She had cleavage. Honest-to-goodness cleavage.
She walked closer to the mirror, staring at herself, and the freshwater-pearl-and sterling-silver lariat necklace that she’d found on sale brushed the inside curves of her breasts. Her skin started to tingle.
The sensation reminded her of Trent, of Trent kissing her the night before, and the tingles raced over her again. It had been a brief kiss, but even the memory of it could melt the cold knot in her stomach.
What was he going to think about her now?
As if on cue, she heard his voice call up the stairs. “Rebecca? Are you about ready?”
She pressed her lips together to suppress a giddy giggle. She was ready. But was he? Maybe this time all the electrical jolts wouldn’t be one-sided. Maybe now she’d send a bolt or two his way.
As she reached the top of the stairs, he glanced up. It was one of those moments that a woman waits a lifetime for.
His eyes widened. She saw his hand jerk up to catch hold of the newel. Her confidence soared.
“Hell,” he said aloud. “Who are you?”
“That might be the nicest compliment I’ve ever had in my life.” Oh, yes, she thought she could do right by him tonight.
He continued staring. “Your hair…”
It was down around her shoulders, side-parted, in loose ringlets.
His free hand made a vague gesture. “Your face…”
Maybe she needed to wear mascara more often. Tonight, she’d double-coated it, and selected a plum lipstick that was two shades darker than her usual color.
Then his gaze drifted down. His knuckles whitened on the newel. “Your—” Blinking, he caught himself. “Your, uh, dress. It’s…it’s…it’s…”
Afraid he might say “overflowing,” she took pity on him and started down the steps. “Yes, well, it kind of surprised me, too. Shall we go?”
At the bottom of the stairway he took her hand. “Must we?” he asked, his voice soft.
The tingles raced over her again, prickling her scalp, sliding beneath her dress, causing goose bumps to rise beneath the natural-colored stockings she wore. She looked at his mouth and remembered again how he’d kissed her the night before. His mouth had been firm, but restrained. She’d wanted to lean into it, lean into him, but just as she’d felt herself moving, he’d moved himself. Away, up, out the bedroom door.
Now his thumb stroked over her knuckles. “I know a place that can deliver an entire candlelight dinner in twenty minutes.”
Her mouth went dry. “I thought this dinner was about business. Your business.”
He blinked. “Business.” Then he dropped her hand and rubbed his palm over his hair and across the back of his neck. “How could I forget business?”
Rebecca walked around him to pick up her tiny purse from the foyer table where she’d placed it. He wasn’t looking at her.
“Business,” she thought she heard him mutter again. “I never forget business.”
Once in his car, he kept his gaze trained out the windshield. “So you know, there will be eight in our party at the club.”
“The club?”
“The Tanglewood Country Club.”
“Ah.” Of course, the Tanglewood Country Club. She’d heard of it from her ex. He’d wanted to join for years, and had been seeking someone to sponsor him. Cold started to creep over her again.
“These are out-of-town clients whom I’ve only met a couple of times before myself. Stephanie Fox started her own Web-based, long-term data-storage company about five years back. She’s here with her husband, and two people from her office, along with their respective spouses. We won’t be talking business tonight, just getting better acquainted.”
Great, Rebecca thought. And she was barely acquainted with her husband. “Do you…go to the country club often?”
“I’m the head of the membership committee and the president-elect.”
“Well,” she said, hearing her voice thin with nerves, “then I suppose you’ll see a lot of familiar faces there tonight.”
“Probably.” He hesitated. “In preparation, I made a few calls today telling friends and family about our marriage.”
“You did?”
“I didn’t think it necessary to share all the details of our situation, so I said we’d been set up by a mutual friend and had a whirlwind courtship. The pregnancy announcement can come later, don’t you think?”
“Oh, I hate the lies. Who’s this mutual friend supposed to be?”
Trent’s lips twitched. “Morgan Davis. So no lie, after all.”
No lie. But their marriage was an even more concrete reality now that other people knew about it. And she’d promised herself to give it her best, even though she was a blue-collar navy brat paired with a CEO who also happened to be the president-elect of one of the most prestigious country clubs in the country. Dread grew inside her as he pulled into the club’s parking lot. He surprised her by cruising past the waiting parking valet and finding his own spot in a secluded corner.
Then he turned off the ignition and shifted to face her. “The tension’s coming off you in waves, Rebecca. Let’s sit here a minute while you take a few deep breaths, okay?”
“You must think I’m foolish.”
“I think you’re naturally apprehensive over a new situation. But you’ll be fine, I promise.” He reached out, probably to pat her hands clenched around her tiny bag, but her jittery nerves had her jerking away.
The purse’s latch scraped against her stockinged leg bared by the short dress, snagging the fine mesh. Immediately, an inch-wide run zipped toward her ankle. Rebecca stared down at it, aghast. “No! No, no, no, no, no. I can’t go in like this!” She looked back up at Trent. “I told you I’d be a failure.”
“Rebecca—” He stopped, laughed. “I’ve lived too long when I realize this isn’t the moment for logic. So let’s just solve the easiest problem, okay? Take ’em off.”
“What? Take what off?”
“Take off the stockings, or the panty hose, whatever they are.”
“I don’t even want to walk into the country club with this ugly run!”
“Then take them off right here,” he answered.
She sucked in a breath then heard herself grumble, “Have you forgotten this isn’t the moment for logic?”
He laughed again. “If you can joke, you can divest yourself of some clothing.”
“Oh, all right,” she said. “Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Because I have to lift up my skirt, that’s why.”
His eyebrows rose. “You’re trying to get me to forget about business again, aren’t you?”
And that had her laughing, and feeling attractive again. And confident. A few minutes later, as they approached the doors of the country club’s restaurant, the breeze against her bare legs caused barely a shiver.
Once inside, Rebecca had a moment to take in the surroundings. It wasn’t a large room, but it was filled with round tables covered with dark green linens. Ornamental grasses and bared, delicate branches made up unusual centerpieces. One entire wall was glass, affording a view of an Asian-inspired garden and waterfall. Men were wearing dark suits, and the women’s throats and wrists glittered with rhinestones.
No, Rebecca realized. Diamonds. These women wore the real thing.
And she wasn’t the real thing. Not a real wife to Trent Crosby. Not the kind of wife he would really choose for himself.
The thought hit her, hard, just as all the heads in the room seemed to turn their way. On stiff legs she managed to follow the maître d’ to their table. As they passed, she heard people hail Trent, but she kept up her pace. Ahead, she could see more strangers grouped around a table with two empty places.
Their dinner companions. Trent’s business dinner companions.
People she didn’t know for dinner with a man she didn’t know but had married.
This wasn’t going to work, she thought again in a panic. I won’t have anything to
say to these people, Eisenhower. She was going to let Trent down. Then she felt his hand on the small of her back. His voice whispered in her ear. “Two men just begged me for your phone number. I had to disappoint them and say you were permanently taken.”
Startled, she looked over her shoulder at him.
He shrugged. “It’s those naked legs, honey. We’re all at their mercy.”
That word, naked, derailed her. Suddenly she was thinking of her naked legs, of Trent admiring them, and whether his comment was even true or not, she found herself sitting down, smiling, shaking hands as she met the people at their table.
It was like that for the rest of the evening. Every time she stumbled, every time those awkward doubts tried to overtake her, he was there, touching her hand, murmuring something into her ear, making her smile or laugh. Making her relax.
Ray had always left her alone at social gatherings with his friends. Sink or swim, he’d say. And she’d always felt she’d floundered.
As they pulled into the driveway at the end of the night, Trent told her to stay put and then came around to help her out of the car. Gently pulling her from her seat, he said, “You did it. You should feel proud of yourself.”
“I was determined to do right by you,” she said. He gave her a surprised glance, but didn’t release her hand as he led her into the house. In the foyer, she tugged him to face her. “And I realize, Trent, I realize…”
He stepped closer, his thighs just inches from her naked ones. Naked.
“I realize…”
His free hand stroked down her cheek, then back up to tuck a curl behind her ear. “What do you realize?”
She couldn’t catch her breath. His touch was putting that strange, sexual spell on her again, making her forget who she was, why she was here. Naked. She couldn’t seem to get that word out of her head.
“I realize that instead, Trent, you did right by me.”
“‘Did’ right by you?” He smiled and in the dim light it flashed with the same bright whiteness of his shirt. “Darling, I haven’t even gotten started doing right by you.”
His head dipped down.
Trent let his mouth hover over Rebecca’s. He needed a moment before she knocked him on his ass again. Because surely she would.
Every time he thought he had a handle on their situation, she shook things up again. Called their marriage a mistake. Drew up household schedules. Informed him she’d wanted to “do right” by him.
Appeared at the top of the stairs tonight like something out of a dream.
His lips landed hard on hers. She tasted like warmth and surprise and there was that pillowy bottom lip that made him think of long, lazy afternoons. He swiped his tongue against it.
She shivered, and he cupped her shoulders in his palms. His mouth moved across her cheek and she moaned in his ear as he moved down the creamy flesh of her neck. “Your legs weren’t the only things making me crazy all night,” he murmured against her throat.
Her breasts. There should be odes written to those breasts. They were creamy, like the rest of her skin, and plump. Man, they were plump. He backed off a little and let his forefinger wander down the neckline of her dress. Under his other hand, he felt her quiver again.
“Rebecca.”
She was staring down at his hand, fascinated, it seemed, by the slow, tracing movement of his darker-skinned finger along her fine-pored flesh.
“Rebecca, we need to talk.”
Her head came up. “About what?”
“About…” The answer was simple, wasn’t it? There was no sense denying themselves any longer. It was time they took this to his bedroom and did something with all the sexual heat simmering between them. Wouldn’t it only cement their partnership? Then she’d never bring up that mistake business again.
Beneath his stroking fingertip, he felt her skin heat. He drew his knuckle upward again, painting a slow line toward the thrumming pulse in her neck. Maybe they shouldn’t talk at all. He was rock-hard, she was trembling, and words could get in the way.
Leaning down, he captured her mouth again. He slid his tongue inside and felt her little hum of response. She stumbled closer, and he slid his hands down to her hips and tilted hers against his own. That hum reverberated through the both of them this time.
Her mouth tore free of his and she stared in the direction of his pants. “Wh-what’s happening?”
He gazed down at her, half-dazed himself. “You’re a nurse, you figure it out.”
Then he felt that little buzz again, only it didn’t come from her. It came from him. His pants. With a groan, he shoved his hand in his front pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “What the hell? I grabbed this before we left, but this isn’t mine.” And he never put his on vibrate.
Rebecca swiped it out of his hand. “It’s mine.” She frowned at the screen, then flipped the phone open and brought it to her ear. “The hospital,” she said to him, then into the phone, “This is Rebecca.”
In an instant her demeanor changed. She went from dreamy female to hyper-alert nurse. “When? How long? I will, right away.” With a clack, she snapped the phone shut.
“What is it? What’s the problem?”
“Merry.” She was already rushing for the door. “Her asthma’s acting up again. They’ve admitted her and she’s calling for me.”
“I’ll drive you.”
She skidded to a halt. “No. Oh, no. I’m sorry, I—” Her cheeks flushed pink. “This was your business evening and…”
And they’d been heading for a lusty workout on his mattress upstairs. “And while I’d like to stomp my feet and then pout in the corner over the change of plans, my car is blocking yours and I’d feel better about driving you than having you drive yourself over there at this time of night.”
“It’s nothing new.”
“Being married to me is.” He didn’t let her protest further. The fact was, he did want to stomp his feet and pout, but she’d said the magic word. Merry. He remembered the little girl. He and Rebecca could postpone their date between the sheets for an hour or so until the child settled down for the night.
The hour or so turned into four.
It was the wee hours of the morning when he heard her dismayed voice. “Trent! I thought I told someone to make you go home.”
He removed the tattered People magazine he’d splayed over his face and sat up on his mattress of four molded plastic chairs. “A beefy, fifty-something orderly came by and told me I wasn’t good enough for you, if that’s what you mean.”
“Oh.” She pulled around her the ends of the lab coat she wore over her dress and dropped onto one of the seats beside him. “Sorry about that. I had to explain about you. People here know you’re my husband now.”
Husband. Rebecca’s husband.
Now he understood why she’d looked so odd when he’d told her he’d informed friends and family of their marriage. It felt different to know Rebecca’s friends were looking at him, judging him. Their relationship didn’t seem so simple, so straightforward any longer. “A woman whose badge read Peggy brought me a Danish. Does that mean she approves of me?”
Rebecca closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of her chair. “If you have a Y chromosome, Peggy approves of you.”
“Oh.” He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. “How’s Merry?”
“Sleeping now. It’s been a rough few hours for her.”
Trent noted the new paleness of Rebecca’s face. “For you, too.”
She rolled her head from side to side to ease the stiffness in her neck. “It’s the light in here. Makes everyone pasty.”
He stood up, then grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet. “Upsy-daisy, pasty lady. Time for bed.”
Her gaze flew to his. Messages flew back and forth.
We almost made it there tonight, together.
Yes.
Do you feel relief or regret?
Yes.
Looking at the exhausted woman in front of hi
m, Trent realized that going to bed with Rebecca was a lot more serious than the simple slaking of lust that he’d had in mind. Cementing their partnership with sex had repercussions he hadn’t let himself consider. Here was a woman who cared about people, who cared for people as her profession.
She made apple cobbler, for God’s sake.
This was a woman unlike his selfish mother or his self-absorbed first wife. She wasn’t a one-night stand, either. He could do damage here if he didn’t tread very, very carefully.
“Let’s go home, Rebecca.” He’d never thought of it as that, as “home,” but now he discovered there might be something new to the word.
Just like simple wasn’t so simple anymore. But he was still right—she’d found a way to knock him on his ass once more.
Seven
Three days later, Trent arrived home in the late afternoon. He slammed shut the front door, dumped his briefcase on the foyer table and scowled at the neat pile of mail. The scent of something sugary beckoned from the kitchen, but it didn’t sweeten his lousy mood.
“Trent, is that you?” Rebecca’s voice called from the direction of the den.
“Yeah.” He didn’t dare go near her.
At the moment, women were dangerous to him. Tall, short, young, old, the entire female half of the world was out to drive him nuts.
“Trent, is everything all right?” The gentle note of concern only served to rub him wrong.
“No, everything is very not all right,” he muttered.
“What?”
I’m a man. You’re a woman. Let’s have sex. But he couldn’t lead with that, could he?
“My own assistant just kicked me out of the building,” he yelled in frustration instead. “My littler sister apparently considers herself the queen of my life as well as the Queen of Lantanya, because she called four times this morning to berate me about keeping quiet about our wedding. My other sister is insisting on hosting a reception for us, and when I told her where she could stuff her ideas for a cake, she cried. Cried, damn it! That got her assistant ticked at me. So I go to their offices to apologize—though why I should, I don’t know—and apparently I shoved open the door, startling the assistant who was conducting an emergency trim on her teenage daughter’s bangs. I’ve been informed the bangs suffered. That got the fourteen-year-old crying, and moments later there was a corridor full of women who were staring at me as if I’d personally ordered the cancellations of both Oprah’s and Dr. Phil’s talk shows. And they claim I’ve been in a bad mood lately!”
Right by Her Side Page 8