Accidental Wife

by Day Leclaire

  "I will." Eventually. Just as soon as she'd secured the futures of her various family members.

  "Yeah, right." A sigh drifted across the line. "I love you, sweetie."

  "Me, too. I'll talk to you soon."

  The tears pricking Nikki's eyes caught her by surprise and it took a full minute to collect herself enough to place the next call. Despite being disturbed at home on a Sunday, Jan took the instructions to rearrange Monday's schedule with her customary composure. Just as Nikki concluded the phone call, Jonah approached.

  "Finished?"

  "All set."

  "Good. We'll have to hustle. The flight leaves in fifteen minutes."

  "But...aren't you going to call your parents and warn them we're coming?" she asked in dismay.

  "I'll do it on the plane. Let's go."

  The flight lasted a torturous three hours, giving Nikki ample time for reflection—although she spent most of that time worrying rather than reflecting. She'd met Loren Sanders when she'd first been hired and only once or twice since. Though he seemed charming, she'd sensed he didn't suffer fools gladly. On the other hand, she'd never met Jonah's mother and knew little of her except what could be gleaned from office gossip. Stories of Delia's immense charm and appeal circulated there on a regular basis. Which might be why the idea of confronting the Sanderses with her idiocy was sufficient to put Nikki in a total panic. For she knew without a doubt that that's how she'd be perceived—as an absolute idiot.

  Jonah was right. She'd made a mess of this entire situation. She should have forced Eric to listen from the beginning. Instead, she'd compounded deceit with deceit until she'd compromised herself so thoroughly, it was a wonder Jonah didn't just let her choke on all the lies. But then, as he'd so nastily pointed out, if it hadn't been for the potential harm to International Investment's reputation, as well as her nomination for the Lawrence J. Bauman Award, he would have left her to her fate without a single qualm.

  At least he couldn't fault her business decisions, she attempted to console herself. Despite what he'd threatened, when he examined her record, he'd be impressed. Very impressed. And on that note, she shut her eyes and willed herself to catch up on some vitally needed sleep.

  Jonah glanced at his wife. The instant she'd nodded off, she'd snuggled into his arms as though she belonged. With her head tucked into the curve of his shoulder and her fingers laced through two of his belt loops, it would be understandable for a stranger to think theirs a familiar position.

  He should find it humorous, and he might have if not for one troubling detail. Even in sleep, her features had a drawn appearance he didn't like. He knew it was due to stress combined with exhaustion. Faint purple bruises beneath her eyes emphasized her pallor and a tiny line remained between her brows as though even in her dreams she hadn't found surcease from her difficulties.

  He smoothed his thumb across the bothersome wrinkle, pleased when be succeeded in ironing it away. At his touch, she sighed and relaxed more fully against him.

  "Excuse me, Mr. Alexander," the flight attendant paused to whisper. "We'll be landing shortly. Can I bring you and your wife some coffee?"

  "Thanks," he said with a nod. "Black for me. Two cups with extra sugar for my wife."

  He didn't bother to waken her. The rousing aroma of the coffee did it for him. She stirred, her nose twitching first, followed by the reluctant flickering of her lashes. "Tell me I'm not dreaming," she murmured sleepily. "Is that really coffee?"

  "You don't even have to open your eyes. Just hold out a hand and it's all yours."

  To his amusement, she did as he suggested. Halfway through her second cup, she straightened. From the flush tinting her cheeks, he gathered she was somewhat embarrassed to have awakened in his arms. And from the tightening of her mouth, he guessed she intended to pretend it hadn't happened. Unwilling to allow the episode to pass without consequence, he reached over and combed Jus fingers through the spill of russet hair caressing her cheek. If he'd hoped to disconcert her, it backfired. Badly. He'd heard of hair being compared to silk and always thought it a poetic exaggeration. Now he knew differently. Never had he touched anything so smooth and soft.

  "Feel better?" he asked quietly, tucking the wayward strands behind her ear.

  "Yes, thank you." She continued to avoid his gaze. "How much longer until we get there?"

  "Fifteen or twenty minutes."

  The faint line he'd smoothed away earlier reappeared. "We'll go directly to your parents' house?"

  "It's an apartment, and yes, we'll go straight there. I don't expect the traffic to be too bad on a Sunday. It shouldn't take more than forty minutes."

  "Oh." She moistened her lips, clearly working up the nerve to ask the question she'd been fretting about for the past five hours. "You said you were going to tell them the truth. What exactly do you plan to say?"

  "That Eric's made an ass of himself. That you overreacted. And that if I'd had enough sleep before wading into the middle of things, I would have resolved matters with more finesse than I have."

  She shot him a look of alarm. "You think marrying was a mistake, don't you?"

  "It was an extreme solution to a not-so-extreme problem. Don't worry. I'll deal with it."

  A troubled expression darkened her eyes. "I didn't marry just because of Eric, remember? I do have a secondary reason."

  "So you said. Care to tell me about it now?" Her lashes swept downward, but not before he'd caught a telltale flash of violet. Whatever this reason involved, it visibly upset her. And for some reason, she didn't trust him enough yet to explain the details.

  "I'd rather wait, if you don't mind," she replied. "It's—"

  "Personal. Yes, I know." He lifted an eyebrow. "I hope you're not going to make me guess. With your propensity for chaos, I doubt my imagination is up to the job."

  "I'll tell you—" her mouth firmed "—when I'm ready."

  "I hope so. I may have difficulty resolving it otherwise."

  "I don't want you to resolve it!" she retorted, stung. "I can take care of my own problems."

  "So I've noticed." He cut her off before she could say more. "Fasten your seat belt. We're about to land."

  By the time they'd collected their luggage and caught a cab to the Sanderses' apartment, the afternoon had all but vanished. Delia answered the door to his knock, flinging her arms around him with customary enthusiasm.

  "I'm so glad you're here. Dinner will be ready in half an hour, so there's plenty of time to freshen up." She smiled at Nikki and held out her hand, a slight reserve curbing her enthusiasm. "You must be Mrs. Ashton. Welcome."

  "It's Nikki," Jonah interrupted lazily. "Nikki Alexander, to be exact. As in Mrs. Jonah Alexander."

  "Oh, that just tears it!" Nikki turned on him, her taut control dissolving in the face of her toy.

  As he'd hoped, the cool, reserved businesswoman vanished, replaced by an impassioned spitfire. He found the spitfire much more to his liking. Knowing his parents, they would, too. "Something wrong?" he asked innocently.

  "You—you need to ask?" she sputtered. "You couldn't have broken the news to your mother more gently?"

  "I don't do gentle, remember?"

  Delia's mouth fell open. "You're married?"

  Nikki planted her hands on her trim hips, her fury a glorious sight. At least Jonah found it glorious. He slanted a quick look at his mother, relieved that she appeared more confused than shocked.

  "It didn't occur to you to prepare her first instead of just nuking everyone in sight with your announcement?" Nikki demanded.

  He shrugged, fighting to keep a straight face. "Don't exaggerate. The only everyone in sight is my mother. And I prefer speed to delicacy."

  "Well, that's obvious." She shot him a reproving glance. "Although in your line of work, I'd have thought you'd have learned something about diplomacy."

  "Not much," he confessed. "I've always found making money takes talent and intelligence, not tact."

  Delia glanced over her shoul
der. "Loren, you better get out here."

  Nikki's eyes glittered with ill-humor, the color as vivid as a tropical sunrise. "That's beside the point. You told me you were going to call them."

  "I did call—while you were asleep." She sounded a bit grouchy, Jonah decided. Perhaps he should have fed her three cups of coffee instead of just two. "I told them we were coming for dinner."

  "What's all the yelling about?" Loren questioned mildly as he joined his wife.

  "That's it? Just 'we're coming for dinner'?" Nikki stabbed a finger at Jonah. "You couldn't have added, 'And by the way, Nikki Ashton and I just got married. I'll explain when we get there'?"

  "They're married," Delia announced to her husband. "Jonah and Nikki."

  "How can they be married?" Loren demanded. "She's already married to that Ashton fellow."

  "See? This is why I waited." Jonah leaned against the doorjamb, confiding, "Getting married is the sort of happy news parents prefer to hear face-to-face."

  "In the hallway?" Nikki questioned, infuriated.

  "They want to share in our joy and happiness, no matter where we are."

  "They don't look the least joyful or happy. They look... stunned."

  "I'm not stunned. I'm confused," Loren grumbled to his wife. "I thought she was having an affair with Eric."

  Delia shrugged. "Well, now she's married to Jonah."

  "You couldn't even wait until we were invited in?" Nikki folded her arms across her chest and glared at Jonah. "Maybe work it casually into the conversation over drinks?"

  He fought to assume an appropriately contrite expression. "I must have gotten carried away in the excitement of the moment. It just came out."

  "You, carried away?" She snorted. "My Aunt Fanny. You never do anything without a reason."

  Loren looked from one to the other, his brow wrinkling. "Who the hell is Aunt Fanny? And while we're on the subject of relatives... what the dickens happened to Mr. Ashton? Have we ever figured that one out?"

  "There is no Mr. Ashton," Nikki and Jonah said in unison.

  Loren thrust a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "No Mr. Ashton? I don't understand any of this. Would someone please tell me what the devil is going on around here?"

  "Maybe we should finish this discussion inside before the neighbors complain," Delia suggested.

  "Excellent suggestion, Mother," Jonah approved.

  An awkward moment followed while they all filed from the entranceway into the living room. "What a gorgeous view," Nikki volunteered.

  Delia offered a strained smile. "You should see it when it snows."

  "Yes, yes. The view is wonderful. Snow is wonderful. The whole damned world is just by golly wonderful!" Loren declared testily. "Now what the hell is going on here? Or is a reasonable explanation too much to expect?"

  "It's all my fault," Nikki began.

  "I believe I told you that I'd handle this." Jonah's tone didn't brook defiance.

  She lifted her chin. "Fine. You handle it." Turning her back on him, she crossed to stare out at Lake Michigan. What did it matter how he slanted the story? His parents were going to be upset regardless.

  "I'll see if I can't keep this simple. There is no Mr. Ashton. Nikki isn't married and never was. She pretended to be married because Eric was making inopportune advances." At Delia's muffled exclamation, Jonah shook his head. "No, Mother. It wasn't anything like that. He'd just allowed an understandable infatuation to get the better of his common sense." To his amusement, both Delia and Nikki blushed.

  Loren's brows drew together. "Let me get this straight. In order to put Eric off, Ms. Ashton—Nikki—invented a marriage?"

  "'Fraid so," Jonah confirmed. "And that's when matters got a little out of hand."

  "I'd say matters were out of hand a good bit before then," Loren inserted drily.

  Jonah exchanged a silent look of agreement with his stepfather. "No comment."

  "Could we get on with this?" Nikki pleaded. "I know I screwed up. It's no secret."

  Jonah took up the story again. "When Eric continued to express his concern over the prolonged absence of Nikki's husband, she decided to rectify the situation. Last night, she attended a marriage ball in Nevada with the full intention of finding herself a suitable husband to present at work."

  Delia sank onto the couch. "Oh, my dear child. How could you?"

  "It seemed like a good idea at the time," Nikki whispered.

  "The suitable husband she found was me." He eyed his parents, his expression implacable. "Until Eric is past this infatuation of his and we get the situation at the New York office straightened out, Nikki and I stay married. And we all treat it as if it were real and permanent."

  "Well, I think you have both lost your minds." Loren crossed to the wet bar and poured himself a Scotch. "And I want no part of it."

  Jonah glanced at Nikki and his mother. "Give me a minute with him."

  Delia rose to her feet. "As much as it pains me to say this..." She smiled at Nikki. "Shall we check on dinner?"

  "Do we have a choice?"

  "I'm afraid not."

  Jonah waited until the two women were out of earshot, then turned to confront his stepfather. "Whether you agree with my decision or not, I expect your support on this. And I expect you to treat Nikki with all the respect due my wife. If you can't, tell me now and we'll leave."

  Loren's brows shot up. "You're serious?"

  "Very. You called me home to take care of a situation, and that's what I'm doing."

  "It's how you're taking care of it that worries me."

  "Blame it on jet lag."

  For the first time, a hint of amusement touched Loren's face. "I thought you didn't believe in jet lag," he said, pouring his stepson a drink.

  "I do now," Jonah replied wryly.

  "But marriage?" The older man shook his head. "You don't really expect me to endorse such a crazy scheme?"

  "Look, Loren, we have to protect International Investment at all costs, which means we can't fire her, and for the time being, we can't transfer her."

  "So, what do you propose?"

  "Just this..." Jonah took a healthy swallow of Scotch. "The LJB Award comes right before Christmas, so we hang tough till then. I have an excellent assistant in London who can take care of our overseas operation until after the holidays. In the meantime, I'll spend the next six weeks in New York playing the doting husband."

  Loren shot his stepson a shrewd look. "What will you really be doing?"

  "Looking over Nikki's track record and making sure she and Eric haven't screwed up any other accounts. As soon as I feel matters are under control, I'll return to London. We give it six more months after that. Then we encourage the lovely Ms. Ashton to either transfer far from Eric's sphere of influence or find employment elsewhere."

  Loren lifted an eyebrow. "Your solution is a bit rough on your wife, isn't it?"

  Anger lit Jonah's eyes. "My wife is directly responsible for this situation with Eric. If she'd told him no, or contacted any one of us when it became a problem, we wouldn't be in our current mess."

  "What happens once the situation with Eric is resolved?" Loren asked.

  "Nikki and I divorce," he stated baldly.

  "Divorce? Don't you mean get an annulment?"

  Jonah's mouth tugged to one side. "I believe that falls under the heading of none of your business."

  "Perhaps. But she is my employee. Come to think of it, she's also my stepdaughter-in-law. At least for the time being."

  "Point taken." Jonah finished off the Scotch and set the glass gently on the bar. "When the time comes, we'll divorce."

  "This time, I'm doing the talking," Nikki stated firmly. At least she stated it as firmly as she could, considering Jonah's uncanny ability to get his own way. She found the knack quite disconcerting and suspected that not only did he know it, he took advantage of that fact.

  "We'll see," he replied in a noncommittal voice. The cab pulled up in front of an attractive brownstone and he p
eered at it through the smudged passenger window. "Is this it?"

  "Yes. I rent out the first floor and we occupy the second."

  "We?"

  "My...my sister, Krista, and her daughter, Keli. They live with me."

  "Their picture is the one in your office?"

  "How...?" Her eyes narrowed. "Oh, that's right. You searched my desk. Yes, that's Krista and Keli. The photo was taken last year when Keli was five."

  Jonah unloaded the luggage and paid off the driver. "How long have you lived here?" he asked as they climbed the steps to the front door.

  "Forever." Her response sounded short to the point of rudeness, but she was reluctant to trust him with even such a small piece of her privacy. "Krista and I grew up here."

  He paused at the top of the landing. "I assume you haven't told her about us."

  "No." She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. "And fair warning, she may not take the news too well."

  "No problem," he responded drily. "I'm getting used to that sort of response to our announcement. Is she the other reason for your decision to marry?"

  "Yes." Taking a deep breath, she admitted, "I guess I should have explained earlier."

  "That might have helped," he agreed blandly. "Although now works just as well for me. Does Krista know your first marriage was a fake?"

  "Yes, but she's not to know this one is, too." Alarm flickered in her gaze. "Which reminds me, don't, under any circumstances, tell her you're related to Eric or she'll know for sure something's up."

  His eyebrow notched upward. "I take it this is supposed to be a love match?"

  "Yes, yes," she said with a nervous glance at the door. "We're in love. Madly, passionately in love."

  "Got it." He tilted his head to one side. "Care to tell me why we're madly, passionately et cetera, et cetera? What are we trying to accomplish?"

  "You don't need to know that. You just have to act the part of the love-struck groom." Impatience edged her voice. "Can you do it?"

  "In spades."

  Without warning, he wrapped powerful arms around her and yanked her against a granite-hard expanse of chest. Before she could catch her breath to protest, he nailed her with an all-consuming kiss. She should struggle came the dazed thought. She should give him hell. She should level him with a good, swift kick to the shins. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and gave herself up to the illicit thrill of the embrace, only vaguely aware of his fumbling for something behind her. It took a moment to realize he was leaning on the doorbell. By the time it dawned on her, the door had been flung open.