One Night Wife

by Ainslie Paton

  “Finley.” He had to force a censure out through smiling lips. That giggle was life.

  “Knives, rusty serrated knives. It’s not like you’re getting lucky tonight.”

  But that’s exactly how he felt when he slid across the bed and settled her in his arms. Her toes nudged his shins. “Jesus, your feet are freezing.”

  “Not for long,” she said, pressing into him.

  He rearranged his pillow to avoid a mouthful of her hair. She was curled in his lap, his chest brushing her back. He’d sworn he wouldn’t touch her like this again. “Does this work?”

  “You know what would be better?”

  That he wasn’t a master con artist, and she wasn’t his unknowing victim. That being with her like this wasn’t unbearably lovely to him. “I’m still not singing.”

  She reached back under the covers for his hand and dragged it around her waist. He hesitated a moment, then let her flatten his palm against her swollen belly. “Now you’re my hot water bottle,” she said, and her whole body softened against him as if she was dissolving.

  “Go to sleep, Fin.”

  The only answer he got was a tiny faked snore. It was the best sound in the world.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Fin woke once during the night to find Cal still wrapped around her. She wasn’t chilled anymore. She was so comfortable she didn’t want to move, except the heaviness in her gut told her she needed the bathroom. She shimmied out of his hold, trying not to wake him.

  And failed.

  “Are you okay?” He opened one eye and looked at her. His voice was husky. There was a filter of early yellow light in the room, enough to see he was gorgeously tousled. Enough to make her feel pain totally unrelated to cramps. She’d only gotten him into bed because he felt sorry for her.

  “Fine.” She stumbled to the bathroom, expecting he’d be asleep when she got back, but he was waiting.

  He flipped back the covers and rolled to his back, laying one muscled arm out alongside the pillows and patting his chest. He’d called her my darling and baby last night and done everything possible to make her feel better. To make her feel cared for. Above and beyond, and now he was inviting her to a paradise of snuggle and she really shouldn’t. Especially if he was going to be back to brisk and business-like when the morning proper came. It would feel like whiplash again, and she might not be strong enough emotionally to take that right now.

  He tapped his chest again. “Don’t think you’re going to get lucky.”

  Cal Sherwood could break a girl’s heart. He’d broken Rory’s. Fin was standing here wearing Rory’s pjs, wondering if Cal would break hers, too. She’d tried to put D4D above her feelings for him; it was the smart thing to do.

  “Fin, get in the bed.”

  She got in the bed but kept to her side.

  “Get over here, right now.”

  “Do you have pain?” Because that was the only excuse she had to be in his arms this time around. It was smart not to feel for Cal, but it was also denying herself the sustenance she needed to live.

  “Yes, it’s terrible. I’m shivering, and I need comfort.” He said that without a trace of a shiver and his eyes closed.

  “You’re such a damn liar.”

  He opened the one eye closest to her. “You and I pretend all the time. Get over here and pretend.”

  She was weak. Emotionally fragile. She slid over the cooled sheets and put her head on his shoulder. She didn’t know what to do with her arm. She was a plank, and this wasn’t comfortable. But if she got comfortable it might mess her up forever.

  “The way this works is you put your arm over my chest and you hitch your leg over my thigh.” He reached over and prodded her hip; her leg complied all on its own as if he’d tapped some reflex.

  Her resistance died. She draped her arm over him. “You’re so bossy.”

  “Go to sleep.”

  “See.”

  He nudged the top of her head with his chin. At least, that’s what she thought he did. It was conceivable that it was his lips not his chin, because she knew how this sleeping position worked. She knew about the bent elbow, the palm that could rest against a man’s heartbeat when you snuggled like this. She knew about the way a woman could tangle her legs with a man’s, how inventive you could get with a playful knee. But she didn’t know how that would work with Cal, and this was dangerously close to finding out.

  “Did you kiss my head?”

  “My lips were itchy.”

  She tried to pull away; it was another reflex, one more suited to guarding her soul, but he gripped her close and this time his lips grazed her forehead.

  “Still itchy, but don’t worry, I’ll be back to my irritatingly distant and generally abrasive, manipulative self in the morning,” he said.

  She gave up thinking this was a bad idea, because it was no worse than what she’d done to him—using his body heat against her back, the weight of his hand on her aching belly to soothe herself. This was Cal seeking his own comfort; this was simply warm bodies coming together, and there was no reason not to enjoy it.

  A couple of hours later, there was every reason to mourn it had passed. She woke up alone and the space beside her was crisp to the touch. She had a moment of panic when she thought he might have left her, but she spied his big overnight bag on the floor and his car keys on the dresser.

  After that, it was only a matter of swapping remorse she hadn’t woken in Cal’s arms for a stoic acceptance that it was for the best. She took stock. She still felt tired and bloated, but the backache was gone, the savage pain in her belly. She was hungry and a little lightheaded but unlike last night, she was fully functional.

  She took advantage of having the room to herself and commandeered the bathroom. Her hair was bird’s nest ready. Her face got warm thinking about how Cal had held her upright and dried it when she’d been too exhausted to bother. She re-styled it and then wearing the hotel robe, poked her nose in his bag. It felt like trespassing.

  There was a pair of boyfriend jeans in there, looked like they’d fit. There was a white shirt, crushed, but not too badly, and loafers that were her size. This was beyond lucky. The loafers looked like they’d never been worn. She’d pulled last night’s underwear on under the robe, only to realize there was a satin pouch full of women’s underwear with the tags on in his bag. She was holding gorgeous pink silk panties her size when he walked in.

  He wore sweats and the T-shirt he’d slept in, but now it was slicked to his chest. He’d been working out. His hair was wet, and he brought an earthy scent into the room, not at all unpleasant, but the prickle of stubble was unsuitably sexy for this time in the morning.

  They stared at each other a moment as if each of them had expected to be alone. She stuffed the panties back into the bag, feeling heat flood her face. Kill me now, his body out of a suit, out of jeans, was so well constructed. She was gawking and showing a lot of leg since that’s where his eyes went, to the split in the waffle weave robe.

  “How are you?”

  “Much better, thank you.” She straightened the robe to cover her legs. “Rory has nice things. Are you sure it’s okay for me to borrow them?”

  He waved a hand dismissively. “I thought we might have a walk through the town if you’re up for it.”

  Get some breakfast into her and she was certainly up for it. “I’d love to. You’re not in a hurry to get back?”

  “Not if you’re not.”

  “I wrecked your whole weekend.” She smiled because he didn’t look unhappy about that.

  He shrugged. “I was due for a day off.”

  “Oh, Cal Sherwood wants to play hooky.”

  “He wants a shower,” he said, coming across to the bag. She backed off to give him space because her instinct was to stand in his way so they’d have to touch. He did what she’d done: rummaged, came up with jeans and a Henley, dumped a pair of worn boots on the floor.

  “I know you didn’t get time to work your magic last ni
ght. I’m really grateful for this.” She looked around the room because it was safer than looking at the boxer briefs Cal was holding.

  “Should I have taken you home instead?”

  She met his eyes; don’t look at the briefs or his body. “There was a distinct possibility I’d have been sick in your car or needed you to pull over a bunch of times. Also, I was miserable, and you made it better. Thank you for looking out for me.”

  “I don’t want you to be miserable.”

  “I don’t want you getting annoyed because we’re spending time together, but it’s not work.”

  “I’ll try.” He picked up a shaving kit and moved past her. There was a distinct possibility he was trying not to smile.

  “Cal.”

  “Fin.” He didn’t turn to face her, but that smile was in his voice.

  “Never mind.” What she wanted to say was too dangerous. What she had said was bound to annoy him. His ass in those sweats was unfairly phenomenal.

  “What?”

  “Last night—” Look at the shoulders on him, the divot of muscle in the back of his arm. He’d had that arm around her most of the night—at the gallery when it was allowed and in bed where she didn’t expect it.

  He half-turned. “You weren’t feeling well and we—”

  “Snuggled,” she finished.

  “Snuggled. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “I wanted to say you give good snuggle.”

  He said, “You’re not too bad yourself,” and stripped off his shirt before he shut the bathroom door with his foot, and as if that wasn’t bad enough he sang in the shower and he sounded good.

  They had a home-cooked breakfast in the Hudson’s rose garden and then a leisurely stroll through Main Street. They spent nearly an hour in the antique store and longer in the bookshop, both of them emerging with parcels that Cal carried back to the car.

  When she stumbled trying to avoid a wayward skateboarder, he took her hand. He didn’t let it go when the skateboarder found his footing and scooted past. He held her hand a lot. It was part of their story. It was showing affection, and since they were in public, Fin tried not to make anything of it.

  She tried not to make anything of how he insisted they have a fancy morning tea when it was clear he was stopping so she could use a bathroom without her having to ask. She tried not to make anything of how boyish he seemed when they went to explore the riverside, pointing out this and that and playacting about pushing her in the Hudson while he held on around her waist.

  He was in no hurry to get back to the city, and the sun was shining. It felt like they were a million miles away from Fin and Cal who had an arrangement to help each other make money from rich douchebags. There was no one on the docks or in Hudson Beach Glass they needed to impress, no issue they needed to cue, no signals to send across a crowded room, no one they needed to focus on but each other.

  It might’ve been horribly strained. Apart from that first night at the Governor Hotel, they’d never spent time together that didn’t have a packed agenda. But the clock was set to fast, and it was early afternoon before Cal announced he was hungry, and with a lot of choice at hand they decided unanimously on burgers.

  “You said to remind you to tell me the story of how tough your mother is,” she said while they waited on their order inside Poppy’s.

  “Ah. My mom. She has five kids. That alone says it. But on top of that, she lost two babies between my sisters, and then when my dad had a stroke, she took on caring for him, nursing him back to health.”

  That wasn’t at all what she was expecting to hear. From a man so focused on business, she’d thought he’d prize more corporate-raider-style achievements. She’d imagined his mom striding around a boardroom in a power suit, humiliating lessor male specimens with her financial wizardry.

  “She’s an environmental crusader, and she’s constantly getting into scrapes. Protests, petitions, occupations. Just this year, she was on a boat that rammed a whaling ship and went undercover in an abattoir to film inhuman slaughtering practices.”

  Fin grinned at Cal’s pained expression. “When you say undercover?”

  “She got a job there, snuck around shooting film, and gave it to a TV station. Sometimes I think she’s going to give me a stroke.”

  Now she laughed. “Your mom is a badass.”

  “You don’t know how true that is. Most of our profit goes to Mom’s causes. Her latest passion is cleaning up the Pacific trash vortex. It’s an island of plastic almost three times the size of Texas. As the debris breaks down, fish and birds mistake it for food, so it’s killing sea life and entering our food supply. By 2050, there will be more plastic in the sea than fish. It’s also killing the albatross population on Midway Island. Some days, I think Mom holds me personally accountable for all those dead albatrosses.”

  “I think I’d like your mom.”

  “I think she’d like you, but she’s an acquired taste, and I don’t want to spoil your appetite.”

  “Do you want your own family and kids?”

  He looked away as if willing a waitress to interrupt them.

  “You don’t have to answer that.”

  “I’m surrounded by family. My parents were absent a lot when we were kids, and it sucked being the oldest.” He shook his head. “I rebelled. I had a wild, reckless period and a lot of transactional sex before I took over running Sherwood from Dad. I’m not thinking about adding to the family right now. What about you?”

  Transactional sex. Fin’s mouth went dry, and she was saved by their burgers arriving. She knew she could do what Cal had wanted to, avoid the question, but he’d been honest, and she wanted to match him.

  “Scared of it. Having a family is the most grown-up thing you can do. I’m not a good grown-up. I don’t have any savings. All my money goes on rent. I don’t have any truly marketable skills. Waitressing or pouring beers is my fallback, and I’m not saying that’s bad, but it’s not ideal if you want to raise a kid. I think I’d be the worst parent in the world.”

  “But you have D4D now, and it’s going to do well. You have new skills that are marketable.”

  She shrugged. “But we’re only starting, and I still haven’t proven I can stick at something when the going gets hard. You came along when my stickability was being tested, and you made it all too easy. You don’t get to flake out on a kid. You don’t get to walk out on your partner when you have a commitment like family.”

  Cal held up his glass of soda. “To never growing up.”

  She picked up her glass but didn’t clink his. “I don’t want to be Peter Pan forever.”

  He nodded, and it felt like she’d passed a test. “To stickability.”

  “To stickability.” She clinked his glass. “Now tell me more about this reckless youth, and all the deets on the transactional sex part.”

  He laughed. “This is a family restaurant.”

  She put her glass down and sighed dramatically. “See? Families, they cramp your style.”

  He eyed his burger like a man whose family was a force to be reckoned with. “My reckless youth would give you nightmares.”

  “And your sexual transactions?”

  He picked the burger up. “Were most satisfactory at the time. But I don’t want to be Peter Pan forever, either.” He took a big bite and looked at her as if to say, that’s all you’re getting.

  She picked up her burger and watched his eyes go wide when she licked her lips. She ate as if she was starring in a food porno, with lots of unnecessary tongue and mouth action, complete with moans of delight and little shudders of ecstasy. It was the burger eating equivalent of the I’ll-have-what-she’s-having scene from When Harry met Sally.

  Midway through her performance, Cal sat forward to whisper, “I can’t figure out if it’s the time of the month, the food, or the discussion that’s making you horny, but I like it.”

  She almost choked on a pickle.

  Cal Sherwood was not boring when he was having fun.
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  They wandered about hand in hand for a while after lunch, and it was almost seven when he pulled up outside her place. If she invited him up would he come? Scungy would be starving and cranky and his litter would need cleaning and the place would stink. It wasn’t exactly tidy either, dishes in the sink and the bedroom in a state. But if he said no, it would spoil how great the day had been, how sure she now was he’d kissed her head and hadn’t wanted her to know, before making a thing of it while they’d snuggled.

  “When do I see you again?” she asked.

  “Next weekend, there’s a house party. I wasn’t going to go because it’s a two-night stay, but since we’ve proven we can navigate a single room without too much incident, how do you feel about a weekend party in the Hamptons?”

  Another weekend with Cal. Another bedroom to navigate. The idea sent her adrenaline above the red line. “I only have one problem with that.”

  “If you’re seeing someone else, you’ll have to cancel,” he grumbled. It did nothing to settle her state of mind.

  “I’m not seeing anyone else.” Let him stew on it. “Yet.”

  “I’m not either,” he said, and then looked like he wanted to snatch those words back. Too late, buddy.

  “I have a cat.”

  Obviously, the last thing he expected her to say. “You have a cat,” he repeated, one brow shooting up.

  “I can’t leave him for a weekend, and I can’t ask Lenny.”

  “Can you bring it—”

  “Scungy.”

  “A what?”

  “His name is Scungy.”

  “What kind of name is that? Wait.” He freaking-well pretended to be annoyed. “I don’t need to know. I’ll send a car Friday to bring you and the cat to the office. I’ll have it looked after.”

  “Okay. It’s a da—an assignment.”

  She put her hand to the car door to open it. Six days till she next saw him.

  “You doing anything Wednesday night?”

  “Wednesday night? As in Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yes. There’s a new burger bar on Lex. Thought you might like to try it out.”