Husband For Hire

by Michele Bardsle

  "When I was younger. My parents died when I was eleven years old. I lived with Gran and Gramps until I started college. They loved me, but I still felt...lost. Like I didn’t belong. And I wanted to belong to someone."

  She briefly met his gaze before looking down at her plate. Emotion swept through Alex. He’d seen a glimpse of the sad little girl in the eyes of the woman. He resisted the urge to take Maggie in his arms and make promises he wasn’t sure he could keep. Instead, he gulped his wine,

  knowing it was time to tell her the truth.

  As he put down his glass, she turned to him. "I almost married my boss."

  Surprise stilled his movements. Maggie was staring at the pond, absently tracing the rim of her wine glass. He realized she was about to confide in him.

  "I worked for Dimmons and Sons Toy Company for almost seven years. I met Harrison accidentally--in the copy room. I had no idea who he was at first. He charmed the socks off me. We dated for about six months. I thought I was in love and said yes when he proposed."

  She sipped her wine. "He was late to the rehearsal dinner. I saw the lipstick stain on his collar and pretended not to. I wanted to be married. To have the kind of relationship both my grandparents and parents had. And I wanted kids."

  "You wanted to belong to someone," said Alex in a soft voice.

  She looked at him, her eyes wide. "Yes." She straightened. "To make a long story short, he eloped with his secretary on our wedding day, then fired me from the company. And to top things off, he stole my design ideas and used them for advertising campaign."

  Alex clenched the stem of the wine class. The crystal cut into his palm. Harrison was not only a jerk, he was stupid, too. Only a blind fool would let a woman like Maggie Conrad go.

  "I’m sorry, Alex. I’m ruining our evening."

  He leaned forward and kissed her. Her lips were warm and pliant and she tasted like chocolate. He wanted to be the man in her life. He wanted to give her everything. But first, he had to tell her the truth. He pulled away slightly. "I have something to tell you."

  "I have something to tell you, too."

  "You do?"

  "Yes. I got a job today."

  "That’s great!" He hugged her. "What lucky company hired the talented Maggie Conrad?"

  She grinned. "Convenience Unlimited."

  * * *

  Chapter Eight

  Dread dropped like anvil, crushing the breath out of Alex. "What company?"

  "Convenience Unlimited. You know--they make all those kooky items you see on television infomercials." She smiled. "I probably shouldn’t talk about my company that

  way. Mr. McCormick showed me the Scoop-de-Loop during the interview today. It’s going to be one of the first projects I work on."

  "Not if I can help it," muttered Alex.

  Maggie’s eyebrows rose. "What did you say?"

  "Now I’m very happy," replied Alex. He was going to kill his brother. Maybe Danielle, too, after she had the baby. This sounded too much like one of her ideas. Maggie snuggled into his embrace. "Things are really looking up. I have a new job." She kissed his neck, and

  despite the turmoil of his emotions, desire licked through him. "And I have you," she whispered as she rained tiny kisses along his jaw. As she tortured him with her sweet lips, desire warred with his conscience. How could he tell Maggie the truth now? She would think he’d gotten her the job. Or worse, she would think he was just like that jerk Harrison. Especially if he gave into temptation and made love with her.

  Alex gently pulled away and cupped her face. "I’m a little tired. Do you mind if we end our evening early?"

  Hurt flickered in her eyes. He kissed her nose. "I’m not rejecting you, Maggie. I want to be with you. It’s just that I’m not feeling well. I guess wine and chocolate don’t mix."

  Concern replaced the hurt. "Are you okay?"

  "I’ll be fine."

  They packed up everything and folded the blanket. On the long drive home, Maggie fell asleep against his shoulder. He liked the way she fit in his arms. The way she put her hands on her hips when she was mad. He even enjoyed how she smelled like charcoal after she’d been sketching. Now, because of his brother’s interference, there was a good chance she’d walk out of his life. And he didn’t know how the hell was he supposed to stop her.

  ***

  Maggie sat down in her new chair behind her new desk and looked out on the incredible view of the Arkansas river. Below, joggers cruised along the sidewalk under the lush, leafy trees. Mothers walked their babies. Lovers held hands, paused to kiss every so often, then wove

  contentedly between the hurried people in business suits and tennis shoes.

  Looking at her office, she couldn’t get over the way her life had turned around in the last two months. If Harrison had married her, she’d be in his mansion, doing...what? Maybe being a socialite. Or trying to get pregnant. Ew! The thought made her ill. What a fickle woman she was,

  almost marrying a man she could no longer think about without getting nauseous.

  And what if she had met Alex after her marriage? Would she feel the same way?

  Oh yes.

  She would have felt the same attraction, the unexpected and unexplainable draw one person sometimes has to another. A connection was there and she hadn’t married Harrison and

  she wanted Alex Ross.

  "Settling in?"

  Maggie sat upright in her chair. "What?" She saw Simon McCormick against the doorjamb and remembered she hadn’t closed the door. "Hello Mr. McCormick."

  "Locked up in your thoughts, huh?" Simon entered and sat down in the chair in front of her desk. "How do you like the office?"

  "It’s wonderful. I expected a cubicle."

  "The president insisted on every luxury."

  "I should thank him."

  "He’s still on a vacation. You’ll find out who he is soon enough."

  Maggie’s smile faltered. What an odd way to phrase it. "I just can’t imagine how he found out about me. I still don’t remember sending a resume to the company." She paused, realizing how ungrateful she sounded. "I’m sorry. New job jitters. I’m thrilled to be on board at Convenience Unlimited."

  "We’re thrilled to have you." He rose. "I’ll leave you to get situated." Just as he got to the door, he turned. "And Maggie, just remember, the boss really likes you. And sometimes...well, people can let their judgment get clouded."

  "I don’t understand."

  He smiled, then shook his head. "Just ignore me. I guess my mind is what’s clouded."

  "That happens to soon-to-be fathers," joked Maggie.

  "Yeah. Danielle’s two days past her due date. In fact, I better call her. Please let me know if you need anything."

  "I will."

  Simon left, quietly shutting the door behind him. Maggie sat down, unable to explain the weird apprehension coating her stomach. She felt like she was in a movie where everyone knew the lines but her.

  "Okay, enough worrying." She scooted closer to her desk. It was time to get to work.

  ***

  When Maggie pulled into the drive, she saw Alex on the porch, shirtless, his back muscles taunt as he reached up to screw in a light bulb. When she shut the car door, he turned around and issued a bone-melting smile. Her knees wobbled as she stepped on the porch. Lord, the man was built. Heat swept through her as she took in his broad chest, flat stomach, and lean hips. She envied those tight-fitting jeans, and tried to psychically force the steel buttons to fall off.

  Alex, obviously unaware of her riotous state of lust, planted a tender kiss on her temple and she felt the heat pool between her thighs. What would he do if she ravished him right on the porch in broad daylight?

  "How was your first day at work?" he asked. He cupped her cheek, his gaze fastened on her mouth.

  Brazen hussy that she was, Maggie licked her lips, nibbling just so on the bottom one. His hand snaked around and cupped her neck, drawing her into his embrace. Her heart stuttered in her chest
and she tried to swallow the dryness suddenly coating her throat.

  Kissmekissmekissmekissme.

  Alex lowered his head, his gaze dark, his eyelids half-closed, the heat of his smile melting her willpower. "D-did you ask me something?"

  "Hmmmmm." He nuzzled her neck, then nibbled the sensitive spot behind her ear.

  The shrill ring of the phone startled her, but Alex continued to torture her with small, wet kisses. She exposed more of her neck, dropping her purse and portfolio. She barely heard them thunk to the porch because Alex had found the shell of ear.Ring. Ring. Ring.

  "Shoot." She reluctantly pulled away. "I better answer that. It might be Gran."

  She picked up her abandoned purse and smiled her thanks when Alex got her portfolio. His hand found the curve of her rump as she entered the house, and she laughed at his playfulness. He followed her into the kitchen, where she answered the still-ringing phone.

  "About time," gruffed Gran. "This is my only call, you know."

  Maggie cradled the receiver between her shoulder and chin and put down her purse. "What kind of hotel limits your calls to one a day?"

  She grabbed the phone with her right hand and massaged her neck with her left, stifling a groan when Alex began to rub and knead the tightness around her neck and shoulders.

  "The roach motel," said Gran.

  "Yech. I thought you were on the Las Vegas Strip."

  "I sort of got moved downtown by some nice gentleman in blue uniforms."

  Maggie had a difficult time deciphering Gran’s words because Alex’s fingers were working magic. They trailed down her spine and fixated on the knot in her lower back. "So you

  finally got put into an asylum, huh? What did you do--scale the brass lion at MGM Grand?"

  "No, I decked Elvis."

  "You what?" Maggie laughed. "You must have had too many free drinks. You’re not making any sense."

  Gran’s sigh would’ve filled up a hot air balloon. "What’s the matter with you? I’m not having any fun. I’m in the joint. The big house. The big J. Get it?"

  Maggie stilled, comprehension slowly dawning. "The Big J? That’s a new hotel, right?"

  "I thought I raised a brighter girl. I’m in jail, you twit. Come get me." Gran hung up, but Maggie listened to the dial tone for a full ten seconds, hoping the voice that sounded so much like Gran’s had not really been her dear, 80-year-old grandmother announcing she was an Elvis-decking criminal behind bars in downtown Las Vegas. The entire phone call had been some kind of delusion. A dream. A catastrophe.

  She slammed down the phone, turned, and ran smack into the warm, solid chest of Alex. He grasped her elbows, his concerned gaze on her face. "My God, Maggie, what’s wrong?"

  * * *

  Chapter Nine

  Maggie didn’t even care that Alex’s rich friend had come to the rescue again and loaned out his expensive jet with leather seats, television with VCR, and foldout sleep couch. However, she was immensely grateful for the fully stocked bar. By the third vodka, she had loosened her grip on the armrests of her seat and was beginning to believe Gran had played a big joke.

  "Elvis is dead," she announced. "Gran couldn’t have punched him. I mean, him being buried in a grave at Graceland and all."

  Alex sat across from her. He leaned over and pried the

  drink out of her hand. "She probably smacked an impersonator."

  Maggie took it back and glared at him. "Who’d impersonate Elvis? There’s only one King of Rock ‘n Roll. And he’s forever horizontal at Graceland."

  She took a big swallow and tried to snort her disgust at the situation. Unfortunately, the vodka hadn’t finished its journey down her throat and abruptly changed directions--going up instead. The burning liquid exited her nose in a generous spray--much like a sprinkler watering a lawn--as she attempted to hack up both lungs. And her pancreas, too.

  Silence filled the cabin. After all, what did a person say after a moment like this?Oh sorry. Did I get any snot on you?

  Heat scorched Maggie’s cheeks. She released her grip on the glass and let Alex take it, humbly accepting his offer of a few tissues. She couldn’t look at him; her nose felt like she’d inhaled a jalapeno. She wished the plane would crack right under her plush seat, so she could plummet to her death. God, she’d been acting like an incoherent idiot.

  "Sweetheart...are you okay?"

  Maggie refrained from asking Alex if she’d gotten any snot on him, instead she nodded and concentrated on the wadded-up tissues.

  "You’re having a bad day. It’ll be a while before we get there, why don’t you take a nap?"

  He led her to the foldout couch, gave her a pillow, and tucked a nice, fluffy blanket around her. She closed her eyes, enjoying the warm press of Alex’s lips against hers as he kissed her "good nap."

  Ninety minutes later, they landed at McCarran Airport, taxiing to the executive terminal used by several tour companies’ planes and helicopters. Maggie felt nauseous and anxious as Alex helped her off the jet.

  "I hope I don’t throw-up," said Maggie. "That would just suck."

  "You’ll be fine," soothed Alex as he led her through the small building. As they stepped out the front glass doors, a limo pulled up.

  "I’m getting used to this kind of luxury," teased Maggie, despite the headache beginning to form inside her skull. She didn’t want to think about how Alex had managed to order a limo.

  "I’m lucky my new boss is so understanding, or I’d be looking for another job."

  "The situation is unusual," said Alex. She looked at him, saw a hesitation, then a slight shake of his head, as if he’d mentally deciding against something. When he looked up and caught her gaze, he smiled, then turned to stare out the window.

  Maggie sighed. She’d been whisked to Vegas so she could

  rescue her grandmother from jail. How different it would be if she and Alex had gone off for the weekend, arriving by private plane, then taken by limo to a luxurious hotel. She lost herself in the little fantasy, then immediately felt guilty and selfish for wishing she’d been on a lover’s trip with Alex instead of spending her time worrying about her grandmother.

  Themed-hotels lined Las Vegas Boulevard--from the huge emerald-green MGM, to the big pink big top of Circus Circus.

  Maggie felt like she’d been dropped onto an movie set for giants. Dusk was creeping over the mountains and the lights of the Strip hotels were beginning to blink on. Soon, they arrived at the police station and after several inquiries and wrong turns, they found an information desk.

  The matronly woman behind the counter stared at a computer, punching the keyboard with long, purple nails. "Mr. Howard King dropped the charges," she finally said. "Victoria Simms and Betty Lee Ricksey paid their fines."

  The clerk grinned. "Oh, I remember these two. Fighting and fussing and poor old Elvis in the middle holding his toupee. When they left, the one with the orange hair said she was going to get married."

  "Orange hair?" asked Maggie.

  "I think it was the one called Vicky."

  "Vicky?" Maggie blinked. "Married? To who? Where? When?"

  "This isn’t the registrar’s office, honey. You’ll have to go courthouse to get that kind of information." She started to turn away, then paused. "I do know she was going to marry the bald Elvis."

  Back in the limo, Maggie sat in a daze, not even registering the glittering lights of the Strip. "How did I get ‘I’m in jail because I punched Elvis’ confused with ‘I’m getting married to Elvis’? Those phrases don’t sound remotely alike."

  "We’ll find her, sweetheart. Then we’ll figure it all out."

  They started the search at the MGM Grand, where Victoria and Betty Lee had been staying. When they got to the hotel room, Maggie almost fell over in surprise when her grandmother opened the door. She was relieved Gran didn’t have orange hair, but her nice, gray hair stuck up in several places and her clothes looked slept in.

  "I know I look like hell." She smoothed down her hair and st
raightened her clothes. "Hangover. Just a little one, though. Tequila was much stronger in the old days. Worms were tastier, too."

  Maggie’s lecture was silenced by the vision of Gran swilling tequila like avaquero might in the days when the West was still being won. "Where’s Betty Lee?" she managed to ask.

  "With Howard. He dropped the charges after I called you."

  "And Howard is...?" asked Maggie.

  "Elvis," responded Gran in a gravelly get-a-clue tone. "C’mon in. I gotta take a shower before the wedding." Before Maggie could ask a few pertinent questions, likeHave you gone completely insane? Gran disappeared into the bathroom. Alex shut the door, led Maggie to a chair, then opened the bottle of rum sitting on the television. He ripped the paper covers off two glasses and poured the liquid into them.