Daddy By Design? & Her Perfect Wife

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  The music ended and Jack stopped in mid-glide. His eyes were perfect sapphires as his head bent toward—

  “Now you get to dance with the real best man here.” A shorter Jack—without the cowlick—grinned down at her as he pried her fingers from her husband’s grasp. “Geoff, remember?”

  “Go mingle,” he ordered the groom. “Kev and I’ll take care of the missus for a while.”

  Mel danced with Geoff and traded a few sallies with the other brother, Kevan. Both men had Jack’s blue eyes and different shades of his honey-brown hair. One of them said the absent brother was another chip off the block; they all took after their father.

  Jack’s children will probably look like him, too.

  Don’t even go there, Burke. The only connection she’d ever have—or want—with Jack Halloran’s off-spring would be doctor-patient.

  As the music started up again, Melinda told Kevan she needed to powder her nose. He joined Geoff; she watched them put their heads together a moment, then saunter toward the nearest clump of giggling, hair-tossing females.

  Jack stood near the hors d’oeuvres table, laughing and chatting with a band of former co-workers. Sherry had a similar group around her at the bar.

  Noreen had rushed off with her husband and baby.

  Nobody approached Melinda; she couldn’t make herself push her way into any of the groups.

  So much for practicing social skills, Mel noted ruefully. Here I am—a wallflower at my own wedding. And what was the point of trying not to be? I’ll stick to medicine, she decided. Meanwhile, she’d fade into the woodwork until it was time to go home.

  Spying an unobtrusive alcove, she drifted across the room to take refuge there. Reaching her chosen retreat, Mel turned to gaze at the celebrating crowd.

  “You’re very lovely,” a female voice said from behind her.

  Melinda spun. The woman curled up in an overstuffed armchair in the farthest corner of the alcove looked vaguely familiar.

  “But I’m still miffed that Jack didn’t bring you home to meet the family before the wedding. He makes everyone else do it.”

  That’s where she’d seen those blue eyes and brown hair. “You must be Jack’s sister.”

  “Tess Malloy,” the woman agreed, extending her hand. “Welcome to the family,” she added with a sweet smile.

  Melinda hated withholding the truth about their marriage, but explaining was not an option. “Your brother sure is protective of you,” she blurted.

  A sigh replaced Tess’s smile. “I’m not diving into the singles scene, so Jack thinks I’m taking too long getting over my husband’s death,” she said matter-of-factly, her lips resuming their upward curve.

  “Too long?” Melinda echoed, then bit her lip. Jack knew his sister better than she did, of course, but… “You never get over missing someone you love, do you?”

  “No,” Tess agreed, her smile wobbling a bit, then firming again. “I don’t think you do.”

  The two women shared a moment of companionable silence. Then Tess asked, “So, how did you meet my brother?”

  “Through Sherry,” Melinda answered mechanically.

  Jack’s sister remained silent, apparently waiting for nonexistent courtship details.

  Okay, now I understand the value of chat, Mel thought, as her mind went blank and the silence grew awkward.

  Finally she had to resort to the one subject she knew something about. “So, um, how did your husband die?” she asked.

  “Cancer,” Tess said. “Pancreatic.”

  “That’s a tough one,” Melinda commiserated. “Too often asymptomatic until it’s already late-stage.”

  Tess nodded. “We only had eight months after Pete’s diagnosis, but he never suffered much pain. That’s a blessing.”

  Mel’s own buried sorrow threatened to choke her, but she managed a smile instead. Hell, it was a wedding, right? “And at least you had time to say goodbye.”

  The other woman’s head jerked up to study Mel. “That’s true,” she said slowly. “Not everybody gets that lux—”

  “There you are!” Appearing out of nowhere, Jack towered over the two women. As he wrapped an arm around Tess’s shoulders, a frown marred his handsome features and he addressed Melinda with all the warmth of a prison guard. “I’d like to talk to my sister alone for a minute. If you don’t mind.” It wasn’t a question, but a dismissal.

  Tess is family. You’re not. Melinda nodded to show she got Jack’s message. Turning to leave, she smiled at the woman in his embrace. “It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Malloy.”

  Jack’s sister smiled back. “Call me Tess,” she urged. “And it was nice to meet you, too.”

  When they were alone, Jack gave Tess a comforting squeeze. “Whatever she said, Sis, don’t let it upse—”

  “Jack Halloran, you have the intelligence and sensitivity of a cement block,” his sister retorted, shrugging off his arm. With that puzzling pronouncement, Tess gathered up her purse and wrap. “I’m going home now.”

  After a couple of steps, she turned back, her eyes blazing with Halloran temper. “I hope your marriage makes you happy, Jack. So happy that you stop trying to make me forget mine.”

  Following that strange remark, his sister stalked away, leaving Jack totally confused.

  He still hadn’t figured out what the heck she was talking about—Had widowhood finally sent her bonkers?—when he saw Sherry pointing to her watch. Oh, yeah, time to leave.

  Well, just to avoid any future misunderstandings, he’d explain to Melinda why Tess needed careful handling, he decided as he strode toward the exit to change out of his tuxedo.

  And he’d work on expunging that sock-singeing kiss from his memory, too.

  GOOD PLAN.

  Except that his smart-aleck brothers had moved his going-away clothes into Melinda’s changing room, and with a crowd of chortling witnesses—including Jugular Jensen—hanging in the vicinity, good old-fashioned male pride left Jack no choice but to knock on the damned door and smile cockily when Mel called “Come in.”

  It’s no big deal, he told himself as he turned the knob. She’s a doctor; you’re an adult.

  Stepping inside, he closed the door.

  His throat went dry. His pulse went haywire.

  The woman he’d married strictly for business purposes had her back to him, revealing a sliver of flawless, creamy-smooth skin where she’d managed to unfasten the first twenty of about a thousand tiny buttons running down the center of her back. All the way down her back.

  “Thank heavens,” Melinda purred in that velvety voice. “I can’t get myself out of this dress.” Her left hand, the one wearing the gold band, waggled at the buttons. “Would you mind?”

  Mind? No. He had no mind left. None. Just desire. Growing, throbbing, damned near ready to explode.

  Silently, Jack crossed the room and forced his trembling fingers to slide little round buttons through narrow satin loops. As he worked, the snowy silk bodice fell open, exposing—millimeter by tempting millimeter—the sexiest, most enticing, most feminine back in North America.

  At least.

  “Th-there,” he said hoarsely as the last button slipped free and the exquisite curve between waist and hip begged to be stroked by an appreciative male hand. Jack jerked away, then pivoted and flung himself across the room.

  “Thanks,” Melinda said over the rustle of falling fabric.

  Oh, God. They were alone. They were married. She was taking off her clothes.

  And he wasn’t supposed to touch her. Not until they discussed it—and in his present state he couldn’t have stated his own name correctly.

  Determined to get out of this room before his control broke and he took her—right here, right now!—Jack jerked loose his bow tie, fumbled with his shirt. As rapidly as possible with hands shaking like an addict’s on the first day in rehab, he stripped off the monkey suit and donned jeans, polo shirt, and sport coat, practically ripping the latter’s lining in his haste to shove his
arm into the sleeve.

  He transferred wallet and keys. Toed off the dress shoes and jammed his feet into high-top hiking shoes.

  “You ready yet, Doc?” he asked the wicker-framed flower print on the wall in front of him when he’d gotten the darned laces tied. Probably to each other.

  “Mm-mm-mmhum-mm.”

  At the odd sound, Jack turned cautiously. Thank God. She was safely back inside a dark, loose dress, wrestling with her veil—her moist, warm mouth full of hairpins.

  Before he could stop himself, he said, “Let me.”

  And then he was touching her again. Turning her by the shoulders so he could take over the veil-removal operation.

  “Again—thanks,” she said with a grateful sigh after she transferred the hairpins from her mouth to a tissue. “My head feels like a pincushion. I must say, I never realized how complicated a wedding could be.”

  “Complicated?” Jack echoed in surprise. “This one was about as no-frills as it gets outside of Las Vegas.”

  Freed of her veil, Melinda turned around. Her glasses were back in place, but somehow no longer hid her green eyes—or the patent disbelief they held.

  “Why don’t you know about weddings?” Jack blurted. “I thought all women did.”

  Mel’s chin went up, her voice chilled. “I had other priorities after Harry died. I read science books, not bridal magazines.”

  Well, that little ice bath cooled his blazing libido, but Jack still wasn’t going anyplace that included a bed just yet. So he insisted on taking her to dinner at one of the latest chic spots in the Deep Ellum area of Dallas.

  Because he had one other thing to say to her and a restaurant seemed like a good, neutral place to say it.

  “ABOUT TESS…” Jack began, as they pretended to study the menu’s paragraph-long descriptions of the American-eclectic entrées.

  “She’s very lucky,” Melinda said quietly, then gave him a smile that did weird things to his heart rate. “You obviously care about her very much.”

  Well, jeez. Who expected a doctor raised on science books to understand his intentions so swiftly? Especially when his own family didn’t. Jack switched to football—even Mel had heard of the Cowboys—and somehow they got through dinner.

  It was dark by the time he followed Melinda’s directions to her parents’ home in Merriman Park.

  “That’s it,” she said with a yawn, indicating an older, two-story brick home much like its neighbors.

  Jack parked the Jeep in front of the garage, lifted his overnight bag from the back of the vehicle as he came around to help Mel out, then trailed her into the house. He nodded when she asked if he’d like to see his room and went upstairs behind a swirl of chocolate hair and the world’s sexiest back. Even hidden in shapeless knit.

  “This is my room,” she said, opening the first door on the right. When he arched a brow, she merely blinked before adding, “For the coffee.”

  “Right, 5:00 a.m. It’ll be there,” he promised, trying to block the delicious, erotic images filling his head. Of that satiny hair spread across pillows. Of his hands sliding along her curves. Of hot, deep kisses picking up where their first one left off.

  “And that’s your room.” She pointed to the door at the far end of the hall, then yawned again. “Sorry. Guess I didn’t realize getting married would be so exhausting. Is there anything you need before I turn in?”

  Proving, you idiot, that you’re the only one hot to trot around here. “I’ll be fine,” Jack assured his it’s-just-business bride as he stepped past her carefully. “See you in the morning.”

  With a nod, Melinda turned away. “Right. Good night.”

  Jack strode down the hallway to the room she’d indicated. After carrying only his luggage—not a willing woman—across the threshold, he flipped on the overhead, closed the door behind him and eyeballed his domain for the coming months. Nice enough, he supposed. Own bath, own TV…own bed. Big enough for two interactive people.

  Stop it. She married an on-site domestic engineer, not a lover.

  Jack snapped on the television, located a sports channel and half listened to a recitation of college scores as he unpacked, took a quick shower, set the alarm for four-thirty—God help him—and went to bed.

  Not to sleep, though. He lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, willing himself to forget every creamy, satiny inch of Melinda’s back and the explosive heat of their kiss.

  Tomorrow’ll be easier, he assured himself, turning and punching the pillow. He’d be busy moving in, getting settled.

  And Melinda would be back at work. Before sunrise. Lord, the woman worked more hours than an ambitious stockbroker.

  Tonight he was grateful for her killer schedule. Not only because it let him leave Loeb-Weinstein to study for his CFP exam and catch his breath, fully insured.

  But because, as everybody knew—out of sight, out of mind….

  4

  THE STUPID CLOCK RADIO blared to life without warning, rattling Jack’s sleep-logged brain like a jet’s sonic boom slapping a single-pane window.

  He opened one eye to check the time. 4:30! Jack hit the snooze button before Britney hit the first note of the second line. Jensen and the Nikkei could just wait ten min—

  Hold it. He wasn’t covering the overseas markets this week.

  He was free! No, he was married.

  And in thirty minutes, he was supposed to serve Melinda Burke coffee in bed. Hers, not his.

  “I must have been nuts,” Jack muttered as he pushed aside the covers and headed for the bathroom. “Loony. Insane. Whacked out of my mind.”

  Three minutes into a four-minute shower, his mind and a certain southerly body part were replaying wedding highlights, featuring vivid close-ups of that erotic, feminine back he’d undressed yesterday. And that turbocharged kiss!

  Like he needed help being aroused in the morning, Jack grumbled, spinning the water regulator to chill before shutting it off. As he reached for a towel, he looked at the shaving kit he’d dumped on the vanity. No way he was scraping off whiskers before the sun came up.

  Okay, so this wife thing was his job now. That didn’t mean he had to set himself a high-performance standard first thing. The whole point of this escapade was R and R, after all.

  Stalking jaybird-naked into the bedroom, Jack jerked on underwear, a pair of jeans and last night’s polo shirt, then, ignoring the rumpled bedclothes, he strapped on his watch and headed out to discharge his first duty as Melinda Burke’s wife.

  He’d make the bed later. He had all day for it. Right now—make like Starbucks, Halloran, and brew up some coffee. A simple chore, he thought as he loped downstairs to the kitchen, even at—he looked over at the microwave—4:39 a.m.

  Congratulating himself on his perfect timing, Jack opened the cabinet above the coffeemaker. Not there.

  He opened another cabinet. Then another…

  At 4:47, he halted his frenzied search.

  Just stood there, motionless, gazing at the ranks of opened cabinets. He’d discovered plates, glasses, mixing bowls, casserole dishes and every small kitchen appliance known to man—including two types of coffee-makers.

  But no coffee. None. No beans, no ground, no instant.

  The Burkes’ kitchen apparently didn’t contain anything else edible, either. The pantry held only a dried macaroni elbow, a canister of salt, three packets of fake sugar and a box of crackers that looked old enough to qualify as historical artifacts.

  The fridge contained a pile of fast-food ketchup packs and a jar of mustard.

  Moron—thinking he could just marry himself onto easy street! He was screwed.

  Jack growled with frustration, then his jaw and his determination, which Sherry and his sibs uncharitably referred to as stubbornness, hardened. No! He’d promised Mel coffee. She’d damned well get coffee. In bed, by five.

  How, brainiac?

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jack caught a turquoise flicker; the rightmost number on the microwave’s
clock had changed to an eight.

  Ha. The one thing he wasn’t out of—not yet, anyway.

  Time.

  Jack sprinted back upstairs for keys and wallet. Shoved his feet into flip-flops. Raced out to his car and leaped behind the wheel like a NASCAR veteran.

  “Okay. If I was a convenience store, where would I be?” Jack wondered aloud as he jammed the key into the ignition, fired the engine and backed out of the driveway. He had less than twelve minutes to find, purchase and return triumphantly with hot coffee.

  Or he could just keep driving, he thought as he dodged some old codger in a pickup delivering newspapers that would be yesterday’s if he drove any slower, and an appalling number of joggers trotting through the dark.

  Yeah, just drive till he ran out of gas. Start a new life—and a new career—there. Counter help at a dry cleaners. Fast-food driveup window. Something so simple even ol’ burned-out Halloran couldn’t screw it up.

  Slowing to avoid wiping out a whole clot of jabber-walkers crossing the street, Jack noticed a line of bright light glowing behind the houses a few blocks down. His brain cells sluggishly processed the information: main drag…commercial enterprises…java!

  The clock on the Jeep’s dash glowed nastily: 4:50.

  Ten minutes. Dammit, he was not blowing his first wifely assignment.

  Tapping his horn to motivate the dawdlers, Jack threaded his way through the neighborhood, heading for the lights. While his hands gripped and spun the steering wheel, lingering memories of Mel’s creamy-skinned, feminine curves altered the fit of his jeans.

  Don’t waste the testosterone, Jack advised himself. Dr. Burke was trading health insurance and study time for domestic assistance. Period.

  That sexy back and silky chocolate hair and hot, melting kiss were not part of the—

  Pancake house!

  Grinning at the tangerine and blue sign glowing through the predawn darkness, Jack turned left onto a major artery lined with all the usual retail stores, spun a ninety into the restaurant’s parking lot and hit the sidewalk running.

  Though he delivered the order with barely restrained urgency, the plus-size waitress, wearing limp brown polyester and a can or two of hairspray, only trudged toward the six-pot brew station near the kitchen pass-through.