Steven slowed and pulled into the parking lot. A dozen or so cars sat in the glow of the neon sign swirled with fog and the blur of red from Christmas lights that framed the clapboard building. Green lights outlined the entrance, and Steven slipped the Jaguar into a parking space close to the doors.
Madison got quickly out of the car when Steven turned it off, and she stepped into the biting chill of the night. She hugged her purse to her middle to capture what warmth she could, and shivered when a ship’s foghorn echoed eerily in the distance.
As Steven came around the car, Madison started for the entrance with him right behind her. She opened the heavy wooden door to the restaurant before he could reach it, and she stepped into an inviting warmth overlaid with the low drone of conversations mingling with Christmas music and touched by sweet woodsmoke.
She barely glanced at the publike decor of dark wood, low ceilings, red plush fabrics and a massive stone fireplace in the main dining area with Christmas decorations everywhere. When a hostess in a barmaid costume came up to them, Steven spoke around Madison. “Two, with a view, please.”
“Yes, sir, right this way,” the girl said with a bright smile. Then she turned and led the way into the dining room.
Madison went after her through the main room to a section in the back with booths that had an unobstructed view of the bay. She slid onto the leather bench seat and looked out at the fog swirling over the black waters while Steven slipped off his overcoat, then sat opposite her.
In the blur of the glass, she could see the distorted image of Steven sitting across from her and the hostess smiling down at him. She could handle this way of looking at him, the blurred, out-of-focus facsimile of the man. Yet even then her mind kept going, and she realized that all during the program tonight, she’d thought about him coming back to meet her.
She’d dreaded it and anticipated it. But she’d never forgotten he was coming. It had been nerve-racking knowing he’d be back. Almost as unnerving as running into him, as feeling his hands on her shoulders, or covering her hand with his on the door handle.
“Are you hungry?” Steven asked her.
Thankfully, even though he was looking at her, his gaze in the distorted glass was tempered and easier to endure. “No, I’m not hungry,” she said, keeping her eyes on the glass reflection, the idea of food vaguely nauseating right then. “Just a drink. Brandy.” Something to warm her up and take away the sharp edges.
He tugged the knot of his tie loose and undid the top button of his shirt as he looked up at the waitress. “Two brandies, please.”
Madison saw the woman’s reflection in the glass as she wrote on her order pad, then she left and Steven was the only one there.
“Can we get down to business?” he asked.
At least that put it on the right footing for Madison. Business. This was business for both of them. And with that thought, she found she could turn and look at Steven directly. And she knew if this had any chance to work, they had to get a few things straight between them. “Yes, we can. But first there’s one thing we need to get straight.”
He studied her evenly in the soft light of the restaurant. “What’s that?”
“Don’t touch me unless it’s necessary.”
He didn’t look put off or angry. “I’ll have to make a note. It’s usually the opposite in this business, but if that’s what you want, it’s your money, it’s your call.”
“Then don’t do it. I don’t see any reason for it,” she said.
“Okay. But if you ever do think there’s a reason for it, it doesn’t cost any more. Sort of like opening the door for you. Or any other extra you think might make this...more realistic.”
Her headache had a life of its own, throbbing behind her eyes and radiating down into her neck and shoulders. The waitress came back with two glasses of water with thin slices of lemon in it, then murmured she’d be right back with the brandy. When she left, Madison opened her purse on the seat by her and took out the pill bottle. “Extras?” she asked as she popped the top on the bottle and shook two of the tiny white pills on her palm. “What extras?”
“You know. Extras.”
She exhaled as his voice and words only made her headache worse. She hesitated, then shook out two more pills before snapping the top back on the bottle. Herbs. She couldn’t overdose on those. She reached for the frosty glass of water, took the pills with the cool liquid and only then did she look back to Steven. “No, I don’t know.”
His eyes narrowed as he studied her. “Are you sick?”
“What?”
“The medicine?”
“Oh, no, they’re herbs and things.”
“Like vitamins?”
“Sure,” she said, not about to explain that he was making her so tense she was surprised she could move her neck and shoulders without having her muscles snap. “Now tell me what you were talking about.”
“Okay. Extras. Anything you might want me to do to enhance this charade to make it more authentic and believable.”
The pills seemed to stick in her throat. “Mr. York, I don’t—”
“That reminds me, what’s my name?”
This man never quite let her get her balance before throwing her again. She took another quick drink of the water, then asked, “Excuse me?” as she put the glass back on the table.
“Your husband’s name?”
“Oh.” She fingered the dampness of the almost empty water glass. “You can use your own name. I use my maiden name, so no one knows what my husband’s name is, anyway.”
“A feminist thing?”
“Excuse me?”
“Using your maiden name. Is it a feminist thing?”
“No, it’s...it’s just easier. That’s the name I got my credentials with.” She hated the awkwardness of lying to this man. “It’s my name.”
“But you go by the name Dr. Love.”
“That’s for the radio show.”
“And why isn’t this saint of a husband who doesn’t care if you use his name or not going to Tahoe with you?”
The man was incorrigible and she bit her lip when the waitress set the two brandies in front of them. When the woman left, Madison reached for the snifter and swirled the deep brown liquid around, watching the way the lights reflected in it. “He decided not to go.”
Steven rested his elbows on the table and leaned toward her, lowering his voice just a bit. “Tell me why you need someone to pretend to be your husband when you already have a spouse.”
Madison took a sip of the brandy and let its heat slip down her throat to spread in her middle. The sensation was oddly comforting, and she took another drink before she looked back at Steven. She said as much of the truth as she could. “My husband isn’t an issue. Why he can’t go doesn’t make any difference in what’s expected of you.”
He lifted his snifter, but didn’t take a drink. For a long moment, he studied her over the rim of the crystal glass, then said, “And that brings me to my next question.”
“What’s that?” she asked before she took another drink of brandy as she braced herself for his question.
“I need to know exactly what’s expected of me.”
She took another sip and was vaguely surprised to see that the snifter was almost empty. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but the brandy was helping. And so were the pills. Her headache was fading and her neck was loosening up. She motioned to the waitress to bring another brandy, then looked at Steven. “I thought that was obvious. You’re to make it appear that we...that I have a happy, sound marriage.”
“And you don’t?” he asked.
Thank goodness the world was beginning to grow softer and more bearable, despite the way this man baited her. The waitress brought her a fresh drink, and she reached for it to cradle it in her hands. “That is none of your business,” she said with emphasis.
“If it affects my job, it’s my business,” he said as he slowly lowered his snifter. She had no idea if he’d had a drink or not.
She tasted the fresh brandy, and when she looked at Steven again, he seemed to be softer and more approachable. “I guess you’re right. Ask me whatever you need to,” she said with a largess that seemed to come from nowhere.
“Do you have a good marriage?”
Even the lies were easier with the brandy. “No, I’ve got a great marriage.”
“Oh, really?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I? I’m a doctor and I know about these things.”
“I’m sure you do.”
She took another drink, then put the snifter down and ran her finger around the rim. “Did you know that if a goblet is real crystal and you wet your finger and rub the tip of your finger around the rim, it makes a soft humming sound?” She had no idea why she’d told him that.
“You don’t say?”
She touched her tongue to her finger and circled the rim of the snifter with the tip. But the only sound was a slight rubbing noise. She frowned at Steven. “Not real.” Just the way her marriage wasn’t real. She froze. Had she said that out loud? No. Steven was still watching her and not reacting. It had to have been just a thought.
She sank back in the leather seat and sighed as she stared at the snifter cradled in her hands. “It’s got a pretty shape, though.”
“Yes, it does.”
She looked at Steven through the haze of the brandy, and she could admit that the man was actually stunning. Really arresting. A gigolo. She just caught herself before she giggled and she wondered if she was a bit drunk or just getting a bit hysterical from everything that was going on. Or maybe the herbs in the pills were more potent and Ron had lied to her. She held on to the snifter and took a breath. Whatever it was, she was only feeling a vague discomfort in her head and neck.
A gigolo. A paid escort. But a damned good-looking one. And it fascinated her the way he had smiled with just a slight upward tug at the corners of his mouth. The sudden impulse to reach across the table and touch his lips didn’t even shock her. And that surprised her, too.
She watched him take a sip of brandy, then he spoke as he put the snifter back on the table. “Basically, you want to let your hosts for the weekend see a happy marriage?”
She didn’t understand what he was talking about for a minute, then she remembered. “Oh, yes, exactly. I want them to see what they want to see.”
“The Kincaids?”
“The CEO and wife of one of the biggest sponsors at the station, Mr. and Mrs. Harvey Kincaid.”
“Fillmore Industries?” he murmured.
That surprised her. “How...did you know who Kincaid is?”
He shrugged, moving the shoulders of his jacket slightly. “Part of the job to absorb trivia. I must have heard it somewhere and stored it away until now.”
“Mr. Kincaid wants me and my husband to come to their home in Tahoe this weekend. I’m his Christmas present to his wife.” She smiled at that, the joke of the whole thing finally getting past her indignation at being gift wrapped by Kincaid for his wife. “Imagine that, being someone’s present to someone else?”
That brought a smile to him, too, and the humor was deep enough to crinkle his eyes slightly. “The woman must have everything else she wants.”
“She must,” she whispered as she lifted her snifter with both hands and slowly made the brandy swirl. The overhead lights sparkled in the dark liquid, and somewhere in the background she heard soft Christmas music. Woodsmoke touched the air, and everything that had seemed so wrong just moments ago suddenly seemed so right.
“And now she wants Mr. and Mrs. Dr. Love for Christmas?” he asked.
How could it feel so right sitting here with this man? A paid escort, yet he was easier to talk to than any man she’d ever known. But then again, that was his job. And the good feeling started to shift. “That’s about it,” she whispered. “It’s disgusting what people think money can do for...”
“Like buying people,” he said as she let her words trail off.
She sat forward and rested her elbows on the table, holding the snifter close to her mouth. “I’ve got a question for you.”
“Go ahead.”
Words she never would have asked if she didn’t feel this way came with ease. “Why is someone like you doing a job like this?”
Chapter Eight
Steven took his time sipping a bit of his brandy, then he sat back in the leather bench seat. “You tell me. You’re the head doctor.”
“Psychologist,” Madison automatically corrected.
“And you’re the one with the answers. Tell me why.”
She didn’t have answers for anything, especially why she seemed so aware of everything about Steven. “All right. I guess there could be lots of reasons.”
“Give me a general idea.”
She took another sip, then looked at him over the rim. “The obvious reason is ego, which we talked about earlier. And that ego needing the strokes that come from women being dependent on you. Control. Having the upper hand. Or maybe it’s emotional isolation. Needing to be around people, but not having the wherewithal to make your own relationships work.” She took another sip of brandy. “So how close am I?”
“You forgot the money.”
“Does it pay that well?”
“You’ll find out when you get your bill, won’t you?”
“So it’s for the money, is it?” she said, the brandy becoming faintly bitter at the back of her throat.
“I didn’t say that.”
She took another drink, then sat back. “Well, you didn’t get that Jaguar by saving bottle caps, did you?”
“It’s all part of the image,” he said. “Just the way you want me to be part of your image. And by the way, what exactly did you mean by ‘someone like me’?”
She shrugged, seeing no point in lying now. “You seem intelligent and well educated, and generally presentable.” That was a monumental understatement, much like saying the Grand Canyon was just a hole in the ground. “I just meant that—”
He cut her off with a burst of real laughter, and she found that she was smiling, too. “Presentable?” he asked.
She narrowed her eyes to see if she could make his image clearer, but it didn’t work. It only softened it more and made him more attractive. The sandy hair slightly mussed, the hazel eyes watching her, the lips touched with humor. Lips she remembered all too well being against hers. She swallowed hard and drew her hands back from the snifter. She’d had enough brandy. “You know what I mean.”
“Sure, you were expecting someone in a white polyester suit with a blue shirt with ruffles open at the neck and heavy gold neck chains. Maybe rings on every finger, big, garish gold chunk ones with fake diamonds set in them, and maybe a fake Rolex?”
“That isn’t...I mean, I didn’t—”
“Sure you did. But I told you, I’ve got an image to maintain, and the women who frequent the agency aren’t looking for some Vegas lounge lizard to be at their sides.”
“Upscale men for upscale clientele?”
“Isn’t that what you are and what you wanted for Mr. Dr. Love?”
Mr. Dr. Love. Steven would be Mr. Dr. Love. And the thought was so incredible at that moment that she started to laugh. She pressed a hand to her mouth to try and control it, but the more she fought it, the more it seemed to bubble up inside her.
“What’s so funny?” Steven asked as his own smile faltered.
She reached for the snifter again, needing the brandy to stop the well of laughter that didn’t seem to have an end. She took a gulping drink, almost choking, and when she coughed on the fiery liquid, the laughter died. “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “It’s just...” She put the empty snifter down on the table and thought about ordering another one. But she stopped herself. Getting drunk wasn’t going to change anything. “It just struck me as funny that you said Mr. Dr. Love.”
“What do you want me to call your husband?”
“I don’t know.” What did a person call a husband? Sweetheart o
r honey? “I guess, just my husband.”
“All right, your husband. And what does this husband of yours do so he can afford to perpetually fix your classic Mustang?”
She fingered the empty snifter. “He’s a businessman, a corporate attorney or something.”
“Or something?”
“I mean, he’s an attorney.”
“And he drives a tow truck?”
She didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. Her mind was mushy, refusing to focus on anything except the man across the table from her. When Steven reached across and touched her hand, she didn’t move. She looked down at his fingers on the back of her hand. Strong fingers, square nails. No rings. No lounge lizard. She sensed that well of laughter coming back, and she killed it quickly as she looked up at him.
“The tow truck? Mark?” he said. “Your husband?”
“Mark? You thought...that Mark and me...and I...we...you thought Mark was my husband?”
“I assumed he was,” he said as he drew back, breaking the contact between them.
She had to force herself not to touch the spot where he’d touched her. And she didn’t know if she wanted to capture the feeling of his hand on hers, or if she wanted to scrub the sensation away. “Where did you ever get that idea?”
“Ron Dial.”
She closed her hands tightly on the table. “Ron probably mish...mist...” She regrouped with a deep breath and finally managed to say, “He misunderstood.”
“Then who’s Mark?”
“A very, very good friend.”
For some reason that brought a frown from Steven, and she wanted to wipe it away. She wanted him to smile at her again and make the world seem right.
“How good?”
“What?”
“How close are the two of you?”
“Close?” she repeated, then she understood. “Oh, no, it’s not like that at all. No, not Mark. He’s...he’s so, so...” She couldn’t catch at the word. “You thought that Mark and I...that the two of us...?” She shook her head and only succeeded in making the room spin and Steven’s image float in front of her. She leaned forward and pressed her hands to her eyes as she took a deep breath. “Oh, boy.”
The Christmas Husband Page 10