The Trophy Wife

by Sandra Steffen

  It wasn't a question. She shook her head ever so slightly anyway. "Until tonight, I never knew real passion, how it felt, how it sounded, tasted. I brought more than one, um, er, package of protection."

  "How many more?"

  "The whole box."

  His gaze left her face, trailing to her neck and shoulders, and finally back to her eyes. "That's a tall order."

  She went up on one elbow. "Then you're up for the challenge?"

  He rolled her underneath him without warning. "What do you think?"

  "I think…" Her voice trailed away on a sigh. "Oh, my…"

  The mattress creaked beneath their shifting weight. His hand slipped between their bodies. He covered her breast with his palm, and her lips with his.

  "This time," he said when the kiss ended, "we're going to do this my way. Nice and slow."

  She made an acquiescent sound in the back of her throat.

  He slid his hand along her neck, and slowly down all the way to her navel. Her breath hitched in her throat as she said, "Whatever you say, Doctor. Whatever you say."

  "That's more like it."

  He repeated the caress. And the time for talking came to an end once again.

  Ten

  "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join Jennifer and David in holy matrimony…"

  Still winded, Amber and Tripp breathed a sigh of relief. They'd made it. Barely. They'd slipped into their seats next to two women wearing big hats mere seconds before the first bridesmaid started down the makeshift aisle. The breeze meandered across the expansive lawns, ruffling the dog-eared pages of the reverend's prayer book. That same breeze fluttered the hems of the bridesmaids' satin dresses, gently billowing through all the yards of delicate tooling that comprised the bride's breathtakingly elegant veil.

  Amber sighed. The setting was beautiful and timeless, the stuff fairy tales were made of. The large, sweeping lawns were immaculately groomed. Even the hundred-year-old oaks were dressed for the occasion, their moss-laden branches spread wide and proud. Magnolia and wisteria, pink and white roses, dogwoods, azaleas and black-eyed Susans bowed in the wind, lending their natural beauty to the joyous occasion. The sky overhead was sunny. It seemed that even the gray clouds in the west were standing at attention far away from the garden wedding.

  "Do you, David James Perkins, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded…"

  Songbirds twittered. Harp music wafted softly in the background.

  "…to love and to cherish…"

  Amber smoothed her hands over the goose bumps on her arms. It might be eighty-eight degrees in the shade, but Amber always shivered at weddings.

  She loved weddings. All her life she'd dreamed of hers. Now she was certain there was only one man in all the world she wanted as her groom. Oh, she wished—She didn't allow herself to finish the thought. Wishes like that were risky. She knew it was too soon but she also knew she was completely in love with the man sitting next to her.

  Tripp wasn't exactly averse to her, either. Oh, he hadn't said it in so many words, but she'd always been a firm believer that actions spoke louder than words anyway. And Tripp had proven to be a man of inventive and breathtaking action.

  The breeze picked up, fluttering the streamers on the end of every row, lifting the collar of her silk suit, blowing her hair across her face. She tucked the loose strands behind her ear, then crossed her legs, the action drawing her attention to a slight tenderness that called to mind the most delightful activities.

  She'd studied her face in the mirror earlier, wondering if she looked any different today. Luckily, her sage-green suit covered the whisker burn on her shoulder. Surely, nothing could conceal the dewy look in her eyes. She didn't want to conceal it. She wanted to whisper her love for Tripp, shout it, write it in the sky.

  Glancing up at him, she wondered if men bore any physical evidence of such things, or if they simply forgot about making love as soon as it was over. She tugged the hem of her skirt down, and noticed that his gaze followed the movement. Looking closer at him, she saw a vein pulsing in his neck. As far as clues went, it was very telling. She hid a smile.

  The area surrounding her heart grew warm, and it had nothing to do with the heat and humidity. She combed her fingers through the hair being mussed by the wind, then, trying not to fidget, folded her hands in her lap.

  She hadn't planned to wear her hair down. Actually, she'd been in the process of putting it up when Tripp had walked up behind her with other ideas. She had no other frame of reference, but surely other men didn't have his stamina.

  She smiled to herself. His stamina had nearly made them late.

  Organ music drew her from her musings. The ceremony was over and David was kissing his bride.

  The ladies with the big hats drew Amber and Tripp into a conversation about Southern architectural restoration. Amber was doing most of the talking; therefore, she didn't pay much attention when Olivia Babcock walked past, alone.

  Tripp noticed. He noticed Steven Gentry and Winston Harris conversing with Derek Spencer in hushed earnestness on the other side of the receiving line a few minutes later, too. Tripp was always on edge where Derek was concerned. He figured that if the Creator had given the man scruples, Derek had offered them back—for a fee, of course.

  After making their way through the receiving line, Tripp and Amber strolled toward a rose-laden arch marking the entrance to the area of the garden where the reception was to be held. They hadn't gotten far when Steven Gentry and Winston Harris materialized out of a small crowd.

  "Dr. Calhoun."

  Tripp's eyebrows lifted slightly. Today it was Dr. Calhoun; last night it had been Tripp. "Yes?"

  Both older doctors squared off directly in front of him. "On behalf of Montgomery and Cornelia, and Jennifer and David, we feel…that is…" Gentry's voice trailed away.

  Tripp found himself standing up straighter, on red alert. Amber must have sensed something, too, for she went perfectly still at his side. "Yes?" he said again.

  Harris took his turn. "Under the circumstances, we feel it would be best if you left."

  "Under what circumstances?"

  A movement to the right drew Tripp's attention. For the first time that day, he saw Derek Spencer in plain view. His biggest adversary was as impeccably groomed as always. The black eye, however, was brand-new.

  "As we were saying," Steven Gentry said. "Under the circumstances, it would be best if you left quietly."

  Amber spoke for the first time. "Why would that be best?"

  Gentry and Harris shared a look.

  Derek strode a little closer. "That's a hell of a right hook you have, Calhoun. I thought you gave up fighting after college."

  "Exactly what are you implying?" Tripp asked, his voice carefully controlled.

  Derek shook his head, and made a tsk, tsk, tsk sound.

  "You told them that Tripp hit you?" Amber asked, her voice rising an octave.

  In lieu of a reply, Derek gingerly patted his swollen eye.

  "You lying sack of—"

  "Please," Gentry said. "Save the street talk."

  Derek spoke then. "Guess you can take the kid off the street, but you can't take the street out of the kid."

  Tripp took an ominous step in Derek's direction. The other man took a hurried step back. As far as acts went, it looked very convincing. Sickeningly so.

  Amber turned to Dr. Harris and Dr. Gentry, imploring them with her look. "I was with Tripp all evening. He didn't blacken Dr. Spencer's eye."

  All three men made a point of staring at the scuffed knuckle on the hand Tripp had automatically made into a fist. Tripp glanced at his hand, too, and then at the man who had been like slivers under his fingernails, "You told Perkins I hit you?"

  There was a boastful glint in Derek's eye when he said, "No. I told Montgomery I had a little run-in with a door after dark. Today is his son's wedding. I didn't see any point in spoiling it for him."

  Tripp just bet. He could picture the s
cenario in his mind. And it was all beginning to make sense. Derek had witnessed Tripp scrape his hand on the railing when he and Amber had been leaving the restaurant last night. Spencer always did have a nose for opportunity.

  Cramming his hands on his hips, Tripp said, "Rather than run to Montgomery with your story, you told his two associates."

  "He came to us, yes," Steven Gentry said, anger in his voice.

  Winston Harris said, "Derek insists he doesn't want to press charges. We disagree, but he says the two of you go back a long way, therefore he's willing to let bygones be bygones. We'll tell Montgomery you've had a change of heart. You'll want to put your regrets in a formal letter."

  A thin chill hung in the air as Tripp looked at Spencer. "You know I didn't lay a finger on you."

  Spencer said, "I understand that you have to say that. Come on, Tripp, what else are you going to say under the circumstances?"

  Amber bristled at Tripp's side. Turning to Harris and Gentry, she said, "It's Tripp's word against Derek's."

  Gentry shook his head. "If that were true, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Derek had a witness," Harris said.

  "Who?" Amber asked in a choked whisper.

  Just when Tripp thought things couldn't get any worse, Olivia materialized out of nowhere. Taking a dainty step in his direction, she said, "May I have a word alone with you, Tripp?"

  Tripp sensed Amber's reluctance to step aside, but she did so without a word. Olivia threaded her fingers through Tripp's, leading him to a shaded area several feet away, out of hearing range of everyone else.

  "You know I didn't hit your boyfriend, Olivia."

  "I know what really happened, yes."

  "Then you'll—"

  She touched her finger to his lips to quiet him. Placing her other hand on his arm, she squeezed provocatively. She had a strong grip for someone with hands so small. She always had.

  "That depends on you, darling."

  A primitive warning sounded in Tripp's brain. He waited, staring at that perfect skin, those perfect teeth and nose and chin.

  "Your hair looks incredible," she said, her voice a breathy whisper. "I liked it long, but this is even better. Now a woman has to look closer to see the warrior underneath."

  Once, her smile had sneaked up on him, her open pursuit of him had been flattering. Today she left him cold.

  "You have the opportunity to do the right thing, Olivia. Tell Gentry and Harris the truth."

  "All right."

  He drew his first easy breath in several minutes.

  "On one condition."

  That easy breath was choked off at the halfway point. "What condition?"

  She pouted. "So much anger."

  "What condition, Olivia?"

  "I'll tell Steven and Winston what really happened." She paused, wetting her lips. "But there's something I want in return."

  What Tripp saw in the eyes gazing up at him repulsed him. "What do you want?"

  "I want another chance."

  For the life of him, he couldn't understand how someone with everything could have so little. "Another chance at what?"

  "Don't be obtuse. It doesn't become you. Do you really want me to spell it out for you?"

  "You want another chance with me."

  Her smile was victorious. "Yes."

  "No."

  Her face showed her surprise. Just like that, her eyes iced over and her smile disappeared. The flush that crept up her neck clashed with her periwinkle dress. "What do you mean, no?"

  "If you don't understand the concept, look it up."

  A brittle silence followed.

  She took a sharp breath, and finally said, "You're making a mistake."

  "I don't see it that way. If you knew me at all, you'd know I don't lie."

  On the other side of the magnolia bushes, Amber placed her hand over her mouth to hold in all the murmurs and heartfelt sighs trying to slip out. The groom's grandfather had taken Spencer, Harris and Gentry to speak with someone elsewhere in the garden. Amber had seized the opportunity and slipped into the bushes. She wished there was something she could do to help Tripp, as she had when they were kids.

  She'd known she was in love with him last week. Last night she'd fallen a little further and a lot deeper. Suddenly she understood why people said love had no bounds. She wanted to shout for joy, do a cartwheel, gloat.

  Olivia was still talking. And Tripp seemed to be handling the situation on his own.

  She remembered another time a week or so ago when he'd insisted he didn't lie. She was inordinately pleased that he didn't tell Olivia that lies were like dogs, seemingly harmless to your face, only to turn on you the instant you let down your guard. He saved the really good material for Amber. Was it any wonder she loved him?

  "Don't expect me to believe your quickie engagement to that Colton wench is the real thing."

  "Watch it, Olivia."

  "What? Did I strike a nerve? I didn't think you were the type to lose your head over a pair of C cups."

  It was a good thing Amber's hand was over her mouth. It was probably a good thing she wasn't closer, too. She would have been tempted to slap Olivia.

  "Actually, you're right," Tripp said. "I'm more attracted to integrity and honor. You might want to look those up, too."

  Amber was wiping a tear from her eye when Olivia stormed away. Before someone asked what she was doing in the magnolia bushes, she stepped out of them, brushing at the leaves clinging to her skirt. Deciding there was nothing she could do about the run in her stocking, she strolled around to the other side.

  She and Tripp were alone in this portion of the garden. Eyeing the leaves sticking to her jacket and the twig tangled in her hair, he said, "You were eavesdropping again?"

  If she'd had the time, she would have explained that she hadn't eavesdropped in years. Actually, she only seemed to listen in on conversations where Tripp was concerned. But she didn't have the time, so she simply nodded truthfully, and said, "What are you going to do?"

  His shoulders were squared, his jaw set, his lips thinned with irritation. He looked past two old men who were staring at the sky, to the garden where the wedding reception was getting under way, and then in the opposite direction where a wide, sweeping flagstone path led to the front of the house. Through clenched teeth, he said, "I guess it's time to hail a cab."

  Her mind whirled at his dry response. "If we leave, they win."

  "They've already won."

  "But—"

  "Derek provided Gentry and Harris with exactly what they ultimately wanted. They'd made up their minds weeks ago. Not only do they have leverage, now they have the ammunition, too, along with the muscle to back up their narrow-minded decision."

  "But—"

  "If we stay, it'll only make a scene, and I'd rather not be responsible for ruining Jennifer and David's wedding." He started up the slope to the side of the sprawling antebellum house.

  She absolutely refused to say "but" again. "There must be something we can do," she called, holding her ground.

  He turned. "Do you want me to lower myself to Derek and Olivia's level?"

  She shook her head slowly, because no position was worth that. She hated situations like these. But he was right. There was little that they could do that wouldn't involve ruining the day for Montgomery, as well as for David and Jennifer. Perhaps they could do something to cause Harris and Gentry to doubt Spencer's word. But there was nothing more they could do today.

  Amber and Tripp reached the driveway in silence. They were striding past one expensive American-made and imported car after another when thunder rumbled. "Oh, no," Amber said, racing to a waiting taxicab. "What else could go wrong?"

  The sky opened up, and it started to rain.

  * * *

  It was foggy and nearly dark by the time they passed the city-limit sign in Fort Bragg. At least it wasn't raining back home in California.

  Since neither of
the landing strips in Fort Bragg had towers or runways long enough for jets, Amber and Tripp had flown in and out of Mendocino. From there, it was only a ten-mile drive to Amber's house.

  Tripp had been pensive throughout the trip from Mississippi. Unfortunately, Amber's medication had made her groggy, and no matter how hard she'd tried to stay awake, she'd slept most of the way home.

  She stirred when he pulled into her driveway. Secretly, she was worried. Since it looked as if he wasn't going to be chosen for that position down in Santa Rosa, would he convince himself that there was no need to continue their relationship?

  He'd opened his door, popped the trunk and had half of her bags in his hands when she joined him at the back of his car. Dragging a few cases into her own arms, she said, "Did you spend the entire trip home thinking about Spencer's victory?"

  Tripp shrugged. Actually, he'd thought about money problems and bills and the high cost of medicine. And her. Damned if he knew what he was going to do about any of those things.

  She maneuvered the key out of her purse without dropping anything. Once the door was opened, he followed her inside, then lowered the bags to the floor in her foyer. She glanced at him. He looked at her. It was strangely awkward. "I should be going."

  Slowly, she placed the bags she'd carried in on the floor in the next room. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay awhile?"

  "I wouldn't be good company. And I'm in no mood to talk."

  "What I have in mind doesn't require talking."

  His gaze settled on her mouth. His thoughts slowed, his body heated.

  "Actually," she said, talking as she switched on a lamp in the living room. "I know of two activities that would take your mind off your troubles."

  "Two?"

  His voice had lowered. Her knowing smile didn't help in the least.

  "Meditation." She plugged in a tabletop fountain and instantly water gurgled softly. With a press of a button, mood music surrounded them. "Meditation, and what you're thinking. I vote for the second activity, too."

  The enchantress grinned.

  His heart hammered away at a steady beat. "Anybody ever tell you you're a brat?"

  "Only you."

  He stared deep into her eyes, and was nearly lost all over again. He hadn't realized he'd left the foyer. Since she was still standing near the lamp she'd switched on, he must have been the one who had moved. In some far corner of his mind, he knew he should resist. He didn't want to resist. When she reached up on tiptoe and kissed him, he couldn't help himself. He kissed her back.