THE TROPHY WIFE

by Ginna Gray

  The song came to an end, and as they started to walk off the dance floor the band struck up a lively jitterbug. Grinning, Mimi grabbed Max's hand. "C'mon, stud. Let's you and me show 'em how it's done. Let's burn up the floor."

  "You're on."

  On the sidelines, Elizabeth and the couple with whom she'd been talking turned to watch them. "Oh, my. Would you look at that. Trust Mimi to make a spectacle of herself," Nell Drexler murmured, grimacing as though she'd just smelled something revolting. Too late, she seemed to recall the close friendship between Mimi and Elizabeth. "Not that I'm criticizing, mind you," she rushed to add. "It's just that she's so … so exuberant. I must say, she and your new husband dance quite well, don't they?"

  "Yes, they do," Elizabeth agreed, smiling at the pair. "When she was younger Mimi was a professional ballroom dancer."

  Max and Mimi were in perfect sync, never missing a beat. After a few moments the other couples stopped dancing and cleared the floor for them. The pair then pulled out all the stops. Mimi danced with exuberance and sheer joy, her feet moving so fast they were almost a blur. With each hip-swiveling step the thigh-high slit in her gown revealed one gorgeous long leg.

  "You might know she'd make an exhibition of herself."

  The remark came from Elizabeth's right. She turned her head and discovered Wyatt Lassiter standing at her side. "Oh, don't be so stodgy, Wyatt. They're having fun. That's what a party is for, isn't it?"

  He greeted Nell and Ethan Drexel, then took Elizabeth's elbow. "Excuse us, won't you. I need to have a word with Elizabeth."

  "Certainly. We were just leaving, anyway," Ethan said.

  "Phone me later in the week, Elizabeth," Nell called as her husband steered her toward the door.

  Wyatt cast another sour look toward the dance floor. "Now, there's a perfect pair. She doesn't belong here any more than he does."

  "I beg your pardon. That's my husband and my best friend you're talking about."

  He looked at her then, his face stiff with anger. "Oh, please. We both know why you married Riordan. As for her … Edward should have put his foot down and insisted that you end that absurd friendship years ago. I certainly would have."

  "Oh, really?"

  "Never mind that. I didn't come over here to talk about Mimi Whittington." He glanced toward the dance floor again as the music stopped and the crowd around Mimi and Max applauded. "There's no time now. They're headed this way. But we have to talk, Elizabeth."

  "Wyatt, I don't think—"

  "I'll call you," he said, and walked away as Mimi and Max returned.

  "Whewie! Can this man of yours dance!" Mimi exclaimed, fanning herself with one hand. "With a little practice and work you could compete in the pro circuit."

  "Thanks. I'll remember that if I ever need a second job," Max drawled. "What did Lassiter want?" Max asked Elizabeth, watching the other man wend his way through the party-goers.

  "Oh, nothing. He just stopped to say hi." She put her hand on his arm. "Before I forget, while you two were dancing the Drexels invited us to dinner next Friday. It seems he's heard a rumor that you've got an interesting project going and he'd like to discuss it with you."

  "Hey, I thought we agreed, no more business tonight," Max growled, but the approval in his eyes warmed her.

  "Looks like the crowd is beginning to thin," Mimi observed, looking around.

  Max slipped his arm around Elizabeth's waist. "One last dance with my wife and we can leave whenever you ladies are ready."

  It was funny, Elizabeth thought, how slipping into Max's arms had become so natural in just one evening. With her hands clasped together at the back of his neck, her cheek resting on his chest, eyes closed, she moved with him to the music as though floating in a dream. She did not have to concentrate on the dance. Her feet seemed to follow his of their own accord.

  When the song ended and Elizabeth took a step back, Max bent and dropped a soft kiss on her lips. "Ready?"

  A nod was all she could muster.

  Ten minutes later, they said their goodbyes and climbed into Max's BMW.

  "Mmm, I'm pooped," Elizabeth said, leaning back in her seat and stretching. "I can't remember when I've danced so much or had such a good time at a party."

  "Yeah, that part was fun," Mimi said from the back seat. She leaned back against the plush upholstery. "But I'm glad that shindig is over. By the way, I don't know if you two realized it, but you make a dynamite couple. I mean it," she insisted. "You look stunning together."

  Elizabeth sniffed, and Max held his tongue.

  "Do you play golf, Max?" Elizabeth asked.

  "Hell, no. I never could see how anyone could get enjoyment out of hitting a little ball into a hole."

  "Mmm, that's too bad."

  "Why?"

  Elizabeth turned her head on the back of the seat rest and looked at his profile through the semidarkness. "You'd be amazed at how many deals are made on the golf course."

  "She's right," Mimi chimed in from the back seat. "I can think of at least three megamergers that were hammered out between the ninth and tenth holes."

  "That's too bad. No way am I going to learn to play golf. The game is too slow for me. I'd go stark-raving mad by the third hole."

  "I see." Elizabeth mulled that over. After a moment she said, "What about tennis? That's a fast game. It doesn't have the advantage of being able to talk while playing, like golf, but a lot of men, particularly the under-sixty ones, play tennis. After the game they discuss business over lunch in the club house."

  "Hmm. That's more my speed. Except I don't know how to play."

  "What sport do you play, stud?" Mimi asked.

  "When I have time, I like racquetball."

  "Figures," Mimi drawled. "A game where you can whomp the stuffin' outta the ball."

  Without warning Elizabeth sat forward and yelled, "Stop! Max, stop!"

  "What the—"

  Max stomped on the brakes so hard Mimi catapulted forward. She would have slid off the rear seat had she not been wearing a seat belt.

  "What is it? What's wrong?" Max demanded, but he was talking to her back.

  Before the car came to a full halt Elizabeth had shed her fur coat and bailed out. Braving the icy rain, she ran toward the rear of the car.

  "What the hell is she doing?" Max groused, trying to see through the car's rear window. "She's going to get soaked."

  "If I had to guess, I'd say she's picking up a stray cat or dog."

  "What?"

  Mimi reached over the back of the seat and patted his shoulder. "Get used to it, stud. Elizabeth's got the softest heart of anyone west of the Mississippi."

  Sure enough, an instant later Elizabeth jumped back into the car clutching something to her breasts. Something that was squirming and making a constant mewling sound.

  "What the hell is that?" Max demanded, staring at the tiny, shivering lump of wet fur.

  "It's a kitten."

  "Told ya," Mimi drawled from the back seat.

  "A kitten? It looks more like a drowned rat."

  "Oh, poor little thing," Elizabeth crooned. "She's shaking, she's so cold and wet." She picked the kitten up and cuddled it against the side of her neck. "That's okay, little one. I'll take care of you. You're safe now."

  "Oh, great." Max rolled his eyes. "That 'poor little thing' is ruining your gown."

  "It doesn't matter. A gown can be replaced. This is a helpless, living thing."

  "What're you going to do with it? The humane society isn't open until Monday."

  Sucking in a sharp breath, Elizabeth glared at him. "I'm not going to take this baby to the humane society. They kill animals if they're not adopted in a couple of weeks."

  "So you're planning on keeping it?"

  "I may," she said with a defiant tilt of her chin. "If I can't find someone to adopt her."

  "Uh-huh. Why am I not surprised." Max put the car into gear and drove on.

  "There's an all-night pharmacy on San Felipe. Would you swi
ng by there so I can get some supplies and kitten food?" Elizabeth requested.

  "Sure. Why not?" Max agreed in a defeated drawl.

  When he parked in front of the all-night drugstore, Elizabeth thrust the kitten at him. "Here. You hold her while I run in and get what she needs."

  "Hey, wait—"

  Elizabeth had already opened the door and bailed out.

  "Damn." Max held the squirming, mewling kitten at arm's length in his right hand. "What am I suppose to do with this thing?"

  "Pray it doesn't pee on your upholstery or your wife's fur coat." Mimi chuckled. "I warned you, stud. You married yourself a steel magnolia with a soft heart. But that's just part of her charm. I'd advise you to be patient."

  Elizabeth came out of the store and scampered back to the car through the pouring rain, clutching a large sack.

  The instant she climbed into the front passenger seat Max dropped the kitten in her lap.

  "What is all that stuff?" he asked, with a nod toward the bulging sack.

  "Just some food and kitty litter."

  Resigned, Max headed the car toward home.

  During the short ride, Elizabeth cuddled the kitten and murmured softly to her. After dropping Mimi off at her front door, Max drove back out onto the street, then up the long U-shaped drive at Elizabeth's house next door and under the shelter of the covered front portico.

  She got out of the car and rushed into the house with her little bundle, unmindful of her sable coat or the bag of groceries. Shaking his head, Max gathered up her coat and the large sack and followed her.

  He found her in the kitchen, drying the kitten with an old towel.

  "Damn. That's about the ugliest cat I've ever seen," he observed, eyeing the bedraggled creature. He set the sack on the counter and took a closer look. "I've never seen a cat with markings like that. It's all black-and-white stripes like a zebra."

  "Pay no attention to him, little one," Elizabeth crooned. "Once we get you fattened up and clean you'll be beautiful. Won't you?"

  Max leaned his hips back against the granite countertop, crossed his arms over his chest and watched his wife cuddle the forlorn kitten. As he watched her, it occurred to him that Elizabeth would make a wonderful mother.

  She stood and kicked off her shoes, then hurried around the kitchen, the kitten at her heels. In short order she set out food and water, the former of which the kitten pounced on as though she hadn't eaten in days.

  "Oh, poor baby. You were hungry, weren't you," Elizabeth crooned.

  "So … if you keep it, what are you going to call it?" Max inquired.

  "Probably Bar Code."

  Max laughed. "Damn, woman, you always surprise me. When I proposed this marriage it never occurred to me that you'd have a sense of humor."

  Elizabeth shot him an annoyed look. "What did you think? That I was some cold, vacuous female who was too self-absorbed to see the humor in situations?"

  "Something like that," he admitted.

  Elizabeth's eyes narrowed, but by that time the kitten had scarfed down the food. She lined an old basket with towels for a bed and filled a shallow pan with litter, both of which she put in the utility room. The kitten was so full its tummy bulged and it wobbled after Elizabeth like a tiny drunk. She picked it up and placed it in the litter pan, and the kitten did what she was supposed to, then responded to Elizabeth's praise by winding itself around her ankles. Finally she put the bundle of black-and-white-striped fur into the basket. After scratching around a bit, getting the towels just so, the animal curled up in a ball and promptly fell asleep.

  "Oh, look. Isn't it sweet," Elizabeth whispered.

  Max strolled over to the utility room door and looked over her shoulder. "Yeah, sweet." He put both hands around her waist and murmured in her ear, "Now … about that thong…"

  * * *

  Thirteen

  « ^ »

  "Elizabeth!" The front door slammed with a bang that rattled the entry way chandelier. "Elizabeth! Dammit, where are you?"

  In the den Mimi looked at Elizabeth and raised her eyebrows. "Uh-oh. That doesn't sound good." She downed the remainder of her coffee and stood up. "I think you'd better go soothe the savage beast. Me, I'm outta here."

  "Coward," Elizabeth teased.

  "You betcha. Call me later, sugar," she said as she picked up her coat and scooted out the back door.

  Elizabeth put down her coffee cup, moved the sleeping kitten out of her lap and headed for the front of the house. She nearly collided into Max when she stepped into the central hallway. His face looked like a thundercloud.

  Behind him stood Troy, his expression a smug mix of delight and anger.

  "You bellowed?" Elizabeth asked sweetly. She was not about to let herself be bullied, especially not with Max's assistant watching her with that self-satisfied smirk. "This isn't funny, Elizabeth. I want to talk to you."

  "Fine. Do you think we could do so someplace a little more private? Gladys and Dooley are in the kitchen."

  Without waiting for an answer, she led the way into the study and sat down in one of the fireside chairs. Outwardly she was calm and composed, but inside she was unaccountably nervous, her stomach quivering. Which was silly. She hadn't done anything to rouse the kind of ire she could see in her husband's every move.

  Neither man sat down. Troy took up a silent vigil beside the fireplace while Max paced.

  "I just received word from my agent in Dallas that someone is trying to buy up the remainder of the property that I intended to include in my project."

  "But … didn't you put down earnest money on all that property?"

  "Yes. But that doesn't stop the owners from trying to squirm out of our deal and sell to a higher bidder. What's worse, I can't even let that property go and scale down my project to what I've already purchased. You want to know why?"

  Elizabeth nodded.

  "Because the property in question surrounds what I already own. According to the sellers, the people who are trying to outbid me intend to fill all the old buildings and warehouses with the most obnoxious and undesirable types of commercial enterprises imaginable—a millwork-and-cabinet shop that will have saws and woodworking tools running around the clock, a fertilizer warehouse, a lawnmower repair shop, a down-mattress-and-pillow company.

  "At all hours of the day and night there will be the noise of air brakes and horns as trucks come and go, industrial clanking and banging and the stench of wet goose feathers and gasoline fumes. And as if that's not enough, the views out of the windows of what was going to become luxury apartments will be horrendous."

  "That's … that's terrible," Elizabeth said. "Can't you hold the sellers to their contracts with you?"

  "Maybe. Maybe not. It depends on how far the owners want to fight. They may have the new bidders backing them financially."

  "Who are the new bidders? Maybe you can talk to them."

  "A consortium of Houston businessmen," Max stated, scowling at her. "And don't you think I've tried to talk to them. Their spokesperson wouldn't give their names, only that they have no intention of backing off. After talking to him, I got the definite impression that the consortium's main goal is to harm me financially."

  "Will it?"

  "You bet. Best-case scenario, we're looking at months, maybe even years of court battles."

  "Oh, that's awful. I'm really sorry, Max. Truly, I am. But why are you so angry with me?"

  "Outside of myself and Troy, there are only four other people who know about this project—my secretary, who typed up all the papers, Lloyd Baxter, the man we met with in New York, and you and your attorney.

  "Troy and Carly have been with me for many years and I trust them implicitly. Lloyd Baxter would have no reason to torpedo a project in which he has invested so heavily." Max paused, his hard-eyed stare drilling into Elizabeth. "That leaves you and John Fossbinder."

  "John would never breech client-attorney privilege."

  Max nodded. "That's the impression I got also." />
  Elizabeth's eyes widened. "You think I told someone? That I'm trying to ruin you?"

  "You have to admit, it sure looks that way," Troy chimed in.

  Elizabeth's head whipped around and her narrowed gaze fixed on his smug face. "I don't have to admit anything. Especially not to you. Or to you," she added, casting her husband a fulminating look. Head high, she rose and walked to the door with all the dignity she could muster.

  "Where are you going?" Max demanded. "Come back here, Elizabeth. We're not through talking."

  "Maybe you're not, but I certainly am." She jerked the door open and slammed it behind her.

  Gladys poked her head out of the front parlor where she'd been dusting and muttered, "Land'o Goshen, I never heard such door-banging and yelling in all my born days."

  Ignoring her, Elizabeth hurried up the stairs, but halfway to the landing she changed her mind and ran back down again. She grabbed a coat out of the entry closet. "I'll be over at Mimi's if you need me," she called to Gladys, and sailed out the front door.

  "Humph. As if I couldn't have guessed that," Gladys muttered.

  Elizabeth's cell phone chirped just as she was about to play her last three letters and end the game of Scrabble. She put down the letters K, I, and V perpendicular to the A already on the board and crowed. "Kiva."

  "Kiva? What's a kiva?"

  "A kiva is an underground ceremonial chamber that was used by the ancient Indians," Elizabeth informed her aunt. "So there. I win. I win, I win, I win!"

  "All right, all right, you win. Now, will you please answer that telephone," the old woman snapped in her loving, crotchety way. "It's driving me batty."

  "You're just a sore loser," Elizabeth teased, but she dug the instrument out of her purse and answered, "Hello."

  "Mrs. Riordan?"

  "Yes?"

  "I'm sorry to disturb you at home. This is Carly, your husband's secretary. I was wondering if you'd heard from Max today?"

  "No, I haven't."

  Actually, she had neither seen nor heard from Max since she'd stormed out of the study of her Houston home the day before yesterday. She'd returned from Mimi's that evening to find him gone. He'd left word with Gladys that he was flying to Dallas to straighten out a business emergency and that he didn't know when he'd be back, which had made Elizabeth angry all over again.