Wife for Hire

by Christine Bell

  and all, so we have to work out some kinks.” She cringed at the word choice, recalling Owen’s “confession” about her “appetites” to Sarabeth. “Bu-ut, all in all, not bad. She definitely believed we were a couple, which is all that matters, right?”

  Owen held her gaze, advancing closer. “In a perfect world, yes.” He kept coming at her, with slow, purposeful steps.

  Her teeth chattered and she took a tentative step back. “Cool. So we’re all good here, then.” She held up two thumbs and wheeled around, heading for the bedroom. “I’m going to take a shower, probably a long one. Feel free to, you know, go somewhere or whatever,” she called over her shoulder.

  “Lindy?”

  She turned to find herself eye to chin with him and nearly jumped out of her skin. “What are you, like a vampire? How did you get over here so quick?” She clutched a hand over her galloping heart.

  “Never mind that. I think we need to have a little talk, hmm?”

  “About what?” She craned her head back to make eye contact and regretted it immediately. His eyes were hot, but not with the anger she’d expected. He looked partly amused, sort of…aroused? And entirely terrifying.

  “As I was saying, in a perfect world, Sarabeth falling for our ruse would be enough to make me happy. But I find myself oddly wounded by your portrayal of our sex life.”

  “Y-you do?”

  He lifted a finger to sweep the lock of hair from her forehead. “I do. And I’m not typically the sort of man who cares what other people think, so this is unsettling.”

  She took another step back and hit the wall. “I was only fooling around, and you turned the tables on me anyway. I’m sure Sarabeth doesn’t think you’re bad in—”

  “It’s not Sarabeth’s opinion that interests me,” he said, pressing close enough that she could feel the heat coming off his body. “For some bizarre reason, it’s yours.”

  “Mine?” She swallowed hard. “No, don’t worry about that, okay? I bet you’re a real stallion.” She reached out to give his shoulder a maternal pat, but when she got a load of the firm muscle bunching beneath her fingertips, she snatched her hand back.

  His eyes burned even brighter and he shook his head slowly. “Not okay. That’s lip service. I want to make you a believer.” He dipped his head, closing the last bit of space between them, his mouth brushing against hers as he spoke. “Do you want to be a believer, Lindy?”

  She couldn’t answer that, but she couldn’t pull away either. For a moment, she withstood the sensual onslaught. Then, with a low groan, she bounced to her tiptoes and smashed her lips to his. It was out of control, and she knew it was stupid, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop. His tongue slipped and slid against hers in a primal dance she never wanted to end. Her nipples tightened into stiff peaks and she pressed closer, plastering her body to his.

  He growled low in his throat, a raw sound that sent a thrill skating down her spine and she shifted closer, giving in to the urge to bump her hips against his. Damn, his whole body was hard and tight. She lifted a tentative hand to lay it on his abdomen. The muscles bunched beneath her fingers, rippling under her caress.

  His kiss grew more demanding, until the pounding of her heart was eclipsed by their shared, shallow breaths. Punishing fingers closed over her hips, kneading them, sending flashes of heat between her legs. He was the sun and she was a Popsicle, melting into a puddle for him.

  Not good.

  She pulled back. “We’ve got to stop.” Her voice sounded husky with need, undermining her words completely.

  He regarded her with eyes gone so dark they appeared to be black. “Why is that? I thought things were going rather nicely.”

  “I-I need to get in the shower now, though.”

  “Feeling dirty, love?”

  “Yes. No. I mean, not particularly. In that way.” The fingers on her hips continued their mesmerizing massage and she was fast losing the struggle for sanity. His perfect lips were still scant inches from hers. If she tipped her head back, a tiny bit, she could—

  No.

  This guy was out of her league in every possible way. She blinked hard and then did what she always did when she felt confused and overwhelmed. She opened her mouth and let it rip. “I’m a novelty to a guy like you. I get that. This is a fun little cat and mouse game, and it triggers your urge to conquer. I get that too.” She gathered her courage and peered up at him now. “But I’m not you, Owen. I can’t…do this when there’s no chance that it can ever turn into something more.”

  …

  Lindy’s clear blue eyes cut through the haze of lust like two lasers powered by sheer, unadulterated honesty. At first, the weight of it had him stepping back so fast that she had to clutch at the door jam for balance, but he tamped down the guilt. Why couldn’t two people enjoy each other physically without complicating things with lies and promises they could never keep? Instead, he opted to give her exactly what she’d given him. Total honestly.

  “I understand,” he said.

  She nodded, seemingly placated by his response, but before she turned away, he stayed her with a hand on the shoulder.

  “However, all I can promise is this. I won’t lie to you to get my way, and I won’t ever do anything you don’t want me to. But don’t ask me to be strong enough for the both of us when you look at me the way you do. We’re different, you and I. I’m a selfish bastard and I take what I want. Right now, I can think of nothing I want more than you. And if I get the chance to sink myself into that sweet body of yours, I’m going to take it.”

  She gasped, crossing her arms over her chest, but he pressed on. “One other thing. Next time you volunteer ‘intimate details’ about our love life, you’d do well to remember this moment. Every time you challenge my manhood in public, I’ll feel compelled to prove you wrong in private. It’s in my DNA.”

  “That was a mistake. It won’t happen again,” she mumbled.

  He took a step back, giving her some space. “Maybe after dinner tonight we should work out some deeper issues to talk to the therapist about. That way we don’t let our imaginations run away with us and end up being inconsistent.”

  “Sounds good.” She opened her mouth to say more, but then closed it with a snap. With a trembling finger pressed to her lips, she stepped into the bathroom and then closed the door behind her.

  He felt strangely bereft once she’d gone, taking the hope of more kisses with her. And what a kiss it had been. His groin throbbed with an unrelieved ache. She was so responsive, so sexy, he could only imagine what it would have been like if she’d allowed him to take it further. It was like an anticipation he hadn’t even known was building had drained away in one fell swoop.

  What the hell was wrong with him? She was beautiful in a sweet, girl-next-door way, but he’d been around more than his share of beautiful women. He was no saint. He enjoyed companionship and some sweaty sex as much as the next guy. But not once had he allowed that to distract him from what he’d set his mind to do. Until now. It was unsettling to say the least. In no time at all, she’d burrowed her way under his skin with her goofy accent and her animated expressions. He wanted to watch her move and listen to her talk when what he needed to be doing was paying attention to the goings on here at The Healing Place.

  Yet another reason he shouldn’t get involved with her. He had a job to do and all this energy he was expending on Lindy was better spent figuring out Stephanopoulos’s game.

  Focus. He had to focus.

  He strode into the bedroom, determined to be better prepared for their next session. He wasn’t there for therapy, to improve a relationship, or gain a new understanding of the woman he loved. He was there for revenge. If at some point Lindy saw things his way and wanted to have some fun at night while they were at it, he was more than game, but he couldn’t let her get in his head any more than he already had.

  As he unpacked his bags, he did a mental run-through of what they’d learned so far. Twelve couples were staying at
the resort, which, according to his research, was about the average since their opening a few months ago. At the brunch, he and Lindy had met a surgeon, a high-end real estate agent, and a husband and wife management consulting team. So far, there didn’t seem to be a common thread between the guests other than a desire to improve their marriages. They also ran the gamut financially, ranging from what he’d pegged to be mid-six figure salary types to multi-millionaires. On the surface, it appeared to be a random collection of well-off individuals, which meant Stephanopoulos was casting a wide net.

  He took a small notebook out of his briefcase and made some notes of his impressions, ending with “May be looking for lots of smaller $ scores rather than the white whale???”

  With that, he stowed his notes and set himself to the task of getting changed into evening wear. He had just selected a tie when the shower stopped running. His gaze was drawn to the bathroom door. Images of a wet, naked Lindy assailed him. Her skin would be scrubbed and pink from the hot spray. Water would bead on her bare breasts, an errant droplet clinging to the tip of one dusky nipple. Then he could lean forward and capture it with his tongue.

  The ache that had finally subsided returned with a vengeance, straining against the zipper of his dress pants. He was still talking himself out of that train of thought when the bathroom door opened a few minutes later.

  “Is this okay, you think, or too dressy?”

  Lindy stood in the doorway, her tight little body wrapped in a candy-apple red mini-dress that fit her like a dream. Bare, golden legs capped off by nude platform heels made her legs look incredibly long in spite of her petite frame. He couldn’t help but imagine her, dress pooled at her feet, standing before him in nothing but those heels. In a word, she looked amazing. When he’d contacted the shopper at Sacks, he’d given her a list of measurements Lindy had supplied him and a description of her coloring and hairstyle. From what he’d seen so far, she’d done a spectacular job. He made a mental note to send a token of thanks.

  “You look great.”

  She fiddled with her wedding rings and gave him a self-conscious smile. “Thanks. I still have to do makeup and pick out jewelry.”

  He only nodded, uncertain his fly would make it if she managed to improve on this look.

  “You look pretty great yourself. Need help with the tie?” She thrust her chin at the cloth dangling around his neck.

  He meant to say no. He truly did, but the opportunity to get close to her, breathe in the sweet scent of her skin overrode his brain’s feeble objection. “Sure.”

  She stepped close and fiddled around at his collar. The heels gave her a few inches, and her minty breath was warm on his chin. It might have been his imagination, but he swore he could feel the heat coming off her body, so close to his. If he moved even a half step forward, they would be touching, hip to hip. Chest to breast. Thigh to thigh.

  “Is this silk?” Her voice sounded reedy and she continued to toy with his tie. “Feels like silk.”

  “Yes.”

  “Really slippery.”

  “Lindy?” He tried to keep the smile from his voice.

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you know how to tie a tie?”

  She shook her head and blew out a sigh. “No, not really. I’ve seen people do it on TV for their husbands and I thought, how hard could it be?”

  “We’ll put it on you and I can show you if you want. Then when you find this Prince Charming of yours and get married you’ll know how.”

  “No!” she stepped back. “I still have to do my makeup, and we’ll be late for dinner as it is. You go ahead and do it and you can show me another time.” The apples of her cheeks flushed, which made him feel a little better. At least he wasn’t suffering alone.

  He watched her retreat and yanked at his mangled tie. It was wrinkled beyond repair after her attempt at what appeared to be a sailors’ knot. He grinned and tossed it onto the bureau, crossing the room to get another. With Lindy in mind, he selected a red and silver striped one. It would look great next to her dress. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop the voice in his head that whispered, It would look even better wrapped around her trim ankle, or the carnal images of what he would do with her once she was tied. All his blood rushed south, and he groaned.

  God, he was screwed.

  Chapter Seven

  By the time they got downstairs, dinner was in full swing, and two of the three large tables were already filled with the couples and staff members. Jordan waved wildly from the last table.

  “Lindy! Over here. We saved you a seat.”

  “Naturally,” Owen muttered.

  “Be nice.”

  She slipped an arm through his, and they crossed the vast hardwood floors of the great room. She was determined to ignore the frisson of awareness that snaked through her at his touch. She needed to look at it as exposure therapy. The more they touched, in public at least, the less it would affect her. Pretty soon it’d be like walking chicken-wing with Melba down the street or something. After his little speech back at the room, she definitely needed to shore up her defenses because he was one potent hunk of man.

  Marty stood politely as they approached the table. A moment later, Owen pulled out her chair.

  “We waited for you to get our food,” Jordan said, flicking a pointed glance to her watch. “We’re starving.”

  Lindy squashed the prickle of irritation. “We were only five minutes late, and really, you shouldn’t have waited. Next time, feel free to start without us.”

  Marty smiled. “I told her we should go ahead and—”

  “What are you, raised by wolves?” Jordan snapped. She stood and motioned for them all to follow suit. “Come on, we better get up there before there’s nothing left but a bunch of cold scraps.”

  “The lesson here?” Owen murmured in Lindy’s ear. “Money doesn’t buy class.”

  Luckily for them, Jordan’s estimation of the food was way off base. The food was fresh, hot, and plentiful. Lindy selected a steaming cup of butternut squash soup and piled her plate high with lollipop lamb chops and braised escarole. Owen went with the porterhouse steak and scalloped potatoes.

  They returned to their seats and dug in, chatting their way through the meal.

  “So what settled you on The Healing Place? Did you know someone who recommended it to you?” Lindy asked.

  Marty shook his head. “Not really. When Jordan suggested it, my secretary gave me a list of places that fit the bill. We chose this one because Jordan loves Colorado.”

  Lindy couldn’t imagine Jordan loving anything. As the evening progressed, though, in spite of the woman’s abrupt persona, she seemed to loosen up a little. After her second glass of wine, she laughed at an anecdote Owen shared. The change in her appearance was striking. Lindy had originally pegged her at around forty-five, but now she re-evaluated. With a less severe haircut and clothes that didn’t look like something she stole from the Queen Mother, she might even pass for thirty-something.

  As Jordan grew more comfortable, so did Marty, as if he recognized a reprieve when he saw one. Their dynamic was fascinating, and Lindy had to remind herself to steer the conversation back to the retreat.

  “How long have the two of you been married?” she asked.

  “Ten years. Marty started working at my father’s practice right after his residency. He made partner after we got married, and he’s been there ever since.” Her relaxed posture went rigid again and she turned to Marty. “Are you done? I want to get some coffee.”

  He set his plate aside and joined her at the dessert table while Lindy and Owen stayed behind.

  “We should try to mingle once dinner is through. I’d like to talk with some of the other guests and see if any were recommended by a mutual friend, or if they’ve had dealings with Stephanopoulos in the past,” Owen said in low tones.

  “Good idea. Keep in mind it’s early in the game. We don’t want to come out of the gate grilling people. We should glean what we can from normal con
versation and then as the week progresses see if we can’t dig a little deeper, maybe steer the conversation towards finance and business ventures.”

  “No need to steer it, love. Wealthy men always get around to talking about money and how they made theirs.” He chuckled, and Lindy’s pulse sped up at the appearance of a dimple and flash of strong, white teeth.

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  A waitress approached and they quickly reverted to small talk.

  Once the dinner plates were cleared, Stephanopoulos himself showed up. “How is everyone enjoying the accommodations so far?” he asked from his favorite spot in the center of the room.

  The group murmured their approval, and he smiled. “Wonderful. Tonight we’ve planned an amazing and therapeutic couple’s game we call Compromise. Here at The Healing Place, we feel that one of the best things a husband and wife can do to make their relationship stronger is work on their ability to communicate and compromise. Dr. Lucking will tell you how it works.”

  Sarabeth took the floor, giving Lindy a friendly wink, and Nico melted into the background. “Hi everyone. I got to work with some of you today, but eventually, over the course of the next three weeks, I will have the pleasure of torturing every one of you.” A smile lit her pretty face, and Lindy couldn’t help but smile back.

  “She’s not kidding,” Owen grumbled. The other couples laughed, and a few of the guys gave him commiserating nods.

  “But for now, I’ll take it easy on you all, and this one will be mostly painless. I know it’s been a long day, so I’m going to give you a short list of questions. You will answer them together. The key is to work it out until you come to a consensus and give one answer between the two of you. Easy, right?” The ladies nodded in agreement, but the men were wholly non-committal.

  “Sounds like a trap,” Owen said.

  Sarabeth gave him a patient smile, but didn’t respond. She made her way around the room handing out notes cards, pencils, and a sheet of questions to each couple. Once she finished, she set a timer on each table.

  “You have five minutes to negotiate your best answer to four questions and write them down. I’ll read the first one aloud. Ready? Question one. If you could be any superhero you wanted, who would you be?”

  Lindy turned over their timer and chatter filled the room. “Spider-Man,” she said without hesitation.

  Owen’s brows rose high on his forehead. “Ridiculous. Batman is much cooler than Spider-Man.”

  “Batman?” she scoffed. “I hate to break it to you, Irish, but Batman isn’t a real superhero. He’s just a rich guy with a lot of stuff. Even his muscles are made out of fiberglass.”

  “Spider-Man is some prat who got bit by a radioactive spider. How does that make him any better?”

  She rolled her eyes in disgust. “That’s how all the best superheroes are born. Toxic waste, hazardous chemicals, spider bites. I mean, I guess you could make an argument for Superman, but he’s actually more of an alien than a superhero.” She contemplated that for a moment and then shrugged. “Nope, I’m sticking with Spider-Man. Next question.”

  “I’ll let you have that one, but only because I’m too dignified to argue over something so ludicrous. And because I get to answer number three.” He peered down at the card and read aloud. “If the world was about to end, and you had one day left, how would you spend it?” Owen gave her a silky smile then put pencil to paper.

  She craned her neck to see the single word answer.

  Shagging.

  “All day? Seriously?” She eyed him incredulously.

  “There would be food breaks, of course,” he said. “Would it make you feel better if I added that in?” he asked, pencil poised over his notebook.

  She blew out a sigh. “No. Can’t we change that to half the day? Surely after twelve hours, we’d be bored…” She trailed off as his gaze dropped to her mouth and his nostrils flared.

  “I’m certain that would not be the case.”

  Heat bloomed between her thighs and she squirmed in her chair. “How could you possibly know that? We’ve never…”

  “As I’ve said, I’m happy to remedy that sad state of affairs. Say the word, love.” His expression was teasing, but there was a note of longing that intensified the ache building in her stomach.

  Had anyone ever expired from unrequited need? Maybe when she got back home she’d indulge in a one-night stand with a guy she didn’t like half as much as Owen. No chance of getting attached, but maybe she’d get what she so clearly needed.

  Owen’s gaze burned into hers, and she returned it with a glare. “I already told you, not going to happen.”

  “Roger that. But I want to go on record as saying, if it did?” The playfulness evaporated under the tension of a want so keen, it was etched on his face. “I would make it so good for you.”

  The sensual promise reverberated through her, and she clenched her thighs together to ease the ache that grew sharper with each passing hour. She snatched the paper from his hand, silently cursing herself for not taking advantage of the removable showerhead in their bathroom, and read the next question.

  “Question two, which you so conveniently skipped over. If you were stuck on a desert island for a year and you could bring three things with you, assuming there was already plenty of food and water available, what would they be?”

  “—a cooler full of beer—”

  “—my Kindle —”