rory.” Twinkling brown eyes appraised him. “Good you came.”

  Rory thrust out a hand and gently took the older man’s hand. How did the guy know who he was?

  “I go and start work.” He squeezed Rory’s hand before he shuffled past him and out the door.

  What’s with all the squeezing�
��like I’m a favorite nephew or a…friend?

  Rory glanced out the window at the picture-perfect day. The sun hit the translucent water, bathing it in crystalline sparkles.

  A hammock hung between two palms where a couple read books and sipped out of coconut shells.

  “Right. Until I leave.” He pointed out the window. “I’ll take the hammock.

  “You can’t.” The words shot out of her mouth with the intensity of a speeding bullet.

  His eyebrows rose. He leaned against the counter while taking in her sudden ashen appearance. “Why’s that?”

  “Well, the thing is…” Her hand went to her throat. She stared down at a stack of brochures, the top of which was covered in a healthy dose of Hunka. His eyes followed hers.

  Hang on a minute.

  He grabbed the brochure.

  There, in a glossy picture of love, were his and Zoe’s faces staring back at him.

  What the…

  He opened the pages to find pictures of them walking hand in hand along a moonlit beach. Of them kissing against the backdrop of a tropical jungle. He glanced out the window at the same backdrop of jungle.

  “This is us.”

  “Yeah.” Scarlet crept across her cheeks.

  “But I’ve never been here.”

  Even her ears got in on the act and looked like they’d been scorched.

  “What the hell is this, Zoe?”

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I photoshopped you in. The magazine took one look at us, and thought you were the Ice Man melted, so different from the Wall Street Ice Man everyone knows is you. There’s no way you’d smile like that now, so I,..ah…photoshopped you in.

  Coldness spread through his core “You…photoshopped me in?”

  She had the grace to look guilty. “Well, yeah. I have to be married—it’s a honeymoon resort. I can’t sell love ever after if, for all intents and purposes, I’m divorced. It wouldn’t exactly bring in the customers. So one night not long after I got here, and possibly after one too many glasses of wine, I started working on the brochure. I was going through my computer, and instead of worrying about copyright and stuff, I used pictures of our wedding day and photos of us back in the days when we were, you know, in love, and incorporated them into the brochure.” She said it in one long burst. “So I, um, I photoshopped you in.”

  “So to clarify, Zo, it wouldn’t be uncomfortable for you to…pretend?” The words grated out of his throat.

  “Not now. Maybe once…but the past is the past.” She held his gaze.

  Silence—and not the comfortable kind—stretched between them. He rubbed a hand across weary eyes.

  “Why don’t you have a shower? You can stay with me tonight.” She shifted from one foot to the other, a hopeful tremor in her voice. “Follow me, I’ll show you to my bungalow. Hey, I’ll even buy you a glass of Hunka Burning Love later.”

  She turned to leave, and he followed.

  “At the bar or in your room?”

  She stopped, and he slammed into her back. He grabbed her around the waist to steady her.

  His fingers inadvertently slipped under her t-shirt and met smooth skin that flamed under his touch. Without meaning to, he leaned in and inhaled her signature scent—jasmine and musk. Her sharp intake of breath had blood pumping in anticipation to all parts of his body, one in particular. He slowly turned her to face him. Her pupils dilated, and she stared at his mouth then licked her lips.

  Ah, they still had it. Instant chemistry.

  “Don’t.” Her voice had become all breathy.

  “Don’t what, babe?” He kept his voice deliberately low. His hands begged his brain to roam over her satiny skin, reach across, and pull the string of her bikini top. Her nipples hardened under his gaze. If that didn’t get blood flowing to parts that had been shut down for longer than was considered healthy for a man…

  Her chin tilted. “Don’t call me babe. I stopped being that a long time ago.”

  He traced a circle over her stomach. She used to love that pet name. “It would just be physical, if that’s what you want. A fling,” he murmured into her ear.

  She shook her head and slowly inched out of his orbit. “I’m not into flings. You know, physical with no feelings. I’ve got Rudy for that.”

  He gripped her waist tighter. “Who’s Rudy?” He’d kill the guy that laid a hand on her.

  “Cool it, caveman. Rudy sits in a box in a drawer by my bed and is battery powered.” She paused. “A year is a long time.”

  He hauled his hands through his hair. “Tell me about it.”

  Chapter Two

  A snort of disbelief tripped out of her mouth. “You haven’t had sex in a year?”

  She stared up into Rory’s heartbreak-blue eyes and nearly tripped over her feet. Mister I-Can-Have-Sex-Anytime-Anywhere-Just-Give-Me-Two-Seconds hadn’t in twelve months? Impossible.

  “Nope.”

  None of my business. Still, a man had needs. A quiver pulled low in her belly. And Rory had needs. She swallowed over a suddenly dry throat.

  “But…”

  “I take my vows seriously. As far as I’m concerned, we’re still married.”

  She blinked up at him, surprised at the ripple of emotion expanding outwards from her heart. Oh. “But we’re only married on paper. We’ve, ah, we’ve moved on.”

  “So it would seem.

  “So you don’t have a Rudy?” The words squeaked out of her like Helium Barbie. Excellent. Just what she needed. She tried to lighten the mood as her insides went on a washing machine spin.

  “I have a shower.”

  With his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, his back ramrod straight, and a flush staining his face, his eyes bored directly into hers, leaving her with no doubt why he wanted a shower.

  “Wouldn’t mind one now.”

  Damn.

  Her whole body flushed. It wasn’t good, thinking of Rory naked in a shower. Water dribbling down long, lean, tight muscles. Soap peppering his swimmer’s shoulders, the suds dropping over lickable pecs before dripping down over a flat, tight abdomen and down, down, down. It was bad enough he stood here, his hair all messy dark waves, wearing low-slung jeans and a pale blue t-shirt covered in drips of red across his tight body. Crap, he’d even gone all pirate and wasn’t wearing shoes. He hadn’t worn anything but designer in years.

  Heated blood fizzed through her veins, heading straight to her pelvis, ready for an all-night party Rory-style that would end at dawn, leaving her muscle-weary and wrapped in him.

  Reality threw a cold bucket of water over her.

  “We’re done, Rory,” she said quietly.

  His eyes narrowed.

  She took a deep breath, ignoring the rush of blood to her lips, and walked to her bungalow.

  She pushed open the door into instant calmness. Bowls of pink and white frangipani and magnolia flowers sat on dark teak chests. An overhead fan whooshed their scent to all four corners of the room. A deep growl stopped her in her tracks.

  “Hello, you.” She dropped to her knees and hugged the stiff ball of fur who glared at Rory.

  “I don’t think he likes me.” Rory knelt beside her.

  “It’s a she.” She patted her dog’s head and couldn’t help but grin. With an overbite that made her look like she was perpetually smiling and one missing eye, to Zoe she was the most beautiful dog in the world. “And her name is Cinderella.”

  Cinderella gave Rory a thorough sniff test. Seemingly satisfied, she went back to glaring at him, one-eye style.

  Her heart did that funny clench when she thought of what might have been if she hadn’t found Cinderella that day.

  A sudden thought somersaulted into her head and didn’t stick the landing.

  Her eyes flew to the tiny couch, and she scooped a towel and a bra off it.

  “I’ll take it.”

  His eyes rested on the couch.

  Since he was six foot two, only one of his legs and half his torso would fit.


  “I’ll be here for the photoshoot, and it will be an awesome photoshoot. I want the publicity. They’ll be here tomorrow, right? That was on the schedule you sent. As soon as that’s done, I’ll be gone.”

  She frowned. “It should be tomorrow, but we pretty much work on island time. No timetables here. If they’re late, they’re late, and we just deal.” She shrugged. “You learn to go with the flow.”

  She almost smiled at the look of horror on his face.

  “I couldn’t imagine anything worse,” he muttered. “Been here two minutes and I already hate the place.”

  She didn’t miss the way his eyes swept over her in a heated rush or the way her breathing increased slightly, but deep in her heart, she knew it was only physical. She’d cried herself dry when she’d left, knowing she’d done the right thing.

  Deep fatigue grooves etched around his eyes. He rubbed his hand across his face, eyeing the bed.

  “Grab a couple of hours sleep. There’s the last dance for the departing guests tonight. It can get quite noisy. I can bring you a dinner tray later on.” She tried to smile, but her brain and her lips were having a hard time communicating.

  “I’ll be there.” His voice hummed through her like chocolate syrup.

  She squeezed his hand as she passed, hoping to convey friendship, ignoring the zing of electricity ripping up her arm.

  …

  “Oh my God. Your husband is gorgeous.”

  Zoe turned her head toward Samantha, who’d sidled up to her during a break in the dancing. Samantha had been here two weeks, and already Zoe was going to miss the Texan’s easy laugh and companionship. It could get lonely when everyone left—only her and her thoughts.

  “You’re married. Evan is the greatest guy on the planet.” She playfully patted Sam’s shoulder.

  “Yeah, but doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a totally hot man.”

  Rory was gorgeous . . . and cutthroat and feared in the business world. Everything she wasn’t, and didn’t want in her life.

  Rory’s eyes locked with hers over the crowded room before she broke contact and looked at Sam.

  “I’m glad I got to meet him. There’d been rumors that he didn’t exist. You know, with no one seeing him and all.” Samantha fanned her face. “Honey, I don’t know how you keep your hands off of him.”