My Secret Wife

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  Deciding to buy himself time any way he could, Gabe parted company with Jack and jogged back to the beach house.

  As Gabe had hoped, Maggie was there with her crew instructing them on how to rebuild the kitchen exactly the way it had been before the fire. Which was something, Gabe thought, that could be accomplished much too quickly. Particularly for a guy trying to buy time.

  “Hold it,” Gabe said, as he raced up to joined them. He stood next to Maggie, dripping sweat onto the deck. Grabbing a towel off the rail, he blotted his face and head, before draping it around his neck. “I don’t want the kitchen exactly the way it was before.”

  If possible, Maggie looked even less pleased to see him. “I thought you said you weren’t interested in a new design,” she reminded briskly.

  Gabe ignored the equally tenacious expressions on the faces of Luis, Manuel and Enrico Chavez. “That was before I thought about it,” he announced cheerfully, warmed by the idea of how much time—and opportunity to be with Maggie—an undertaking like this might require. “Now I’ve thought about it,” he continued confidently, folding his arms across his chest, “and I want a lot bigger kitchen that opens up onto the living room.”

  Maggie spun around on her heel and stalked back into his house, leaving him to follow at will. “That means we’ll have to take down this wall.” She pointed to the barrier between the two rooms.

  Gabe shrugged as Enrico, Luis and Manuel took their places behind Maggie. The trio looked like angry sentries, ready to demolish him at will, Gabe thought. And although he liked the idea of Maggie being protected by her three employees, he did not cotton to the notion of them putting up interference between him and Maggie. Steadfastly ignoring Maggie’s bodyguards, Gabe smiled at Maggie pleasantly. “Fine by me.”

  Maggie appeared to be hanging on to her temper with a great deal of effort. “We’ve already started rebuilding this wall,” she explained with exaggerated patience, pointing to the brand-new drywall that had just been nailed into place.

  Gabe couldn’t have cared less what had to be done or undone, just so he could keep Maggie in his life as long as possible. “So I’ll eat the extra cost,” he said. He didn’t use his trust fund anyway.

  Luis stepped forward, looked at Gabe, then turned to Maggie. “You know, you don’t have to do this job,” he pointed out respectfully. “We have plenty of work.”

  Maggie stared at Gabe, no cooler in temper than she had been the night before when she had summarily “ended” their secret marriage and thrown him out of her beach house. “I’m not afraid of difficult clients,” Maggie announced sweetly, to one and all. She planted her hands on her hips and stepped forward until she stood toe-to-toe with Gabe. Angling her head up at him, she finished with exaggerated cordiality, “Especially when they pay through the nose for all their stupid decisions.”

  Liking the fire in Maggie’s eyes—for fire meant passion, and passion meant she had feelings for him, even if they weren’t exactly the kind he wanted—Gabe turned to their audience. Trying not to notice how very much they wanted to beat him to a pulp, he grinned and continued as cheerfully as ever, “See, fellas?” Gabe spread his hands wide on either side of him. “She’s up to the challenge.”

  Enrico stepped forward. He angled a beefy thumb at his chest. “Maybe we do not think that is wise.”

  “I’m the boss, here, guys,” Maggie interrupted, just as evenly, as she once again put herself between Gabe and the crew. She looked at the Chavez brothers sternly, as her fiercely independent streak became prominent once again. “I’ll decide what jobs we take and what jobs we don’t. And we’re finishing this one no matter how much it costs him.”

  Glad that was settled, Gabe rubbed his hands together. “Okay. Great. So when and how do we start?”

  Maggie sighed. Loudly. “If you want a new design—” she began, without a great deal of patience.

  “I do.”

  “—then we have to meet to draw it up,” Maggie explained, tapping one booted foot against the newly laid plywood subflooring.

  “I can do it as soon as I shower,” Gabe said.

  She gave him a look—no doubt remembering his no-show of the afternoon before.

  “I’ve got the day off,” Gabe explained.

  “Fine,” Maggie said curtly. She turned to her crew. “You guys might as well take the day off, too, and spend it with your families since it looks like we’ll have to work through at least part of the weekend to make up for this.”

  Enrico nodded. “All right.”

  Luis harrumphed. “You call us if you need us.”

  “We can be here in no time flat,” Manuel promised.

  “WELL, WHAT DO YOU KNOW, you actually showed,” Maggie said as she let Gabe into the design studio at the rear of her house. The room sported floor-to-ceiling windows, and overlooked the Atlantic Ocean. During hurricane season, when a storm was on its way, the windows had to be boarded up, but the rest of the time they were unadorned, and let in a plethora of dazzling golden sunlight and Carolina-blue sky that seemed the perfect showcase for Maggie’s exemplary talent.

  “Of course I showed.” Gabe was insulted that his wife seemed to have half expected he might have done otherwise. He’d never been a rude or inconsiderate person. He didn’t think he was one now, either.

  Maggie lifted her slender shoulders in an indifferent shrug. “You didn’t yesterday afternoon,” Maggie pointed out with a censuring frown.

  “I made up for that by catching up with you last night,” Gabe countered, defending his tardiness as they sat down, side by side, at her drawing table. When was she going to realize he had married her to help—not hurt—her? he wondered, upset.

  “I don’t know about making up for it, but you certainly made some things clear,” Maggie said. “Like the fact that you and I don’t have any business creating a child together after all. And that being the case, I think we should get the marriage annulled.”

  Although Maggie hadn’t actually said as much last night, after their disastrous bout of near-lovemaking, Gabe had seen the look in her eyes as she threw him out of her house and had known that this statement was coming. Hence, his preemptive strike/early-morning conversation with his friend and attorney Jack Granger.

  “Two annulments?” He regarded her steadily, unable not to note how pretty—and businesslike and off-putting—she looked in jeans, a long-sleeved pink oxford cloth shirt, and a navy blazer. Even her dark-brown work boots had acquired a new sheen that indicated they had been recently cleaned. “Come on, Maggie. You don’t want to do that.”

  Maggie gave him a smile that was lethal enough to rip out his heart. “If you think I don’t,” she said, “then you don’t know me at all.”

  Silence fell between them. Gabe swallowed and cautioned himself not to move too fast. He didn’t want to chase her away. And he was aware he was precariously close to doing just that. Thinking she had never looked more beautiful than she did at that moment, with her hair falling in soft tousled waves to her chin and her fair skin glowing, Gabe said persuasively, “We haven’t even given this a chance.” One evening in bed was not reason enough to call it quits. Not when they could damn well try again. A lot more successfully this time.

  But obviously, given the temper still burning hotly in her eyes, she didn’t agree. “I’m still ovulating, Gabe,” she informed him with brisk determination as she fixed him with a withering stare. “I plan to go to the fertility clinic this afternoon, pick a donor and get started. So you’re off the hook. Now,” she reached for her yellow legal pad and pen, “what do you want in terms of kitchen design?”

  Gabe didn’t give a damn what his kitchen looked like, but knowing this was the only way to get her to spend time with him, he contrived to make the rebuilding as difficult and complicated as possible. “First, it’s got to be twice as big.”

  Maggie arched a warning brow, stated practically, “That would really eat into the size of your great room.”

  “I don’t care.” G
abe turned his swivel chair to face her. Deciding to see how fast he could turn this work session from below zero to boiling, he let his glance rove slowly over her, taking in her slender legs, trim waist and generous breasts before returning his attention to her face. Aware she was already getting a little piqued with him, he smiled. “I want a kitchen that is large enough to cook in seriously. The one I had really wasn’t.”

  “Then I recommend we go with either an L-shaped kitchen, or a U-shaped kitchen.”

  It was going to take some hard work on his part to get her to cool down where he was concerned. He didn’t have much time, either if he was going to stop her from going back to the fertility clinic that afternoon and having a baby with someone—anyone—else.

  “What’s the difference?” Gabe asked as he struggled to keep his mind on the subject at hand.

  Maggie reached for a sketch pad, and illustrated as she talked. “An L-shape has the appliances, cupboards and work stations or sinks arranged on two adjacent walls. The U-shape uses three.”

  Both options looked workable to Gabe. “Which do you prefer?”

  Maggie didn’t have to think about that. “If you want your kitchen to have an unobstructed view of the beach—”

  “I do,” Gabe said firmly. He didn’t cook a lot, but maybe that would change if he had someone he cared about to prepare meals with.

  “Then the L-shape would be best,” Maggie said emphatically. She drew a rectangular shape in the center of the L. “I also suggest an island in the middle.” She drew a square and four circles at one end. “You can put your stove on that and it can be used for a breakfast bar as well.”

  Gabe thought about that as he watched her soft, delicate-looking hands complete the sketch. “Can I get an indoor grill?”

  “Sure.” Maggie drew in cupboards, and a place for a refrigerator and sink, too.

  “Okay. Sounds good.” Gabe stood. Now that the work was done, he was ready to play. And perhaps do a little courting and persuading as well. He took Maggie by the elbow. “Let’s go to lunch.”

  Frowning, she resisted his chivalrous efforts to help her to her feet. “We’re not finished here, Gabe,” she told him with a stern look. “Besides, it’s only 10:00 a.m. But if you want me to order in for you, I can do that.”

  Gabe sighed, sat back down, and wished he couldn’t recall quite so accurately how sweet that mouth of hers tasted or just how well she could kiss. “No. I can wait.” He wasn’t hungry anyway. He just wanted her in a different setting, one more amenable to romance and persuasion. “So what else do we have to decide?” he asked casually.

  “What kind of cabinets do you want?”

  “I have no clue.” Reluctantly, he tore his gaze from her trim figure, pushing the image of her in her pajamas out of his mind. He didn’t need to recall how sexy she had looked, with only a single layer of peach silk sliding over her bare skin, when just the sight of her now, fully clothed, was enough to send the blood rushing to his groin. “What kind did I have before?” he asked curiously, not sure he had ever really looked.

  But, of course, Maggie knew. “Cherry.”

  “To tell you the truth,” Gabe said honestly, wanting her expert opinion on this, “they were a little dark.”

  Maggie didn’t look surprised. “If you want your kitchen to be light, then I suggest white bead-board,” Maggie said with a smile. “It has the timeless look of a country cottage.”

  “Sounds good,” Gabe said enthusiastically. He completely trusted Maggie’s taste. “But I want another ceramic tile floor.”

  Maggie nodded. Pulling her legal pad toward her again, she made additional notes. “Since you live at the beach, I agree that’s a good choice, but this time I would put in a larger tile, laid on the diagonal, with small decorative tiles laid in between, and work it on into the living room.”

  She got up, went to the shelves behind her, and got out a heavy display board. Gabe liked the earth-toned sample she showed him. It was a mellow butterscotch color with deeper copper and ecru accents. He wasn’t so sure however about continuing the tile into the adjoining space. “But the living room is carpeted,” he reminded.

  “It will give you a better flow between the two areas, once we knock out that dividing wall, to install tile in the entire area. Besides, if we expand the kitchen, part of that carpet is going to have to come up anyway.” She touched his hand reassuringly. “Trust me. It’ll look better this way and you can add a new rug in the conversation area in front of the fireplace to sort of soften the look and make it a little cozier in there.”

  What could Gabe say? He trusted her. “Okay.”

  Maggie smiled and got down another display board. “For countertops, your choices are laminate, solid surface, tile, granite or marble.”

  Gabe studied them all, deciding finally, “I like the look of black marble.”

  To his satisfaction, Maggie looked pleased with his decision. She made a note, and then went on to show him fixtures—he went with whatever she suggested. When it came to the appliances, he picked out all top of the line. Paint was next. She suggested a mossy green that meshed particularly well with the earth-toned floor and white cabinets. And a painted ceramic-tile backsplash that brought all the colors together and worked well with the beaded cupboards and the black marble.

  “I think it’s going to look great,” he said.

  “It will,” Maggie promised confidently, as she tallied up the price tag of his selections, printed out a receipt and then showed it to him.

  Gabe lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “Wow,” he said. Even for him this was steep.

  “We can cut corners if you like, and bring the price down.” Maggie looked at him, waiting, perfectly willing to do that if it was what he wanted.

  Gabe shook his head, said firmly, “Nope. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right. I don’t want to do anything halfway.”

  Too late, Gabe realized what he had said. How it could be construed. Especially in light of their recent past.

  Resentment flashed in Maggie’s eyes, hot and fierce, followed swiftly by hurt. “Too bad—” Maggie muttered beneath her breath as, avoiding his stunned look, she rose with understated elegance to show him out “—you didn’t feel the same way last night.”

  Chapter Six

  “What did you say?” Gabe asked in a cool, deliberate tone as he followed her into the foyer.

  Maggie turned to face him, making her expression as normal as she could make it, considering that he was glowering at her in a completely uncivilized manner. “Nothing.”

  “I think you did.” His glance swept over her face before returning with slow deliberation to her eyes.

  Maggie swallowed. Experience had taught her that emotional arguments left her feeling vulnerable, and she did not want to be vulnerable when she was with Gabe. The combination of the feelings in her heart and her dreams for the future had put her enough at risk already. She smiled at him as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “I let my temper do the talking. I apologize.”

  His eyes steady, Gabe gave her a once-over that was anything but comforting. “Why should you apologize for saying what you feel?”

  Maggie sighed and refused to notice how handsome he looked in his light blue polo shirt and casual stone slacks. She backed up until she felt the front door at her back. “Because telling you how I feel is only making things worse between us.”

  Gabe walked forward until he was standing right in front of her. He extended one hand, palm flat, and placed it on the wall next to her as he waited for her answer. “And how are things between us?”

  Maggie wet her lips and, knowing it was imperative she keep a better grip on her spiraling emotions, willed herself to return Gabe’s penetrating gaze with a tenacity that was, at the very least, equal to his. “How are things between us?” she echoed sarcastically. That was easy! “They’re tense. Awkward. Awful.”

  Gabe released a beleaguered breath, dropped his hand, and stepped back slightly. He f
olded his arms in front of him, the action only serving more distinctly to outline the hard, masculine contours of his shoulders and chest beneath the soft knit fabric of his shirt. “It doesn’t have to stay that way.”

  “You’re telling me you can forget what we almost did last night? Our whole relationship has been a comedy of errors.” Maggie stalked away from him. Finding herself suddenly unbearably thirsty, she walked into her kitchen and got a glass down from the cupboard. She filled it with water from the refrigerator and gulped thirstily.

  “So we made a few mistakes.”

  “A few!” Maggie set her glass down on the counter with a thud. She ignored the way his dark, dangerous, oh-so-masculine presence was looming over her. “Try nothing but, Gabe!”

  Gabe walked closer and picked up the glass she had set down. He drained the rest of the water from the glass, then fixed her with a way-too-patient glance that let her know she was in an even bigger fix than she had thought, because—inherent Good Samaritan that he was—he was about to come to her rescue once again. He put the glass aside, returned his gaze to her with a mixture of politeness and respect that almost undid her. “We can remedy this,” he told her confidently.

  How? Maggie wondered. By another good deed? Tears of frustration and sadness pooled in her eyes. She willed them not to fall, but they fell anyway. Maggie turned her back to him and felt her back graze the hardness of his chest. “Don’t, Gabe,” she said in a low, strangled voice.

  He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her gently around to face him. His eyes softened as they searched her face. “Don’t what?” he asked softly, abruptly looking as susceptible to the circumstances that were conspiring against them as she felt.

  When he looked at her like that, when he touched her so tenderly and respectfully, it was all she could do not to fall head over heels in love with him. Hanging on to her composure by a thread, she shrugged free of his light, detaining grip, stepped past him. “Don’t try to play the Good Samaritan with me again,” she warned haughtily. “I know what you’re trying to do here—”