Wanted: A Good Wife & Great Sex (A Bargained Marriage)

by SL Beabhar

  "Don't you be greedy, Ashley Cooper."

  Phoebe tried to reach for the bowl, but he held it high above his head. "I'm greedy. Very greedy."

  "Seriously. Give me the bowl."

  His response was to cover her face with his palm. "Thanks, Phoebe, I got it from here."

  She stood still with his hand pressed against her face. He could feel her laughter reverberating through his hand. He felt like the funniest man in the world. Then, to his surprise, she stuck her tongue out and licked his palm.

  "You have officially crossed the line, madam." He dropped the bowl onto the counter, walked to the sink, and scrubbed his hands clean.

  She hovered near the kitchen island with a pleased smile on her face. "You only have yourself to blame." She pulled the cookie sheet in front of her, then removed a tablespoon from the utensil drawer.

  "Big or small?" she asked.

  His back was turned towards her as he dried his hands. He peered over his shoulder and saw that she was scooping dough into the spoon. "I like them big, just like my willy."

  "You have a seriously overinflated opinion of yourself."

  He rushed against her, pressing his overinflated self against her back. "A lesser man would be offended by such nonsense."

  Phoebe sighed, lifted the cookie sheet from the counter, and opened the oven door. She shoved the sheet inside, then set the alarm. "Are you like this with all your women?"

  He shook his head. "No. Just my wife."

  "How unfortunate."

  "Ain't it."

  Happiness radiated from her, making him feel like he'd conquered the impossible. The solemnness that usually lurked around her had been banished, perhaps not forever, but hopefully for the rest of the night. While his cookies baked in the oven, he approached his wife and wrapped his hands around her waist, pulling her closer.

  "I have an idea," he murmured, liking the feel of her tucked against him. "I'll trade you a cookie for a kiss."

  Tilting her head, she revealed a crooked smile. "I thought you said this wasn't open to negotiation."

  "I was playing hard to get."

  She grinned. "Heaven forbid I get the impression that your affections can be acquired so easily."

  Ash smiled when she flicked her finger against the small indentation in his chin. When she leaned forward and pressed her body against his, he felt the tiny pebbles of her erect nipples. Her lush mouth looked dewy, and he felt lightheaded, as if every ounce of air had been sucked from his body.

  It began with a soft caress. Her lips skimmed his mouth for the briefest moment. Before he could object, she drew his bottom lip between her pretty white teeth, then pressed her lips fully against his.

  He moved to deepen the kiss. But her hands fell away from his shoulders, and he felt the loss of her lips. He thought she was teasing him, but then she pulled out of his arms and yanked open the oven door.

  Now that his senses were freed from her allure, his nostrils filled with the scent of burnt cookies. He moaned with disappointment when she tossed the sheet onto the stove. All the cookies were burnt.

  Phoebe grabbed a spatula and shoved it beneath a cookie. She then twisted and held the cookie beneath his nose. A teasing smile hovered on her mouth.

  "You said you like them crispy." She winked at him. "Are these crispy enough?"

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Phoebe was scrubbing the remnants of the burnt cookies from the cookie sheet when she heard a knock at the front door. The sheet pan in her hands was the unfortunate victim of her frustration. After they'd burned the cookies, Ash had received a phone call and he'd quickly bolted the room with an angry look in his eyes. She'd been too stunned by his abrupt shift in mood to ask what was wrong. Ash had spent hours holed up in his room before leaving the house to do some errand, while Reggie simply rolled her eyes and snorted something about a Jack.

  The knocks on the door pounded again. Phoebe glanced at Reggie, who sat at the breakfast table sipping her morning coffee. Judging from the look on Reggie's face, she wasn't moving from her spot.

  "Are you expecting anyone?" Phoebe asked, pulling the gloves from her hands. She tossed them into the sink, then brushed her hands over her baggy sweatpants. "Don't get up. I'll get it."

  Reggie rested her forearm against the table and lifted her coffee mug in a salute. "I never doubted you for a second."

  Walking from the kitchen, Phoebe wondered if being a smartass was a hereditary trait. The knocking became more incessant, which prompted Phoebe to trot to the door. She pulled it open and saw that it was Ash, gripping a large box between his hands.

  "About damn time someone opened the door." He kicked his foot against the screen door. "Open up."

  Phoebe darted out onto the porch and held the door back until Ash walked inside. As she closed the door behind them, he dropped the box onto the floor and then collapsed onto the couch. "You should have called and mentioned you were bringing something home. I would have had the door propped open for you."

  He narrowed an eye, then puckered his lips. "And ruin the surprise?"

  She stood over the box with her hands on her hips. She tapped a foot against the box. "Who's it for?"

  "Nosy, aren't we?"

  She knelt down, searching for a clue. There was no writing on the box. "Is it a TV?"

  "When was the last time you saw a TV arrive in a square box?"

  She cocked her head to the side, acknowledging his point. Listening closely, she placed her hands on the sides of the box and rocked it from side to side. "Is it fragile?"

  Ash's cap smacked against her stomach. She looked up and found his face screwed into a frown.

  "What's with all the questions?" He grabbed onto his coat, then pulled it from his shoulders. He kicked off his shoes, then wiggled his toes. "Is dinner ready?"

  "Almost." She couldn't take her eyes off the box. She needed to know what was inside. Simply because she was curious. "What is it?"

  He groaned deep in his throat, then pushed off the couch and walked to where she stood. He crouched down and removed the keys from his pocket. Pulling out a utility knife, he sliced the tape then tossed open the flaps.

  "Come look," he said, beckoning her closer.

  Whatever the surprise was, it was buried beneath packing peanuts. Ash shoved his hands inside, grabbed onto the object, and pulled it from the box.

  "Oh," Phoebe said, standing to her full height. She tried to mask her disappointment. "You bought me a vase?"

  He fell back on his haunches. A look of consternation crossed his face. "What makes you think this vase is for you?"

  "Isn't it?" she asked, once again searching the box.

  Ash shook his head. He stood, walked over to the fireplace, and placed the vase onto the mantle. "Actually, it's for the both of us." He glanced over his shoulder. "A wedding gift."

  "A wedding gift?" It was like a punch to her gut. Wedding gifts were for real marriages. She strode across the carpet to join him in front of the fireplace. "Who's it from?"

  "The chaplain."

  She turned to look at him. "I didn't think you had told anyone about the marriage."

  "I haven't told many people, but I had to tell my boss. And, he told the Chaplain and here we are." He slid the vase further down the mantle. "The gift is Ottinger's way of making me feel guilty for not asking him to marry us." He pulled his hands away. "What do you think? Should we keep it here, or move it into the dining room? It might look nice with a fresh bouquet of flowers."

  "Either spot seems fine." As a sense of dread ripped through Phoebe, she studied Ash. "Should I be worried about Ottinger?"

  For a moment, he stood still with his head slightly cocked. Then a smile parted his lips, and he winked at her. "Ottinger won't be a problem."

  "Okay. Good."

  "His wife on the other hand..." Ash grabbed the vase, walked out of the living room, and entered the dining room where he sat the vase in the middle of the table. "This was definitely made for the fireplace."
>
  "Wait," Phoebe said, following his retreat. "What about his wife?"

  "She's great."

  Phoebe could tell he was lying to her. For some reason, he was being purposefully obtuse. "When you see him on Monday, please thank him for me."

  "I did one better." Ash clicked his tongue, then he took two cautious steps away from her. "I invited him for dinner." He looked back at the vase. "Maybe we should keep it on the table, that way he sees that we're using his gift."

  He was about to walk away, so she snagged his arm and held onto him. "Hold on, Ash. Did you just say you invited him for dinner? When?"

  Ash grinned, revealing his dimples. "Don't worry. Not tonight." He patted her hand, then slid it from his arm. "Speaking of dinner. What are we having?"

  Phoebe replayed the last few minutes of their conversation, her head spinning with confusion. She settled on talking about their dinner as it seemed the simplest subject at the moment. "Meatloaf."

  He spun on his heel. His mouth hung open. "You're fucking with me, right?"

  As she walked back into the kitchen, she smothered a grin. "No. I told you yesterday I was making meatloaf."

  "No," he said, leaning against the island, "you said you would teach me how to make meatloaf. I shot that idea down."

  She waved her hand in a dismissive manner. "Well, the meatloaf's almost done. If you don't want to eat it, you don't have to. I think there's pizza in the fridge."

  "I told you he wouldn't be happy."

  Phoebe had nearly forgotten about Reggie. And from the surprised look on Ash's face, he hadn't realized she was sitting at the table.

  "Hey, Reg," he called out.

  She responded by giving him the finger.

  He turned his amber gaze back to Phoebe. "Bad day, I take it?"

  Phoebe grimaced and placed her hand over her heart. She hid her crossed fingers beneath the neckline of her shirt. "She and I had a very enlightening conversation about the benefits of physical therapy. I told her about my experiences with other clients. Particularly those who had strokes. They worked with both occupational and physical therapists to regain their independence." She shot Reggie a glance from the corner of her eye. "It was a good talk. Right, Reggie?"

  This time, Reggie held up two fingers.

  Ash sucked air through his teeth, then he sauntered away from the island, bent down beside Reggie, and kissed her on the cheek. She didn't take too kindly to that. She hissed and swiped at her face.

  "You keep being grouchy, Reggie, and I'll just have to keep kissing you. Would you like that?"

  Reggie swiveled in her chair and pinned her nephew with a dark look. "You do that, and I'll kick you in the nuts."

  Ash barked out laughter, then fell into the chair beside her. Folding his hands before him, he looked back at Phoebe. "So about this dinner with the chaplain."

  "I hope you didn't schedule it already." Phoebe felt the dread return. Turning away, she removed the meatloaf from the oven and set it on the stove to cool. She then lifted the lid to a pot and checked on the status of the mashed potatoes. "What's your aversion to meatloaf?"

  Ash tapped his finger on the table. Then he motioned his finger between himself and Reggie. "You want to tell her, or shall I?"

  "I ain't no snitch."

  Ash stifled a laugh. "Rumor has it that great-grandma used to feed meatloaf to great-grandpa whenever she was upset with him."

  Phoebe lifted the pan of meatloaf and carried it to the table. When she set it down, both Reggie and Ash recoiled in horror. "What's wrong with eating meatloaf?"

  Reggie's lip curled. "It was what she put in the meatloaf that was the problem."

  Phoebe withdrew her hands. She looked at aunt and nephew and saw the humor igniting the depths of their eyes. "You want me to make a pizza? I'll make the pizza."

  "Tomorrow," Ash muttered.

  "You want pizza tomorrow?" she asked in confusion.

  He shook his head. "No. The chaplain is coming to dinner tomorrow."

  Phoebe collapsed into an empty chair, and then glowered at Ashley. To his credit, he dropped his head, but not before she saw the sheepish twist to his mouth. "Tomorrow? Why so soon?"

  "It's a long story but, in a nutshell, he's been hounding me about Reggie. He means no harm. He's just trying to tend to his flock, but he's a bit pushy."

  She could understand that. When her sister was sick, the bishop from her sister's church would stop by and offer to pray with Andrea. In the end, their prayers weren't answered, but his presence gave Andrea comfort during the lowest point of her illness. But Phoebe could feel that Ash was withholding something from her. "I guess we'll make this work."

  "We'll have to," Ash said, rapping his thumbs against the table, "he's awful curious about my wife. And if he thinks there's something not right about our situation, well..." He shrugged.

  Phoebe could feel her heartrate accelerate. "What does that mean? He would report us?"

  "I don't think it'll come to that." He flashed a grin. "But he's a pretty straight-laced, by-the-book type of person."

  She sat quietly as her mind churned with possibilities. She knew the military frowned upon contract marriages, and she also knew that Ash held some type of leadership role and would be expected to set an example. Sliding low in her chair, she groaned and thumped her head against the back of the chair.

  "Boy, I guess this meatloaf's just for you." Reggie cackled and pushed the meatloaf pan closer to Ash.

  "There is nothing wrong with my meatloaf." Not only was she fighting the anxiety of meeting this chaplain, but she still had to deal with the jeering. "I get a lot of compliments about my meatloaf. I make it with pork sausage--"

  Ashley grunted.

  "--ground hamburger--"

  He snorted.

  "--eggs, breadcrumbs--"

  He gagged.

  Phoebe slapped her hand against the table. "Fine. Make whatever you want."

  Reggie and Ash exchanged looks, then they busted into laughter.

  "I'll eat your meatloaf, Phoebe."

  "Thank you, Reg." She glared at Ash. "What about you?"

  His eyes cut towards Reggie who lifted her brows in response. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and relaxed against the back of his chair. "Fine. Whatever."

  Phoebe slid from her chair and quickly grabbed the pot of mashed potatoes. Returning to the table, she fixed each of them a plate of meatloaf, potatoes, and steamed broccoli.

  "I've survived two car crashes. Three bouts of pneumonia and a stroke." Reggie stuck her fork into the meatloaf, then lifted it into the air and studied it. "And I'm about to be done in by some damn meatloaf."

  "Reggie," he exaggerated the pronunciation of her name, "should I tell her that I haven't updated my will?"

  As Reggie and Ash exchanged jokes, Phoebe tried to smile and act engaged, but she was full of worry. What did Ash mean about being reported? Would he be the only one to get in trouble, or would they both? She certainly didn't want to affect his career, but she'd never truly understood how their little charade could impact her. Would she lose her educational benefits? Would she lose her economic security?

  Would she lose him?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Ash stood planted in the center of his bedroom, watching his wife pace from one wall to the other. Her hands were clasped behind her back, her feet marched to an indiscernible rhythm, and her chattering was nonstop.

  "What am I supposed to call him?" she asked.

  "I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you called him Mauricio." Ash folded his arms across his chest and stared at his alarm clock. He wasn't particularly worried about the time; he was just getting dizzy watching her tread a path on his carpet. "But, if it makes you feel more comfortable, you could call him Mr. Ottinger."

  She stopped pacing, then turned to him with her eyebrows scrunched. "I don't have to call him sir?"

  "No."

  She raked her fingernails over her cheek, then slapped at her chin. "Should I address him by
his rank? What is his rank?"

  "Colonel Ottinger," Ash answered, shaking out his arms and rolling his shoulders back, "and no, you don't have to call him Colonel or Sir."

  She pointed at him. "What are you?"

  He pressed his hand against his chest. "What am I?"

  "What rank are you?"

  "I'm a major."

  She nodded and slowly resumed her pacing. "And a colonel outranks a major, right?"

  "That's right."

  She pivoted. "So he's your boss?"

  Swiping his hand over his face, he shook his head.

  "Look, I know this must all seem rather simple to you," she said, "but I'm new to all of this, and I don't want to appear like a complete jackass in front of this guy." Her eyes were downcast as she rubbed at her neck. Right before his eyes, her color was waning.

  "Maybe you should sit down."

  She brushed aside his comment. "I'm fine."

  "You don't look fine."

  "What's wrong with my dress?" She spun towards him and grabbed the hem of her dress. "Should I change? Maybe into something a bit more conservative?" She grabbed onto the v-neck collar of her white cotton shirt and pulled it higher. She pressed her arms together, like she was trying to see how much of her cleavage peeked out from the shirt. Abruptly, her hands fell to her side, and she bolted for the door. "I'll change into a sweater."

  Ash rushed forward to place an arm between her and the door. "You look fine."

  She continued to tug at her shirt before turning her attention to her khaki skirt. "Is it too short?"

  "Jesus, Phoebe, the damn thing falls just below your knees." He dropped his hand and retreated a step. "If it makes you feel better, go ahead and change, but I'm telling you now, he's not the least bit interested in what you're wearing." He didn't think it was necessary to point out that the chaplain's wife might have different ideas.

  He could see the insecurity lurking in her eyes. A solemn frown curled her lips, and her hand raked nervously through her long, wavy hair.

  "I just don't want to embarrass you, Ash."

  Those simple words banished every ounce of his impatience. He approached her, taking her hands into his and weaving their fingers together. He shook their clasped hands against their sides.