The Christmas Husband

by Mary Anne Wilson

  The ache in him built to exquisite tension, and he moved onto the couch, levering himself over her without loosing the contact of her lips on his. And the sense of her under him pushed aside any rationale. It didn’t matter that she was married, or a client of the agency. She was Madison. And he wanted her. As he managed to unsnap her bra, he just wanted to be with her, to know her.

  Then his hand found her bare breast and cupped the silky weight of it. When he felt her nipple draw to a hard bud and he heard her moan and tremble at the contact, he knew he had no choices left. Not with her. Not like this.

  But when he started to move back, to rid himself of the barriers of his clothes, he sensed everything shifting. Madison’s arms around his neck slowly slipped down, and her body’s straining to be closer to him eased. He braced himself with one hand flat on the cushions by her shoulders and looked down at her in the soft shadows.

  The madness that consumed him had found its own method of reprieve. Her hands slowly fell to the cushions at her sides, her breathing was deep and regular, her lips softly parted, her eyes closed, and she sighed as she settled farther into sleep.

  He pushed himself back and off the couch, ignoring the aching in his body and the telltale evidence of a desire that had threatened to consume him. He told himself that, despite his discomfort, he should be more than grateful that he’d been saved from doing the most stupid thing he could remember even considering for a long time.

  As he stood over her, the sight of her bare breast and her silky skin taunted him. When he reached down to tug the pale silk over her nakedness, he was unnerved to see that his hand was shaking. Curling his hand into a fist, he drew back, but he couldn’t look away from her as she turned on her side and curled up like a kitten in front of a warm fire.

  Quickly, he grabbed for a small blanket that lay on the back of the couch. He shook it out, then laid it over her, making very sure he touched her as little as possible in the process. As he drew back, he admitted to himself that she was more beautiful than anything he’d seen in what seemed an eternity. And married to a jerk. But very married.

  When she sighed deeply, his body tightened painfully, and he turned away. He crossed the room, went out, quietly closing the door behind him as he left.

  * * *

  MADISON WOKE with a start, knowing something was horribly wrong. As she cautiously eased her eyes open, she saw she was in the office, lying on her couch, and her head hurt as if it had a life of its own. She’d slept in the office a couple of times, nights when the weather was bad or when she was just too tired to drive. But she couldn’t figure out why she was here now.

  Then she remembered. Steven. Going for drinks, sitting in the restaurant. Then images ran together, feelings and sensations. Being held, carried, touched, then kissed.

  She sat up abruptly and paid for the sudden movement with a shooting pain her head. Steadying herself, she grabbed the back of the couch, then eased herself to a sitting position. Steven brought her here. She remembered that, then there was something like a striptease, the coat, seeing him with his shirt off. No, she’d imagined that. She’d been hallucinating. Then asking him for a kiss. No, more of her imaginings. The combination of brandy and those damned pills.

  She closed her eyes tightly and made herself take deep breaths. There was no way he’d been stripping in front of her, or that she’d begged him to kiss her. Then she moved to ease into a full sitting position and she realized her blouse was open and her bra was undone.

  “Oh, no,” she groaned as she buried her head in her hands. “No, no, no.” It wasn’t a dream. And worse yet, she didn’t know how it ended. There was the kiss, him touching her, her bra gone, then...nothing. She tried to remember, but the more she tried, the more her head hurt. A paid escort and she’d thrown herself at him just because he was sexy and endearing.

  “You’re pathetic,” she muttered as she fumbled to refasten her bra, then do up the buttons on her mussed blouse. She tried to stand, but she’d barely managed to lean forward before the door flew open and the sound of it hitting the wall vibrated painfully through her.

  She squinted in the direction of the pain-inflicting noise and saw Ron hurry into the room. Pressing both hands to either side of her head, she muttered, “Can you keep it down?”

  He crossed to the couch and looked down at her. “I heard you were in here. Cathy told me just a few minutes ago after I’ve tried to call you for hours. Then she tells me you’re in here passed out, but I didn’t believe it.”

  “I’m here, and I’m not passed out.” She eased her legs over the side to press her feet to the floor, and sat forward to cradle her head in her hands. Cathy had been in here and she hadn’t even heard her. “But I feel like hell. What was in those pills you gave me?”

  “I told you, herbs and grains and seeds and good things to make you chill out.”

  She squinted up at him. “Then tell me why I feel like I’ve got a monumental hangover, and all I had was a couple of drinks.”

  “Drinks as in alcohol?”

  “As in brandy.”

  “Oh, man, you shouldn’t have been drinking with them. I never thought to say anything, since you hardly ever drink and you were having a business meeting. But you aren’t suppose to have alcohol with those pills, some sort of organic reaction with them.”

  “What?”

  “It’s not dangerous, just not a good idea. It sort of wipes you out.”

  “Thanks for telling me now,” she muttered.

  “You aren’t telling me that you and York were drinking, are you?”

  “We went out,” she said as she rubbed at her head with her hands. “And I thought a brandy would warm me up.”

  “You didn’t give him any of the pills, did you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Oh, I thought that might be why things are all messed up.”

  Messed up? Oh, no, he couldn’t know what happened, or what might have happened. Steven surely wouldn’t have gone to Ron about what she did...or what she thought she did. “Things are messed up?” she asked cautiously.

  “Are they ever. This woman, Annie something or other, called and said that Steven York can’t make it. He can’t go to Tahoe, after all.”

  She started to get up, but stopped and sank back down while she grimaced up at him. “What are you talking about?”

  He spread his hands, palms out, in her direction. “We came up with zeros. York can’t do it. He’s sick or something, but she wants us to know that they’ll try to find someone else to take his place before you need to leave for Tahoe. It’s that voodoo curse that those bozos over at KMMN put on us because we’re wiping them out in the ratings.”

  Madison stared up at Ron, waiting for relief that the weekend she wasn’t sure she could handle with Steven had been called off. “He seemed fine last night,” she said, cutting off his rantings. Then a flashing image of Steven stripping off his shirt came to her with a sudden rush that made her breath catch in her chest.

  “Well, now he’s got the flu and he’s in bed. Can’t get out. Can’t move. Can’t go. So this Annie person says she’ll try to find a fill-in, but she isn’t sure she’ll be able to. Man, we’re in a real mess.” He exhaled harshly, then looked around. “By the way, what did you do with those pills?”

  “I...I don’t know. I mean, they were in my purse.” She eased up a bit and tried to look around, but the bright light coming in the side window only intensified the throbbing in her head. “My purse...I don’t know where I put it.” She closed her eyes to the brightness, wishing the image of Steven would fade, and that the numbing question of what really happened last night would diminish along with it.

  Ron crouched down in front of her, and she grimaced when all she saw was Steven there and her reaching out to him, asking him to kiss her. She closed her eyes as Ron said, “We could be sunk if this Annie person doesn’t find someone. I’ve run out of options. There isn’t anyone I’d trust that can do it. I think we’re going to ha
ve to consider Mark.”

  “A corporate attorney with grease under his nails?”

  “His hobby’s tinkering with cars. We can cover it. Just keep it in mind as an option. Okay?”

  “Sure,” she murmured. “Do you think you can get me some of your famous bottled water? My mouth feels like the Sahara Desert.”

  “Sure,” he said, and she opened her eyes as he stood. “I hate plans to go off course,” he muttered as he turned and headed for the door.

  “Ron, what time is it?”

  “Just after two.”

  “In the afternoon?”

  He stopped by the door. “You got it.”

  “Oh, God,” she moaned. She’d lost the better part of the day.

  “I’ll be back with the water,” he said, then left, closing the door behind him.

  Madison eased back on the couch and rested her head against the cushions behind her. Steven was sick? God, she hoped he was really ill, and that he hadn’t pulled out because of anything that happened between them. Sure, if anything more than her embarrassing herself had happened, she would have remembered it clearly. She didn’t think any woman could be with Steven without remembering everything, no matter how drunk she was or what crazy pills she’d taken.

  She heard the door open and she eased her eyes open as Ron came back in the room with a bottle of water in hand. Gently, she sat forward, took the bottle he offered her and drank the cool liquid.

  With a sigh she sat back and rested the half-empty bottle on her thigh. “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”

  “Water I can do. Getting you a husband—”

  “Please, let’s not talk about that again. I’ve got other things on my mind.”

  “Like what?”

  “Do those pills of yours make you hallucinate?”

  “Not unless you took something other than pills with them. Why? Did the good doctor hallucinate last night?”

  “No, I just...” She licked her lips and hoped that’s exactly what she’d done.

  * * *

  STEVEN STARED AT HIS SON across the glass-topped table in the greenhouselike room that overlooked the city below and wasn’t certain he’d heard right. He put down his mug of coffee and ignored the blueberry muffin in front of him. “What did you ask me?”

  “Acquisitions. Tell me what they are.”

  “Why?”

  Wyatt rested his elbows on the table and put his chin in his hands. “I want to know. What are they?”

  “Getting something that you want, like a car. That’s acquiring something.”

  “What about your job? You don’t get cars at York, do you?”

  He smiled at that question and at the intensity in his son’s face. “No.”

  “Then what’s Martin Biggs acquiring?”

  “What?”

  “I heard you talking to him before about acquiring something. What is it?”

  For some reason he found himself telling a ten-year-old about the Harrington proposition Martin had brought to him. And Wyatt never looked away, or looked bored or anxious to get his description over and done with. When he finished, he picked up his coffee mug and took a sip of the hot brew. “That’s acquisitions.”

  “That’s cool,” Wyatt said. “Hire someone to be your date, and then you just pay them off.” He nodded. “Really cool.”

  Steven didn’t know what he’d call it, but it certainly wasn’t cool. And it wasn’t cool when Wyatt shifted gears and asked, “Why were you out so late last night?”

  “I was working,” he said.

  “What on?”

  The kid had radar, and right now Steven felt vaguely uncomfortable with the direction of his questions. “I took a prospective client out for drinks.” And he didn’t say a word about taking that prospective client back to her office and almost making love to her.

  “Someone from Harrington’s?” Wyatt asked.

  The kid was sharp. “Someone who’s interested in what Harrington’s does.”

  “Oh, man, you mean some woman who wanted a date?”

  “A woman who was interested in using the services that Harrington’s offers,” he said.

  Wyatt studied him for a long moment, then he sat up and grinned at his dad. “You’re doing it, aren’t you? You’re working at Harrington’s so you can figure out if you want to buy it?”

  He was very sharp. “I thought it was a good idea,” Steven said and got up, ignoring the untouched muffin. “And I need to get going.”

  Wyatt stood and came around to follow Steven as he went through the house to get his briefcase from the study. “Can I come with you?”

  “Not now,” he said as he stepped into the den and retrieved his briefcase. “I’ve got a million things to work out today, and it’s not a good time.” When he turned to go to the door, Wyatt stood in front of him. He’d done it again. He could see the disappointment in the boy and it made his nerves bunch uncomfortably.

  Ten years old and growing so fast Steven wouldn’t have been surprised to turn and find out Wyatt was a man. He blinked at that idea, then reached out and pulled his son to him for a quick hug. “I promise you can come to the office soon. And we’ll go out to lunch. How’s that?” he asked as he held Wyatt back.

  “You’ll be home for dinner, won’t you?”

  “I’ll try—”

  His words were cut off by Wyatt. “Bishop says he’s making pot roast and it’s going to be ready at six.”

  Steven hesitated, then nodded. “Six it is.”

  Wyatt narrowed his eyes. “And you won’t have to go out for drinks, will you?”

  Steven almost flinched at the image of Madison that came to him, so close to his senses her essence filled him. “No, there won’t be any drinks tonight,” he said.

  * * *

  IGNORING THE IMAGES of Madison that arose off and on during the day exhausted and distracted him. And by the time five o’clock came around, he was more than ready to head home to have pot roast. But even as he stood and rang for Valarie, he knew he had to make one more call to put an end to all of this.

  “Yes, sir?” Valarie said over the intercom.

  “Get me the Harrington Agency on the line before you leave.”

  “Yes, sir,” Valarie said.

  Steven slipped on a brown tweed jacket over his white shirt as he crossed to the window and looked out at the city. It looked so simple from up here. No people, just lights and movement far below. But life sure as hell wasn’t simple. He exhaled as his phone rang and he took his time crossing back to answer it.

  “Yes, Valarie?”

  “Harrington’s on the line, sir.”

  “Thanks, Valarie.”

  “I’m leaving now, if you don’t need me for anything else?”

  “Go ahead. Have a good night.”

  “Good night, sir,” the woman said. Then the line cut over and he said, “Hello?”

  “Mr. York?”

  “Yes, who’s this?”

  “Annie, Rachel’s sister. Rachel said you might call and I was to get in touch with her for you.”

  “Actually, that’s not why I called. I just wanted to know what the status is of the Madison Smythe job?”

  “What job?”

  “Dr. Love?”

  “Oh, sure, what do you want to know?”

  “I just wanted to check and make sure you found someone to go on the assignment.”

  “Oh, that. No, there just isn’t anyone.”

  “Rachel seemed to think she might be able to find someone if she had some more time to work on it.”

  “Well, Rachel’s gone, and I haven’t been able to get anyone who can do it. So I did what she told me to do this morning.”

  “What’s that?”

  “To call Mr. Dial and tell him that you’re sick, but that we’d try to find someone else. But there isn’t anyone at all. I was just about to call Mr. Dial back to tell him we can’t help him at all.”

  He hated the tone in her voice, as if it didn’t make a damn bi
t of difference at all to her. He was never emotional in business dealings, because he knew it could be the beginning of the end. But where Madison Smythe was concerned, emotions ruled the day.

  “How can I get in touch with Rachel?” Steven asked Annie.

  “Oh, you can’t until after the weekend. She said if you want to make an offer, I can put you in touch with our accountant and start things going, but she can’t be reached until Monday. Do you want me to give you the accountant’s number?”

  Not unless he was single and available for the weekend, he thought. “No.”

  “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. York?”

  He made a decision right then and glanced at his wristwatch. “Will there be someone at the agency in about...two hours?” he asked.

  “I guess there could be.”

  “Then tell whoever will be there, I’ll be by in two hours to go through the computer with them to see what we can find. In the meantime, you can call Mr. Dial and tell him the escort took sick, but someone will be there tomorrow for the assignment. Is that understood?”

  “Mr. York, I understand you’re thinking of purchasing Harrington’s, but I don’t think it’s quite right for you to be telling us how to do things. And coming down here to work on the computers, well, the files are all guaranteed confidential for clients and employees alike, and—”

  He knew right then he’d buy Harrington’s if it meant he could tell this woman to shut up and not put barriers in his way. “York is going to buy the agency. I’ll talk to Rachel as soon as you can get in touch with her, so this is me looking out for my company’s best interests. Call Mr. Dial and tell him you have someone, and find out when the man has to be there to go to Tahoe with Ms. Smythe.” He paused as he took a deep breath. “I’ll see you in two hours.”

  * * *

  The Fifth Day of Christmas

  STEVEN USUALLY KNEW when to give up, but even though he had stayed at Harrington’s until well after midnight, he was up early the next morning. Over coffee, he kept trying to make things right by making several calls to men who had worked for the agency before. But none of them was available.