PART-TIME WIFE

by Susan Mallery

  C.J. would probably go back to school tomorrow, then she could get on with her regular routine. The first thing she wanted to do was catch up on her sleep.

  Jill rubbed her eyes. They were gritty from long nights up with the boys. Craig had helped out as much as he could, but they'd had a break in the case and he'd had to go help make three arrests. That last guy was still at large, but the elderly citizens were no longer in danger of being hurt or swindled. Last night, Mrs. Hart had sent over a large chocolate cake to say thank you. Everyone had enjoyed a slice of it except Jill. She glanced at it now, sitting on the counter. It didn't tempt her at all, which was odd. She loved chocolate.

  She rose to her feet and walked to the bottom of the stairs. Everything hurt. Her legs, her arms, her head, even her hair was throbbing in time with her pulse.

  "C.J.," she called.

  "Yeah?"

  "I'm going to take a nap. Wake me up when you want lunch."

  "Okay, Jill."

  She thought about going into her bedroom, but suddenly it was just too far away. The sofa was closer. The plump cushions looked inviting. She would just lay her head down for a moment.

  * * *

  The next thing she knew, strong arms were lifting her up in the air. Everything was very surreal, fading in and out. Sounds gurgled, as if she were underwater. She blinked and focused on a familiar face.

  "Craig?" she asked. Her voice was a whisper. She cleared her throat to speak louder, but it didn't help.

  "Hush," he told her. "I've got you. I'm putting you to bed." His arms tightened slightly. "Why the hell didn't you tell me you hadn't been exposed to chicken pox?"

  "Huh?" She tried to raise her head, but it was too much effort. "Chicken pox? Didn't I have them when I was little? I don't remember."

  "No, you didn't, because you've got them now." He placed her on the bed.

  The sheets felt cool against her heated skin, especially when he pulled off her T-shirt and jeans. His strong hands reached behind her and unfastened her bra.

  "I'm naked," she whispered in wonder.

  "Just about." He stuck her hands into the short sleeves of the oversized T-shirt she wore to bed, then pulled it down to her waist.

  "Did you look?"

  He chuckled. "You're delirious with fever, if you have to ask. Of course I looked. I'm a guy. Put this under your tongue."

  She opened her mouth obediently as he placed the thermometer in her mouth. She watched him fold her clothes. The edges of the room seemed to be blurring.

  "I called the doctor," he said. "We have to watch you. The big concern is fever. We have to keep that down. You're going to have to drink a lot of liquids. Can you do that?"

  She thought about nodding, but it took too much effort. She fluttered her fingers instead.

  He pulled the thermometer out of her mouth. "A hundred and one. Damn." He eased her down on the mattress. "Try to sleep, Jill. I'm going to be right here."

  She closed her eyes, then opened them again. "Danny, Ben. I have to pick them up."

  "I'll take care of it. You just concentrate on getting well."

  He squeezed her hand, then bent over and kissed her forehead. "I'm really sorry about this, Jill."

  "S'okay." She wanted to ask him to kiss her again. She'd liked the feel of his lips on hers. She would tell him. Just as soon as she opened her eyes.

  Although the thought stayed in her mind, she never got around to mentioning it. When she next surfaced, the room was dark, and Craig was dozing in a chair beside her bed. He must have heard her stirring. He came awake instantly and smiled.

  "Feel like drinking something?"

  "Sure."

  Her throat was dry, and she could barely talk. She made a move to sit up. The second her legs brushed against the sheets, she realized her skin was one hot, burning itch.

  "Oh, my Lord," she said and threw back the sheets.

  A rash covered her from the tips of her toes to the tops of her thighs. She stared at it in the dim light. She could make out tiny bumps. She had to curl her fingers into her palms to keep from scratching.

  Craig sucked in his breath. "It looks bad."

  She realized it was on her back, her belly, her arms. "It's everywhere," she said miserably, desperately wanting to rub against the sheets but knowing she shouldn't. Tears sprang to her eyes.

  "Oh, honey, don't," Craig said, sliding off the chair and onto the floor. He knelt beside her and held out his arms. She threw herself against him and whimpered.

  "Hush," he murmured. "We'll use ice and lotion. The doctor gave you a prescription to help with the itching, too. You'll be okay."

  She realized he wasn't holding her. Because she was hideous looking, she thought, even as a rational part of her whispered that he was probably concerned about making it worse.

  She drew back and stared at him. "Is it on my face?"

  He cupped her chin in his hands and kissed the tip of her nose. "You're as pretty as ever," he said.

  She sniffed.

  He got her the medication, then served her soup and water. By the time she'd gotten the food down, the itching had subsided. She wanted to stay awake and talk, but she was exhausted. Her eyes drifted closed. The last thing she remembered was Craig sitting on the bed, stroking the back of her hand. She fell asleep to the thought that Krystal Haynes had been the stupidest woman on the face of the planet.

  It was light the next time she woke up. Instead of Craig sitting in the chair by her bed, she saw a familiar dark-haired brunette with laughing brown eyes and an impish smile.

  "Kim?"

  "Hey, you're alive," her friend said and leaned forward in the chair. "How are you feeling?"

  "Everything hurts and itches." She shifted uncomfortably. "What are you doing here?"

  "I called yesterday to say hi, and Craig told me what had happened. I volunteered to come look after you." Kim's smile faded. "Jeez, I feel so bad. I can't believe you got the chicken pox."

  "Don't remind me."

  "This is all my fault."

  Was it just her imagination, or was everyone in her life suddenly willing to take the blame for her misfortunes? "It's nobody's fault. It just happened."

  "But if I hadn't run off with Brian—"

  "You wouldn't be happily married now." She reached for the glass of water on the nightstand, but it was just out of reach. Kim grabbed it and handed it to her, hovering near the bed in case Jill couldn't hold it herself.

  "Thanks," Jill said, and took a sip. The cool water eased the dryness in her throat. She still felt hot and slightly out of focus. "Do I have a fever?"

  "Last time I checked, it was around a hundred. It's come down a little, so we think you'll live."

  "Oh, thanks." She raised the glass and held it against her forehead. "How is everyone holding up?"

  "Fine. These boys are a handful. How do you manage?"

  "It's not so bad."

  Kim settled in the chair. She pulled her legs up close to her chest and wrapped her arms around her calves. Her blue-black hair gleamed in the sunlight filtering through the curtains.

  "That's easy for you to say," Kim told her. "Every fifteen minutes at least one of them asks if you're going to be okay. The youngest—" She hesitated, as if trying to remember his name.

  "Danny."

  "Yeah, Danny. He thinks it's his fault because he got sick first."

  "I hope you told him it wasn't."

  "Of course. But I think he needs to hear it from you. Maybe you could tell him when he gets home from school."

  "Hmm, I will." Her eyelids felt heavy. She set the glass on the nightstand.

  Kim stood up. "I better get some soup into you before you fall asleep again." She walked to the door, then turned back. "I owe you big-time, Jill."

  "Just be happy with Brian."

  "I am."

  "And name your firstborn after me."

  Kim laughed. "Even if it's a boy?"

  "Especially if it's a boy."

  * * *
/>   Five days later Jill was so bored she wanted to scream. The rash was gone, as was Kim. She'd convinced Danny that her getting sick wasn't his fault. They'd had a long discussion about germs, and now he wanted to be a doctor so he could kill them all. Kim had returned to her new husband and job, the boys were in school and Craig was at the station. The only reason Jill was still in bed was that she'd promised to stay in her room for one more day.

  "But I'm bored!" she said loudly. There was no one to hear her complaint, although she felt better voicing it out loud.

  Craig had brought in a portable television and set it up on the dresser. It didn't help. She didn't know enough about the story lines on the soaps to be interested and talk shows made her squirm. How could those people confess all those personal things in public?

  She tried reading, but she was too restless. She'd been stuck in bed for a week. Her muscles had probably atrophied to the consistency of taffy. The only saving grace was that she hadn't been very interested in food, so she'd lost a couple of pounds.

  She glanced around the room, searching for something to do. Her gaze settled on the open bathroom door. She would kill for a shower. She threw back the covers and rose to her feet. The room circled around once before settling in one place. As she walked slowly toward the bathroom, she consoled herself with the thought that she wasn't actually breaking her word. She was still staying in her room. Sort of.

  She glanced in the mirror and grimaced. Her hair was matted, her face pale. Her eyes were huge and dark. She looked like a refugee from a war zone.

  She splashed water on her face, then brushed her teeth. After turning on the shower, she pulled off her nightshirt and tossed it in the dirty clothes hamper. Her underwear followed. Then she stepped into the steamy spray.

  The warm water was heaven. She washed her hair twice, then used a deep conditioner. Although the activity drained her, she didn't leave the stall. It felt too good to be up and moving around. Besides, when she felt shaky, she simply leaned against the tile walls.

  After ten minutes, she gave her hair a final rinse and quickly washed the rest of her. She was weak but focused. Thank goodness the fever was gone. She hated that half-here, half-somewhere-else feeling.

  She pushed open the glass door and stepped onto the floor mat. As she reached for her towel, her fingers brushed against the bare towel rack. She'd forgotten to put one out.

  Suddenly the bathroom door flew open, and Craig stepped inside.

  "What the hell are you doing?" he asked, his tone furious. He took in her appearance, turned quickly and opened the cabinet above the toilet. Not looking at her, he grabbed a towel and thrust it toward her. So much for dazzling him with her naked self.

  She clutched the towel loosely around herself. He was in uniform. As always, he took her breath away. Of course, in her weakened condition, that was easier than usual. His brows pulled together in a frown, giving him the appearance of an angry deity. He radiated strength and male passion. Desire made her tremble. The weakness in her knees wasn't all from her illness. She wanted him.

  "Well?" he demanded, reminding her he'd asked what she'd been doing.

  Wasn't it obvious? "Taking a shower."

  "Damn it, Jill, I came home to check on you, and you weren't in bed. I called and called, and you didn't answer." He still wasn't looking at her. Okay, she was a little weak and pale, but she wasn't hideous-looking, was she?

  "I was in the shower. I couldn't hear you." She was dripping and starting to feel a little cold. Not to mention a little naked. If only she could get him to notice. She eyed the bathroom floor, trying to figure out exactly how long it was. Would he fit there? It might be uncomfortable, but she was starting not to mind the thought. She giggled softly. Insane thoughts. Maybe the fever wasn't all gone. Maybe it had burned away her second thoughts.

  "You promised not to get out of bed."

  "No, I promised not to leave my room. Technically, this is still part of my room."

  He swore under his breath, then just stood there, not looking at her. Almost as if he didn't notice that she was naked. But she noticed. Water dripped from her hair and cooled her skin, while her lascivious thoughts heated it. The combination made her break out in tiny goose bumps. Her breasts strained toward him. She knew that if she looked down, her nipples would be hard. When the hell was he going to notice she was wearing nothing but a towel?

  "I'm really sorry, Craig. I didn't mean to worry you. I just wanted to take a shower." She gave up. He wasn't going to notice. "If you're done yelling at me, could you please leave so I can get dressed?"

  As soon as she said the words, he sucked in a breath. His gaze raked her body. She felt it as strongly as a touch, as if he'd slipped his hands from her breasts down her belly to the apex of her thighs. Desire filled her, making her most feminine place swell and dampen. She moistened her lips in anticipation of his kiss.

  Without saying a word, he turned on his heel and left the room.

  "Are you even going to say goodbye?" she asked softly, as the door slammed behind him. Her cheeks burned as if he'd slapped her. In a way he had.

  There she was, semi-naked before him, and he hadn't even bothered with a come-on. She buried her face in the towel, then raised her head and glanced at the mirror.

  Her moan was involuntary. Her wet hair hung down. Water collected on the pointy ends and dripped steadily. Her nose was red, her eyes wide. She looked like a drowned kitten. No wonder he hadn't wanted her.

  "I should be h-happy," she said, her voice cracking on the last word. But she wasn't. He didn't want her. Aaron hadn't wanted her. No one wanted her.

  She knew she was behaving irrationally. It was just her weakened condition. That didn't stop the tears from spilling onto her cheeks, or a sob from breaking free.

  Craig must have been waiting for her right outside the door because he was at her side in an instant.

  "Jill? What's wrong?"

  "N-nothing," she said. "N-nothing at a-all. I look like a drowned k-kitten. No one wants me."

  He made comforting noises deep in his throat as he wrapped the towel securely around her. She wanted to tell him not to treat her like a child, but she liked the way she felt when he lifted her up in his arms.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and settled her on his lap. "I want you," he said.

  She sniffed loudly and brushed her wet hair off her forehead. "No you don't. You're just saying that to be polite."

  His dark gaze met hers. "I'm not that nice."

  He'd wrapped the towel around her tightly, but she was sitting on the corner. When she shifted, it loosened. It started to slip down, but she didn't do anything to stop it. Instead, she placed her hands on his shoulders.

  "Are you sure?" she asked.

  He pulled her closer. She felt the hardness of his arousal press against her hip. "Very sure." He reached up and grabbed her wrists, lifting her hands away. "Jill, you're the one who keeps putting the brakes on a personal relationship. Are you saying you've changed your mind?"

  "I—" She didn't have an answer to that. Nothing made sense. She studied his face, his familiar features. She trusted him. She liked him. She wanted him. Maybe it was a reaction to being sick. She didn't know. "I'm just so tired of being alone," she said.

  He nodded slowly. "Me, too." He put her hands back on his shoulders and wrapped his arms around her. Then his mouth found hers and she didn't feel alone anymore.

  * * *

  Chapter 11

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  She responded instantly. When Craig tightened his arms around her, she drew him into her mouth, as if she were starving and he her only hope of survival.

  He angled his head, dipping his tongue inside, tasting her sweetness mingling with the mint of toothpaste. She smelled fresh and clean, her body was warm. He wanted to strip her towel off her and take her right there, that minute. The need inside him had flared to life with a painful intensity that sucked the air from his lungs. But instead of giving in, he hung on, because he
needed this to be magic for her. His pleasure depended as much on chasing her to paradise and making her lose control as it did on finding a place of refuge between her silky thighs.

  So instead of tilting her back and burying himself inside her, he kept his hands on her arms. He had to get control before he risked touching her anywhere else.

  He brushed his tongue over hers, circling her, discovering the sweet secrets of her mouth. His lips pressed harder, demanding more, and she gave all she had to him. She leaned toward him, arching her body against him. Her towel slipped lower. He sensed it, more than felt it. When he could bear it no longer, he raised his head and looked at her.

  The soft yellow terry cloth pooled at her waist, exposing her torso. Her hair was still damp and rumpled, her face pale, her eyes wide and unfocused. She smiled at him, a "come love me" kind of smile that upped the pressure in his groin about fifty percent.

  He could see her collarbone, the faint dusting of freckles on her creamy skin. His gaze dipped lower to her breasts. His breath caught in his throat. Without conscious thought, he raised his hands and cupped her perfect round flesh.

  She was large for her petite frame and the lush curves filled his palms. She responded instantly to his embrace, moaning his name and leaning forward to press a kiss to his throat. Her hot breath and warm lips taunted him, as did the feel of her in his hands.

  She was warm, living satin. Supple, soft, sensual. He traced her curves, then ran his thumbs over the taut points of her coral-tipped nipples. A ripple shot through her and she exhaled his name.

  With one easy movement, he kicked off his shoes, then stretched out on the bed. She tumbled next to him. He caught her, cushioning her fall. The fluffy towel tangled around her. He left it in place, liking the peekaboo effect. He saw one breast, a bit of her right thigh, her belly and the lower part of her legs. One arm was trapped by the terry cloth.

  He turned and supported himself on one elbow. With his free hand, he touched her face.