“You just assumed because I’m not drop-dead gorgeous that I haven’t had lovers? You think because I’m not blond and big chested that no man in his right mind would find me desirable?”
“No...that’s not it at all,” Hank interjected hurriedly, surprised at her instantaneous fury. “It has nothing to do with the way you look.” He searched for words to explain his thoughts. “I...you... there’s an innocence about you...I just thought probably you were rather inexperienced.”
“It’s smarter to ask than to assume,” she said stiffly.
He hesitated a moment, knowing he shouldn’t ask, but unable to stop himself. “So...how many lovers have you had?”
She eyed him levelly. “That, Hank Riverton, is none of your business.” She stood. “And now, I believe I’ll go to bed.” Without waiting for him, or turning back to look at him, she left the patio.
Hank stared after her. My, he’d certainly managed to ruffle her feathers. And she’d certainly managed to put him in his place, at the same time stirring up more than a little curiosity.
He had a feeling there was a lot more to his secretary than met the eye. He had a feeling it was going to be a week to remember.
Chapter Four
As Angela walked up the staircase to the room where she would be staying for the next week, she wondered if by the time the week was over she would still have a job.
She’d alternated between mouthiness and defensiveness since the moment Hank had picked her up, two traits that were not characteristic of her.
But, there was something about Hank that set her on edge, something that made her more sensitive than normal. Whenever he looked at her, she was aware of her failings...of the fact that she wasn’t pretty, she wasn’t smooth or sophisticated.
And what on earth was she doing pretending that she took lovers as casually and as often as she took baths?
She shook her head, wondering where in the past several hours she’d lost her mind. Entering the attractive bedroom, she tried to still the nervous anxiety that winged through her as she thought of sharing the space with Hank for the next six nights.
Opening one of the drawers, she pulled out a pair of pajamas and all the items she needed for a shower. A few minutes later as she stood in the shower, new horrors crossed her mind.
What if she snored? What if in her sleep she ground her teeth or, heaven forbid, drooled? How could she ever face Hank again in a working situation if she did one of those things?
She should have never agreed to this. She lathered her hair with a vengeance, wishing she could go back to that moment when his sinful blue eyes had pleaded with her to agree to this madcap scheme. That’s when she’d truly lost her mind, she realized. The moment he’d batted those bedroom eyes at her and she’d agreed to be his pretend wife, she’d skidded out of reality and into temporary insanity.
All too quickly she finished her shower and was clad in the cotton pajamas she’d bought specifically for the trip. Long-sleeved, long-legged, the pale pink pajamas covered her from neck to ankle.
She opened the bathroom door and peeked into the bedroom, grateful to see that Hank had yet to come into the room. Quickly, she took the bedspread off the bed and grabbed the top sheet. If she was going to sleep on the love seat, at least she intended to use a sheet.
She turned off the light overhead and instead turned on the lamp by the bed. With the glow of the softer illumination, she tucked one end of the sheet into the back of the love seat cushions, giving her a section to lie on, then pulled the remainder of the sheet over to cover her.
Angela was no giant. At five foot four inches, she was fairly small. But the love seat wasn’t made to be used as a bed, and her legs hung uncomfortably over the wooden, arm.
Finding this position impossible, she turned on her side and curled her legs up to fit into the small space. If she were lucky, she would be sound asleep by the time Hank came in.
At the moment that thought crossed her mind, the door opened and Hank entered. Angela quickly closed her eyes, feigning sleep.
She could tell what he was doing by the sounds he made. He emptied his pocket on the top of the dresser, the loose change jingling softly as he set it down. She heard him expel a soft sigh at the same time the mattress springs announced that he’d sat on the edge.
Klunk. He removed one shoe.
Klunk. He removed the other.
A drawer opened, then closed, then the bathroom door closed and a moment later she heard the sound of the water running in the shower.
She opened her eyes and shifted positions. Thank goodness. One leg had already fallen asleep. Pins and needles tingled through it as she moved it back and forth to restore the flow of blood.
She shifted again, trying position after position in an effort to get comfortable enough to sleep. She froze again when she heard the sound of the water being shut off.
A few moments later the bathroom door opened and Hank walked back into the room, bringing with him the scent of minty soap and clean male. It was the most provocative scent she’d ever smelled. She wished she had a cold. She wished her nose was stuffed.
She wondered what he slept in. Pajamas? Boxers? Surely he wouldn’t sleep nude, not with her in the same room. She squeezed her eyes more tightly closed, refusing to satisfy her curiosity by peeking.
“You can relax, Angela,” he said softly. “I’m decent.”
She opened her eyes and saw him clad in a pair of red athletic shorts. Decent? She supposed, although the width of his broad chest decorated with dark hair was definitely indecent. As was his flat abdomen, slim hips and long muscular legs.
When she’d had her silly little crash on him, she’d tried to imagine what he’d look like beneath the tailored suits he always wore to the office. Nothing in her fantasies had prepared her for the reality.
He sat on the side of the bed. “Ready for lights out?” he asked.
“Yes.” She desperately hoped he didn’t notice that her voice was a full octave higher than normal. She wanted the lights out more than she wanted anything in her life. She didn’t want another minute of having to look at him.
She breathed easier as he clicked the switch on the lamp and the room was plunged into darkness.
Within seconds her eyes adjusted and she realized the room wasn’t completely dark. There was enough moonlight seeping in through the window to allow her to see Hank as he got into bed and pulled the spread up around him.
“Good night, Angela,” Hank said, his voice far too deep, far too intimate for her comfort.
“’Night,” she replied, trying to lie still.
He breathed a deep sigh, as if the mattress beneath him was infinitely comfortable. The rat, she thought irritably. She’d probably be crippled by morning. The floor would probably be more comfortable than the damnable love seat.
If she was going to continue the marriage facade for the next week, she needed to get a good night sleep. She had to be on her toes, thinking clearly in order to continue their married pretense. The floor or the love seat, neither would afford her a good night’s sleep.
A light snore erupted from Hank. Of course he would fall asleep instantly. He was enjoying the nice softness of a mattress. She looked over at him in irritation. He was on his back, his mouth opened slightly. Even snoring he looked attractive.
What looked more attractive was the half of the bed that was empty. There was plenty of room for her. They were both adults. He certainly wasn’t attracted to her and she wasn’t sure she even liked him very much. Why couldn’t they share the bed?
The two hundred fifty dollars he’d offered her for him getting the bed wasn’t enough. It was silly for her to spend a miserable night on the love seat while half the bed remained empty.
Decision made, she stood and grabbed the sheet and wrapped it around her like a cotton cocoon. On tiptoe, not making a sound, she crept to the opposite side of the bed and eased down next to him.
He stirred, turned his head and gave her a sleep
y grin. “You’re forfeiting part of your bonus.”
“It’s worth it,” she replied as her body conformed to the soft mattress. “That love seat is a torture device.”
He laughed, a deep soft rumble that echoed in the pit of her stomach. “Good night.” Almost immediately he was back asleep.
It took Angela longer to fully relax. Although there was a full six inches between their bodies, she could feel Hank’s warmth. His clean, freshly showered scent surrounded her.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on lying still, breathing deep and fully. Within minutes she was asleep.
Something tickled her nose. Brian with a feather duster, she thought. Her brother was such a tease. He was always pulling some prank or another.
She frowned, something not quite right. Mustang, Montana. She was in Mustang, Montana. What was Brian doing here?
As the last vestige of sleep fell away, Angela opened her eyes. Skin. That’s the first thing she saw. Tanned skin with dark hair...hair that tickled her nose.
Hank’s chest. What on earth was she doing with her face on Hank’s chest? She didn’t move, was afraid to. His breathing was deep and regular and she assumed he was still asleep.
One of his arms was around her, his hand resting lightly at the small of her back. Their legs were tangled together, how and when they had become that way, Angela had no clue.
Still, for a long moment she did nothing but remain unmoving, finding pleasure in the easy way their bodies had found each other in sleep. She could feel his heartbeat beneath her cheek, a faint rhythm that seemed provocatively intimate.
The first rays of morning peeked in through the curtains, golden shards of light that lit the room in a surreal illumination. Surreal. The entire experience of being in Hank’s arms felt surreal.
“Good morning.” His chest vibrated as he spoke.
Angela shot up and away from him, nearly falling off the side of the bed as she tugged her legs away from his. “I thought you were still asleep,” she exclaimed.
“I’ve been awake for a while, but you seemed to be sleeping so soundly, I didn’t want to bother you.”
“I was. I was sound asleep...completely unconscious asleep.” She wanted him to know that she hadn’t willfully, consciously draped herself across him. How embarrassing. How utterly mortifying.
He grinned and stretched with arms overhead, looking like a majestic lion awakening from a nap. “I slept great. What about you?”
She nodded, wanting to get up and out of the bed, yet subtly captivated by the notion of being in bed with him. She was definitely crazy, she decided. But, what a pleasant delusion. “I slept well once I decided to forego the love seat.”
He rolled over on his side and braced his elbow beneath him. His eyes were the deep blue of fathomless water, his jaw darkened with a morning shadow of whiskers. His hair was disheveled, strands skewed this way and that, and yet Angela had never seem him look more handsome, more masculine.
She remained sitting up, knowing her hair was a mess and not a stitch of makeup adorned her face. No mascara to darken her pale lashes, no lipstick to add color to her lips. Nothing to hide behind.
She flushed beneath the intensity of his gaze. “You’re staring at me,” she said with an uneasy laugh.
“Yes, I am,” he agreed. He reached out and touched a strand of her long, curly hair. “Why do you tie it back all the time?”
“It’s too curly and wild.”
“It’s beautiful.” He dropped his hand and sat up, a slight, irritated look crossing his face. He picked up his watch from the nightstand. “We’d better get dressed and ready for breakfast. It’s already almost seven.”
“You can use the bathroom first,” she offered.
“Fine.” Without hesitation, he got out of the bed, grabbed clothes for the day and disappeared into the bathroom.
Angela stared at the closed door, wondering what had irritated him. Her hair? That didn’t even make sense. He’d said her hair was beautiful. Warmth suffused her as she remembered those words.
Perhaps seeing her without makeup, her features completely unadorned, had scared him up and out. Maybe he was irritated over the fact that she’d half smothered him while sleeping. God, how embarrassing. And it was only the first night
She still had five nights left to sleep with Hank. She shivered at the thought, disturbed by the fact she wasn’t sure if the shiver was brought on by fear...or delight
The morning session whizzed by without any problems. Hank mentally worked on a new ad campaign for one of his accounts while Barbara lectured them on the history of marriage and the reasons why the institution was so important to society. Hank cared about neither.
Angela sat next to him, appearing to listen intently to Barbara’s every word. He cast Angela a surreptitious gaze. As usual, her hair was tied back in an untidy knot at the nape of her neck. The dark brown curls absolutely refused to be confined, springing free from the barrette that attempted to maintain order.
It had been odd, waking up with her asleep nearly on top of him. Her soft breathing had caressed his chest and he’d felt the press of her breasts against his side. Initially, when he’d awakened, his first impulse had been to spring up, disentangle from her as quickly as possible before she woke up. But, the longer he’d waited to move, the more pleasant the sensations that whispered through him.
Her body had fit so perfectly against his. She’d felt both small and vulnerable in sleep, yet sexy and alluring at the same time.
When he’d touched her hair, felt the silky softness of a curly strand, warmth had shot through him, a warmth far too appealing. The physical desire that had speared through him had both shocked and surprised him.
He valued Angela’s secretarial and management skills far too much to risk losing them by having sex with her. And that’s what it would be...having sex, not making love. He had a feeling that Angela would want more...she would want lovemaking, not just sex for desire’s sake. And even though he knew it was none of his business, he still wondered just how many lovers she’d had in the past.
“We’ll break for lunch now,” Barbara said, drawing Hank’s attention away from the woman next to him. “We’ll be serving in about fifteen minutes,” she explained.
Lunch passed far too quickly and all too soon it was time for Hank and Angela to join Barbara in the library for their “personal” marriage workshop.
“I’d like for the two of you to sit on the floor and face each other,” Barbara said as she closed the library door, giving the three of them complete privacy. She gestured to a plush, thick throw rug in front of the fireplace.
Hank sank down as Angela did the same. He wondered if his facial features held the same anxiety that Angela’s expressed. As they faced each other, he saw the tension that thinned her lips and darkened her eyes. He had a feeling this would be the first real test of their “marriage” and he knew Angela realized the same thing.
Could they pull it off? Could they make Barbara believe that they’d been married for two years, shared intimate secrets with each other, worked together toward common goals and dreams?
“Come on, get closer together. Make your knees touch,” Barbara instructed. They moved closer, their knees meeting each other’s. Barbara sat down on a chair some distance from them.
“Often in the courtship game and an ensuing marriage,” she began, “the two people involved don’t share everything with each other. There are pieces of their past, events from their childhood that made them who they are, and it’s often these milestones we don’t share but rather guard inside.”
She smiled at Hank and Angela. “Today you’re going to share those places with each other. Now, I want you to hold hands.”
Hank took Angela’s hands in his, surprised by how soft, how utterly feminine they were. He’d never noticed before, but she had pretty hands, with long slender fingers and neatly shaped nails painted a pearly pink. The nail polish astounded him and oddly touched him, so utterly f
emale in his nononsense, efficient secretary.
She squeezed his hands and he didn’t know if she was attempting to assure him or communicating to him she needed assurance. He squeezed back, wondering if she had any idea how nervous he was.
It was crazy. He wheeled and dealed with millions of dollars at stake and never broke into a sweat. But this little exercise of Barbara’s had him more nervous than he’d ever been in his life.
“Okay, we’ll start with Angela. Angela, I want you to share with Hank the very best day you can remember from the time you were small until you were eighteen years old.”
“That’s easy,” Angela replied, her gaze still on Barbara. “The day my mother brought my baby brother home from the hospital.”
“Don’t tell me,” Barbara exclaimed. She pointed to Hank. “Tell him. Tell him everything about the day and how you felt at that time.”
Angela directed her gaze to Hank. “I was nine years old when Brian was born. By then my father was gone and my mother was sick a lot, so I knew I was going to play a big role in the everyday raising of Brian.”
She smiled, a smile that lit her eyes and caused golden warmth to flow from them. “He looked more like a monkey than a baby. He had a head full of dark hair and his face was wrinkled up like an old man’s.” She laughed at the memory, and the sound of her pleasant laughter shot through Hank like a warm swallow of good liquor.
“But the minute his little fingers closed around my thumb, I knew I’d do anything for him,” she continued. “I knew the first moment I saw him that he was going to be a big responsibility, and a lot of that responsibility would be on my shoulders. But, I didn’t care. It was a labor of love.”
Hank remembered that moment when he’d stepped into her house and saw her wrestling with her brother. Her cheeks had been flushed with her exertion, but her eyes, her features, all had been lit with the love she had for her brother.
That same smile lit her face now, transforming her from average to almost beautiful. “I knew on that day, I was no longer Angela Samuels, daughter of Roger and Janette Samuels. On that day, I was Angela Samuels, big sister to Brian Samuels.”
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