“Yes.”
“Around here?”
“No.”
He braced himself, then turned to glance at her. She was in the shadows, but that didn’t minimize the impact her image had on him. “Can I ask where you’re from originally?”
“Vermont.”
“Then you’re used to the cold.”
“Yes.” Lights came down the street, and as she sat forward to look out the front window he got a clear, stark picture of her. And his memory hadn’t done justice to her reality. Then the lights were gone and she sank back into the shadows as the car drove past. “I thought that might be Mark.”
“Mark?”
“He’s bringing the truck.”
“Your car must break down often to be on a first-name basis with the tow truck driver.”
“Oh, he’s more than a tow truck driver,” she said. “We met nine years ago through my oldest brother, George. George brought Mark home from college for a semester break. Now it seems he’s inherited the job of keeping my Mustang going.”
He’d wanted more than single-word answers from her, but he didn’t want to hear about this Mark. “Maybe you need a new car for Christmas instead of that heap.”
“The Mustang’s a classic,” she said with just a touch of indignation. “Besides, there’re other things I’d wish for for Christmas than a new car.”
“And Mark’s going to get them for you?”
“He’s great at Christmas, but nothing can take the place of being back in Vermont with snow and a huge tree and the whole family there. This is the first year I won’t be able to make it back.” She sighed softly. “I love the holidays, I always have, but sometimes Christmas can be the loneliest time of the year.”
As she spoke those words, recognition hit him with the force of a fist being driven into his stomach. He stared at the woman in the shadows as those remembered words echoed in his mind. “Christmas is the loneliest time of the year and all we have is our family and our loved ones.”
Words Dr. Love had said last night. Said by the voice that had rocked his world for a few fleeting moments. And now... He stared at the woman so close all he had to do was reach out and touch her.
Now this woman who’d invaded his world was saying the same words, the same way.... It couldn’t be the same voice. Not here. Not now. It had to be that Dr. Love’s voice had been haunting him, mingling up with the fantasy of a beautiful stranger he’d danced with and kissed under mistletoe.
“You never told me your name,” he said.
She glanced away from him to the side window. “Madison.”
“Do you have a last name?”
“Smythe.”
“Seriously?”
She cast him a shadowed look and he could have sworn, despite the tension in the car, she was almost smiling. “Would I make up a name like that?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know much about you at all.”
“Well, I wouldn’t. I’ve got three brothers and, having the last name Smythe, my father wanted to make first names unique. So there’s George, John, Tom.”
“They aren’t unique.”
“George Washington Smythe, John Adams Smythe and Thomas Jefferson Smythe. I got president number four, John Madison. John didn’t fit for a girl, so Dad thankfully omitted it and left it at Madison.”
Maybe he was wrong and Dr. Love wasn’t sitting inches from him. “It sounds as if your father’s kind of unique, too.”
“He is. They all are, and that’s why it’s so hard to miss the holidays with them. All we have is our family and our loved ones.”
Again those words sounded... “That’s strange. I heard almost those exact words last night...on the radio.”
She hesitated. “Really?”
“On the Dr. Love Show.”
“You listen to that show?”
Even as she spoke, he knew that voice. He remembered what it had done to him the last time he heard it. Could Madison Smythe be Doctor Love? His stomach tightened.
Dr. Love who had been here to meet with Rachel...about hiring a husband? Dr. Love who had a husband, maybe this Mark who was coming to her rescue? If this was Dr. Love, that voice didn’t belong to a harridan, but a lovely, delicate woman who touched a part of him that had been dormant for years. And she was a married woman...looking for a husband.
His hand tightened on the steering wheel so hard he was surprised that he didn’t snap it. “I’ve listened to it from time to time.”
Was this Dr. Love, a psychologist who knew about cars and fixed people’s lives, who had brothers and a husband named Mark? He had to be delusional. This couldn’t be happening. Madison Smythe, the woman who had kissed him under the mistletoe and made him start to think in possibilities...and she could bring those thoughts crashing down around his ears if he asked one question.
“What did you think of the show?” she asked.
“Why do you want to know?”
She frowned at him, drawing a fine line between her eyes. “Just wondering.”
He wasn’t going to play games. The bitterness at the back of his throat made that impossible and he had to know. “I know this sounds crazy, but are you Dr. Love?” he asked, hoping for a laugh and a denial as he watched her intently.
Madison stayed absolutely still as Steven said those words. There wasn’t any point in lying. He worked for the agency. And they’d kissed. He made his living seducing women and pretending to be someone’s husband. And she had to admit that it fit him like a glove. The fine clothes, the expensive car and a way about him that made a woman want to hold his arm and lean on him. Worse yet, he’d made her act irrationally, to let everything go and find out just what his kisses had tasted like.
She barely kept herself from touching her tongue to her lips to see if his taste mingling with brandy still lingered there. Instead, she tried to stay calm and talk evenly, despite the tension in her neck and shoulders. “How did you know?”
He exhaled, the sound echoing in the car before he said in a low tone, “I recognized the voice.”
The idea he’d listened to her was unsettling for some reason. This man who made a living off the vulnerability and pain of women had actually heard her show in the shadows of the night. The man who had kissed her and stirred her. She rubbed at her right temple, trying to ease the growing discomfort there. “No one’s ever recognized me by my voice before,” she murmured. “Actually, I never thought it was recognizable off the air.”
“Oh, it’s recognizable, all right,” he said, then he let go of the steering wheel and shifted to rest one elbow on the wheel as if to get a better look at her.
He didn’t say anything else, certainly not the usual things that people said when they met her, such as, “I love the show,” or “I’ve always wanted to meet you,” or even, “Cheap pop psychology.” He was just watching her in the most disconcerting way and she could feel the muscles in her neck and shoulders tightening painfully. When he finally spoke again, his low voice ran riot over her nerves.
“Can I ask you something?” he finally said.
She inhaled unsteadily, taking in the mingled scents of leather, warmth and mellow after-shave. “What?”
“Are you married?”
As he asked the question, he never looked away from her, never released her from the intensity of his gaze. “Excuse me?”
He exhaled harshly. “Simple question. Are you married, as in, having a husband, a better half, a lord for the castle, whatever you want to call him?”
A part of her wanted to say she’d never even been close to being married, but she didn’t let the words come out. The imaginary marriage of Dr. Love might be just the thing she needed to stop whatever seemed to be happening to her around this man. A barrier against her own fickle feelings. The fake marriage could actually be her armor against a gigolo. “Yes.”
“What sort of marriage is it?”
Her hands ached from clenching them, and she forced them open on her thighs.
“A marriage.”
“An open marriage?”
“Of course not.” She swallowed hard, trying to find words that would explain away her impulsive insanity when she’d kissed him. “I told you, I’m sorry about what happened. That’s why I left. I didn’t want it to happen. And I just thought I could get out of there and that would be that.”
“No harm done? No one the wiser?”
She bit her lip hard, then tried to speak evenly. “I said I’m sorry. What else do you want?”
“Is there trouble in Dr. Love’s paradise?”
“I don’t—”
“You’re here to hire a husband, aren’t you?”
She sat straighter. “That’s none of your business,” she said tightly, thankful that Rachel hadn’t had anyone available. The idea was more and more distasteful to her all the time. “I’m here on business and—”
“What’s that old saying? Physician, heal thyself?”
She narrowed her eyes on him. “Excuse me?”
“You’re a psychiatrist—”
“Psychologist.”
“Whatever. And you tell people how to heal their relationships. It just seems ironic, that’s all.”
He was good. Even when he was baiting her, his voice was like rough velvet, and his essence invaded every atom of the atmosphere between them. He probably practiced that way of speaking, the sense of being close, yet almost unreachable. He was damn good. And all she wanted to do was get out of here and away from him.
Right then headlights flashed into the Jaguar, and she had a clear view of the man a few feet from her. The brightness etched his strong face with shadows and light, and even though she couldn’t see his eyes clearly, she felt the impact of his gaze on her and the way his jaw was clenched.
Then the light was gone, and the shadows closed in around them again at the same time she heard the low throbbing of a truck motor. Movement outside caught her attention. Mark had finally made it, and she grabbed the door handle again. “There’s Mark,” she said quickly and opened the door.
Cold air rushed into the car, making her head hurt for a passing moment. “Thanks for...for everything,” she said as she scrambled out.
“Sure,” he said from behind her.
She swung the door shut and hurried through the chilly night to where Mark had maneuvered the tow truck in front of her car ahead of the Jaguar.
Mark jumped out of the truck cab just as the Jaguar’s headlights flashed on. “Hey, Maddie, what a place to break down.” Mark, tall, slender, wearing jeans and a leather jacket, caught her in a tight hug as she got close to him. “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, but on a night like this, business is too damn good,” he said as he held her back from him. “George would beat the stuffing out of me if anything happened to you.”
Madison looked up at Mark and thought that he was a good-looking man, with dark hair, brown eyes and a shy, sweet smile. And he was great as a person. Yet she’d never felt anything for him beyond being friends, sort of like having another big brother. Even when she’d moved out here and he’d insisted that she take the apartment over his auto repair shop to help her out and, she suspected, to keep an eye on her for her family, their relationship had been platonic. He was great, but nothing about him affected her the way Steven had.
She patted his chest with a hand that was just a bit unsteady. “The Mustang’s a pain in the neck. I hope you can get it going for me. I need to get to the station, so can you drop me there on the way back?”
“That’s the plan,” he said.
She cupped her neck with the heat of her hand and pressed at the nape to try and ease the dull throb starting there. “It’s so chilly out here.”
“Climb up into the truck to keep warm while I hook it up,” Mark said.
“Okay,” she said as he let her go and the Jaguar pulled away from the curve. It swung out around the car and tow truck, offering her just a flashing glimpse at the shadowy man behind the wheel before it went off into the fog.
Madison stared after the sleek car and was startled when Mark called out to her, “Get inside, Maddie. The heater’s going.”
Quickly, she went around and got into the high cab that smelled of grease and oil. As she settled back on the seat, she thought what a far cry it was from the Jaguar. But the hard seats, the grease and oil and the vibrating rumble of the engine of the truck weren’t what she was comparing.
* * *
STEVEN DROVE OFF of Harrington Court and away from Madison Smythe. But he didn’t go very far. The image of her smiling up at the big man in the leather jacket was burned in his mind, and distaste lingered in his mouth, almost blotting out the memory of the kiss.
Her husband. He lowered his window to try and get the scents of the woman that still lingered in his car to fade, and drove slowly on the fog-shrouded streets. As a business man he knew when to cut his losses and walk away from a deal that was going bad. And right then he knew that this was going from bad to worse. There was no way he was going to meet Madison at the radio station in an hour.
He couldn’t do it. He pushed aside the Santa Claus tie and picked up the phone. Slowing, he dialed the number for the agency. He’d tell Rachel he couldn’t meet with Madison, after all, and he’d get back to her next week about purchasing the agency.
He waited through four rings, but instead of Rachel finally answering, he got the voice mail that started with, “You’ve reached 1-800-HUSBAND. If you wish to—” And he cut it off by hitting the End button.
Quickly, he punched in Martin’s home number, but got the answering machine there, too. Frustrated, he hung up and stared out at the foggy streets ahead of him. He meant it when he told Rachel that he wouldn’t do anything to compromise the agency, and leaving Ron Dial twisting in the wind by not showing up wouldn’t sit well with anyone.
He glanced back at the phone, and the tie tangled around the gearshift was blinking obscenely at him. The garish novelty only irritated him, especially when he remembered Madison looking at it and touching it. With a muttered oath, he reached for the tie and tossed it over his shoulder into the back space. That’s all he needed—a grinning Santa to taunt him when he knew he had to keep his appointment with Dr. Love.
* * *
BY THE TIME Mark dropped Madison by the back entrance of the station, the fog had almost shut down the city and a headache was beginning to settle in behind her eyes and down her neck. When she went inside and took the service elevator up to the third floor, she was chilled to the bone. The heater in the truck had been overly hot, then when she got out into the cold night by the front doors of the station, the cold air had made her muscles tighten even more.
As the doors on the elevator slid shut and the car started up, she caught sight of herself in the stainless-steel doors. Her hair was loose from the combs, and even with all the moisture in the air, there was very little curl to it. Without any makeup, she looked pale and chilled. Steven had been doing a good professional job acting as if he was interested in her when she looked like something the cat dragged in and felt like it, too.
She swallowed hard and slowly rotated her head, trying to ease the tension that increased when she realized she had actually enjoyed the flirting and the dance. And the kiss. He’d acted interested until he found out she was Dr. Love and supposedly had a husband. It had worked. He thought she was married and he’d backed off. It was what she’d wanted, but that didn’t stop her from feeling vaguely let down and depressed.
“You’re better off,” she muttered to herself. Better off without a man in her life who had hazel eyes that seemed to look into her soul, slightly long sandy brown hair and an angular face that had a subtle strength to it. She just bet he was in great demand at Harrington’s. And that disgusted her.
There hadn’t been a man in her life for quite a while. Longer than a while, if she was honest, because she simply never met a man whom she cared to get to know beyond a few dates or a couple of conversations. Much less kiss like she’d kissed S
teven.
She took deep, even breaths to try and give her some relief from the tightness her thoughts were producing in her. And she determinedly pushed the image of Steven out of her thoughts. She’d gone to Harrington’s, just as Ron had asked, and found out that they couldn’t help her. That was that. No more Harrington’s and no more Steven. Ron wouldn’t be happy, but he’d just have to come up with something else to placate the Kincaids.
When the car stopped, she got out and headed for the door to her office just a few feet from the service elevator. But as she approached the door, someone called out to her. “Madison!”
She looked up and saw Ron running toward her from the stairwell beyond the main elevators. He spoke quickly as he got closer. “Man, I’m starting to wonder if I’ve got a curse on me.”
So he knew already. “Not anything as dramatic as a curse,” she said. “Just bad luck and you promising things that you shouldn’t have.”
He looked up and down the hallway, but even though it was deserted, he said, “Come on into my office where we can talk privately.” With that he turned and headed back to his office. When he opened the door, she followed him inside and closed the door behind her.
The room was spacious, maybe three times as big as her office, and almost painfully neat. The walls had precisely arranged autographed photos of celebrities Ron had met. A small Christmas tree by the door was decorated with a single star on top and ropes of red beads. But the desk always got Madison.
The man thought and spoke with clutter, but his desk never had more than a phone, a notebook and a laptop computer on it. Ron sat down behind the desk, and his face was flushed when he grimaced up at Madison. “No recriminations,” he said as he held up a hand to her. “We’ve got to figure this out. I talked to Ms. Harrington, or Montana, or whatever her last name is now, just after you left, and she gave me the bad news. So I’ve been making calls to see what I can do.”
“Ron, we need to face the fact that—”
The Christmas Husband Page 7