HUSBAND BY THE HOUR

by Susan Mallery

  "Ten bucks," he said.

  "Huh?"

  He winked. "The kiss. It was worth ten bucks."

  "I don't understand." He wanted money for kissing her?

  "We agreed on four hundred dollars for the weekend. The kiss was worth ten bucks to me, so now you only owe me three hundred and ninety." He started to close the door, then paused again. "In cash … or trade."

  Before she could say anything, he slammed the door shut and came around to the driver's side. Hannah couldn't bring herself to look at him. She stared straight ahead and wondered what on earth she'd gotten herself into.

  Nick didn't say anything as he started the engine. He selected a classical station on the radio, then pulled out and headed for the freeway.

  She leaned back in the seat. Her lips still tingled. Ten bucks. The kiss was worth that and more. Originally, Nick had wanted a night of hot sex in exchange for helping her out. She'd been the one to insist on cash. Maybe, just maybe, she'd been a bit hasty in her decision.

  * * *

  By nine, they'd reached the northern outskirts of Los Angeles County. Nick pulled off Interstate 5 in the bedroom community of Valencia and they got coffee at a drive-through fast-food place. When they returned to the freeway, Hannah sipped the steaming hot liquid and wondered for the four thousandth time what on earth she'd been thinking. Was she crazy?

  To make matters worse, Nick could read her mind. Just as she was starting up another litany berating herself, he asked, "Why are you doing this? What's so important that you have to pretend to be married?"

  She took another sip and pondered the question. Easy enough – except she didn't really want to have to tell him the truth.

  He glanced at her and quirked up one eyebrow. "You probably think I'm just being nosy, but the truth is I need some background information so I can get into my role. I'm more of a method actor. You know, feel the – part and all that."

  Despite her apprehension, she smiled. "That makes sense. Okay, I'll fill you in, but I have to warn you. It's a long, boring story."

  "No problem. This is a long, boring drive."

  He'd always had a good sense of humor. That's one of the things she liked about him. Not that she really liked him or anything. Oh, yeah, she thought, wondering if lightning would strike the sleek car. She didn't like him and she wasn't attracted to him. That's why she'd invited him to be a part of her life for the next three days and why she'd kissed him back.

  At the station, he'd been a lot easier to ignore, but now no one else was around to see. She could lighten up a little. It wasn't as if she was getting involved with Nick. She knew exactly who and what he was. No matter how charming and funny, he still lived on the wrong side of the law.

  "My birth mother gave me up for adoption," she said and glanced out at the low mountains around them. They were climbing out of the Santa Clarita Valley, heading north toward Glenwood. "A few months ago, I received a letter from her."

  "Your real mom?"

  "Yeah."

  He glanced at her. "Without warning? That must have kicked up your heart rate."

  "I'll admit I walked around in a fog for days. I couldn't believe it. She'd hired a private detective to find me."

  "Are you angry about it?"

  Hannah was surprised at his perception. She shrugged. "I don't know. Sometimes. I seem to go through stages of curiosity, longing and rage. Right now I'm curious. I want answers. I guess most children who are given up for adoption have a lot of questions. What were the circumstances in my biological mother's life? Did she give me up right away, or did she keep me around for a while? Did she…" Did she love me?

  Hannah didn't voice that, although it was always deep in her mind. That was the one question that plagued her the most. Had her birth mother cared about her at all? Had this been a callous gesture, the quick and easy way to get rid of a problem? Or had there been overriding forces at work, ripping an innocent child from her caring mother?

  "Did she have second thoughts?" she said, completing the statement so Nick wouldn't get any ideas. She already regretted confiding in him.

  "Had you tried to get in touch with her yourself?" he asked.

  "No. I thought about it from time to time, but I never knew what I was going to say if I found her. I figured if she'd wanted me in the first place, she would have kept me around."

  "What do your adoptive folks say about this?"

  "They died a long time ago." Hannah clutched the foam coffee cup in her hands. Twenty-three years ago. She'd been so young, she barely remembered them. She did remember being happy, though. Not just the occasional glad moment, but happy all the time.

  "Any other family?" he asked.

  "That's really none of your business."

  "Right. I'm just the husband. Sorry, I forgot."

  "It's not necessary for you to know every detail about my private life. I'm not trying to be difficult. I would simply prefer that you didn't pry."

  "I'm sort of surprised you can walk as well as you do," he said.

  She stared at him. "What do you mean?"

  "It must be difficult, what with that giant chip on your shoulder. Most people would have to drag a leg behind them or something, just to keep balanced."

  She didn't know whether to burst out laughing or slap him. "I do not have a chip on my shoulder."

  "Yeah, right. You also don't keep the rest of the world away by pretending not to need anyone, either. Go on. You got this letter from your real mother. Then what happened?"

  She was openmouthed at his assessment of her character. She wanted to protest that she didn't keep the world at bay. At least, not on purpose. It just sort of happened. She hadn't grown up the way everyone else had. After her adoptive parents had died, she'd never been a part of a family for any length of time. She'd been bounced around foster homes. She didn't know how to have several close friends, share pieces of her life, or even tell jokes. Socially, she was definitely at the dull-normal end of the range.

  "Hannah? The letter?"

  "Oh. Well, she found me by using a private detective. Apparently, all the records got messed up at the adoption agency. Plus, because I wasn't searching for her, they wouldn't give out any information they still had. Not that it would have helped, what with my parents dying."

  "What does this have to do with me?" he asked. "Why do you need a husband?"

  "Because when the detective located me, I was still married."

  He turned his head and glared at her. "Married?" The outrage in his voice made her smile.

  "Yes, married."

  "Married?"

  "Nick, watch the road. I want to get to Glenwood in one piece."

  He returned his attention to the road and swore under his breath. "Dammit, Hannah, you didn't tell me you were married."

  "Why are you acting like it matters?"

  "Because it does."

  "That's crazy. We don't even know each other."

  "That's something a man likes to know before he pretends to be somebody's husband."

  "Sorry. I'll remember that for next time."

  He shook his head. "Married."

  Her amusement turned to irritation. "I know it's hard for you to imagine this, but there are actually men who find me attractive. Amazingly, I did trap one into a committed relationship, at least for a short period of time."

  She hadn't trapped Shawn, although the relationship had been a mistake from the beginning. They'd only been married five days. Even thinking about it made her embarrassed. It was a foolish episode from her past.

  "How long have you been divorced?" he asked.

  "About two months."

  "Two months? You mean all this past year you were living with your husband?"

  She sighed. "Why are you taking this so hard? You're acting like I've cheated on you. No, I wasn't living with my husband. We've been separated about four years. I just never bothered filing for divorce and neither did he. Until recently."

  "What happened?"

  "
Nothing I want to discuss with you. The important point is that when the detective found me, I was still married. The letter from Louise – that's my biological mother – mentioned that she wanted to meet my husband."

  "Why didn't you tell her the truth when you talked to her on the phone?"

  The car glided over the paved highway. Hannah turned to her right and pretended interest in the billboards. "Well, one reason was that she said that she wanted us to get together while there was still time. I'm afraid she's very ill. I didn't want to upset her. She's an old woman. That's why I hired you. We show up together. I'm the long-lost daughter, you're my husband. We act pleasant. In a couple of days you get a business call and return to Southport Beach. When I'm sure she can handle it, I'll tell her the truth."

  "Sounds pretty flaky to me."

  "I don't recall asking your opinion."

  "Hey, don't worry, babe. I'm not going to charge you extra for it. I've run plenty of scams in my time."

  "I'm sure you have."

  He winked. "Some of them have been legitimate."

  "Want to give me a percentage?"

  "Not really. The trick is to keep them as close to real as possible. You should have brought the ex with you. It would have been a lot easier."

  "He wasn't available right now."

  "Traveling on business?"

  She wondered what Nick would say if she told him about Shawn. She could already hear the teasing remarks. Better to walk on broken glass and eat poisoned dung beetles for breakfast.

  "You might say that."

  "I might. What would you say?"

  She sucked in a breath. "Shawn is working right now."

  "Oh. Shawn. Let me guess. Some Ivy League type with three numbers after his name and a pedigree longer than the grand champion at a dog show."

  She bit on her lower lip to keep from laughing. Please, God, never let Nick find out the truth. "Sort of."

  Nick stewed over that for a while. She watched the mile markers zip by. Ten minutes later, he said, "You never finished answering my question. Why didn't you tell your mother the truth when you talked to her on the phone?"

  She crossed her legs and folded her arms over her chest. "I haven't actually spoken with her on the phone. We've been writing letters."

  "Why? Wouldn't it be easier to pick up the phone and call?"

  "No, it wouldn't."

  She half turned in the seat, facing away from him as much as the seat belt would allow. He couldn't understand her mixed emotions about what was happening. His life was so different from hers. Nick was one of those people who was blessed. He had good looks, charm, wit, a sharp mind. It was unfortunate he'd chosen to use his talents the way he had. If he'd been honest, he could have gone far.

  It was different for her. She had to worry about things. She wasn't gifted. People thought she was so calm and composed, but she felt like a poster she'd once seen of a swan. Above the surface, the bird seemed to be gliding along, but underneath the water, where no one could see, its feet were working like crazy to keep up the facade.

  From the time she'd lost her parents and been dumped in her first foster home, she realized that no one wanted her around. She couldn't remember the number of times she'd been told the state wasn't paying enough for the family to keep her for long. She'd lost track of the number of houses, apartments, schools she'd been in.

  For a while, she'd wanted to fit in, to belong. She'd really tried. But her attempts hadn't been enough, or she'd done it the wrong way, because no one had noticed. Eventually, she stopped trying. Sometimes the people were nice enough, but she learned early on not to depend on anyone but herself. It was better not to care. Nothing ever lasted. Even when it seemed things were working out, she was always sent somewhere else.

  She felt his hand on top of hers. She pushed him away.

  "Hannah, honey, I know you're scared. But it's going to be okay."

  "I'm not scared and you don't know it's going to be okay."

  "Sure I do. I'm here. I'm going to make it work. You'll see."

  She sniffed and ignored him. Cheap talk from someone used to buying whatever he wanted. Actually, she didn't know that about Nick; she was only assuming. But it was probably true.

  Instead of taking the broad hint, he once again put his hand on top of hers and squeezed gently. The comfort meant a lot to her, even though she didn't want to tell him. It would be too much like giving in. She was convinced that if she gave in – even a little – she would suffer for the rest of her life. So she held back. Resisted. Didn't say anything. She didn't trust Nick. She wasn't even sure she liked him.

  But when he nudged her, she turned her hand over and let him lace his fingers through hers.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  « ^ »

  Nick checked the rearview mirror. There was no one behind them but truckers and no one was going the speed limit. He touched a button on the cruise control panel, then glanced at Hannah. She was leaning against the passenger door, her head resting on the window. She'd been asleep for most of the morning.

  He slipped a tape of classical music into the cassette player and kept the sound low. She didn't stir. He was glad. She obviously needed her rest. The shadows under her eyes weren't all from her hangover. No doubt the stress and worry about meeting her birth mother for the first time had kept her up nights.

  Her color was better now, her breathing steady. Of course, her color wasn't quite as high as it had been when he'd kissed her.

  He grinned at the memory. Kissing Hannah Pace was something he should have done a long time ago. Not only for the pleasure it had given him, but because it had left her speechless.

  Oh, he'd thought about it. He couldn't be around Hannah for more than five minutes without thinking about kissing her and touching her. She was the kind of woman who lent herself to wicked thoughts – at least in his mind.

  He'd wondered if she would resist the kiss and the heat it generated. Passion could be disconcerting if one was used to constantly being in control. He suspected Hannah prided herself on being in control. But she hadn't resisted or pretended not to respond. Even if he hadn't felt the clinging sweetness of her mouth, her fire-filled eyes and uneven breathing had given her away. Yup, kissing Hannah had been a great idea. He'd imagined it would be terrific, and the real thing had been better than any fantasy. He couldn't wait to do it a second time.

  He checked on her again, but she was silent and still asleep. Was she dreaming? Was she worrying about what was going to happen? Did she regret her confession?

  Hannah had been married. He thought he'd figured her out, but that piece of information had stunned him. Married. He swore under his breath. Why hadn't he known?

  "Why does it matter?" he asked himself softly, then decided he didn't want to know the answer.

  Married. To whom? Not a cop. She wouldn't have been able to keep that quiet. He would have heard about it – some kind of hint would have surfaced in the past year. He knew all about gossip at a police station. Everyone knew everyone else's business.

  Who would Hannah have married and then divorced? A successful businessman with shady dealings? He grimaced. Hannah wasn't the type to get involved with a criminal. That's one of the things he liked best about her – her principles. Of course, those high standards meant she wasn't likely to give him the time of day.

  He thought about the assignment he'd been working on. All the hours being alone, the danger, the tension. It was about to end. Just a few more days, maybe a couple of weeks.

  He wondered what Hannah would say if he told her the truth. Would she like him more? Respect him? It didn't matter. Until the assignment was over, until the bad guys were in jail, he wasn't telling anyone anything. He wasn't going to risk all that time and effort. He wanted those guys caught.

  So Hannah would continue to think he was a criminal and he would let her. Probably best for both of them.

  An airline pilot with a girlfriend at every stop? Nick shook his head. He didn
't like that scenario, either. He didn't want her ex-husband to have abused her, or cheated on her, or done anything illegal. But if the ex was so perfect, why had they divorced?

  His stomach rumbled, reminding him it had been a long time since breakfast. He glanced at the billboards on either side of the multilane freeway, then took the next exit to a fast-food restaurant. He pulled in behind a battered pickup truck with two live caged chickens and a goat tied in the back. He glanced at Hannah. She stirred and blinked sleepily.

  She had the best-behaved hair of anyone he knew. At the station she wore it in a bun at the back of her head. No matter what time he went by, whether it was the first five minutes of her shift or the last, every hair was in place. He'd never seen a strand sneak out to drift against her cheek or her neck.

  Today she wore a thick braid down her back. Despite fighting a hangover and sleeping for the better part of four hours, she was perfectly groomed. He couldn't help wondering what she would look like all mussed up. Preferably naked, with her hair loose and her eyes heavy with passion.

  The stirring in his groin made him shift uncomfortably. Think about something else, he ordered himself.

  "Are you hungry?" he asked.

  She glanced around. "No, but I should probably eat. Just a hamburger and soda, please."

  "Sure." He pulled up to the microphone and placed their order.

  "I've been asleep," she said. "You should have woken me."

  "Why?"

  "So I could spell you on the driving."

  "I like to drive."

  She leaned back in her seat. "Not surprising. It's a control thing. Men like to drive because it makes them feel in control."

  "You learn that in Psych 101?"

  "Are you denying it's true?"

  "Nope. Just wondering where you got so smart."

  One corner of her pretty mouth turned up slightly. "I figured it out all by myself."

  "You can drive this afternoon." He wouldn't mind driving the whole way north, but as they got closer to Glenwood, she would get nervous. Driving would help distract her.

  They collected their food and headed back on the road. Hannah handed him his burger and drink as he asked for it. He'd eaten in the car before, without help, but he liked her being attentive to him. Male vanity, he thought, grinning. She would probably slug him if she ever discovered what he was thinking.