The Price of a Wife

by Helen Brooks

  The first two weeks and last two weeks of a project this size were always the worst; the rest of the time was usually very enjoyable, and she relished seeing a hundred and one threads come together to form a perfect whole. Or what she hoped would be a perfect whole in this case, she thought wryly on the Friday lunchtime as she sat with Penny and some of the other office staff in a small wine bar just round the corner from the office block, sipping mineral water.

  'Josie, darling, how axe you, sweetie?'

  She turned with a smile to meet Charlotte's gushing greeting, although for once she wasn't ready for their usual cut-and-thrust banter.

  'Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but a little birdie has told me you've really hit the big time with this last scoop of yours,' Charlotte continued lazily, her hard, light blue eyes anything but.

  'Meaning?' Josie decided to play safe and let Charlotte spell it out.

  'The Hawkton contract.' The words obviously stuck in the other woman's slender throat. 'I recognised him instantly last week, of course, but he clearly had eyes for no one but you.'

  'It wasn't quite like that.' Be pleasant, Josie, she warned herself silently, aware of several pairs of interested ears flapping about her. 'He had narrowed a few firms down to a short list and was doing a little checking-up procedure of his own, that was all. He wanted to see how I worked.'

  'Oh, how you worked…' Charlotte laughed throatily. 'Silly me, and here I was thinking-— Well, it doesn't matter what I was thinking, does it? Well done anyway, darling— but just a little word to the wise… The man in question can be lethal when work's finished—know what I mean?'

  'Not really, but I'm sure you're dying to tell me.' Josie forced a light smile that was the best piece of acting she had ever done.

  'The women, darling, the women!' Charlotte waved an elegant hand on which several rings glittered and flashed. 'They just adore him, and if half the rumours are true he adores them right back. Mind you, given half the chance, who wouldn't? He really sets the juices going with that dark, ruthless technique. I've always been a pushover for the 'me Tarzan, you Jane' approach, but there just aren't too many men who can carry it off these days,' she finished with a dramatic sigh.

  'You're just a pushover anyway, Charlotte.' Her coma slender, fair-skinned man in his thirties, obviously didn't appreciate his colleague's comments. 'If half the rumours are true, of course,' he added sweetly, parroting her earlier words with an innocent smite.

  'Now, now, darling, keep those sharp little claws under control.' As Charlotte tapped him lightly on the arm with red-tipped fingers she waved a languid hand at Josie. 'See you later, sweetie, and don't forget, he really is the original love-them-and-leave-them type wolf. Not your cup of tea, I'm afraid.'

  'Charlotte, I work for him, that's all,' Josie said evenly. 'And you know it.'

  'Yes, in your case I probably do,' the other woman acknowledged with a wry smile. 'You really do have the most marvellous control over your libido, darling—'

  'Unlike you,' her companion cut in again. 'Which is probably exactly why the man in question had the sense to choose Josie.'

  'Sweetie, you really are in the most foul mood…'

  As Charlotte and her associate walked off, bickering amiably, Josie caught Penny's indignant glance across the table.

  'That woman really is a first-class bitch,' Penny stated flatly. 'Hasn't she heard of losing gracefully?'

  'Don't let it bother you.' Josie smiled at her assistant's fierce face. 'That's just Charlotte's way; it doesn't mean anything.' Her casual answer, combined with an unconcerned smile, seemed to diffuse the interest of the other office staff, but as the conversation ebbed and flowed about her Josie's mind was in a different dimension altogether.

  So he liked women, did he? Well, so what? She hadn't exactly imagined he was inclined any other way, so it was no big deal to find out he was something of a philanderer. She had seen the way the women hadn't been able to keep their eyes off him in Germany, and what man, when offered it on a plate, would refuse?

  He was very attractive, very wealthy and powerful, with an air of dark ruthlessness that could well work as a dangerous aphrodisiac to most females, as Charlotte had pointed out. No. She hadn't expected anything different. So why, in view of all that, was it smarting so much? she asked herself with a touch of surprise. And why did she have this ridiculous feeling that the day had just become overcast, grey?

  'Are you OK, Josie?' As Penny touched her arm, her good-natured face concerned, Josie was jerked abruptly out of her thoughts to the realisation that she had been sitting in silence for a good five minutes. This wouldn't do; it wouldn't do at all, she thought irritably. If anyone should even begin to guess at what she had been thinking…

  'I'm fine, apart from exhaustion and an imminent nervous breakdown,' she joked quickly, forcing a bright smile to her face. 'Thank goodness the main bulk of the decisions have been made now; I can start a normal working routine again until the middle of October. I think I could fall asleep at any time of the night or day at the moment.'

  'I don't know how you do it,' Penny said quietly. 'You work far harder than any of the others. Still, it's paid off, hasn't it?'

  'Uh-huh.' Josie nodded her agreement as the little voice in her head made itself known again. Yes, her one hundred per cent commitment to her career had paid off, if you could count going home to an empty flat with just Mog for company each night payment, that was. The thought shocked her, coming as it did from nowhere, and she found herself staying even later than usual at the office that evening, simply to prove she was where she wanted to be.

  She was just leaving at a few minutes past nine, her briefcase and portfolio full of sketches and papers weighing a ton, when the telephone began to ring shrilly as she reached the far door. She turned, hesitated for a few moments as she waited for the caller to give up, and when it still continued hurried back quickly, expecting it to stop just as she picked it up. It had been that sort of day after all.

  'Hello? Top Promotions,' she stated breathlessly as she lifted the receiver to her ear.

  'Why aren't you at home with your feline friend?' The dark voice was deep and husky and unmistakably Luke's.

  'I— How did you know it was me?' she asked weakly as a little shiver snaked down her spine.

  'I could ask you the same thing,' he drawled slowly. 'But to answer your question, what oilier female would still be working at gone nine on a Friday night? Anyway, I already phoned your flat and there was no reply.'

  'I could have been out,' she answered quickly as the shiver was replaced by anger at the fact that he assumed she had nowhere else to go other than home or the office.

  'You were. You were at work,' he said calmly' 'And don't get on your high horse, Miss Owens. It was you yourself who told me that the moggy and work filled your days and nights.'

  'I did not.' She hadn't, had she? she asked herself helplessly. No, she hadn't. 'I said I had friends and—'

  'Why so defensive anyway?' he asked, with a calm arrogance that made her literally grit her teeth. 'There's nothing wrong with working late, especially when the work in question is for me. I find it highly commendable.'

  'Do you?' Count to ten, Josie, count to ten, she told herself tightly, the dry, mordant mockery in the deep voice grating on her nerves like barbed wire. The man was impossible! Totally, absolutely impossible—but she wouldn't win in an argument with him; that much she had learnt in their short acquaintance. She took a long, hard breath and forced her voice into tones of honeyed sweetness. 'Then that makes all the long hours worthwhile, doesn't it?' she said, with an innocent sarcasm that wasn't lost on the man listening to her.

  'Quite so.' There was a moment of silence and then he spoke again. 'I wondered if you'd like to have dinner tomorrow night and we can discuss how things axe going? There are a couple of small points I feel need attention, but I only arrived back in England tonight so I haven't been able to give them my full consideration.'

  'Dinner?' Just for
a moment, in spite of all her good intentions, and the logical if painful reasoning of the last few days, she was tempted, and that fact alone put steel in her voice. 'I'm sorry, Luke, I'm afraid that's not possible. However, I'd be glad to call in at your office first thing Monday morning, if you like. Would that be soon enough?'

  'No problem,' he agreed easily. Too easily, she thought testily. No doubt there were women lining up to have dinner with Luke Hawkton. 'Make it first thing, would you? The day is bound to be chaotic with my having been away for a week.'

  'Certainly. Nine OK?' she asked briskly.

  'Fine. Allow an hour or two, would you?' he said coolly. 'It might take us some time to come to that mutually agreeable solution you mentioned once before. Now,' he continued before she had a chance to speak, 'I'd call it a day if I were you and go home and feed that poor animal of yours. What's it called, by the way?'

  'It is a he, and Mog is not a 'poor animal',' she said tightly, unable to keep the note of indignation out of her voice. 'He has a wonderful life.'

  'I've no doubt about that. If I lived with you I'd consider myself a very fortunate animal too,' he said solemnly, but she had caught the thread of amusement in his voice and found herself smiling in return even as she kept her voice cool and distant.

  'I'm sure you would. Goodnight, then.'

  'Goodnight, Josie. Sweet dreams,' he said softly, that husky note in his voice more pronounced.

  Sweet dreams, indeed! She stood staring at the telephone for some minutes after she had replaced the receiver. How could he make two fairly innocuous words sound so suggestive? she asked herself weakly. Or was it her imagination playing tricks again?

  'Home, Josie.' Her voice echoed round the empty office and she shook her head as she retraced her steps to the door. Talking to herself now? That was all she needed!

  As the lift carried her swiftly downwards she glanced at her watch with a little frown. Half past nine. Mog would be starving by now. Her flat was on the second floor of a beautifully converted house in Chelsea, and the fact that the property boasted a long narrow waited garden and that the caretaker, who had his own basement flat, had two amiable tabby cats of his own had made having Mog no problem.

  He came and went pretty much to his liking, both hear own front door and the back door having catflaps, and old Mr Jones was always happy to feed him if she was away. But Mog was a cat with very definite ideas of his own, and a late evening meal would be met with cold, green-eyed disapproval and a rigidly stiff tail.

  She answered the security guard's cheerful goodnight without really thinking about it, her mind occupied with getting home as quickly as possible. The tube was the obvious solution but she didn't really like travelling on her own late in the evening; there had been one or two occasions recently when she had felt uneasy. She could get a bus but at this time of night they were notoriously unreliable…

  No, she'd get a taxi if she could find one, she decided as the massive plate-glass doors of the office building slid open and she emerged, briefcase over one arm and both hands clutching the bulging portfolio, into the warm London night.

  'You look as if you could do with a lift.'

  She froze for just one moment as the deep, husky voice halted her in her tracks, before turning slowly and surveying the beautiful dark blue Mercedes parked regally on double yellow lines a foot or so away.

  'How—?'

  'I phoned from the car.' He anticipated her question before she could voice it. 'Do you often wander about London late at night on your own?' he added, with definite condemnation.

  'I would hardly term hailing a taxi as wandering,' she said crisply as she remained standing where she was.

  'Well, I damn well would—'

  'And half past nine on a June evening can hardly be considered late,' she interrupted idly. 'I can't see-—'

  'Why didn't you call a taxi from the office?' he asked with equal frostiness. 'Or is that too obvious a thing to do?'

  'Now look here, Luke Hawkton, how I travel to and from work is absolutely nothing to do with you,' she said angrily as the last of her precarious control melted under her quick temper. 'I've managed perfectly well for the last ten years, so I don't think I need any lessons in safety now.'

  'I do.' He glared at her as he left the car in one swift movement to stand before her, big and dark and undeniably menacing. 'And for crying out loud stop being so damn ridiculous and get in the car. You know as well as I do how the crime rate has gone haywire in the last few years, and a tiny little thing like you, struggling along with a bulging briefcase—a tantalisingly bulging briefcase, I might add, to someone living rough on the streets—is just asking for trouble.'

  'It was only a couple of weeks ago that a woman was mugged, raped and left for dead in an alley just a block or so from here, and she was a darn sight bigger and heavier than you. And that incident happened at six o'clock on a Monday evening in the rush hour. So don't talk to me about safety, Josie.'

  She stared into his dark countenance angrily, opened her mouth to argue the point further, and then her courage evaporated suddenly at the furious expression on his face. He was angry. He was really angry, she thought in surprise. The black eyebrows were frowning over eyes that had turned a stony cold grey and his mouth was a grim line in the tautness of his face.

  Why was he so angry? Because she had defied him? Or because he cared that she might get hurt? she asked herself weakly. She suddenly felt it was more likely the latter than the former, and the thought turned her meekly in the direction of the car. She walked past him and seated herself in the passenger seat without saying a word. He stood for one more moment on the pavement before swinging round himself and sliding into the car, banging the door with unnecessary force.

  He started the car without speaking, his profile cold and taut, and as she glanced round she noticed a suitcase slung on the back seat and a large black briefcase standing on the floor. 'Haven't you been home yet?' she asked in surprise.

  'No.' The one word was abrupt and final.

  'Oh…' She gazed out of the window as the powerful car drew away, her senses alive to the delicious smell and sheer presence that vibrated from the big male body next to her in the close confines of the Mercedes. 'Thank you for the lift,' she said lamely, after a few tense minutes had ticked by, 'It was very good of you to call by on the off chance.'

  'It was on my way home,' he said expressionlessly, his eyes on the traffic.

  'Where do you live?' She kept her voice light and even. He clearly hadn't forgiven her yet.

  'Greenwich.' He glanced swiftly at her before returning his gaze to the road ahead. 'And don't look so nervous; I'm not going to eat you. I can actually be quite civilised when I try, you know.'

  'I'm sure you can.' And he would be a wonderful lover…

  The thought was there in the front of her mind before she could push it away, stark and unwelcome and abrupt, and she realised it had been simmering in her subconscious since Germany. It was the word 'civilised' that had brought it to the surface again.

  Because he would be deliriously uncivilised in the throes of passion, she thought helplessly. She knew it. She felt it in her bones. That cool, controlled exterior would melt into a hot sensuality that would take the woman in his arms to the heights… Stop it Josie. She shut her eyes tightly for a second in an attempt to block out her thoughts.

  But there was something about him, a dark, brooding kind of masculinity, that chew her mind to the physical in spite of herself, and she found it all the more difficult to cope with because nothing of that kind had ever bothered her before. But with Luke Hawkton… She just couldn't ignore it, she conceded helplessly.

  'I know you live in Chelsea, but a few directions would be useful.' The deep voice cut into her tortured thoughts, and when she glanced out of the window she realised she was nearly home, the Mercedes having eaten up the miles with consummate ease.

  'Of course. Sony, I was daydreaming,' she said hastily.

  'That does m
y ego the world of good, Josie, thank you,' he said with cool sarcasm. 'Now, the address is Chiltern Close, isn't it? And that's somewhere off Jade Road?'

  'Yes. You turn right in a few minutes—I'll tell you when— and then the next street after the traffic lights is Jade Road,' she said as evenly as she could. 'Chiltern Close is the third on the left.'

  The Mercedes nosed into Chiltern Close a few minutes later and came to a smooth stop under a large silver birch tree, a line of which bordered the quiet, pleasant road. Oh, help, they were here now, Josie thought desperately, and her mind struggled with the problem that had been occupying her thoughts for the last few moments. He had just flown back from Germany after what had probably been quite a gruelling business trip and he hadn't even touched base yet. She couldn't let him drive away without offering him a cup of coffee and a sandwich…could she?

  No, she couldn't; of course she couldn't, she told herself quickly. It would be the height of rudeness, but— She took a deep breath before she spoke. Every instinct in her body was telling her to do just that.

  'Would you like a coffee?' She was amazed at how light the words sounded when she felt anything but. 'Or perhaps you want to get straight home—'

  'A coffee would be great.' That's your opinion, she thought darkly as she smiled brightly and climbed out of the car. 'Here, let me take those.'

  He relieved her of her briefcase and portfolio in one easy movement and then followed her the one or two steps to the front door, glancing up at the large, three-storeyed house as he did so. 'How many flats are there?' he asked quietly as she opened the door into the wide hall, her fingers fumbling with the key and almost dropping it in her agitation.

  'Four—one on each floor, including the basement,' she said as she shut the door behind him. 'Mr Jones, the caretaker, lives in the basement flat, and he sees to the other two houses either side as well. The same property company owns them all.'

  'Which property company is that?' he asked as he followed her up the narrow stairs leading from the hall.