Wife in Name Only

by Hayson Manning

  Before she could answer, Rory appeared at her side, his dark hair shower-wet, a crinkled shirt pulled over his powerful chest, shoulders threatening to burst through the cotton. Faded denim molded over long, lean thighs.

  Her throat dried at his physical beauty. He’d always be a man who made hardened soccer moms reach for compacts, married women wonder what if, and nuns forget their vows.

  “Dance?”

  Goosebumps shivered across her skin as his hand brushed her back.

  “Nice dress,” he murmured in her ear. “Sapphire suits you. Same color as your eyes.”

  She looked up at him, totally appreciating a well put-together man. “Thank you. Going casual suits you.”

  She could feel many eyes on them as Rory expertly spun her round the dance floor.

  “Not quite our honeymoon.” His breath teased her ear.

  “An all you can eat buffet for nineteen ninety-five?” She stared at his chest, smiling at the memory and ignoring the tickle of his breath that sent shivers down her body. “You fed me noodles and chocolate pudding.”

  “I meant the honeymoon part.”

  “Yeah, I know what you meant.” His fingers tightened around hers. She glanced up into his darkening eyes and felt the same pull. Her mouth dried, and she couldn’t swallow.

  “Damn,” he whispered, pulling her tighter.

  “This is just for show, right?” Her voice sounded ridiculously high and school-girl breathy.

  “I’m pleading the fifth on that.”

  His lips brushed hers and her chest tightened, her nipples fighting to break free from her bra.

  The air pressure in the room dropped until they were the only two on the dance floor.

  His eyes flicked from her visibly hardened chest and back to her lips. His hands cupped her lower back, and he pulled her closer. Sparkles of deep, dark, and delicious want coursed through her veins. With his thumb, he drew circles over the thin fabric of her dress. Before she could help herself, a deep moan escaped from the back of her throat.

  She stilled at his sharp intake of breath.

  Heat pooled between her legs.

  He tipped her head back. The raw, carnal intent in his eyes softened her knees. Her fingers flexed around his. She fought the deep need to press her body against his.

  Flushed, flustered, and sticky where she shouldn’t be, she backed out of his arms and, on shaky legs, walked toward the bar for a tall glass of water.

  …

  “Damn, woman. You and your husband still have the whole love thing going,” Samantha said. “I hope Evan and I still want to bang each other on the dance floor in eight years. I thought you two were going to explode out there.”

  A brittle laugh escaped Zoe. She waved off the compliment, unsure if she was going to sound all breathy like Marilyn. There was no way she could risk speech. Anyone who heard her would know that Rory still affected her. And he shouldn’t, considering she’d been here a year and hadn’t been in love with him for two. There was craziness happening in her head right now that she needed to get a handle on, and fast.

  She jumped when Rory grabbed her hand. His fingers tightened around hers.

  “Can I get you anything?” he asked with flushed cheeks and a laser stare that told her exactly what he wanted.

  Bad, bad thoughts of them wrapped in each other heated her face.

  Before she could answer, a buzzing sound snapped her head back.

  “Hold that thought,” he said.

  In an instant, he stepped back and fished his iPhone from his pocket. “That’s my alarm. I’ve got a conference call I’ve got to make.” He pulled his hand through his air.

  The electricity sparking between them fizzled. She stepped back, blinking at the sudden change in tone. Speak-or-shut-up Rory was back. Her heart shifted painfully in her chest. She bit her lip and looked away. This was how Rory rolled. Would always roll. Work first, always and forever.

  She closed her eyes and let out a long breath.

  His body and mind had snapped into work mode in a heartbeat.

  He’d once left a funeral to take a call that couldn’t wait.

  She stared at him. This man she’d walked away from.

  “I put off all other phone calls. I lost cell reception at Vava’u. Smithy let me use his satellite phone. But I have to make this call.” He started tapping numbers on the phone, his dark brows drawing together. “Wait. There’s no coverage here?”

  He looked so much like a boy who’d had his favorite toy taken away that she couldn’t help but laugh to shrug off the tension. “It’s a honeymoon resort. No cell coverage. Only a cranky satellite phone that I take calls on, and there’s a second line dedicated just to e-mails. That’s just as temperamental as the phone line, though. Basically, we’re cut off from the outside world.” She rolled her eyes at him. “You know, like how honeymoons should be.”

  He gave her a hard glance before he turned and walked out into the night. She caught sight of him a few minutes later standing under a clump of palm trees, his back to the ocean, staring at the ground.

  Hours later, with the last of the guests tucked into bed, and with no sign of Rory, she slipped off her shoes and walked to the office to check her e-mails. The solar lights cast pools of yellow light onto the cool sand where she dug in her toes, anchoring herself to the island. Sleep would prove elusive tonight with Rory two feet from her, twisted in sheets, naked, his man-scent making her insides all quivery.

  No quivery insides for me.

  She patted her computer and hit refresh on the e-mail program, waiting for it to gasp into life.

  Tomorrow, I’ll come up with a genius plan.

  The satellite phone booted up and, after thirty seconds, all thoughts of Rory and their pretend marriage turned to dust.

  Chapter Three

  “Okay, Smithy, thanks.” Zoe waited for the static to clear on the satellite phone. “I’ll see you in ten days.”

  She rubbed the back of her neck and read the latest weather update from Nuku’alofa. She slumped back into the chair, her heart thumping painfully. Niuafo’ou had taken a direct hit from the storm. Houses gone, people injured.

  The thought of her island taking a full hit from a hurricane turned her legs to jelly. Unable to swallow, she pushed a familiar veil of panic to the corners of her mind. Not now. She couldn’t let The Beast get a foothold. She drew in a deep breath and breathed out her nose, practicing the coping techniques she’d learned. Her breathing calmed, and her heart settled down from beating a tattoo against her ribcage.

  Cinderella whined at the door. She let in her dog for her morning hug and buried her face into her dog’s neck.

  “Hey, baby girl.”

  Smithy had taken the supplies she’d packed—medical, tarps, and twenty-four gallon plastic barrels of water— and she’d spent the previous hour getting the last of the honeymooners rounded up and on the yachts. Everyone was gone.

  Except Rory.

  In the rush to get everyone off the island, she’d barely had time to search for him. She’d let out a sigh of relief when Smithy told her he’d found him and all was good.

  He was here. Somewhere. Wasn’t that going to please Mr. Mergers-and-Acquisitions? Ten days with a cranky satellite phone and a computer that IBM wanted back for its museum, stuck with her and stilted conversations that started with how about the weather or can you believe the Dodgers? Not that she had or even wanted access to ESPN and Dodgers games.

  I’m going for a swim before I go find that fool of a man.

  She threw on her bikini, grabbed a towel, made her away along the dusty trail to a private stretch of beach where the locals didn’t go, and dropped her towel.

  She dove into the refreshing water, swimming until her blood felt like golden syrup, thick and heavy. Heaven. She flipped onto her back, making water angels and let the light waves carry her closer to shore. Her eyes were closed against the bright sun, so she didn’t see the larger wave coming for her. When she felt her
self drop into a trough, she opened her eyes and righted herself in time to take a face full of salt water.

  “Gak!” She rubbed at her stinging eyes, coughed out water, and made her way toward shore through a school of silver fish that skimmed her ankles. Keeping her face downturned against the brightness of the sun, she started up the beach and walked into a chest. And not just any chest. A wide, all-male chest with ripped pecs and lickable abs. Two heavenly proportioned arms with rippling biceps and triceps came out to steady her.

  “Hey.” Rory grinned down at her.

  She let the warmth of his hands seep into her. Her chest tightened and pushed against her bikini top. That familiar pull deep in her pelvis embarrassed her. The heat from last night ignited in her.

  I want him.

  Shit.

  Time stood still as their eyes locked.

  She looked away, mindful of the quiver of recognition she struggled to contain. Her tongue suddenly felt like it had shrunk. She wished she’d remembered to bring a bottle of water. Memories of those lips and that mouth washed over her. Delicious warm sensations swirled in her belly.

  Rory’s eyes moved down the length of her body and then back up in a slow graze.

  Oh.

  A burn started throughout her body, heating her blood to boiling point.

  His hand slid from her forearm, up over her shoulder, causing a long cascade of goose bumps. Her name escaped him in a long groan as he bent his head toward hers.

  Their mouths clashed. Hot, burning need flowed from her mouth to his and back again. Their tongues twisted around each other in a familiar tango. She sucked in his lower lip and her body sagged when he groaned in her mouth.

  She wanted him. Anything to override the powerful current that had heat pooling in a slick between her legs.

  She reached behind and yanked on the string of her bikini top, freeing her breasts, then dropped her top to the ground. She pushed against him, chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis, his desire evident through his shorts. A whimper of pleasure escaped the back of her throat.

  “Please, Rory,” she rasped.

  He pulled her up the beach to where the palms lined the sand.

  His hands pulled on the strings of her bikini bottom. Heated air brushed against the bare skin of her rump. Her pelvis widened in anticipation.

  “Turn around.” His words pulsed with want.

  His arm circled her waist. She turned and gripped the trunk of the palm tree.

  “Please,” she whispered over her shoulder as he nudged her knees apart, his bone-hard erection pressing into her.

  Desire punched her low in the gut. Nothing mattered. Nothing but having him fill her.

  She lost her knees when he dipped a finger into her, and her whole body shook. A low moan escaped out of her mouth.

  He hissed. “Jesus. You’re so wet.” He nuzzled her neck as he slammed into her.

  Her head fell to her chest then she arched back to meet him. Her body struggled to catch up as he stretched her to her limit. She widened her stance to accommodate all of him. The pressure building in her sex had her hands ripping into the bark of the tree. Inches away from release, she closed her eyes at the pressure building. Her body gave one final arch before she convulsed around him and screamed his name.

  He stilled. “Shit, Zoe, did I hurt you?” Concern made his voice thick. His palm flat pressed against her belly, and he kissed the back of her neck.

  “No. Don’t stop,” she managed, barely able to get the words out.

  His arm circling her waist kept her upright. His body rode hers, their skin slipping and sliding. She exploded in another pulsing rush that sucked the oxygen from her muscles, leaving her liquid. He rocked into her, his body tensing before slumping against hers.

  She closed her eyes. Stinging silence greeted her before the insects started their non-stop chatter.

  Shit.

  Huge mistake.

  Huge, dumb mistake.

  Right out in the open where anyone could see them.

  He pulled out of her and her face burned in shame.

  She scrambled into her bikini and wrapped the towel around her hips, all the while avoiding him. Shame flooded her. “That was…that was…”

  He looked like a junkyard dog that’d just gotten a lot of junk. Her junk.

  “Urgent,” she finished.

  They stared at each other, and within minutes, his grin faded.

  He looked as confused as she felt. “It was…urgent. Like it used to be before we split.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Jesus, I didn’t even ask if you had protection. I just assumed you were still on the pill.” He stood there in glorious nakedness, his face gray. “I’m sorry, Zo.”

  “I wanted it as much as you. I did throw my bikini top off.” She pressed her hand to her cheek. “Put your shorts on,” she said, turning away. “I’m fine. I’m still on the pill. Irregular and all.” She stood there mortified.

  He pulled on his shorts, smiling like a man given a death row pardon. “I guess we just had our fling.”

  “I’m sorry, Rory. I never meant for that to happen.” A bubble of emotion cut off her breathing.

  “We’re consenting adults, Zo. It was just sex.”

  She inhaled. “Was it?” She thought she had seen something flare in the cloudy blue depths of his eyes before he had erased it.

  He rubbed his hand across his chin, looking thoughtful. “Yeah, it kind of was urgent…physical.”

  There’d been no sweetness, no tenderness from either of them. No lingering kiss, no spooning. Definitely no spooning. By the look on his face—she knew the look was mirrored on hers—they both knew they were done. She let out a long breath.

  “Time to get back to my world,” he said. “I’ve got another night here then I’ll be on my way.”

  Her head snapped back. “You know Smithy’s gone?”

  “Yeah. He found me at four and told me about the storm. I told him to go. He said he’ll be back soon.” He shrugged shoulders Atlas would be proud of. “I couldn’t sleep last night. I didn’t hear you come in, so I swam for around an hour and fell asleep under a palm tree.” His smile, the one that kicked the air from her body, spread across his face. “Best fucking sleep I’ve had in ages. There must be anesthetic in the air here.” He picked up a backpack from the sand.

  Hang on.

  She tugged the towel tighter and frowned.

  “Smithy told you he’d be back when?”

  “He said soon.”

  “It’s four days sailing there at least. The same back. Usually around ten days.”

  Horror dawned on his face. He started pacing. “I was half asleep when he told me. Shit. Why didn’t you come and find me?”

  She stuck her hands on her hips. “More pressing matters. Getting the honeymooners off the island, for one.”

  “They’ve all gone? They were supposed to leave tonight.”

  “The captains of the yachts wanted to leave this morning so they didn’t get hit by big waves. They’ve all gone. No one could find you.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me when you just smacked into me?”

  Embarrassed laughter jettisoned out of her. “What, when I was pretending you were a life-sized Rudy with live anatomy?”

  He smirked.

  She slapped his hard muscled shoulder. “It’s only ten days, Rory. Chill out, get a tan, have a holiday.”

  “I don’t do holidays, Zo.” She could see the cogs spinning in his head.

  A thought stopped her cold.

  He’s going to blow a vein.

  “Um, with the hurricane, Honeymoon Heaven is going to be delayed, I’d think. I haven’t heard from them, which is good news, but I’d be prepared for them to be late.”

  “You shitting me, Zo?” His whole body stilled.

  “No, I’m not.”

  He paced some more, his feet sending up puffs of dirt as they slapped the ground.

  And just like that he’s back into work mode. It
’s as if we didn’t have hot-and-happening divorce sex under a palm tree in the middle of paradise.

  He walked beside her, and she realized his face was sickly green. “So I’m stuck here for ten days with no cell coverage and the photo shoot in limbo?”

  She nodded. “There is the satellite phone, though it can be a bit temperamental, and I have a computer I take bookings on. If you pedal really fast it helps.”

  Tension radiated from him. “If the magazine isn’t coming, there’s no point in me staying.” More expletives drowned out the sound of the insects. “Surely there’s another way off this island? I’ll charter a plane. You have an airstrip.”

  She snuck a look at him. If pissed off had a name it would be called Rory Hughes. “It’s being used to transport the sick, the injured, medical supplies, and government officials. We’re the only island in the region with an airstrip.”

  His warm hand landed on hers, an instant punch of reality. “There has to be a way off.” He let out a string of expletives that would have him saying a lifetime of Hail Mary’s. “This couldn’t get any worse.”

  “Oh, get over yourself, Roars. You’re stuck in paradise for ten days. Build a sandcastle, drink a fruity punch, read a book that isn’t a technical manual.” She laughed at the horrified look on his face.

  “I’ve never built a sandcastle in my life, I still take Scotch neat, and the last fiction I read was for high school English.”

  “I’ve got a very nice selection of romance novels. You could pick one up and learn…you know…how to woo. For when you get back into the dating game.”

  “I don’t need to woo.” He frowned. “My wooing is fine.”

  “You need to learn how to woo.”

  The frown pulled deeper on his forehead. “I wooed you okay.”

  “No. We didn’t do wooing.” She bit her lip and smiled. “You weren’t exactly…romantic.” At the outraged look he gave her, she continued. “You bought me a spanner set for my birthday.”

  “You said you wanted to learn how to change lights and crap because I wasn’t there.”

  Her fingers wrapped around his arm. “I wanted you home more.” A shiver started where their flesh met, and it rolled over her body. Embarrassed, she pulled away, but not before she saw his eyebrows nearly hit his hairline.