ONE WIFE TOO MANY

by Susanne Marie Knight

  "Sugar." The word was laced with venom.

  The Wicked Witch of the West glared at him. At least she was the Wicked Witch of the West to him. Now he'd have to introduce Stella to Andrea.

  Double bloody hell.

  * * * *

  Andrea knew exactly who the angry woman was. At Wilson's house, she'd seen pictures of Stella. The photographs didn't do his wife justice. She really was beautiful. And yet her firmly pressed lips and her tightly clenched jaw showed she had quite a temper.

  "Hello. How very nice to meet you." Andrea took matters into her own hands. Dear Wilson couldn't be relied upon to handle the introductions. He had a temper as well, as evidenced by the whiteness around his mouth.

  She extended her hand. "I'm Andrea."

  The woman gave her a limp shake. "I must say I'm findin' this terribly awkward."

  "No, no, these things happen all the time." Andrea's laugh was artificial to her own ears, but hopefully, she sounded genuine to Stella. "First wife, second wife--who can keep count nowadays?"

  As she laughed again, she thought furiously. She couldn't allow husband and wife to be alone. In Wilson's condition, he was sure to say something he'd regret in the morning.

  After all, he'd called her "sweetheart," hadn't he?

  "Wilson." She blinked her eyes, praying that he'd listen to her. "Why don't you get Stella and me some champagne?"

  She audaciously took the woman's arm. "And while you do, Stella and I will go off to the side here. This'll give us a chance to chat."

  He slightly inclined his head, probably to show he realized what she was doing, and left to procure the champagne. For a moment, Andrea allowed her gaze to follow him. She memorized the way he looked in his steel gray suit before turning back to Stella.

  Clearly reluctant, Wilson's wife followed her. The band began playing "Winter Wonderland" as they made their way off the dance floor.

  Once out of the dancers' way, Stella pulled her arm free. Her breasts, pushed up and bulging, bounced with the force of her action. In fact, they almost bounced out of her strapless orchid dress.

  An idle question teased Andrea. Was this how Wilson liked his women to dress?

  "Look," Stella moved over to a vacant corner of the ballroom. "I know you're the daughter of the head of the company, n'all, but I don't appreciate you comin' on to my husband. Especially since you were once married to William."

  "William?"

  Stella tapped her high-heeled silver shoe against the parquet wood floor. "Did you forget his name already, honey? My husband, the man you were dancin' with."

  Andrea pressed her lips together to keep from grinning. Poor Wilson. His wife didn't even know his name.

  She smoothed down the taffeta material of her dress. "Actually, his name is Wilson. He just prefers to be called Will."

  The woman's pink lips parted, revealing super white teeth. "Honey, I don't care who your daddy is. You keep your mitts off my man. Do you hear me?"

  Stella stormed off. Where to, Andrea didn't care. That woman was poison. Unfortunately, she was also the current Mrs. Struthers.

  The dinner bell rang out, signaling that the guests should sit at their assigned tables. Suddenly overladen with sadness, Andrea headed for table number one. Other than her father, she didn't know anyone else seated at that table.

  Which was a good thing. It would be easy to make small talk with strangers. But as soon as dinner was over, she'd make her excuses, call a taxi, and get out of Dodge.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Bundled up in her overcoat, Andrea stood in the hotel lobby, waiting for her taxi. Her father hadn't wanted her to leave, but she'd been adamant. She'd said she had a migraine.

  No lie there. Her head pounded as if her brain was planning to escape.

  He had then suggested that he take her home, but she wouldn't let him. Not only was this a Christmas party; it was also a time to talk business with the other Ernst, Scargill, and Petersen personnel.

  Her father needed to schmooze at the party. She didn't.

  When the doorman opened the door, a cold gust of wind chilled her.

  "Ms. Ernst," he called. "Your ride is here."

  She thanked him and went outside. Instead of a taxi, Wilson's burgundy SUV stood in the driveway.

  She couldn't believe her eyes. What was he doing here? When the doorman opened the car door, she leaned inside and shook her head. "No, Wilson. You're not driving me. I called a taxi. You--"

  "Don't make a scene, Andrea," he said quietly. "Get inside the car."

  She did, but she wasn't happy about it.

  He drove off, down the cobblestone street. He didn't speak and neither did she. After five minutes of oppressive silence, she couldn't keep quiet anymore.

  She folded her arms across her chest and looked over at him. "Why are you doing this, Wilson?"

  He kept his gaze on the road. But she knew he was troubled by the way he clenched and unclenched his jaw.

  Finally, he spoke. "Your father asked me to drive you back. He worries about your safety."

  "Why did he ask you?"

  "Maybe I'm the only one he trusts."

  That was probably true, but Wilson had a right to his own life, without taking Randolph Ernst's needs and demands into account.

  "Stella must be fuming right now, Wilson. She certainly was right before dinner. She's not a happy camper about the first Mrs. Struthers coming back to life."

  "I intend to remedy that."

  Andrea waited, but that was all he said. And he continued to avoid looking at her.

  She hated being ignored. "So what does that mean? What are you going to do? Kill me?"

  "Hell." He swerved the car onto a deserted street and came to a screeching stop. He turned toward her, frowning. His brow was furrowed, his face drawn. "You make me crazy, you know that?"

  "Do I?" Although it was probably inappropriate, she couldn't help grinning. "What about you? You stopped the car in the middle of the street."

  He quickly corrected the situation, parking under a low-hanging weeping willow tree. After he turned off the engine, he plowed his hand through his thick hair. "We have to talk."

  "Okay." She unbuckled her seatbelt to be more comfortable. "What about?"

  He did the same. "Andrea." He removed the reindeer tie from around his neck and threw it into the backseat. His sigh was deep, heartfelt. "I know I'm not a free man."

  "That's for sure," she readily agreed. "You have one wife too m--"

  "Many. Right." He reached for her hand, and held it. "And that extra wife is Stella. I'm filing for a divorce."

  He looked so sad. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. Once again, his scent stirred her senses. This time, he smelled like English Leather and alcohol.

  What would he taste like?

  She banished that thought. "I'm sorry, Wilson. I know this must be hard for you."

  "Yeah, it's hard all right."

  She couldn't figure him out. And his stony expression defied deciphering. "I don't understand."

  He brushed his cheek against hers. "I know you don't, sweetheart." He eased his hand up into her hair and gently guided her face closer to his.

  His lips tentatively touched hers. A feeling unknown to her spiraled up through her core, filling her, warming her. Her lips trembled under his.

  As the kiss intensified, her breathing changed from a steady rhythm to swallowing gulps. He tasted like heaven, and she parted her lips to taste more of him.

  He groaned, then deepened the kiss.

  The pressure of his hand against her head brought them closer still. Her migraine had vanished. In its place, unfulfilled desire painfully throbbed throughout her body. A primitive jungle beat drummed through her veins urging for more, much more.

  But in the confined space of the bucket seats of the car, there was only so much body contact that could be made...comfortably.

  She pulled away, almost gasping. The kiss left her weak and confused. "Wilson," she struggled for breat
h. "You never kissed me like that before."

  His Adam's apple bobbed, as if he'd swallowed his reply. A quick jerk of his head was his only answer. He started the engine again. "I've got to get you to your father's."

  Making a U-turn on the street, he turned onto the main highway. Once again, he was quiet.

  Quiet, but not calm. As he drove, she watched the tiny pulse at his temple, hammering out his agitation.

  Seeing him uneasy made her uneasy, too. And since silence hung heavy over them, she started thinking.

  By kissing as they'd just done--passionately kissing--weren't they on the road to committing adultery?

  She rubbed her forehead. That was an awful thought. She hurried to come up with mitigating circumstances.

  Did the term adultery truly apply to their actions? After all, they'd been married. And now, Wilson told her he wanted a divorce from Stella.

  Since he did intend to divorce number two, was it wrong for them to kiss?

  Andrea frowned. How could something so wonderful be so wrong?

  She stared at her hands now lying limp in her lap. Her frown deepened. The migraine returned with a vengeance.

  * * * *

  Will accompanied Andrea inside her father's house. The term "on pins and needles" didn't hold a candle to how he was feeling. With Andrea's return, he'd been given another chance. He couldn't afford to blow it again.

  Now that he knew his marriage with Stella was a farce, he had to plea, beg, implore Andrea to marry him again.

  But this time it would be forever.

  They walked through the entryway, their footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor. When they reached the living room, she removed her coat.

  "Would you like some coffee, Wilson?"

  He glanced over at the mirrored liquor cabinet. He'd much prefer a glass of whisky, but perhaps it was better to have a clear head. "Sure. I'll help you."

  "No." She gave him a small smile. "No, you sit. I'll be right back."

  He sat on the peach couch facing the white marble gas fireplace. The fireplace was cold. The fire burned within him instead.

  Before he had time to figure out what he should say, she walked back into the living room, holding two china cups and saucers.

  Her navy blue dress, made of taffeta, created a rustling noise as she moved. The sound seemed to epitomize gracious femininity.

  She set the cups on the coffee table in front of the couch and, as she sat, the taffeta made an almost deafening sound. She kicked off her high-heeled shoes. "I hope you don't mind that the coffee's decaf."

  "It's fine, Andrea."

  He loosened the collar of his shirt. "Okay. Here's what I wanted to say in the car." He took her hand and kept his gaze riveted on her face. "I love you, Andrea."

  Emotion thickened in his throat. "I was a fool seven years ago. But now... Now I'm a better man than I was. At least, that's my hope. If you can put up with me, sweetheart, I want you as my wife. My one and only wife."

  His gaze still on her, he kissed her hand.

  She caught her plump lower lip on her teeth. "But Wilson, what about--"

  "Stella." He sat against the peach cushions of the couch. "As soon as I leave here, I'm telling her that I'm filing for divorce. Since I got back from Hawaii, we've been... estranged. It's not her who has changed. It's me."

  Andrea's luminous blue eyes grew shiny. "I feel bad that I'm the cause of--"

  "You're not the cause of this. Sweetheart, you're my salvation. Don't you see?"

  He stopped. She hadn't said anything about her feelings for him. He thought she loved him. In fact, he'd been sure of it, but perhaps he was wrong?

  Taking her coffee cup and setting it on the table, Will caught both her hands in his. After drawing a deep breath for courage, he continued, "Tell me how you feel, Andrea. Do you love me? Do you want to get married again?"

  Her expressive lower lip trembled.

  Dear God. She was going to turn him down.

  Suddenly, he felt as cold as ice. He released her hands, stood, and walked over to the stone cold fireplace. It looked as barren as he felt.

  "Just so you know, whatever your answer, it won't change my mind about divorcing Stella." He sighed. "I made a mistake. I can admit that."

  He heard a sob. Turning around, he saw tears streaming down Andrea's cheeks. She ran to him with her arms outstretched. He caught her, holding her in a firm embrace, never wanting to let go.

  "I love you, Wilson," she murmured into the cord of his neck. "I've always loved you. Even when I didn't remember who you were, I knew you were out there, somewhere."

  Relief flooded through him, like the waters of a bursting dam. Thank God! He held her so tightly, he was afraid he'd crush her.

  As he took a step away from her, he laughed a little shakily. "Well, now that we have that settled, I think I should go. Start fresh tomorrow."

  She refused to unwrap her arms from around his neck. Her pliant lips lifted in an impish smile. "What, no goodnight kiss, Wilson?"

  He gently but firmly moved away from her embrace. "If I kiss you, sweetheart, I won't be able to stop at that. Believe me."

  Her dress rustled as she pressed herself against him. "So why stop at that?"

  His mouth went dry. A savage hammering pounded through his veins. Her curvy body and her sweet fragrance teased him, making his head swim. How could he deny himself the heaven that Andrea offered?

  But he wasn't free. Not yet, anyway. But he would be soon, very soon.

  "How can I resist those enormous baby blues, but..." Again, he set her away from him. "We won't have to wait long, Andrea. I promise."

  Her smile transformed into an exaggerated pout. "Promises, promises, Wilson." Turning around, she then presented her back to him. "Fine. So be it. Unzip me then, and I'll prepare for my lonesome bed."

  She had the temerity to wag her backside at him.

  He groaned. "Andrea, you're making me crazy."

  "So?"

  He bit his lip. "Hell, woman. Stand still then." When she did, he unzipped her dress. For a moment he devoured the sight of tanned skin the open zipper revealed. His hands itched to touch her that delicious sliver, so he moved in front of her to conceal the enticing sight from his eyes.

  That mischievous smile of hers returned.

  He tried to make his voice sound stern. "I hope you don't, er, ask every man you meet to do this for you."

  "Only the men I plan to marry...again." This time, her smile was loving. She rose up on her toes and lingered her lips on his. "Goodnight, Wilson."

  Her kiss came straight from heaven.

  Breaking contact, she hightailed it out of the living room and up the long staircase, the material of her dress swishing behind her. "Don't forget to lock the door on your way out," she called back.

  He wet his lips, savoring her touch. His smile was as wide as the ocean. He picked up the untouched coffee cups and walked to the kitchen. As he passed the staircase, he glanced up to where his love and his future lay.

  Leaving the dishes in the sink, he fisted his hands. All he had to do now to gain his heart's desire was set that damn divorce in motion.

  But to be fair to Stella, he had to tell her first.

  With a heavy sigh, Will headed for the entryway and the front door.

  The door opened. Randolph stomped into the entry, shaking off rain and remnants of sleet. "Will, there you are. I thought that was your car outside."

  He brushed off more moisture from his suit jacket. "Nasty weather. A storm's blowing through."

  "I'd better head out then, Randy. I'll see you tomorrow morning--"

  "Stay." The older man's hand shot out to grab him around the upper arm. "Have a nightcap with me." He gestured toward the living room. "You and I need to talk."

  Will complied. They did need to talk. He might as well let Randolph know his intentions.

  They both headed for the mirrored liquor cabinet. Randolph poured his glass half full with Chivas Regal. Will filled his with o
nly a fourth.

  "Where's Andrea?" her father asked.

  "Getting ready for bed." Will sat back down on the peach couch.

  Randolph flipped the switch on the fireplace. Immediately, a fire roared within.

  "Something to take the chill away." He sat in the matching loveseat adjacent to the couch. "Listen, I saw the way you two looked at each other tonight." He raised his eyebrows and jerked his head in the upstairs direction. "Did you two, er, well, you know?"

  Will hid his smile behind his whisky glass. Such an indelicate question, especially when it came from Andrea's father.

  He caught Randolph's gaze and held it. "No, but soon. As husband and wife. If it's all right with you, I asked Andrea to marry me, again. She said yes."

  A sip of the fine Chivas Regal burned a path down his throat. "Before the night is over, I'll tell Stella of my intentions." He drummed his fingers against the couch's armrest. "I don't know how she'll take it, exactly, but I'm hoping she'll see the benefits of divorce."

  "Excellent, my boy. Excellent. Of course you have my blessing. I've always considered you family." Randolph refilled his glass. "Whatever you need me to do to hustle this along, just let me know, hey? Monetary inducements for Stella, calling in a favor from the judge. Whatever. If we can make it an uncontested divorce, that'll speed things up. Possibly a month's time. Maybe less."

  Will nodded. He didn't think an outright cash dispersal would sway Stella, however, if she felt safe and secure with a new man...

  "I can't tell you how relieved I am, Will." In an uncharacteristic gesture, Randolph removed his tie, opened his collar, and slumped down, relaxed in the chair.

  Will had never seen him looking so informal.

  "Yes, with you marrying my Andrea, there's no question now of her leaving Richmond." Randolph slowly nodded as he stared at the fireplace. "She's mentioned returning to Hawaii, you know. But of course, that's out of the question."

  Will glanced over at his boss' profile. Randolph's cheeks appeared sunken, his skin sagged. He seemed as if he were almost defeated.

  "No, my boy, I couldn't bear to be parted from her."

  Will sighed. Andrea's preference to live on the Big Island would be a battle best fought on another day. He had to concentrate on his own battle first.