Luxury Model Wife

by Downs,Adele

  Beverly nodded. “In this town, he was. West Chester has its share of prominent residents, but I think James topped the list.”

  Victoria stopped talking then, realizing she’d said more about her past in the last few minutes than she had in years. Her heart pounded with the revelation, yet something inside her loosened and gave way. Her mood lifted. She felt…better.

  “He might have had rock-star status, but James did his own shopping, unlike so many powerful men who delegate gift buying to an administrative assistant. I noticed he paid thoughtful attention to each item he picked out for Lydia. He was extravagant, of course, but that wasn’t what impressed me. What struck me was the care he took to consider her tastes. Lydia’s happiness obviously mattered to him, and I remember thinking how lucky she was. I’d never met a man like that.”

  A flashback of her brutal father intruded, but she shook the unpleasant memory away and went on with her story.

  “After Christmas that year, James stopped coming into the store. A co-worker told me his wife had died. Months passed, I was promoted to department manager, and my work became more demanding. My life revolved around my new responsibilities.”

  Victoria stopped talking and wiped her hands on a napkin. It felt good to talk, better than she expected, but she wasn’t sure yet how much she wanted to reveal to this veritable stranger. She remembered the adage that it was easier to talk to someone you didn’t know well and decided that must be true. Something about Beverly made her want to babble.

  “So what happened?” Beverly prompted. She’d finished her sandwich and had thrown out the trash. “You married the man, so obviously the story doesn’t end there. Keep going. Your life is much more interesting than mine.”

  When the phone didn’t ring, Pirate stayed quiet, and the store remained empty Victoria decided to keep talking. Having someone listen without judgment had loosened her tongue.

  Beverly resettled on her stool.

  “After Lydia died, I didn’t see James for over a year. Then, one day, while I was walking through the store on my way to lunch, James and I passed each other. We stopped to chat and he asked if he could join me. We talked for over an hour in the food court and I was late getting back to work. It wasn’t until I saw him weeks later that he asked me for a date.”

  “I bet every woman you worked with was green with envy,” Beverly replied.

  “We tried to be discreet since James was a widower. We dated quietly for several months before becoming engaged and then had a private wedding. Even after her death, James was considerate of Lydia’s memory. Now, more than ever, I respect him for that.”

  Beverly wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, but didn’t that take the shine off your own happiness? Didn’t you resent missing all the excitement and attention a new bride deserves?”

  Victoria blinked. “I’d never really thought of it that way.” Probably because, deep down, she never believed she deserved to marry a rich, powerful man. Maybe if they hadn’t been so secretive, the community would have been more accepting.

  She wished that part was true. They’d accused her of carrying on an affair with James long before Lydia died. Their marriage confirmed the unwarranted suspicions of her co-workers and his cronies.

  Spilled milk.

  She continued. “Once we were married, my other relationships fell apart. My friends at work were intimidated by my new circumstances and kept their distance, despite my efforts to keep them in my life. James’s friends suspected the worst and treated me like a pariah. The older wives hated me on sight. They were angry, too, that James had married outside his social circle. They took their anger out on me, since confronting James was unthinkable.”

  “That must have hurt,” Beverly replied. Her voice was gentle and, for once, she didn’t fidget.

  “I tried to pretend it didn’t, since I really had no other choice. The irony is that the women in James’s social pool would gladly have replaced Lydia with one of their own daughters, despite their alleged shock at our age difference. They would have married James themselves, given half the chance.”

  Victoria popped another bite of sandwich into her mouth and savored the textures on her tongue. She swallowed and took another sip of iced tea. “What they couldn’t forgive is that James loved me. And they sensed that I loved him, too. Deeply. I was no more than a common retail store clerk with a mongrel pedigree as far as they were concerned, but I had found both love and money. Being young didn’t help. I had more assets than they could tolerate.” Victoria shrugged her shoulders. “Heard enough?”

  Beverly rummaged through the takeout bag, pulled out the Cheetos then popped open the cellophane. “Not nearly. Go on. I love having my illusions about the one percent shattered. It’s good therapy for us plebeians.”

  Victoria laughed and then nibbled a cheese curl from the bag Beverly offered. It felt good to relax. Like a regular girl. Steve Carlson’s words echoed through her mind.

  “What the other wives failed to see when they snubbed me was that I had admired them. On the surface, they seemed interesting and accomplished. I wanted to be friends. But my age only reinforced the negative trophy wife stereotype and I was never accepted as part of the group.”

  Beverly tsked and her mouth tightened into a thin line. “Their stupid loss.”

  Victoria smiled at her new ally. “Except for James and his son, I was alone in my new life. But that was okay, I was used to being alone. Until James, I’d never been able to rely on anyone. Certainly not my parents.”

  Beverly opened a package of chocolate cupcakes, pulled one out, and began licking the icing off the top. She touched Victoria’s hand with her free one after taking a bite. “How did James die? Will you tell me?”

  Something in Victoria’s expression must have alarmed Beverly, because she then reached out to squeeze Victoria’s hand. “Forgive me,” she said. “I had no right to ask. I’m too nosy for my own good.”

  What Victoria didn’t say, and could never say, was that with each passing day James’s face became harder to recall. It was like her brain saw his features through a filter that grew increasingly dark. She wanted to keep remembering, but his image kept drifting further away. Emotionally, she was letting James go, and so she held tighter to his earthly belongings. She was healing, despite her best efforts to stay loyal to his memory. The worst of her mourning was done and that made her feel guilty.

  “Maybe someday I’ll be able to talk about it.” She needed to forgive herself and let go. She’d been a good wife to James and he’d been wonderful to her. He’d entrusted her with his legacy and she wouldn’t let him down. Giving his earthly possessions a proper send-off was the least she could do for the man who’d given her first and only safe haven, and had loved her unconditionally.

  Beverly shook her head. “I can’t imagine what I’d do without Tom. He’s been my everything for fifteen years. We were never able to have children, and so we rely on each other.”

  Victoria nodded in understanding. She’d wanted children, too.

  She stood, wiped her hands on a clean napkin, and brushed stray crumbs from her skirt. “I’d hoped for at least twenty-five years of marriage with James. I got five. So, for now, I’m not making plans. I just want to finish healing. When I do, I’ll figure out where I belong.” Victoria had barely finished speaking when the front door banged open.

  Steve Carlson entered the shop carrying a tall, three-legged wooden hat rack. With the wind blowing in behind him he looked like a wild hunter wielding an unruly sword.

  “Scare off any customers yet?” he said.

  Victoria sputtered. “Me?”

  Beverly laughed out loud and Victoria realized Steve was teasing.

  “Nice rack, Steve. Roaring Twenties, hand-carved oak. Great find,” Beverly replied.

  Pirate squawked from his new post at the front of the store. Steve’s head turned with obvious surprise.

  “Hubba-hubba,” the bird said.

  “What the hell is that?”

>   “A cockatiel,” Victoria told him.

  “A cock what?”

  Beverly chuckled, clearly unfazed by her boss. “I told Victoria it was all right to keep Pirate in the store. He’s cute, eh?”

  As if on cue, the bird broke into a dance. He hopped back and forth on his perch and screeched. Then he cawed and said, “Kiss off.”

  Steve stared at the cockatiel and shook his head. He looked back at Victoria. “Pirate? Really?”

  Victoria’s cheeks burned. “Steve, I’m sorry. I should have cleared it with you first.”

  Beverly patted Victoria’s arm. “I’ll take the hat rack to my workshop for a look-see.” She met Steve at the front of the shop and gripped the antique by the stem. “This baby has seen a lot of action.”

  “You can tell that just by touch?”

  Beverly gave a derisive snort. “Observation, not psychometrics, boss.” She picked up the hat rack and headed in the direction of her studio.

  “Smart-ass.” Steve called after her.

  “Better than no ass,” Beverly countered over her shoulder as she disappeared from the room.

  “Give me a kiss,” Pirate demanded.

  Steve turned back to the bird. “I thought you said to ‘kiss off?’”

  He grinned over at Victoria. “Funny little guy, isn’t he?”

  Victoria tried to smile, but mortification had her frozen in place.

  “Oh, relax,” Steve said. “The little pecker can stay.”

  “Cockatiel,” Victoria corrected. “Are you always like this?”

  Steve’s mouth quirked. “I only tease when I’m in a good mood.” He motioned toward the inside of the store. “Has Beverly shown you around? Are you feeling comfortable here?”

  “I’m…learning,” she replied. Her heart had been doing a funny dance since he walked in. Steve was alternately sarcastic, irritating, or overbearing, but her attraction to his arresting blue eyes…and that dimple in his chin…and the cut of his chest and hips…annoyed her.

  He moved from the door to an old wooden lingerie chest against the far wall they used as a filing and storage cabinet. Behind him was the first of four rows of glass jewelry cases.

  He opened the top drawer and rifled through. “Have you seen my receipt books? I can’t find them and I have to run out again.” He pulled another drawer open, closed it, and leaned against the edge of the glass countertop in the row behind him, frowning in concentration. “I could have sworn they were here yesterday.”

  “Uh, Beverly and I have been reorganizing the work space. I’ll show you.” Though Steve was tech savvy, he also used old-school methods to keep track of inventory. She squeezed past him and pulled open a third drawer. “See, they’re in here. We discarded outdated paperwork and streamlined the cabinet.”

  She removed a receipt book, laid it on the counter behind her, and then pushed the drawer with her hip. Instead of closing, the drawer lurched, skittered sideways in its tracks, and stuck in the fully open position. “Oh. Sorry.” She tugged at the drawer to straighten it, but it stuck tighter than before.

  “Here, I’ll fix that. Damn thing jams all the time. I need to get rid of this cabinet and buy something better.”

  Steve took a step forward at the same time Victoria tried to move out of his way. The two parried just as a shard from the bottom edge of the wooden drawer caught her tweed skirt and yanked her backward. She yelped in surprise as her pelvis locked against his, wedging them tightly between the glass-top counter and the drawer clutching her bottom.

  Steve’s eyes registered shock. “Sorry.”

  “Oh.”

  “How the hell…?”

  She tried to break free, but wriggling only made matters worse. She could feel his body respond as she moved her hips. She froze, her heart slamming inside her chest, as his erection pressed against her groin.

  Steve groaned.

  Victoria sucked in a breath.

  Heat flashed, sizzled, and then shot upward from her center to warm her chest and cheeks. When her eyes locked with his, his gaze burned through her. Every cell in her body seemed to hum against his while they breathed the same air in shallow rushes. The back of her neck prickled and goose bumps peppered her flesh.

  His erection strained between them, shooting another bolt of lightning to her core. She should have been indignant, or horrified, or embarrassed. Instead, she released a moan. It had been so long since she’d been with a man her age she’d almost forgotten the thrill of vigor and strength.

  Guilt struck like a cold slap. “Please, hurry.” She pressed her hands against his chest to push him away, but the sturdy feel of his body did nothing to ease the situation, or her damned inconvenient desire.

  His face flushed and he cursed under his breath. He leaned over Victoria, attempting to ease the pressure on their joined hips by stretching his arms over her shoulders and anchoring his palms against a closed drawer behind her.

  It didn’t help. In this new position his chest pressed firmly against her breasts. The friction fanned hot and cold flames over her skin, and though she tried not to react, her body gave her away. Heat flared between her legs and sent fire to her belly with his full-frontal body slam.

  Victoria shivered, and the mortified sound escaping her lips sounded more like a sob than a sigh, for which she was grateful. She wasn’t ready to admit how drawn she was to this man.

  This married man. Victoria started to panic, but to wiggle free with his body pressed tight against hers was out of the question. Wriggling had caused enough trouble.

  “Let me try to free your skirt,” he whispered against her hair. His breath on her cheek smelled like fresh, warm cloves.

  Perhaps he was only trying to ease her growing panic, but his voice vibrated against the fine strands near her ear causing erotic longings that shocked her with their intensity. Goose flesh radiated along her skin. The pulse between her legs grew more urgent with the insistent pressure of his groin, and his chest against hers.

  It had been so long. So endlessly long since she’d been touched.

  “The fabric is tangled,” he said. “I’ll do my best to free it without tearing the cloth. Okay?”

  Victoria nodded, sure she couldn’t speak if she tried. The inside of her mouth had gone dry as dust. She told herself she should be furious about this uninvited sexual contact. She should insist he move faster to release her. But the handsome face hovering over hers drew her in, and if she was honest with herself, she’d admit that Steve had magnetism. He was a successful businessman, a distinguished veteran, and she’d been attracted to him since their first meeting.

  Since her panties had dampened with his cock pressed against her sex, she might as well stop kidding herself. Though she’d tried to ignore their chemistry, she…liked him. Wanted him.

  Steve lowered one hand to her waist and slid his palm over the swell of her hip. His fingers moved across the back of her skirt to free the delicate weave. She felt his pulse quicken and heard his intake of breath as his hand cupped her bottom. He looked down at her when she looked up and their eyes met and held. His pupils dilated and the blue of his irises grew bright as he stared down at her with undisguised lust.

  She honestly didn’t mean to, but she touched her tongue to her bottom lip.

  Steve moaned low in his throat. “We need to talk,” he growled before lowering his mouth to hers.

  Their lips touched for a moment before he eased in for more, his tongue rimming her lips, asking for entrance. She answered with a sigh, all the opening he needed as he deepened their connection. His mouth felt warm and full and offered the promise of endless sensuous nights. Yearning zinged through her with a physical ache like nothing she’d ever experienced. Heat rolled like fire through her until the sensations made her dizzy, as if the floor had fallen from beneath her feet. Her senses were filled with only him and she wanted more. She barely resisted clinging to his neck as he pulled back.

  How did one describe this reckless, crazy, weak-in-the-knee
s feeling?

  The bell on the front door jangled, and they looked up and flinched in unison. An older woman dressed in a pale blue pantsuit and white sneakers entered the store. Her gray hair seemed lacquered into place and she wore brightly colored makeup. An oversized duck-yellow handbag hung from her arm.

  “Hello,” Steve said, sheepish. He finished untangling Victoria’s skirt and they took sidesteps apart. She ran her hands over her hair and smoothed the front of her mussed blouse.

  The customer frowned and shook her head in disapproval. “I’m here about the Lydia Van Orr collection of rare dolls listed on your website. I expected to find a spectacular display of historical relevance when I walked through your door—not people fornicating on the premises.”

  Victoria opened her mouth to protest, the heat in her body evaporating under the woman’s scrutiny, but the customer lifted her hand like a traffic cop.

  “Don’t bother,” she said with a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Just point me in the direction of the dolls.”

  Chapter Five

  Victoria introduced herself by her first name only and offered her assistance to the eccentric older woman.

  “I’m Edwina March.” She walked to the enormous glass curio housing much of Lydia’s famed doll collection, and gazed inside. “May I take a look?”

  Victoria recognized the woman’s name. Edwina March was well known in the community for her extravagant tastes and charitable contributions. She and Victoria had never met, thank goodness, or word about the Van Orr widow kissing Steve Carlson might have already made the midday news.

  “Dolls are my personal guilty pleasure,” Edwina said. “I have quite a collection, but nothing compared to Lydia Van Orr’s spectacular array, rest her soul. I’ve only seen her dolls in magazines.”

  “They are impressive,” Victoria agreed, though she knew little about their history. She retrieved the keys for the showcase and unlocked the doors. Though she was curious about the woman’s hobby, she held her tongue. The collecting habits of others were none of her business.