Promoted to Wife?

by Paula Roe

  Admit it. You’ve been spoiled by all those other women—bold, confident women who knew what they wanted and came right out and said it.

  No, not spoiled—bored. Cynical, even.

  It’d been a long time since he’d had to put a concerted effort into a seduction.

  That thought gave him pause. And as he sat there, trying to work out a tactful follow-up, she blinked, her lips parting slightly. The light streamed over them, revealing the tip of her tongue as it touched the inside bottom lip before she closed her teeth on it.

  With an inward groan he slid his hand around her neck, cupping her head and tangling her hair.

  Then he pulled her in and kissed her.

  It was just as sweet, just as delicious as before. Her pouty lips beneath his, soft and pliant. That scent…conjuring up freshness and innocence. And her warm breath that came out in a gasp before lengthening into a murmur of pleasure.

  His body stirred, sparked into life by one simple kiss.

  He explored her mouth, tasting the curves, the creases, her soft tentative tongue that at first shied away, then bit by bit returned to tangle with his, until his blood began to pound in earnest and his breath became ragged.

  He groaned. Stop. But Emily’s fingers were teasing the hair on his nape, her gentle, almost hesitant touch only stoking the fires higher.

  He had to stop before it got out of hand.

  With a supreme effort he reluctantly broke the kiss, easing away with a regretful growl. She frowned and her eyes snapped open.

  His groin tightened. Her blue eyes were dark and heavy with desire, her damp mouth bruised with kisses. He could hear her rapid breath—or was that his?—as she pulled back.

  “Tomorrow night,” he got out, knowing his voice was thick with lust, knowing it wouldn’t take any effort to have her here, now. “My place.”

  When she glanced away with a quick nod, the light revealed a flush on her smooth cheeks as she scrambled from the car.

  Tomorrow night. His body was already keyed up just thinking about it as he followed her out.

  “Thanks for the ride.”

  “My pleasure.” He lingered on that last word, crossing his arms and leaning back against the car, taking a warped delight in her flustered expression.

  She turned and headed for the stairs without a backward glance, and Zac was rewarded with a view of her gently swaying bottom and hips as she ascended. When she paused at her door, she finally turned to give him a nod, then unlocked the door and went inside.

  By the time he was back in his car, her living room lights had come on, the soft glow warming the darkness as he started up the engine.

  He reluctantly pulled away, heading back into Surfers while fervently wishing away the next twenty-four hours.

  The sun was barely peering over the horizon as Emily laced up her joggers, did a quick stretch on her porch, then headed off down the beach.

  Running was an uncomfortable, sweaty, muscle-aching affair. She hated it while she was in the middle of it, but she liked having done it. Liked that it kept her relatively healthy, that it was free and right on her doorstep. And with her headphones on, no one bothered her. She gave a few brief nods to the regulars, a smile for the Japanese tourists who’d never seen a Gold Coast beach before. And with the wild angry beat of Nirvana reverberating in her head, she could block everything out as she jogged south along pristine Currumbin Beach.

  Her daily run took her through the half-filled Currumbin Surf Club car park and Elephant Rock, then down past a bunch of sleek beachfront mansions, many of which Valhalla had been behind. Behind the grassy dunes she could see roofs, sometimes a window or two, or a glimpse of backyard as she pounded out each step on the hard, ocean-compacted sand.

  An hour later, sweaty yet energized, she took her stairs two at a time, her legs throbbing with the effort.

  Prior to the weekend, lots of things had been on the periphery. Now she was hyper-aware. Like instead of pulling her hair into its usual smooth bun, she looped it back into a soft ponytail. And instead of her usual lip-liner-and-balm that served as lipstick, she picked up a soft plum Revlon gloss AJ had bought for her birthday.

  Two changes, two tiny things that seemed unimportant but made her feel a little more confident. And confidence meant control.

  It was all about control.

  It was unlikely anyone would notice, she reasoned as she walked into the office foyer. The barista at Bennetti’s hadn’t. Nor had the building’s security. And certainly not the other workers as she crammed into the lift that sped them up to Valhalla’s offices.

  She had set her bag down, placed the coffee on her desk and turned on the computer before she noticed Zac’s mobile phone and the sticky note on the keyboard.

  “In a meeting,” it read.

  She placed the phone to one side, crumpled the note then opened her electronic scheduler, looking up as the mail clerk pushed open the door, smiled, then dropped a bundle of mail on her desk.

  When Zac’s phone beeped, indicating an incoming text, she glanced up from the keyboard.

  A number not recognized in his list of contacts.

  A new client? She quickly activated the touch screen and brought up the text.

  “Did U get my picture last nite?”

  She sat back in her chair, jiggling her leg in thought. Clients sent Zac “before” shots of their houses all the time. So why didn’t he have this particular caller in his contacts? Come to think of it, picture was an odd word. Why not photo?

  The phone beeped again and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

  “This 1’s better. Call me, K?”

  When she clicked on the attachment, shock froze her fingers.

  It was a very different Haylee—kissing for the camera, striking a sexy topless pose in a red G-string and garters.

  Emily swiftly placed the phone on her desk, heart pounding. Her fingers twitched like she’d seared them on the stove, her breath jamming hard against her ribs.

  Zac hadn’t…? No, he wasn’t like that. But…

  He always gave his office number to the girlfriends, never his mobile. She slowly palmed the phone, then located the list of incoming calls and scrolled down. Haylee’s number appeared between three and five times a day. During the weekend, she’d called him over a dozen times. If she’d sent texts, Zac must’ve deleted them.

  Her hands were surprisingly steady as she placed the phone on her desk. Which meant there was only one rational explanation—Haylee was stalking Zac.

  Work well and truly forgotten, she linked her fingers behind her head and tipped back to focus on the ceiling.

  Think about it. You’ve met the woman. You know Zac. What else could it possibly be?

  When Zac returned an hour later, she was mentally prepared.

  “Any calls?” he asked with a smile as she handed him the mail and his phone.

  “Cal called again.”

  His smile dimmed. “And Victor?”

  “No. But Haylee texted your mobile.”

  He frowned. “What did she want?”

  “It was a photo.”

  Her expression must’ve given her away because his eyes darkened before he muttered something under his breath. “Sorry. I thought I’d dealt with it. Leave it with me.” And he turned towards his office.

  “She’s stalking you.”

  He paused in the doorway then slowly turned back, shaking his head. “No. Haylee’s just a little…”

  “Crazy?”

  “Attached,” he amended with a short grin. “I let her down gently, but obviously she’s taken that as an invitation to try harder.”

  Zac was never rude—it was her job to buy the breakup flowers, which he always sent with a personal note. Which was why, she suspected, so many of his exes just couldn’t let go. Emily sighed. “Shall I get you a new mobile number?”

  “Good idea.” He nodded and tossed the phone. She caught it smoothly. “Are you ready to give the update on Point One?”

 
; “Sure.” She grabbed a file and rose.

  She presented her concise report smoothly, ticking off most of the items on Zac’s mental to-do list. Then she reminded him he had a conference call at two and asked about his lunch preferences, all while placing a steaming coffee mug by his elbow.

  When he reached for it, he accidently bumped her hand.

  She made a small sound, as if he’d shocked her. And when her eyes darted up to his, a throb of anticipation spread through his blood at the reluctant desire in those blue depths.

  Then she glanced away. “Sorry.”

  He sucked in a breath, sharp and ragged. How much of an ass was he to have this gorgeous woman sorry for wanting him?

  She nodded to the open door. “Megan from Accounts is here.”

  “New hairstyle?” he asked.

  She scooped up the contents of his out tray and stepped back, clutching the papers to her chest. “Yes,” she said.

  “I like it.”

  She frowned, those glossy lips flattening. “That’s not why I did it.”

  His grin called her a liar even as he remained silent.

  She cleared her throat. “Shall I send Megan in?”

  “Sure.” Then he added, “I’ve got inspections this afternoon, but I’ll be home around seven-thirty.”

  His statement hung in the silence, the subtext clear. Anticipation zinged his nerves as she glanced nervously to the door and the waiting Valhalla worker outside.

  She gave him a short nod, then left.

  Through his open door Zac caught the exchange—Megan commenting on Emily’s new hairstyle, Emily thanking her—before Megan was standing in the doorway with a smile.

  “Got a minute to sign off on the Christmas bonuses?”

  He motioned her in. It was time to get back to work.

  Emily sat heavily at her desk, then quickly flicked open a folder. Nervousness punctuated each flip of the page, until one finally tore at the corner.

  Her hands stilled. Control. She breathed in deep, eyes closed, then let it out. I am in control of what I do and say. It’s just casual. You can walk away at any time.

  Instead of taking comfort in that mantra, it began to sound a lot like her mother’s petulant whine.

  Her eyes sprang open. Her schedule was still open on the computer, listing today’s urgent tasks for Point One.

  Right. She could either continue to moon over Zac, letting the anticipation of tonight cripple her day. Or she could get some work done.

  What’s it to be, Emily?

  With her back straight, she picked up the phone and started dialing.

  Nine

  By firmly blocking out everything but work, Emily managed to get through the day with her sanity intact. It also helped that Zac had left around 2 p.m. and wouldn’t return.

  Apart from a few comments about her hair—all from women, she noted—and calls from both Cal and Victor, the day remained busy but uneventful. At seven she turned off her computer and locked up the office, deliberately leaving it too late to change her mind and go home.

  At seven-fifteen she parked around the corner from Zac’s street, killed the engine and sat in the eerie silence. As his assistant, she had full access to his elegant beachside house and his security codes. Yet she’d never had to use them for anything other than work purposes.

  This was her point of no return. If she did this—

  No. AJ would kick your butt for second-guessing yourself like this.

  Her fingers tapped on the steering wheel as the sun gradually lengthened the shadows.

  It was time.

  Just as she placed a hand on the door, headlights suddenly blinded her through the rearview mirror. She hesitated, and a second later a sleek dark car drove slowly by.

  Emily watched the sporty coupe crawl down Zac’s street, past his house, then suddenly accelerate, leaving the distinctive scent of diesel fumes in its wake.

  She shook her head then took a deep breath. Then she grabbed her handbag and scrambled from the car.

  If Zac could’ve done a hundred and twenty down the packed Pacific Highway he would’ve. Too slow, too slow, his heart seemed to thump as the traffic sluggishly chugged along, only to stop again at the lights.

  Gray clouds gathered overhead, heavy with impending rain. The steering wheel complained beneath his grip. He wanted her in his arms right now. Wanted to feel her mouth on his, her warm breath, her yielding skin.

  Wanted her legs wrapped around him.

  That mouthwatering thought had dominated his last few hours. He’d come that close to canceling his last meeting because of it.

  Now he glared at the time—seven-forty—and softly cursed. “Come on, come ooooon…. Finally!”

  Within five minutes he was home, the movement-sensitive porch light flicking on as the garage door slid up and the first fat drops of rain began to fall.

  He grabbed the packages on the front seat, locked up and went through the inner door, tossing his keys on the entrance table as he strode down the hall.

  He paused in the living area and placed the takeaway bag on the table.

  “Emily?”

  His voice echoed through the spacious silence, disappearing into the lengthening darkness.

  “Yes?”

  He turned. Her back was to his huge ocean-view window, the steely clouds, turbulent sea and gently falling rain providing a dramatic backdrop to her shadowy figure.

  “You’ve been shopping?” she asked as he flicked on a lamp.

  “Food.” He noted the firm grip on her handbag, held like a shield in front of her. With one finger he lifted the other package by the thin handles. “And these are for you.”

  She frowned. “You didn’t have to buy me—”

  “I wanted to. There’s a difference.”

  “Zac…”

  “Just try them on. If you don’t like them, I’ll take ’em back. Please,” he added with a smile.

  She blinked and her fingers tightened around her bag handles, eliciting a leathery squeak of protest. Then she sighed. “All right.” She took his offering, carefully avoiding any contact.

  “Go on up,” he said, nodding to the iron-and-polished-mahogany stairs. “I’ll bring up the food and drinks.”

  Emily took the stairs slowly, highly aware of Zac’s gaze following her ascent.

  She paused at the top, the small entrance stretching out into what was obviously Zac’s loft bedroom. She barely registered the dark furniture, the photos adorning the walls, the beautiful bay window revealing another perfect view of the Pacific Ocean. Her heart was pounding way too hard to notice anything except the rumpled bed jutting from the wall.

  It was massive, covered in a wine-colored spread with mossy-green piping, black pillows tossed casually against the simple iron headboard. The covers had been dragged from one side, which told her two things. One, he didn’t have a housekeeper. And two, he slept on the left.

  Zac’s bed. Where he slept. Where he and other women…

  No. She turned away, coming face-to-face with her reflection in the full-length mirror. This was her, right here, right now. Zac was a good guy. Sure, he loved women—a lot of women—but he treated them with respect. He didn’t cheat or lie to get them into bed.

  Her head reeled as she dropped her handbag on the floor, then slowly placed the designer-boutique shopping bag on the bed.

  With trembling fingers she yanked her shirt free from her skirt, then plucked open the buttons until it hung loose on her shoulders. She’d packed a toothbrush, deodorant and condoms crammed in with a handful of bra and knicker sets, choosing anything remotely seductive while visions of Zac’s gorgeous ex-girlfriends taunted her selection. But now, standing half-dressed in front of his unforgiving mirror, she hesitated.

  He’d bought her a gift…most likely lingerie. Men were predictable like that.

  She stared at her reflection. She’d picked out a red lacy bra this morning, but the thing had itched so badly she’d quickly swapped it for her fa
vorite white cotton one with tiny blue flowers.

  She pulled off her shirt, hands on her hips and studied the bra in the mirror. Clean, pretty. But still white cotton.

  Swiftly she grabbed the shopping bag, frowning when she pulled out a simple white shoe box with Martinez Valero in blocked roman lettering.

  Shoes. So…not lingerie?

  She peeled the lid back, expecting something red, high and flashy—stripper shoes.

  But the gorgeous strappy-sandal creation nestling in black velvet sent her feminine heart beating faster. With a gasp, she reached in and reverently pulled out one shoe.

  It wasn’t the tiny rhinestone-encrusted buckles that got her, nor the four-inch white-satin-covered heels. It was the fluttery arrangement of sheer silver organza petals that fell along the white leather T-strap from ankle to toe.

  “Oh, my—” They were gorgeous. Quickly she toed off her black office shoes, then reverently slipped on Zac’s gift.

  After buckling the straps, she straightened.

  Her breath caught at the sight. Wow. By some miracle her legs looked longer. She hiked up her gray skirt to mid-thigh then turned side-on. Yep. Legs definitely longer. And skinnier.

  “Magical shoes,” she breathed, staring at her wide-eyed reflection until her eyes came to rest on her bra.

  She quickly fished out that morning’s reject from her bag, swiftly got it on, then stepped back, surveying herself with a critical eye.

  It was too small. The cups barely held in all that boob. She tugged, then dug her hand in, repositioning her breasts. Nope. Still about to pop out. With a resigned sigh, she focused on her hair, pulling out the ponytail, then tipping her head down to fluff it up.

  The sight that greeted Zac as he padded soundlessly up the stairs stopped him in his tracks.

  Emily, her butt in the air, shaking out her hair, skirt hiked up to reveal shapely muscular thighs, curvy knees and a pair of strong calves. Deceptively long legs that complemented the shoes perfectly.

  But then she straightened and placed her hands on her hips, and he nearly dropped the wine.

  A smooth torso, hands on her flaring hips, emphasizing an hourglass waist…and then, the most magnificent pair of breasts he’d ever seen. The lush mounds were encased in a fire-red bra, the cups sweeping so low they barely concealed her nipples.