THE TROPHY WIFE

by Ginna Gray

  For Elizabeth, his awkward tenderness was the last straw. She had tried for so long to be strong and stoic, but she had reached the end of her tether. Collapsing against him, she grasped his shirtfront with both hands and let the sobs come.

  They racked her slender frame. The sounds coming from her throat were agonized and heart-wrenching. Rubbing his hand over her back in a circular motion. Max said nothing.

  To Elizabeth, his embrace felt like the last safe haven left in the world, and she reveled in it, absorbing the warmth and comfort, the feeling of security, like a starving man at a banquet.

  "Oh, Max … it … it was so … so scary," she sobbed against his chest.

  "I know, baby. I know. But you're safe now."

  "The look in his eyes was…" She shivered, unable to continue, and more sobs overtook her.

  Max grew still. "In whose eyes? You mean the man who almost ran you down? You got a look at him?"

  Giving a watery sniff, Elizabeth nodded against his chest.

  "Did you recognize him?"

  "No. I'd never … never seen him before. I'm … I'm sure of that."

  Max grew silent again, but Elizabeth could tell that he was dissecting every particle of information that she'd given him.

  Gradually, her pent-up emotions spent, she quieted, and with calm came embarrassment. She stepped back out of his arms and reached for a tissue. "I'm sorry about that. I'm not usually a crybaby," she mumbled, dabbing at her eyes.

  "That's okay. You had good reason." He waited while she blew her nose nosily, then asked, "Just tell me one thing. Why didn't you call me today?"

  Elizabeth put her cool fingertips to her temples, then her forehead. She shook her head. "Do you mind if we continue this discussion in the bedroom? My hip is hurting terribly."

  "Damn. Why didn't you say so before now? Do you need a pain pill?"

  "No," she replied, shaking her head. "I took a couple just before you arrived."

  "Then let's get you in bed."

  Being careful not to touch her injured side, Max swooped her in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. There, as casually as though he'd performed the task a hundred times before, he stood her on her feet and stripped the robe off her before Elizabeth realized his intent.

  "Oh!" she gasped. Instinctively she crossed her arms over her bare breasts. Heat flushed her entire body, from her toes to her hairline. She felt as though she was glowing.

  A hint of a smile tugged at Max's mouth. "Hey, why so modest? I'm your husband, remember? You might as well get used to me seeing you naked. I intend for that to happen often." He trailed his forefinger along the top of her bikini underwear. "By the way, nice panties," he drawled, holding her gaze.

  The gossamer touch left a trail of fire along her skin. His words and the look in his eyes deepened her flush several shades. Elizabeth was so befuddled and bombarded by so many different feelings she didn't know what to say. She stood there tongue-tied and feeling foolish, and watched him go to the bureau and get out a clean nightgown. He returned and dropped it over her head and bundled her into bed.

  "There. Are you comfortable now?" he asked when he had her settled with the covers pulled up to her waist.

  "Yes. Thank you," she mumbled. The painkiller was beginning to take effect and she was having difficulty keeping her eyes open.

  Max sat down on the side of the bed beside her and hitched his bent knee up on the mattress. Her eyes popped open, the feeling of lethargy vanishing as she became aware of his heat along her left side where his leg pressed against her.

  "Now then, tell me in detail everything that happened after you left here," Max ordered. "And don't leave anything out."

  Striving to appear calm, Elizabeth folded her hands together atop the covers that lay across her waist. "Well, let's see. I took a cab to a little café that I know and had breakfast, then I walked the rest of the way to the museum."

  Step by step Elizabeth went through the sequence of events leading up to and immediately following the hit-and-run.

  When she was done Max stared at her in silence for so long that she began to fidget.

  "And not once, during all that time, did you think to call me?" he finally asked.

  "I told you. I didn't want to bother you."

  "Elizabeth, you're my wife. If something happens to you I want to know about it."

  "But … I would have had to interrupt your meeting. I assumed if the deal was important enough for you to bring your assistant along on your honeymoon that you wouldn't appreciate being dragged away to see after me."

  He gave her another long, level look. "Touché. I guess I deserve that."

  "Oh, no! You misunderstood me." She reached out and touched his arm. Max had shed his suit coat and necktie before he'd surprised her in the bathroom, and beneath his shirtsleeve his arm was hard and warm to her touch, his big-boned frame in sharp contrast to her delicate build. "That wasn't a criticism, Max. I don't expect you to concern yourself with my welfare. I know we don't have that kind of marriage."

  "What kind of marriage?"

  "You know, a … a traditional, romantic one. The only reason you and I bothered with any semblance of a honeymoon trip was to keep up appearances."

  Again, he stared at her in silence for a long time, the muscles in his jaw working. Elizabeth did not know him well, but she could tell that he was not pleased.

  "You're wrong on all counts," he said finally. "I don't give a damn about appearances. We're here because I wanted us to have some time together to get to know each other better. I thought that was what a honeymoon was about."

  "Well, yes. If you're in love."

  Max looked up at the ceiling, as though striving for patience. "I thought we had all this settled. Look, we may not be in love—whatever that is—but so what? As far as I'm concerned that emotion is highly overrated. One I've never experienced, thank God. Mutual respect and admiration, loyalty, honesty—it seems to me that those are the things that are important, in a marriage as well as in a business deal."

  Elizabeth stared at him, feeling absurdly like one of those characters in a cartoon where a light bulb suddenly flashes on over its head. "You think of our marriage as another one of your business deals, don't you?"

  "Well, yeah. Sort of. Like any good merger, we joined forces for mutually beneficial reasons. Of course, a marriage has some enjoyable fringe benefits that you don't get in a corporate deal," he added with a seductive look. Reaching out, he ran his fingertips down her cheek to the corner of her mouth and continued in an even softer voice, "Like the one we sampled this morning. All day I've been looking forward to repeating the experience, but I guess now that'll have to wait until you're feeling better."

  Elizabeth's face burned. In silence she stared down at her fingers, which were plucking at the covers.

  Belatedly, it seemed to occur to Max that perhaps calling their marriage a business deal wasn't such a good idea. "There are other benefits, too," he hurried on. "Like companionship and having someone you can count on. That sort of thing."

  She gazed at him in silence, and Max raked his hand through his hair. "Look, Elizabeth, I'm a businessman, and a damned good one. What I'm not good at is all the touchy-feely stuff. You know … discussing feelings and getting all emotional about things. But that doesn't mean that I don't care about you."

  "I see. So what you're saying is you care about me in the same way that you would care about any valuable business acquisition." She nodded. "I understand. You do have a sizable investment in me, after all."

  Max frowned. "That's not what—"

  "Don't worry. From now on I'll keep you informed of any changes in my condition or situation."

  "Good. No, wait, that's not what I meant, either. Dammit, Elizabeth! You're twisting everything."

  "But you just said—"

  "Never mind that!" Max looked up at the ceiling again and sighed. "You're going to make me spell it out, aren't you? Okay, listen up. And listen good, because I'm only going t
o say this once." He looked straight into her eyes. "I married you for business and personal reasons. The business reasons you know. On a personal level, I married you because … well … because you please me."

  Elizabeth blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

  "I said, you please me. I like everything about you—your looks, your character, your intelligence, your soft voice, your grace, that beautiful thick hair." As though to emphasize his point, he reached out and touched his fingertips to the disheveled locks that lay against the pillow. "I also like the way you smell, all sweet and flowery and feminine."

  Stunned, Elizabeth could only stare at him. It wasn't exactly a declaration of love, or even affection, but it was probably as close as a man like Max was likely to get.

  In that moment she made up her mind that she would be the best wife to Max that she could possibly be. She would uphold her end of their bargain in every way that she could. He wanted to tap into resources of the "old-monied" crowd, so she would introduce him to them and coach him on which approach to take with which potential investor, how to deal with the myriad personalities and characters that made up Houston's high society.

  Max almost had Elizabeth convinced that he did care about her when he added, "All that, added to the respect and admiration I have for you, seemed like a perfect foundation for marriage to me."

  Elizabeth gave him a doubtful look. "You respect me?"

  "Sure I do. I watched you this past year. You went through a tough time, what with Edward running off with Natalie Brassard and all the talk and speculation that was buzzing around. Then on top of everything else you found out that he'd robbed you blind. Yet you weathered all that with dignity and class."

  Elizabeth shrugged. "What else could I do?"

  Max's mouth twisted in a wry smile. "Plenty. You could have gone into seclusion, or reacted with bitterness and anger and sought revenge, or bad-mouthed Edward and his little chippy to anyone who would listen. But you didn't do any of those things. You held your head up like the lady you are and let the gossip and dirt swirl around you without once commenting. In my book, that's admirable."

  Elizabeth shrugged again. "Don't give me too much credit. That's just my way of dealing with things. Sort of an instinctive reaction."

  "That's precisely my point."

  He waited a beat, watching her, as though expecting her to say something, but Elizabeth kept her gaze focused on her plucking fingers.

  "Let's get back to the subject at hand. How badly were you hurt? I assume they X-rayed your hip at the hospital?"

  "Yes, they did. The doctor said that I was lucky. Nothing is broken. I'm just badly braised." Elizabeth shivered. "If it hadn't been for the little old lady who grabbed my coat and pulled me back, the car would have hit me a solid blow. Instead, the impact helped to knock me sideways. I landed on top of my rescuer."

  "Did you get her name?" Max asked. "I'd like to reward her."

  "No, but I'm certain the police have it."

  "Good." Max fished his ever-present PDA out of his shirt pocket and made himself a note. "Now then," he said when done. "What were the doctor's instructions?"

  "To stay off my feet as much as I can for a few days and let my hip heal. Maybe put cool compresses on the braising if it bothers me too much and take the painkillers as needed."

  A knock sounded at the hallway door to the sitting room.

  "Damn. I almost forgot. That'll be Detective Gertski."

  "He's coming here? Tonight?"

  "Yeah."

  Max stood up. Elizabeth started to do the same, but he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "Whoa. Where do you think you're going?"

  "To talk to the detective," Elizabeth said.

  "Oh, no, you're not. You're staying put, right here."

  "But, Max—"

  "Forget it, Elizabeth. The doc at the hospital told you to stay off your feet and that's what you're going to do," he said in a tone that brooked no argument. "If the detective needs to speak to you I'll bring him in here. Right now I want you to get some rest."

  "But—"

  To Elizabeth's surprise, Max bent over and gave her a soft kiss on the lips, cutting off her protest. Pulling back only partway, he looked into her eyes and whispered. "But, nothing. Now, go to sleep."

  "All right," came her meek whisper. Actually, Elizabeth had neither the desire nor the strength to argue. Fatigue and medication were combining to make her so drowsy she could barely hold her eyes open, and her body longed for sleep.

  "This shouldn't take long. After he leaves I'll order us dinner from room service." Max stopped in the doorway and looked back. "What would you like, by the way?"

  "Oh, just something light. A salad or a bowl of soup."

  "Gotcha."

  Max closed the bedroom door behind him and strode through the sitting room to the suite entrance.

  A check through the peephole revealed a balding, paunchy, middle-aged man standing in the hallway, looking all around at the opulent decor. Max opened the door. "You must be Detective Gertski."

  "Yes. And you're Mr. Riordan?"

  Max nodded. "Come in. My wife just finished telling me what happened."

  "How's she doing?"

  "She's banged up and bruised, but otherwise okay."

  "Good, good. I'm glad to hear that. Your wife seems like a lovely lady."

  "She is. Have a seat, Detective." Max gestured toward the sofa, and when they were both settled he added, "Now, tell me how I can be of help."

  "First of all, in order to rule you out as a suspect, I'm going to have to ask a few routine questions of you, Mr. Riordan," the detective informed him. "I hope you won't take offense."

  "No, go ahead. I don't have anything to hide."

  "Where were you at one-twenty-five this afternoon?"

  "In a meeting with my assistant, Troy Ellerbee, and a financier by the name of Lloyd Baxter. We met in Baxter's office in the Colfax building."

  "I see. And if I ask Mr. Baxter and Mr. Ellerbee, they will verify that?"

  "Absolutely."

  "Did you hire someone to kill your wife?"

  If the detective had hoped to rattle him with the blunt question, he failed. Max's expression did not alter one iota.

  "No. I did not. For God's sake, man, we were married only yesterday."

  "Yes, so your wife told me. Can you think of anyone who would want Mrs. Riordan dead?"

  "Not at all. Everyone who knows her admires her."

  "I see." Detective Gertski pursed his lips and ruminated for several moments.

  "I'm curious, Detective. Do you always put this much effort into solving a case like this? I mean, what with all the gruesome crimes that occur every day in this city, how does a nonlethal hit-and-run merit so much attention?"

  "To be honest, normally it wouldn't. The NYPD doesn't have the manpower to investigate every traffic mishap. Right now we're investigating the case as an accidental hit-and-run, but the more I talk to people, the more it's looking like a contract job."

  Max frowned. "What makes you say that?"

  "The driver of the cab that was behind the black sedan got the license number. We ran it through the system and found out that the plates had been stolen from a blue minivan in Queens this morning. By now the driver of the sedan has probably switched the plates back, so the car is untraceable. That's something a professional criminal would do."

  "I see," Max murmured.

  "We have four eyewitnesses. They all agree that the driver of the sedan seemed to be waiting for a chance to run over your wife. His car was sitting still with the engine running, blocking a lane of traffic and irritating a lot of other drivers. Their honking was what attracted the attention of the witnesses on the sidewalk. When Mrs. Riordan stepped off the curb the driver of the sedan punched the gas pedal and took aim at her."

  Max shook his head. "This just doesn't make sense. Elizabeth is well-liked and respected. There's absolutely no reason for anyone to want her dead."

  Detective Gertsk
i mulled that over for a moment, then said, "Well, I suppose it's possible that this was a case of mistaken identity. All of the witnesses say that your wife was wearing a camel coat with a hood, which was covering her head and most of her face. Could be the driver of the car mistook her for someone else."

  "That must be it," Max said with obvious relief. "There's just no other explanation."

  "Your wife was the only one who got a look at the suspect. Would it be possible for you to bring her to the station house tomorrow? I'd like for her to go through some mug shots. Maybe she can pick him out."

  "Sure. We can do that."

  After Detective Gertski left, Max walked over to the window and looked out at the lights of New York. It had started to snow in earnest—big, fat, wet flakes that by morning would coat the city in white.

  Knowing there was a lunatic out there who had tried to murder Elizabeth was worrisome. It had to be a case of mistaken identity. There was just no other logical answer.

  Restless and uneasy, Max paced from one window to the next, staring out at the night skyline through a veil of falling snow without really appreciating the beauty before him or the almost pulsing life of the city. He felt on edge, torn.

  Dammit, one of the reasons he'd asked Elizabeth to marry him was because she seemed so self-sufficient, he groused to himself. He'd figured that most of the time she would go her own way and not make too many demands on him, which was exactly what she'd done today.

  Yet he had to admit, it irked him that she hadn't turned to him for help and comfort after her close call. It bothered him even more that she'd felt that she couldn't turn to him.

  Max shook his head. He'd had it all planned out. He and Elizabeth would have a pleasant, mutually beneficial marriage and with luck they would grow fond of each other as time went by. Now here they were, married one day and already he was feeling protective and definitely proprietorial. Go figure.

  Impatient with his circling thoughts, Max strode into the bedroom. The only light was the soft glow from the base of the lamp on his side of the bed, but it was enough for him to see that Elizabeth was sound asleep. Standing beside the bed, Max watched her and grappled with the confusing coil of feelings that seemed to crowd his chest.