HER SECRET HUSBAND

by Andrea Laurence

  “Why not? I thought you weren’t embarrassed of me,” he challenged.

  “I’m not. But we’re getting a divorce. What good would giving in to our attraction do?”

  She looked up in time to see the pain and worry vanish from his expression, replaced by a wicked grin. “It would do a helluva lot of good for me.”

  Julianne was hard-pressed not to fall for his charming smile and naughty tone. “I’m sure you’d be pleased at the time. So would I. But then what? Is that all it is? Just sex? Is it worth it for just sex? If not, are we dating?”

  “Running off with me was very much out of character for you,” he noted. “You can’t just do something because it feels good and you want to. You have to rationalize everything to the point that the fun is stripped right out.”

  “I’m trying to be smart about this! Fun or not, you want us to get divorced. Why would I leap back into your bed with both feet?”

  “I didn’t say I wanted us to get divorced.”

  That wasn’t true. He’d had her pressed against the dresser when he’d made his ultimatum. He’d demanded it yesterday. The papers were three feet away. “I distinctly recall you—”

  “Saying you needed to make a choice. Be with me or don’t. No more straddling the fence. If you don’t want me, then fine. But if you do...by all means, have me. I’m happy to put off the divorce while we indulge in our marital rights.”

  Julianne frowned. “Do you even hear yourself? Put off our divorce so we can sleep together?”

  “Why not? I think I deserve a belated wedding night. We’ve had all of the drama of marriage with none of the perks.”

  “You just want to catch up on eleven years of sex.”

  “Maybe.” He leaned in closer, the gold fire in his eyes alight with mischief. “Do you blame me?”

  The low, suggestive rumble of his voice so close made her heart stutter in her chest. “S-stop acting like you’ve lived as a monk this whole time. Even if you did, eleven years is a lot to catch up on. We do still have a farm to run and I have a gallery show to work on.”

  “I’m all for making the most of our time together here. Give it the old college try.”

  Julianne shook her head. “And again, Heath, what does that leave us with? I want you, you want me. I’m not about to leap into all this again without thinking it through.”

  “Then don’t leap, Jules. Test the waters. Slip your toe in and see how it feels.” He smiled, slinking even closer to her. “I hear the water is warm and inviting.” His palm flattened on her denim-covered thigh.

  The heat was instantaneous, spreading quickly through her veins until a flush rushed to her cheeks. She knew that all she had to do was say the word and he would do all the things to her she’d fantasized about for years. But she wasn’t ready to cross the line. He was right. She did strip the spontaneity out of everything, but she very rarely made decisions that haunted her the way she had with him. She didn’t want to misstep this time. She had too many regrets where Heath was concerned. If and when she gave herself to him, she wanted to be fully content with making the right choice.

  “I’m sure it is.” She reached down and picked up his hand, placing it back in his own lap. “But the water will be just as warm tomorrow.”

  Six

  Julianne rolled over and looked at the clock on the dresser. It was just after two in the morning. That was her usual middle-of-the-night wake-up time. She’d gone to sleep without issue, as always, but bad dreams had jerked her awake about thirty minutes ago and she’d yet to fall back asleep.

  She used to be a fairly sound sleeper, but she woke up nearly every night now. Pretty much since Tommy’s body was unearthed last Christmas. As much as they had all tried to put that day out of their heads, there was no escaping it. Even if her day-to-day life was too busy to dwell on it, her subconscious had seven to eight hours a night to focus on the worries and fears in the back of her mind.

  As much as he wanted to, Heath couldn’t protect her forever. Julianne was fairly certain that before she left this farm, the full story would be out in the open. Whether she would be moving out of the bunkhouse and into the jailhouse remained to be seen. Sheriff Duke smelled a rat and he wouldn’t rest until he uncovered the truth. The question was whether the truth would be enough for him. A self-defense or justifiable homicide verdict wouldn’t give him the moment of glory he sought.

  With a sigh, Julianne sat up in bed and brushed the messy strands of her hair out of her face. Tonight’s dream had been a doozy, waking her in a cold sweat. She had several different variations of the dream, but this was the one that bothered her the most. She was running through the Christmas-tree fields. Row after row of pine trees flew past her, but she didn’t dare turn around. She knew that if she did, Tommy would catch her. The moment his large, meaty hand clamped onto her shoulder, Julianne would shoot up in bed, a scream dying in the back of her throat as she woke and realized that Tommy was long dead.

  You would think after having the same nightmares over and over, they wouldn’t bother her anymore, but it wasn’t true. It seemed to get worse every time. Most nights, she climbed out of bed and crept into her workshop. Something about the movement of the clay in her hands was soothing. She would create beauty and by the time she cleaned up, she could return to sleep without hesitation or nightmares.

  For the last week, she’d had no therapeutic outlet to help her fall back asleep. Instead she’d had to tough it out, and she would eventually drift off again around dawn. But now she had a functioning workshop downstairs and could return to the hypnotizing whirl of her pottery wheel.

  She slipped silently from the bed and stepped out into the hallway. The house was quiet and dark. She moved quickly down the stairs, using her cell phone for light until she reached the ground floor. There, she turned on the kitchen light. She poured herself a glass of water, plucked an oatmeal raisin cookie from the jar on the counter and headed toward her new studio.

  The fluorescent lights flickered for a moment before turning on, flooding the room with an odd yellow-white glow. Heath had worked very hard to help her get everything in place. A few boxes remained to be put away, and her kiln wouldn’t be delivered for another day or two, but the majority of her new workshop was ready to start work.

  Julianne finished her cookie and set her drink on the dresser, out of the way. One of the boxes on the floor near her feet had bricks of ready-to-use clay. She reached in to grab a one-pound cube and carried it over to her wheel. A plate went down on the wheel, then the ball of soft, moist gray clay on top of it. She filled a bucket with water and put her smoothing sponge in it to soak.

  Pulling up to the wheel, she turned it on and it started to spin. She plunged her hands into the bucket to wet them and then closed her slick palms over the ball of clay. Her gallery showing would be mostly sculpted figurines and other art pieces, but the bread and butter of her shop in the Hamptons was stoneware pieces for the home. Her glazed bowls, mugs, salt dishes and flower vases could be found in almost any home in the area.

  When she woke up in the night, vases were her go-to item. Her sculptures required a great deal of concentration and a focused eye. At three in the morning, the creation of a vase or bowl on her spinning wheel was a soothing, automatic process. It was by no means a simple task, but she’d created so many over the years that it came to her as second nature.

  Her fingers slipped and glided in the wet clay, molding it into a small doughnut shape, then slowly coaxing it taller. She added more water and reached inside. The press of her fingertips distorted the shape, making the base wider. Cupping the outside again, she tapered in the top, creating the traditional curved flower-vase shape. She flared the top, forming the lip.

  With the sponge, she ran along the various edges and surfaces, smoothing out the rough and distorted areas. Last, she used a metal tool to trim away the excess clay at the base and turned off the wheel.

  She sat back with a happy sigh and admired her handiwork. When she fi
rst started sculpting, a piece like that would have taken her five tries. It would have collapsed on itself or been lopsided. She would press too hard and her thumb would puncture the side. Now, a perfect piece could be created in minutes. She wished everything in her life was that easy.

  “I’ve never gotten to watch you work before.”

  Julianne leapt at the sound of Heath’s voice. She turned around in her rolling chair, her heart pounding a thousand beats a minute in her chest. She brought a hand to her throat, stopping just short of coating herself in wet clay. “You shouldn’t sneak up on a girl like that.”

  He smiled sheepishly from the doorway. “Sorry. At least I waited until you were done.”

  Heath was leaning against the door frame in an old NYU T-shirt and a pair of flannel plaid boxer shorts, and for that, she was thankful. She would lose her resolve to resist him if he came down in nothing but a pair of pajama pants. As it was, the lean muscles of his legs were pulling her gaze down the length of his body.

  “Did I wake you?” she asked.

  “I don’t recall hearing you get up, but I woke up for some reason and realized I forgot to plug my phone into the charger. I left it in the kitchen accidentally.” He took a few steps into the workshop. “I can’t believe how quickly you did that. You’re amazing.”

  Julianne stood up from her stool and took her metal spatula out of the drawer beside her. Uncomfortable with his praise, she lifted the metal plate and moved the wet vase over onto the shelf to dry. “It’s nothing.”

  “Don’t be modest,” he argued. “You’re very talented.”

  Julianne started the wheel spinning again and turned away to hide her blush. “Would you like to learn to make something?”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. Come here,” she said. She eyed his large frame for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to do this. “Since I’m so short, it’s probably easiest if you stand behind me and reach over. I can guide your hands better that way.”

  Heath rolled the stool out of the way and moved to her back. “Like this?”

  “Yes.” She glanced back at the position she had deliberately put them in and realized how stupid it was. Perhaps she would be smarter to talk him out of this. “You’re going to get dirty. Is that okay?”

  He chuckled softly at her ear, making a sizzle of awareness run along the sensitive line of her neck. “Oh, no, I’d better change. These are my good flannel boxers.”

  Julianne smiled at his sharp, sarcastic tone and turned back to the wheel. No getting out of this now. “Okay, first, dip your hands in the water. You have to keep them good and wet.”

  They both dipped their hands in the bucket of water, then she cupped his hands over the clay and covered them with her own. “Feel the pressure I apply to you and match it with your fingers to the clay.”

  They moved back and forth between the water and the clay. All the while, Julianne forced herself to focus on the vase and not the heat of Heath’s body at her back. The warm breath along her neck was so distracting. Her mind kept straying to how it would feel if he kissed her there. She wanted him to. And then she would realize their sculpture was starting to sag and she would return her attention to their project.

  “This feels weird,” Heath laughed, gliding over the gray mound. The slippery form began to take shape, their fingers sliding around together, slick and smooth. “And a little dirty, frankly.”

  “It does,” she admitted. On more than one occasion, she’d lost herself in the erotic slip and slide of the material in her hands and the rhythmic purr of the wheel. That experience was amplified by having him so close. “But try to control yourself,” she said with a nervous giggle to hide her own building arousal. “I don’t want you having dirty thoughts every time you see my artwork.”

  Heath’s hands suddenly slipped out from beneath hers and glided up her bare arms to clutch her elbows. The cool slide of his clay-covered hands along her skin was in stark contrast to the firm press of heat at her back. It was obvious that she was not the only one turned on by the situation.

  “Actually, the artwork isn’t what inspires me....”

  A ragged breath escaped her lips, but she didn’t dare move. She continued working the vase on her own now, her shaky hands creating a subpar product. But she didn’t care. If she let go, she would touch Heath and she wasn’t sure she would be able to stop.

  Easing back, Heath brushed her hair over the other shoulder and, as though he could read her mind, pressed a searing kiss just below her ear. She tipped her neck to the side, giving better access to his hungry mouth. He kissed, nibbled and teased, sending one bolt of pleasure after the other down her spine.

  She arched her back, pressing the curve of her rear into the hard ridge of his desire. That elicited a growl that vibrated low against her throat. One hand moved to her waist, tugging her hips back even harder against him.

  “Jules...” he whispered, sending a shudder of desire through her body and a wave of goose bumps across her bare flesh.

  She finally abandoned the clay, letting it collapse on itself, and switched off the wheel before she covered his hands with her own. Their fingers slipped in and out between each other, his hands moving over her body. “Yes?” she panted.

  “You said the waters would be just as warm tomorrow. It’s tomorrow,” he said, punctuating his point with a gentle bite at her earlobe.

  That it was.

  * * *

  Julianne had been wearing a flimsy little pajama set when he walked in, but Heath was pretty sure it was ruined. The thin cotton camisole and matching shorts were sweet and sexy at the same time. The clothes reminded him of the girl he’d fantasized about in high school, and the curves beneath it reminded him of the ripe, juicy peach of a woman she was now.

  He couldn’t stop touching her, even though he knew his hands were covered in clay. Gray smears were drying up on her arms and her bare shoulders. The shape of his hand was printed on the cotton daisy pattern of her pajamas. A streak of gray ran along the edge of her cheek.

  And he didn’t care.

  It was sexy as hell. Julianne was always so put together and mature. He loved seeing her dirty. He was so turned on watching her skilled hands shape and mold the clay. He wanted those hands on himself so badly, he had to bite his own lip to keep from interrupting her before she was finished. Even now he could taste the faint metallic flavor of his own blood on his tongue.

  When Julianne finally turned in his arms to face him, he had to stop himself from telling her she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life. Messy hair, dirty face and all. He’d already made the mistake of telling her too much before. It was a far cry from a declaration of love, but he intended to play this second chance much closer to the vest.

  Julianne looked up at him, her light green eyes grazing over every inch of his face before she put her hands on each side of his head and tugged his mouth down to hers. The instant their lips met, colored starbursts lit under his eyelids. A rush of adrenaline surged through his veins, making him feel powerful, invincible and desperate to have her once and for all.

  Their kiss yesterday hadn’t been nearly enough to quench his thirst for her. It had only made his mouth even drier and more desperate to drink her in again. She was sweet on his tongue, her lips soft and open to him. The small palms of her hands clung to him. The moist, sticky clay felt odd against his skin as it started to dry and tighten, but nothing could ruin the feel of kissing her again.

  It was like a dream. He’d stumbled downstairs, half-asleep, to charge his phone. He never expected to find her there at her wheel, looking so serene and focused, so beautiful and determined. Having her in his arms only moments later made him want to pinch himself and ensure he really was awake. It wouldn’t be the first dream he’d had about Julianne, although it might be the most realistic.

  Julianne bit on his lip, then. The sharp pain made him jerk, the area still sensitive from his previous self-inflicted injury. He pulled away
from her, studying her face and coming to terms with the fact that she was real. After all these years she was in his arms again.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, brushing a gentle fingertip over his lip. “Was that too hard?”

  Heath would never admit to that. “You just startled me, that’s all.”

  Julianne nodded, her gaze running over the line of his jaw with a smile curling her lips. Her fingertip scraped over the mix of stubble and clay, making the muscles in his neck tighten and flex with anticipation. “I think we need a shower,” she said. “You’re a very, very dirty boy.”

  A shower was an awesome idea. “You make me this way,” he replied. With a grin, Heath lifted Julianne up. As tiny as she was, it was nothing to lift her into the air. She wrapped her legs and arms around him, holding him close as he stumbled out of the workshop and headed for the stairs.

  When they reached the top of the staircase, her mouth found his again. With one eye on his bedroom up ahead, he stumbled across the landing and through the door. He prayed there weren’t any clothes or shoes strewn across the floor to trip him and he was successful. They reached into the bathroom and he pulled one hand away from a firm thigh to switch on the lights.

  He expected Julianne to climb down, but she clearly had no intention of letting go of him. Not even to take off their clothes. She refused to take her mouth off of his long enough to see what she was doing.

  She reached into the shower, pawing blindly at the knobs until a stream of warm, then hot, water shot from the nozzle. Julianne put her feet down onto the tiles and then stepped backward into the stall, tugging Heath forward until he stumbled and they both slammed against the tile, fully dressed. Their clothes were instantly soaked, and were now transparent and clung to their skin.

  Her whole body was on display for him now. Her rosy nipples were hard and thrusting through the damp cotton top. His hands sought them out, crushing them against his palms until her moans echoed off the walls. His mouth dipped down, tugging at her tank top until the peaks of her breasts spilled out over the neckline. He captured one in his mouth, sucking hard.