The Second Mrs. Adams

by Sandra Marton

  “And I offered to drive you home that night, because we worked late.”

  “I’ll bet that didn’t thrill Morgana.”

  He frowned. “You don’t like her very much, do you?”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said quickly. “How could I not like her when I hardly know her?”

  David reached across the table and took Joanna’s hand. “She was a good friend to you, Jo. After you and I married, you felt a little, well, lost, I guess. And Morgana did everything she could to help you settle in.”

  “Settle in?”

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “It was all new to you. Living in Manhattan, entertaining…”

  “You mean, I was the poor little match girl who married the handsome prince and went to live in his luxurious castle,” she said softly.

  “No. Hell, no.” His fingers tightened on hers. “You weren’t accustomed to…” To money. To status. But, by God, she’d grown accustomed quickly enough…

  “I understand.” Joanna sighed. “And I’m sure Morgana was terrific. I don’t know why…” She sighed again and gave him a little smile. “Actually, I do know. It’s because she’s so gorgeous and she gets to spend so much time with you. For a while there, I even thought—I imagined…”

  “Morgana is my right-hand man,” David said, dragging his thoughts from where he wished they hadn’t gone. “She’s efficient, and very bright, and I trust her implicitly. But that’s all she is and all she ever has been.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Joanna said, and smiled. “Go on. Tell me what happened when you drove me home.”

  He felt some of the sudden tension ease from his muscles. He grinned, let go of her hand and picked up his spoon.

  “What do you think happened?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Cross my heart. You were the soul of propriety, and so was I.”

  “Good.” She laughed. “For a minute there, you had me thinking that—”

  “I wanted you so badly that I ached.”

  Color swept into her face. “Right away?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He spooned up some chili. “The minute I saw you. But I did the right thing,” he said, deadpan. “I waited until our second date.”

  “Our second…” Joanna’s color deepened. “Tell me you’re joking!”

  “We made love,” he said, smiling into her eyes, “and it was incredible.”

  “Incredible,” she whispered, as fascinated as she was shocked.

  “Uh-huh. And a few days after that, we got married.”

  Joanna’s spoon clattered against the tabletop.

  “Got married? So fast? After knowing each other, what, two weeks?”

  “Ten days,” he said, making light of it, wishing he could tell her how he’d proposed with his heart in his mouth for fear she’d turn him down and walk out of his life…and how, not even a year later, he’d wished she had.

  Ten days, Joanna thought. Well, why not? It couldn’t have taken her more than ten minutes to have fallen in love with David.

  But what about him? She’d been the soul of propriety, he’d said. What had happened? Had he wanted her to sleep with him—the ever-ready male anatomy at work—and when she’d refused, had he made an impulsive offer of marriage and ended up regretting it?

  Was that what had gone wrong between them? Had he simply looked at her across the breakfast table one morning and asked himself what in hell she was doing there?

  When the sexual excitement of this weekend was over, would he look at her and think that same thought again?

  “Jo?” David reached for her hand. “What is it? You’re so pale.”

  Joanna forced a sickly smile to her lips. “I think…I think you were right when you said I shouldn’t overdo.” Carefully, she pushed her bowl of chili away. “Would you mind very much if we went back to the house now?”

  He was on his feet before she’d finished speaking. “Let’s go,” he said, tossing a handful of bills on the table. She stood up, he put his arm around her and the next thing she knew, he was carrying her from the diner.

  “David, put me down. This is silly. You don’t have to pick me up every time I—”

  He kissed her, silencing the quick flow of words in a way that made her heartbeat stutter.

  “I love holding you,” he whispered fiercely. “I’d hold you in my arms forever, if I could.”

  He tucked her gently into the car, buckled her seat belt, then got behind the wheel and drove slowly home. And all the time, she wondered if he’d meant what he’d said, if it would last or if everything that had happened between them would end when the weekend did.

  He insisted on lifting her from the car and carrying her into the house.

  “I’m going to take you upstairs and put you to bed,” he said. “And when you’re feeling better, I’ll make us some supper.”

  “Don’t be silly. I feel better already. I’ll cook.”

  “What’s the matter? Afraid of trying my extra-special canned chicken soup?”

  Joanna laughed. “At least let me lie down in the living room so I don’t feel like a complete invalid.”

  “Deal.” He lowered her gently to the couch and smiled at her. “And since you’re feeling better, I’ll let you have a vote.”

  “A vote on what?”

  David grinned. “Raise your hand if you want us to stay right where we are for the rest of the week.”

  Her eyes widened. “Do you mean it?”

  “Scout’s honor.”

  “Oh, that would be wonderful. But your office…”

  “They’ll manage.” He leaned down, brushed his mouth lightly over hers. “Lie right there and don’t you dare move an inch. I’ll put up the kettle for some tea and phone Morgana.” He smiled. “She’ll probably be delighted at the chance to run things without me for a while.”

  Joanna smiled and lay her head back as David made his way to the kitchen.

  Had she ever been so happy in her life?

  Even the fears she’d had just a little while ago didn’t seem quite so awful now. There was more to her relationship with David than sex. There had to be. That he wanted to stay here with her, away from the rest of the world, was wonderful.

  Regaining her memory no longer seemed as quite as important as it had. What mattered now was getting her husband to admit that he loved her.

  “Jo?”

  She looked up. David was coming slowly toward her, his smile gone.

  “David, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, really.” He squatted down beside her and took her hand in his. “I mean, it’s not like it’s the end of the world or anything…”

  “But?”

  He sighed. “But Morgana said she’d been just about to phone me. I’ve been working on this project for the Secretary of Commerce… Hell,” he said with an impatient gesture, “the point is, the White House has become interested.”

  Joanna gave a little laugh. “The White House? Are you serious?”

  David nodded. “The Secretary wants a meeting. Gypsy, there’s no way I can put him off.”

  “Of course not.”

  “If it was anything else…”

  “David, you don’t have to explain. I understand.”

  “Look, we’ll go back to New York tomorrow, I’ll meet with the Secretary and his advisors and next weekend, we’ll drive up again and stay for the week. OK?”

  Joanna nodded. “Sure.”

  She hoped she sounded as if she meant it but as she went into David’s arms and lifted her face for his kiss, there was a hollow feeling in the pit of her belly, as if she knew in her heart that they would not be returning to this house again.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE servants in the Adams town house were in the habit of taking their mid-morning coffee together.

  It was Mrs. Timmons’s idea and though it made for a pleasant start to the day, it was a ritual that had less to do with congenialit
y than with efficiency. The housekeeper had found she could best organize the day with Ellen and Hollister seated opposite her at the kitchen table.

  But she could see instantly that that wasn’t going to work this morning.

  Nothing was going according to schedule. And she had the feeling that nothing would.

  The Adamses had returned from their weekend outing late last night. Mrs. Timmons had been watching the late news on the TV when she’d heard them come in and she’d risen from the rocking chair in her bedroom cum sitting room off the kitchen, hastily checked her appearance in the mirror, and gone out to see if she were needed.

  What she’d seen had made her fall back into the shadows in amazement.

  There was Mr. David, carrying his wife up the stairs. He’d done that the day he’d brought her home from the rehabilitation center, but this…oh, this was very different.

  Mrs. Adams’s arms were tightly clasped around her husband’s neck. They were whispering to each other, and laughing softly, and halfway up the stairs Mr. David had stopped and kissed his wife in a way that had made Mrs. Timmons turn her face away. When she’d dared look again, the Adamses were gone and the door to Mr. David’s bedroom was quietly clicking shut.

  Now, at almost ten in the morning, the door to that room had yet to open. Neither of the Adamses had come down for breakfast and Mr. David had even foregone his daily run.

  “Never happened before,” Hollister said, dipping half a donut into his coffee.

  “Of course it has,” Mrs. Timmons said briskly, “it’s just that you weren’t here at the beginning.”

  “The beginning of what?”

  “I’ll bet she means when they were first married,” Ellen said with a giggle, “when they were still newlyweds. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Timmons?”

  Ellen blanched when the housekeeper fixed her with a cold eye. “Isn’t this your day for organizing the clothing for the dry cleaner?”

  Hollister came to Ellen’s defense.

  “She was only picking up on what you’d just said,” he began, then fell silent under that same stem gaze.

  “And you,” Mrs. Timmons said, “are supposed to be polishing the silver.”

  Hollister and Ellen looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders and pushed back their chairs.

  “We can take a hint,” Hollister said with quiet dignity.

  Mrs. Timmons began clearing the dishes. “Good,” she said grumpily. But after the door had swung shut and she was alone in the kitchen, she stood still.

  She had worked for David Adams for many years and she’d come to respect him. She supposed, if pressed, she might even admit she’d developed a certain liking for him.

  “Damnation,” she muttered.

  The truth was that she’d come to think of him as if he were a kind of son. Not that she’d ever let him or anyone else know it. That would not have been proper.

  But if Joanna Adams, who had broken his heart once, had somehow got it into her head to break it twice…

  The coffee cups clattered against each other as Mrs. Timmons all but jammed them into the sink.

  No. It was just too impossible to contemplate.

  Not even fate could be that cruel.

  * * *

  Upstairs, in the master bedroom suite, David stood gazing down at Joanna, who lay fast asleep in his bed.

  The weekend, and the night they’d just spent together, had been wonderful.

  His gaze moved slowly over his wife. She was lying on her belly, her head turned to the side so that he could see her dark lashes fanned down over her cheek. The blanket was at her hips, exposing the long, graceful curve of her back. Her hair, black as night against the white linens, streamed over her shoulders.

  He loved her, he thought Lord, he loved her with all his heart.

  If only he dared tell her so.

  Joanna sighed. She stretched lazily, rolled onto her back and opened her eyes. Her face lit when she saw her husband, standing beside the bed.

  “David,” she whispered, and without any false modesty or hesitation, she raised her arms to him.

  He came down to her at once, his freshly pressed suit, crisp white cotton shirt and perfectly knotted silk tie be damned, and folded her tightly into his embrace.

  “Good morning,” he said softly, and when she smiled, he kissed her.

  It was a slow, gentle kiss but almost instantly he felt his body begin to react to the warmth and sweetness of hers.

  “Mmm,” he whispered against her mouth, and he moved his hand to the silken weight of her breast. His fingers stroked across her flesh and then he bent his head and drew her nipple into his mouth.

  Her response was swift and exciting. She made a soft little sound that was enough to drive him crazy all by itself but when she arched toward him, murmuring his name, her hand cupping the back of his head to bring his mouth even harder against her, it was almost his undoing.

  With a groan, he lifted his head, kissed her lips, and drew back.

  “I can’t, darling,” he said softly. “My meeting is in less than an hour.”

  Joanna smiled and smoothed his hair back from his forehead.

  “I understand.”

  “I should have told Morgana to say I couldn’t make it.”

  “No, you shouldn’t. It’s OK, David. Really. I do understand.”

  David took her hand and brought it to his lips. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  She sat up, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

  “I’ll be waiting,” she whispered.

  He stroked his hand down her cheek. Then he stood, straightened his clothes and headed for the door while he could still force himself to leave.

  This Joanna, this woman he’d fallen in love with all over again, couldn’t be a temporary aberration. She had to be real, and lasting.

  He could not suffer her loss again.

  Not even fate could be that cruel.

  * * *

  Morgana picked up the papers on David’s desk and squared them against the blotter though she’d done the same thing only moments before. She looked at the onyx desk clock.

  David was late. Twenty minutes late. That wasn’t good.

  He was never late. Not for the past couple of years, at any rate; not since he’d stopped being cutesy-cozy with his adoring little minx of a wife.

  Morgana’s sculpted lips pressed together with distaste. David’s marriage had almost marked the end of all her plans. Until then, it had only been a matter of time before he’d have realized what she, herself, had known from the first day she’d come to work for him.

  She and David were meant for each other.

  One look, and she’d fallen deeply in love. David…well, he was a man. It took men longer to realize such things. For a long while, it had been enough that he’d found her the best P.A. he’d ever had. Morgana had taken each compliment on her efficiency, her dedication, and clutched them to her heart.

  Soon, she had told herself, soon he’d know.

  Instead, he’d been captivated—seduced—by a common piece of baggage from out of nowhere.

  Morgana shot a look of pure venom at the photo of Joanna that stood on the corner of David’s desk.

  “Just look at her,” she muttered under her breath.

  The hair, blowing in the wind; the oversized denim shirt tucked into tom jeans. And that smile, that oh-so-innocent smile.

  Morgana smiled, too, but her smile was as frigid as a January night.

  At first, it had seemed an insurmountable problem. It had been bad enough that David had gotten married. But when he’d begun spending less and less time at the office, Morgana had suffered in silence, watching as her plans for a future with him began to fall apart.

  Until one day, she’d seen her chance.

  David had made a comment, a light one, really, something about not wanting to overwhelm his bride with the pressures of her new life. But Morgana had sensed real concern behind his words.

  All smil
es, she’d offered to befriend Joanna.

  The girl had been so young. Stupid, really. She’d swallowed everything Morgana fed her, hook, line and sinker.

  “I’m so happy for you,” Morgana had purred. “It must be so wonderful, up there in Connecticut. Why, David’s missed several important meetings because he didn’t want to leave. He didn’t tell you? No? Oh, dear, I suppose I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “No,” Joanna had replied, “no, I’m glad you did. I surely don’t want to interfere in David’s life.”

  After that, it had been easy. A few woman-to-woman chats about things like David’s status. His position. His importance on the national and international scenes. His need to entertain, to network with his peers.

  “But why hasn’t he told me these things?” Joanna had said pleadingly, each time Morgana worked around to the topic, and Morgana sighed and said, well, because he loved her and he was afraid of making too many demands on her too soon.

  “Perhaps if you were the one to suggest that you’d like to make some changes,” Morgana had said in her most kindly way. “I mean, if David thought you wanted to move back to the city, mingle with his old crowd, if he saw you beginning to adapt yourself to his sort of life…that would please him so, Joanna, and he wouldn’t have to feel guilty about asking you to change for him, do you see?”

  Morgana’s heels tapped briskly across the Italian tile floor of David’s office as she headed out the door to her own desk. It had been as simple as striking a match to start a fire. Joanna made changes, David reacted with disappointment, Joanna—the stupid girl—reacted by making even more changes, and the fire grew larger.

  It had been difficult, watching David’s growing distress, but it was for the best. His marriage was an error; it was up to Morgana to make him see that.

  Finally, he had.

  He’d come in one day, called Morgana into his office. Grim-faced, he’d told her that he and Joanna would be getting a divorce.

  Morgana had made all the right sounds of distress and concern, even though she’d wanted to throw her arms around him and shout for joy. But she’d told herself she had only to bide her time, that once the divorce was over, she could carefully offer consolation.