The Weekend Wife

by Toni Blake

  “Shhhhh now. Trust me.” And then he was kissing her again, those same passionate tongue kisses that turned her inside out, and she could taste the remnants of his affections, and on second thought, this hardly felt like abandonment. Trust me. She did. She would.

  Pulling back from her, he gently lowered her panties to her ankles to let her step free of them. Then he stood back, gazing on her nakedness, until finally he uttered, “You take my breath away, Kimberly.”

  And then he was undressing, too, unbuttoning his shirt and nearly ripping it off, yanking the shoes from his feet, pushing his blue jeans down and off along with his boxer briefs. And she studied every contour of him, every masculine inch, just as he’d studied her—remembering, wanting. “Don’t make me wait, Max.”

  His voice came as breathy as hers. “I don’t think I can.”

  He dug in his wallet for a condom and they fell frantically to the bed, both shoving the jewelry aside, until finally he plunged into her welcoming flesh without a second’s more delay. She tried not to cry out at how good it felt, at how right and perfect this seemed. He moved in her slow and deep, each stroke penetrating her very core, and she wrapped her legs around him tight, never wanting to let him leave her, never wanting this glorious connection to end. I love you, Max. I love you, love you, love you. Inside, she whispered the words, over and over.

  When he pulled away from her yet again, she heard her own sob, followed by his soothing, “Shhhhh.” And she felt like a terribly impatient lover, but she couldn’t help how badly she needed him.

  Then he rolled her onto her side, entering her from behind. She remembered telling him once that she could feel him deeper that way—and it was true, she still could, and a sharp moan escaped her with every thundering thrust. She’d never felt this whole in her life—this right, this incredibly fulfilled. Having Max inside her created a perfect moment in time, perfect beyond measure, and she prayed it would never end.

  When his hand slid over her hip and thigh, and his fingers began to gently stroke her center, his touch was like velvet. She closed her eyes and let herself simply bask in it—until again that warm, driving tension began to build inside her, fill her, prod her, until she was grinding against his hand as he moved in her from the back.

  And then it took her—a startling release. Stunning in its intensity, and beautiful because it was filled with all the love she felt for the man who had taken her there. Higher and higher the sensations carried her, until at least she was coming down, catching her breath, sighing her bliss.

  Only he was coming now, too—with a deep groan as he thrust hard, hard, hard inside her. An overflow of emotion shook her at the connection they shared.

  They stayed quiet, still, as he held her afterward, his arms wrapping around her from behind.

  And she hoped he wouldn’t notice her ridiculous reaction, but finally he leaned over, peering down at her in the moonlight. “Are you crying?” he whispered.

  She lifted a hand to wipe her tears away and tried to cover a necessary sniffle. “No.”

  “It’s all right if you are, Kimberly,” he murmured, low and sweet. “It’s okay.” And then he lowered a gentle kiss to her cheek and lay back again, still holding her tight.

  The morning sun urged Max’s eyes open. Looked like another beautiful day outside—a beautiful day to catch a thief.

  Then he glanced beside him in bed—and he saw Kimberly, bare but for the sheet that rose only to her waist, a diamond choker still circling her delicate neck. He crushed his eyes shut again. She looked incredibly lovely. But he’d made a very big mistake.

  He couldn’t believe he’d let it happen. Well, okay, maybe he could—it had started to seem inevitable as the day had progressed yesterday.

  But it was completely unprofessional.

  And it had clearly stirred up some old feelings for her, tender feelings—yet that didn’t mean anything had changed.

  The best thing he could do would be to get out of bed. Get in the shower, get dressed, get downstairs. Not make a big deal out of this. Move on.

  So he rolled over away from her, ready to push the covers back—when she stirred next to him. Damn.

  Peering over at her, he watched her eyes flutter open. Watched her turn to him with a sleepy, sexy, sweet-as-candy smile. “Morning,” she said, her voice butterfly soft. Double-damn.

  As soon as Kimberly saw him, her thoughts—practically her whole being—leapt to last night. To the complete and utter fulfillment he’d brought her, to the intense connection unlike anything she’d ever shared with anyone before.

  “Uh, hi,” he said, his gaze downcast. And only then did she really see him. The troubled expression shadowing his handsome face. The worry hanging over his dark eyes. His deep voice had sounded vaguely cool, dejected.

  “Are you…okay?” she asked. But inside, she begged him. Please, please don’t do this. Please don’t act how I’m afraid you’re going to act.

  “Yeah, fine,” he replied without looking at her. Then he reached over the side of the bed and grabbed his underwear. “We’d better get moving. Big day today.”

  She sighed—looked like he was going to act that way. Like nothing had happened.

  And she couldn’t stand that. In fact, she wouldn’t stand for it.

  She sat up in bed and stared at him. “Are you just going to pretend we didn’t have mind-blowing sex?”

  Next to her, he sighed, but still didn’t look at her. “We shouldn’t have. It’s my fault. I’m sorry. I got too close to you and lost control.”

  She swallowed hard. He’d just made everything completely clear to her. Even after last night, all he felt for her was lust. Still.

  And she knew she should have foreseen this—in fact, she had foreseen it. She’d told herself over and over that to go to bed with Max would be a mistake because he would never return her feelings.

  She’d forgotten about that last part amid her ecstasy—and now it was slapping her in the face, hard. And it hurt just as much as she’d imagined it would. Maybe more, because imagined hurt was nothing like real hurt. Real hurt cut to the quick and you couldn’t dull it and you couldn’t escape it. It was just a part of you. And already, it felt like the biggest part of her.

  “I have a suggestion, Tate,” she said, not looking at him. “If Carlo’s not around, stay away from me. That way you won’t be tempted to lose control again.” Then she got up and walked to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

  Max looked after her, immediately missing the sight of her pretty backside when she slammed the door. Apparently he’d handled this the wrong way. He hadn’t meant to make her mad—he’d just thought it would be easier if they both got on with the business of doing this job.

  He climbed out of bed and did his best to make it, fluffing the pillows and pulling the comforter up. Then he gathered the fake jewelry strewn around the covers and on the floor, and put it all neatly back into the black velvet box, which he also found on the carpet at the foot of the bed.

  Of course, when he thought about it, she was right—he could try to pretend this hadn’t happened, but it had. And he didn’t think he’d be forgetting about it anytime soon. He could still feel her creamy breasts filling his hands, and the way her body had opened so warm and moist to take him inside. He could still feel the way his heart had seemed to contract when she held him tight, when her breath sounded so ragged in his ear, and when she came—especially when she came. Talk about evoking emotions—he’d felt things he didn’t even know names for.

  And then she’d cried. He’d almost forgotten that part until right now. She’d cried and he’d held her and he’d told her it was okay. He didn’t even know what he’d meant by that.

  Or maybe he did. Maybe he’d been saying: It’s okay to feel so much, because I feel it, too.

  Damn. It was true. He’d felt it, too.

  He shook his head at the disarming realization, then grabbed up his clothes and went to use the shower down the hall.


  Kimberly stood in the shower letting the water cascade over her—hoping it would somehow wash away her mortification. But water couldn’t do that. Nor could tears. She’d been having so many inane wishes lately—ever since Max Tate had re-entered her life.

  Ugh, she couldn’t stop remembering. How she’d begged him. How she’d whimpered and sobbed and panted and pleaded. He certainly wasn’t the only one who’d lost control. Only her loss of control had been much more complete than his—hers included her body and her heart.

  And good Lord—she’d been so overcome with love for him that she’d cried afterward? How utterly embarrassing. Especially now—now that she knew it meant nothing to him at all.

  Toweling off with one of the plush bath sheets from the enormous linen closet, she promptly dropped it in the laundry chute and stood before the marble sinktop brushing her teeth. Plush bath sheets, marble sinktops—suddenly the lavishness of their accommodations no longer held the same awe for her that it had only a day or two ago. It just wasn’t important compared to her feelings, compared to her heart.

  After throwing on denim shorts and a T-shirt—who cared if Carlo thought it was sexy or not?—she scooped up the choker and bracelet she’d set on the sink and came out into the bedroom.

  She’d heard the door close and knew Max was no longer there, but she was surprised to see he’d made the bed and cleaned up the jewelry. He’d left the black velvet box sitting neatly on the comforter, lid open, waiting for her to drop the missing items back inside.

  Laying the gems back among the others, she gently closed the box, then slid it into the safe and shut the door. And she felt a distinct sadness fall over her, because packing up the jewelry and closing it away seemed somehow like…packing up her and Max’s relationship and hiding it away, as well—which was obviously exactly what he wanted.

  And that made sense, because the jewelry and the relationship had something else in common, too. Both were fake.

  But snap out of it, Brandt. Toughen up—you’ve got a job to do today. You can cry your heart out later, but for now, it’s back to work. And with that, she put on her tough investigator’s face, tempered it with a little of the flirtation that came from Max’s “wife,” then went downstairs ready to put in this last few hours of work before calling it a day with him—forever.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Max wasn’t much of a cook. But he’d found some heat-and-serve sausage in the freezer and a bunch of eggs in the fridge, which he planned to scramble. He dug a big bowl from an overhead cabinet and began breaking the eggs into it. And he tried his damnedest not to let himself remember similar breakfasts on similar mornings, mornings after spending the night with Kimberly. After all, this was a lot different. He would be setting three plates.

  Still, his thoughts swirled as he broke the eggs, one by one, and let the white shells plop into a garbage can. Because now he’d admitted to himself that he felt something for her. Something big.

  And he wasn’t ready for that—three plates or not.

  Because there was a lot to take into consideration here. For one thing, the job. For another, the Carpenter case and all the loss that had come with it.

  He turned the heat on under the skillet, then held his hand over it until he felt his palm warming. Kimberly had been right—he’d never really thought about forgiving her for the Carpenter case. But not because he was a rotten hard ass of a guy. It was because she’d never been around for him to forgive. She’d walked out of the room, and he’d gone to Vegas and spent the next two and a half years rebuilding his business. Forgiveness had never become an issue.

  He mixed the eggs and milk with a fork, an array of questions wandering through his head. Could he forgive her? Could he forget? Where did trust come into play here? Did he really believe he could trust her now? In business? In pleasure? That was the part that had been so hard to take: Being betrayed by your partner was one thing—but being betrayed by your lover was much worse.

  In one way, he felt like he didn’t know her at all anymore—she was so much tougher and saucier now than she’d been then. But in another, he felt like he knew her completely, to her very core. And maybe somehow wanted to know her even better.

  If only he could forget. And forgive. Forgive her for what she’d done, even if he didn’t know why she’d done it. She’d tried to tell him the other day and he’d refused to listen. He had no desire to go back to that place, that time—to feel the betrayal and emptiness all over again.

  Maybe he was afraid that whatever she said would never be enough to make him forgive or forget. Or…maybe he was afraid it would?

  He dumped the egg mixture into the hot frying pan, surprised by his thoughts. He wanted to know her even better. Did he? Really? If anyone had asked him that three days ago, he’d have easily said no. But now things had changed. He’d spent some time with her, both as his pretend wife and also as Kimberly, the woman who had been his partner and his lover. It hit him suddenly that she was both of those things again—even if not by design. And as to the question of whether he could invite her back into his life again…well, it still all came back to forgiving and forgetting, two things he didn’t know if he was capable of.

  But first things first. First came the case. First came putting Carlo and his boss or bosses behind bars and getting his client’s property back. And until that was over, he couldn’t think about this stuff.

  After turning the eggs with a fork, he flipped the sausages he’d put in another skillet, then shoved some bread into the toaster. As he got out three juice glasses, he looked up to see Kimberly walk in, wearing cut-offs and a tee.

  “Hope I’m not too dressed down,” she said.

  He gave his head a short shake. “No, I think we’ve already got him where we want him. You look fine. Nice.” In fact, she looked like the old Kimberly he remembered. That rainy day Kimberly. The let’s-grab-a-quick-burger-and-catch-a-movie Kimberly. The easygoing girl he’d loved to be with, laugh with, watch TV with, do anything with. Go to bed with. He couldn’t think of Kimberly back then without thinking about taking her to bed. They’d spent a lot of time in bed. Which probably explained why last night had felt so much like…coming home.

  Damn it. He shook his head. Hadn’t he just told himself he couldn’t think about that anymore right now?

  “What?” she said in response to his expression.

  “Nothing.” He looked away. “Can you, um, pour the juice for me?” Then he started turning the eggs again, amazed he hadn’t scorched them by neglecting them for so long.

  “Sure.”

  “Any sign of him up there?” he asked, glancing her way. She was busy grabbing a glass container of orange juice from the fridge, and looking cute as hell in her shorts.

  “I heard the hall shower.”

  “Good.” Although this was no time to be thinking about Kimberly’s shorts—he needed to concentrate on business. “I’ll plan on getting my imaginary call from the office around two. Are you ready for this?” He met her eyes for that last part. It was necessary—he had to see how she reacted.

  “More than.” She sounded eager. Looked eager. Which was a good attitude for a P.I. Still, it suddenly bothered him. Which he tried to hide, but she saw it anyway.

  “What’s wrong, Tate?”

  “Nothing.” He turned his back to her, removing the scrambled eggs from the burner. And he realized that, to his unmitigated surprise, he was having second thoughts about sending her in with Carlo. He couldn’t believe he’d be willing to scrap this whole setup, but suddenly he was.

  “Brandt, this might be too dangerous.” He still didn’t look at her, instead spooning fluffy eggs into a glass bowl.

  “Dangerous?” Even keeping his gaze down, he could almost feel her eyes widen in surprise.

  “What if you can’t hold him at bay?” he asked. “What if he gets rough?”

  “I can handle it. And you’ll be right in the closet, remember?”

  He sighed and shook his head.
“Still, I don’t know. I’m not sure I like it.”

  She blinked. “You liked it fine before.”

  “That was then.”

  “Something change?”

  It was as if she was daring him. To admit the sex had been more than sex, more than what he’d wanted or expected it to be. To admit that he worried for her, that he wanted to take care of her, protect her. And he remained just as unready to go there as he’d been five minutes ago. “No,” he finally said.

  “Then come on, Tate—toughen up. This isn’t that big of a deal.”

  He looked over at her then, their eyes connecting, and their gazes held for a long, painfully slow moment. And he thanked God that she’d never been able to read his expression, or she’d see that he was having more of those damn tender emotions toward her again, that no matter how he tried, he was having a hard time pushing them into the background where they belonged.

  “What smells so good?”

  Max flinched and looked up—to see Carlo standing in the doorway. Although it appeared that he missed the look they’d been sharing. Showtime.

  “Eggs,” Max replied.

  “And sausage,” Kimberly added.

  Carlo rubbed his hands together. “Mmm mmm—sounds great. I’m starving.”

  “Take a seat at the table,” Max told the crook. Then turned back to the counter. “You, too, babe. I’ll handle all this.”

  “So what’s up for today?” Carlo asked as he sat down.

  “Nothing special,” Max said. “Have anything in mind?” Like seducing my wife and stealing some jewelry maybe?

  “I could go for some more time by the pool.”

  That Carlo—he was a sucker for that particular luxury. Nice that the house had come with it—it made the lunkhead easy to entertain.

  “Sounds good to me,” Max said, lowering the food to the table and sliding into a chair himself. “You, babe?”

  Their eyes met across the table—and he saw her slipping into character as she gave him a smile. “You know how I love to bask in the sun. Sounds wonderful.” Then she shifted her smile to Carlo. Which Max hated. But he had to admit—she was good.