The Christmas Husband

by Mary Anne Wilson

  She opened her eyes as his thumbs moved slowly on her cheeks, then gently caressed the line of her sensitive lips. His hazel eyes were alive with the same fire in her, and when he spoke, his voice was rough and as unsteady as she felt inside. “I love Christmas traditions,” he whispered.

  She loved his touch, and when his hands slowly released her, her sense of loss was staggering. It was all she could do to stop herself from touching her tongue to her lips to capture his taste that would surely still be there. And she didn’t even know his name.

  Before she could ask him who had just kissed her, the bartender was there, tapping him on the shoulder. “Sir, excuse me.”

  “What is it?” he asked without looking away from Madison.

  “You said to let you know when Rachel was available. She says she’ll meet you in the telephone room. Take the elevator down to two, and the room is directly across from the elevator. The door will be open.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Sure,” the bartender said as he walked away.

  Madison narrowed her eyes, trying to soften the impact the man was having on her. “You have an appointment with Rachel?”

  “I almost forgot about it.”

  “You didn’t come for the party?”

  “No, it’s business, at least it was supposed to be.”

  As he said the words, a chill started to creep in, pushing back the warmth of moments ago. He worked for Rachel. Who had she thought he was? A friend? A family member here to say goodbye? She didn’t even know what she’d thought. She’d been too blinded by raging hormones and a look from hazel eyes that almost brought her to her knees.

  The idea that this man touching her, the man who had just kissed her and rocked her world, was a paid escort brought bitterness to the back of her throat. She took a protective half step back to break the contact of his touch on her face. “Business?” she asked, fighting the urge to scrub at her face where he’d touched her.

  “Boring, but true,” he said, drawing his hands back. “We need to iron out some details for a project we’re working on.” When she shivered spontaneously, it brought a slight smile to his lips. “I know. It’s crazy, isn’t it?”

  And it’s not fair, she thought. Not fair at all. She’d kissed him as if he were the last man on earth, and all the while it had been his job to make a woman feel that way. “Yes, it’s crazy,” she managed to say around the tightness growing in her throat.

  He effectively eliminated the buffer of space she was trying to build with a half step toward her. His voice dropped to a lower level. “Listen. Stay here until I see Rachel. Then we can go somewhere and talk.” His smile faltered, but the intensity in his expression didn’t. “I don’t even know your name.”

  That was one reason to be thankful. “How...how long are you going to be?”

  “Ten, fifteen minutes tops. It shouldn’t take too much time.” He suddenly cupped her chin, and the heat all but seared her, yet it couldn’t stop the chill invading her being. “I’ll get it over with as quickly as I can. Okay?”

  She made herself nod, and when his gaze lingered on her lips, she almost felt as if he’d kissed her again.

  “Don’t move,” he said in a voice roughened with emotion. “We’ll introduce ourselves when I get back.”

  Then he let her go and turned to make his way across the room to the archway that opened into the corridor. In that last second before he disappeared, he turned, looked across at her, and she felt a literal jolt at the intensity of the connection. Then he was gone.

  “Damn it, damn it, damn it,” she muttered as she hugged her arms around herself.

  “Excuse me?”

  She looked to her right and found Rachel’s fiancé, Wade. She’d met him while she’d had her meeting with Rachel earlier and been relieved that Rachel couldn’t help her, that there were no men for rent or for hire or whatever the hell they wanted to call it.

  Right now she didn’t want to talk. All she could think of was escaping before she came in contact again with her mystery man. “Oh, nothing,” she muttered.

  “Still got car trouble?”

  She shook her head. “There’s a tow truck on the way,” she said. “And I need to get downstairs.”

  “Good luck,” he said with a slow, easy smile.

  “Thanks, I need it,” she said, then started across the room. At the archway she stopped and looked out into the hallway. Thankfully, there was no one in sight. Quickly, she crossed to the bench to grab her coat, ignoring the expensive overcoat lying by it, then she crossed to the closed brass doors.

  But the thought of the doors opening and the man being there stopped her before she pressed the Down button. She glanced right, then left, saw a staircase and crossed to it. With any luck Mark would be at the car already, and with a bit more luck, she’d get out of here before Rachel’s husband-for-hire found her.

  * * *

  STEVEN SPOTTED the open doors when he stepped out of the elevator, and he had to literally force the image of the blonde upstairs out of his mind. He had to get past the feelings that still lingered with him from the kiss as he looked into the room and spotted the single occupant.

  The woman hardly looked like the owner of this place, her hair caught in a single braid and dressed in jeans with a pale turquoise Western-type shirt and brand-new boots. She smiled when she saw him and crossed to him with one hand extended. “Mr. York? Hello. Good to meet you.”

  “Thanks for making time for the meeting,” he said as he shook hands with her.

  “Sorry it’s so rushed, but I’m really short on time.” Dark brown eyes narrowed on him. “Let’s get right down to business, shall we?”

  “Absolutely,” he said, the idea of small talk coming under the heading of a great waste of time right now.

  She motioned him to a chair near the doorway set by one of several desks in the room. “Have a seat and we can talk.”

  He glanced around the room. It was Spartan compared to the rest of the house and lit by recessed fixtures in the high ceilings. The white walls were trimmed with woodwork painted to match, and each desk had a computer and phone on it. A bank of file cabinets lined the far wall, and shutters on the windows were open to the foggy night outside. A small Christmas tree stood by the door, done with brass-and-plaid ornaments.

  Rachel sat behind the desk and spoke while he took the seat by her. “This is where we field calls from prospective clients on the 1-800-HUSBAND lines and from established ones we’re currently working with. You never know when there’s a snag or something goes wrong. We keep it on twenty-four hours a day, and we like to answer it personally when we can. If we can’t, it goes to voice mail. I thought we could come in here to get away from the party upstairs.”

  He looked at her. “A man and woman in the courtyard, Dalton and Chloe, said to tell you they had to leave to check out a boat. That they’d be in touch.”

  She frowned at that. “Thanks. I was hoping they could stay longer. But things are so crazy right now. I’ve been trying to do a bit of work and pack and have the party at the same time. It just isn’t working. I don’t know if you were told that you’ll have to deal with me through my sisters, Annie and Katie, if you want to make an offer on the business. I’m going to be out of town, but they’ll know how to reach me.”

  He rested his hands on his thighs. “I read Martin Biggs’s file on you. He was very impressed by what he found out about the agency.”

  She smiled easily at him. “I hear a very big but in your tone.”

  “I admit that the idea sounds a bit...”

  “Questionable?”

  He never played games when it came to business, so he didn’t bother putting up a polite denial. Besides, he didn’t have any extra time. He was going back upstairs in ten minutes come hell or high water. “Yes, it does.”

  She sat forward and spoke quickly. “Mr. York, I started this business to meet a need when I was in college, so I could afford to keep this house. It wasn’t for
male prostitution.” She held up one hand to ward off any denial. “I know what most people think at first, but the demand is for the appearance of a husband when it’s required.

  “You have no idea how many times a woman’s in a bad position because she doesn’t have a husband. Whether it’s for a business dinner, or a convention, or just to appease opinionated relatives, or to fend off advances from some man they can’t afford to offend. We fill that need. And there is a demand for our services. We do very well.”

  He’d seen the books. He knew that the need they filled had proven to be lucrative. “Then why are you selling?”

  She sat back and a bit of color touched her cheeks. “I’ve made a personal decision lately, and the business just wouldn’t fit into that profile. My sisters aren’t businesswomen, and there isn’t anyone else that could take over.” She motioned broadly to the room. “This house was my family home all my life. I don’t want to let go of it, so the sale will be a lease only on the property, five years at a time, with a six-month notice to vacate if I ever decided to live here again. But the chances of that aren’t very big.

  “I just want to know that it’s here and I can come back to see it whenever I want to. And that it’s still owned by Harrington’s. But all the business would be a straight sale.”

  “That seems workable,” he said. Harrington’s looked good, and this woman could sell ice to people at the North Pole, but he still had some reservations. Before he could ask anything else, the phone rang and he didn’t have a chance to ask her to let it go to the machine before she answered it.

  “You’ve reached the Harrington Agency at 1-800-HUSBAND. How may I help you?”

  A faint frown tugged at her face as she listened to the caller, then she said, “Oh, yes, Mr. Dial. Of course. Yes, we talked earlier.”

  Steven got up, nerves bunching at the back of his neck. As he rubbed the knots with one hand, he moved around the room and half listened to Rachel talking on the phone. Then he glanced back at her from the windows.

  She was facing the computer and had the phone tucked between her shoulder and ear. “I can only tell you what I had to tell Ms. Smythe, that it doesn’t look as if there’s anyone available. With the holidays and all, we’re almost totally booked up.”

  He turned to the windows that overlooked a back area, then the city in the distance. The fog and shadows all but obscured a view he knew would be spectacular at any other time.

  “Of course, I understand this is a special circumstance. She made that very clear, but all I can do is promise to keep looking, and maybe we’ll come up with a solution for you.”

  He heard her typing something into the computer as he turned from the windows and went back to the desk. “I will continue to have someone stay on this and see if we can help. I’ll get back to you one way or another.”

  She was silent, then, “Yes, Mr. Dial. I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise you anything.”

  She put the phone back on the hook, then turned to Steven as he gripped the back of the chair he’d been sitting in before. “Trouble?”

  “People expect miracles at this time of year, and they just don’t understand that in this business the holidays are our busiest times. But this request is really important. I hate to have to call him back and confirm what I’ve been trying to tell him. We don’t have any men available.”

  “How important is the client?”

  “I don’t usually discuss business with outsiders, but since you’re considering buying Harrington’s, I don’t see why I can’t tell you details. That was Ron Dial, a producer at radio station KZZZ where we do most of our on-air advertising. He’s hit a snag with another sponsor and needs our services.”

  He didn’t understand. “What would he need with this agency?”

  “Just what we provide. A husband figure for a business associate.” She lifted one eyebrow. “You might have heard of her, Dr. Love?”

  Chapter Four

  “Dr. Love?” Steven echoed, the memory of that voice coming over the airwaves in the confines of his car last night still imprinted in his mind. Just as imprinted as the instant physical response he’d felt to it. Sexy and sultry and intimate. A voice that could stir crazy fantasies in him.

  Then he’d met the blonde upstairs. And the same reaction had come to him, but the fantasy had been a reality. Now Rachel was telling him that Dr. Love needed to hire someone to pretend to be her husband. That made as much sense as the blonde upstairs having to hire a man to be with her.

  This had to be a joke, Steven thought, but there was no trace of humor in Rachel’s face. Just concern. “Yes, Dr. Love, and I really wish they’d called earlier and that I could help.” She turned to the computer again, then typed in something and Steven moved to see the screen.

  He watched as the screen filled with picture after picture of men, different types, ages and races. And as each picture came up, Rachel passed on it. Then the screen came up with another photo. The man looked athletic, tanned, with angled features, dark hair and a mustache. “Matt Travis,” she read out loud. “Why is he still in the computer?” she asked herself. “I wish Annie would make sure they keep the files updated.”

  Steven looked at the screen as pictures flashed by again. “What type of man is suitable for this Dr. Love?”

  “Someone from his early thirties to early forties who can pass as a corporate attorney and is able to fit in with a high-powered executive and his wife. And someone who’s free this weekend from Friday at noon until Monday at noon.” She sank back in the chair with a sigh. “Nothing here.”

  He’d gotten involved with other businesses he’d considered buying, and he knew that it was the only way to know for sure what went on with the clients and employees at this agency. And an idea solidified. “If you had someone to do the job, what’s the procedure?”

  “The man would meet with the client at her office, or her home, or in a neutral place, wherever the client’s the most comfortable meeting. They talk about what’s expected, get background information, and if the client’s agreeable to the selection, the man goes on the assignment.”

  He glanced at the wall clock and knew he was running out of time, so he spoke up quickly with his idea. “Let me do it. I’ll go and meet with this Dr. Love for you.”

  Her brown eyes widened. “What?”

  “No matter what you tell me about this business or what Martin Biggs says, I still want to see how it works for myself.”

  She shook her head. “Mr. York, I don’t think that’s a good idea at all. Despite the fact that I’m selling, I have no intentions of playing fast and loose with this business or demeaning its image in any way.”

  He leaned toward her. “I don’t have much time, but I promise that I won’t do a thing to compromise the agency’s reputation or integrity. It wouldn’t do me any good, would it, if I decide to go through with the purchase? I’ll go and meet with this woman, talk to her, see what kind of person needs this service. Possibly I’ll get to understand it better, then I can make a decision on the purchase.”

  “You’re serious about wanting to go on the assignment for the weekend?”

  “Oh, no,” he said quickly as he stood back. “I’ll just meet with her and talk to her. That buys the agency more time to try and find someone to actually go on the weekend with her. I’ll bow out gracefully after our meeting, maybe feigning being sick.”

  “And what if we don’t find someone for her?”

  “Then Dr. Love won’t be any worse off than she is right now, will she?”

  She weighed his words and he wanted to just tell her that’s the way it would be. He was so intent on getting it settled that when a man spoke from the doorway, it startled him. “Rachel, I’m sorry to disturb you, but we’re really running late.”

  Steven glanced to the right and saw the “cowboy” the man in the courtyard had spoken about. And he looked as out of place here as the woman, in jeans, boots and an attitude that all but shouted rough and outdoors. He nodded
to Steven, then looked back at Rachel. “If you want to talk to everyone upstairs, we have to get going.”

  “Okay, Wade, just a minute,” she said and reached for a business card from a holder by the phones. She wrote on the back of it, then turned to hand it to Steven. “I’ll go along with this idea. Here’s the address of KZZZ. Before I leave, I’ll make a call and let Mr. Dial know you’ll be there at...” She looked at a desk clock, then back at Steven. “How’s eight for you?”

  “Eight when?”

  “Tonight. That gives you an hour to get there.”

  Eight. He hesitated, then decided that he could make the appointment, keep it short, then get on with things at hand. Like the blonde waiting upstairs. He took the card and glanced at it before slipping it into his suit coat pocket. “Eight’s fine.”

  “You know, I just remembered something,” Rachel said when he would have left.

  “What’s that?”

  She glanced at Wade who was crossing to her, then back at Steven. “Dr. Love’s married. She’s talked about her husband before on the program.”

  The woman with the voice spoke softly to a man in the night...her husband. There was a tinge of regret, but little more. “Then why does she need this service?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Rachel said as she stood and held out her hand to Steven as the cowboy circled her waist with his arm. “I’ll call Mr. Dial and let him know you’re coming over. Meanwhile, I’ll get word to my staff to try and find someone else to take your place.”

  Steven glanced from the cowboy to Rachel, then nodded. “Okay, I’ll be in touch.”

  “Thanks for coming,” Rachel said. “And good luck with Dr. Love.”

  “Sure,” he said, then left to head for the elevator.

  Dr. Love. A married woman. He shrugged as he stepped into the cage and hit the button for the third floor. As he looked back out into the hallway, he saw Rachel turn in the cowboy’s hold and reach up to circle his neck with her arms. The last thing he saw before the elevator doors slid shut was the man and woman kissing.