Janet Evanovich - Wife for Hire

“Hank,” she whispered in the darkness, her lips skimming lower. “About this hero thing…”

He groaned.

Her hand was splayed over his navel, and she could feel the muscles tense under her palm. Her own stomach responded with an equally strong contraction. So this was what it was all about, she thought. She’d never understood before. She’d never before been caught in the undertow of desire, never felt the pull of it.

His hands tensed at her back. “Maggie, what are you doing?”

“I think I’m seducing you. Is it working?”

Another groan.

“I’ve never actually seduced anyone before.”

“Maybe you’d better think about it.”

“Oh Lord, am I doing it wrong?”

“No! I just want to make sure this is what you want.”

What she wanted? She was beyond wanting. At the moment loving Hank seemed crucial to her existence. Loving Hank seemed as essential as breathing air. She answered by wriggling out of her nightshirt and tossing it to the floor.

Neither moved. Nothing was said. Their breathing was shallow and silent. And then suddenly there was only passion. It roared through them like a flash fire.

He yanked his jeans off and came to her needing more than he’d ever before needed from a woman. He kissed her hard and deep, sweeping the length of her body with his hand. Loving words and tender exploration were saved for other times. There was an urgency and a ferocity to this first lovemaking that was more exciting than slow expertise.

She arched her back and cried out.

Mine, he thought. My woman, my wife, my love. He put his mouth to her and brought the fever back to her body.

He was a man who gave freely and took hungrily. He felt her move under him, heard her cry out at the intensity of the plea sure, felt her contraction tighten around him.

“Maggie.” He could hardly say it, hardly breathe for the fire that consumed him. He thought his heart would leap from his chest, and then they came together with an explosion of passion that left both of them gasping. When it was over, they clung together, trying to assemble their thoughts.

She was the first to find her voice. “Wow,” she said.

Hank couldn’t top that, so he picked her up with shaking arms and carried her across the hall into his bedroom. “Clean sheets,” he offered. “This next time is going to be slow and thorough, and I don’t want you to be distracted.”

“Oh my God,” she half-moaned, “you mean there’s going to be a next time already?”

Maggie stood in front of the bathroom mirror and took stock. Her hair was impossibly tangled, her eyes were bleary from lack of sleep, her cheeks rosy…and she had a foolish grin plastered to her face. Stop smiling, she told herself. You look like an idiot!

Five minutes later she emerged from the shower, squinted into the fogged mirror and rolled her eyes. She was still smiling.

“They’re going to know,” she murmured. “They’re all going to know. And he’s going to know.”

That was the worst part. Hank Mallone was going to know he’d just given her the best night of her life. She wasn’t quite sure why that bothered her so much, but she felt like a cat with its hackles raised. Defense mechanism, she guessed. The more she loved him, the more wary she became. Weird. Definitely weird, she decided.

She pulled a comb through her curls, dropped a T-shirt over her head, put on a pair of black jogging shorts, and checked the mirror one last time. The smile was still there.

Hank was stapling a new piece of screen across the door when Maggie came into the kitchen. He looked up from his work and chuckled when he saw the smile on her face.

The heat rose from her shirt collar and burned in her ears. Wonderful. Now she was blushing. She made a frustrated sound and took out a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator.

Elsie put a plate of scrambled eggs on the table. She stepped back and took a good look at Maggie.

“That’s some smile you got on your face. Shame on you. You two hardly know each other. I tell you, in my day we didn’t go around smiling like that until after we were really married.”

“It’s only a smile, for goodness sakes,” Maggie shouted.

“Well at least you’re finally getting some exercise,” Elsie said. “I guess there’s something to be said for that.”

Maggie slanted a look at Hank. He was leaning against the doorjamb with his arms loosely crossed over his chest, and he had a grin on his face that was even sillier than hers. She cleared her throat and concentrated on her eggs.

Elsie added an English muffin to Maggie’s plate. “I’ve got to go now. I’ve got an appointment to get my hair done. I’ve got a date to night.”

“Sounds serious,” Maggie said. “You better watch out you don’t wake up smiling some morning.”

“It’s different for me,” Elsie said. “I can’t wait around. Men my age are dying like flies.” She straightened her dress and took her purse from the kitchen counter.

“That’s a pretty big purse,” Hank said. “It looks heavy.”

“It’s not so bad,” Elsie said. “Keeps me in shape. All the young women today go to them expensive spas with those fancy machines. I just carry a good-sized purse. I’ve got muscles in my arms those women only dream of.”

Hank poured himself a cup of coffee and listened to Elsie gun the Caddy down the driveway. “There’s only one thing I can think of to make that purse so heavy.”

Maggie grimaced. “You checked her references, didn’t you? I mean, she doesn’t have a criminal record or anything, does she?”

Bubba opened the newly repaired screen door. “Howdy,” he said. “Am I too late for breakfast?”

Hank looked at the kitchen clock. “Over sleep?”

Bubba cracked six eggs into the frying pan and poured himself a cup of coffee. “It’s Saturday. I’ve been fishing. Ruben Smullen told me Goose Creek below the trestle bridge was doing real good, so I went out first thing this morning.”

“Catch anything?”

“Got a mess of trout. They were just about standing in line to get on my hook. I got them in a cooler on the back porch. I’ll split them with you.”

He found leftover meat loaf in the refrigerator and added some slices to the pan. When it was cooked to his satisfaction, he turned the eggs and the meat onto a plate and covered it all with ketchup.

“That’s a lot of breakfast,” Hank said. “Even for you.”

“I’m a man with a problem. I’m lacking essential gratifications. So I’m substituting food.”

“Does it work?”

“No.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Peggy wants to get married. Says there’s not going to be any more…you know, until we get married. I blame you for this. You did it. It’s like a disease. An epidemic. A plague. Ever since you got married, every woman for fifty miles is out to get a ring put on her finger.”

“Maybe you’d like being married,” Hank said. “You’ve been going with Peggy for years. Maybe it’s time to get married. You aren’t getting any younger, you know.”

“Or any slimmer,” Maggie said, watching him fork into his eggs.

“I don’t know. The idea gives me the willies.” He looked up at Hank. “You like being married?”

“Yup.”

He shifted his attention to Maggie and grinned. “I can tell you like being married.” He winked at Hank and leaned across the table to him. “Only one thing puts a smile like that on a woman’s face.”

Maggie stuffed an entire muffin into her mouth and chewed. She’d agreed to stay for six months. She’d already been here for five days. That left 179 days. 179 breakfasts with Bubba. It wasn’t an appealing prospect. She swallowed the muffin and washed it down with half a cup of coffee. “I have to go to work,” she said.

“It’s Saturday,” Hank said. “Why don’t you work for half a day, and we’ll go for a drive. I’ll take you up to the top of Mt. Mansfield on the ski lift.”

Bubba looked up from his meat loaf. “You can’t do that. You told Bill Grisbe you’d take a look at his Ford. Hank is a mechanical wizard,” Bubba told Maggie. “And then we’ve got a game against West Millerville.”

“Softball,” Hank explained. “I forgot. Maybe we could go to Mt. Mansfield tomorrow.”

“I thought you were going to Burlington with me tomorrow,” Bubba said. “We were going to take a look at the new press Sam Inman just installed.”

“Oh yeah. It’s a great press,” he said to Maggie. “It’s the kind I want. He’s got a thirty-two inch hydraulic rack-and-cloth press with a sanifeed unit.”

Maggie felt her smile fading. Hank didn’t have the time or the desire for a real wife. That was why he’d hired one. Lord, she was such an idiot. After their wonderful night, now she was playing second fiddle to Bill Grisbe’s Ford. Men!

“Wouldn’t want to disappoint Bill Grisbe,” she said frostily. “And I certainly wouldn’t want the softball team to do without you.”

“Uh-oh,” Bubba said to Hank. “I think she’s mad. I think she’s getting the old ball and chain ready to clamp onto your ankle.”

Old ball and chain? Maggie felt the fire burning in her scalp, felt her temper kick in.

“Listen, Mr. Lard, it’s none of your business what I clamp onto my husband’s ankle. And for your information, your days are limited at this breakfast table. If you haven’t dropped dead from clogged arteries by Wednesday, you’re going to have to make other arrangements to fuel up.” She glared at him. “Got that?”

“She sure gets riled,” Bubba said to Hank. “Must be that book is wearing her out.”

Maggie wheeled around and marched out of the room, shaking her head and muttering.

Hank grinned after her. “She likes me,” he said. “She doesn’t want to share.”

“She sure is changeable…smiling one minute and calling me names the next. She’s unstable, Hank. I’m telling you, the woman is loony.”

Maggie stomped into her study and slammed the door shut. She wasn’t loony, and she wasn’t unstable. She was mad. Mostly she was mad at herself. She’d walked right into this with her eyes wide open, and now she was peeved because it was turning out just as she’d expected.