Wife for a Week Page 8

  He relaxed. Yes, surely that was the answer. It wasn’t so much that he desired Angela, but rather the circumstances they were in were conducive to producing desire. Now that he understood his attraction to her, he could deal with it.

  He just had to remember that it was a desire born in the intimacy of their surroundings and beneath Barbara’s tutelage of love. Once they left Mustang, they would go back to their original positions as boss and secretary, with no emotional or physical complications.

  By the time he fell asleep that night, he was secure in the fact that he felt nothing for Angela, that the brief moments of desire he experienced where she was concerned weren’t true emotions, but rather manufactured by the circumstances of their enforced intimacy.

  He awakened the next morning with the scent of her hair filling his head... the fragrant scent of spring flowers and fresh rain. Without opening his eyes, he knew she was once again draped across his body, her head on his chest, one of his arms trapped beneath her.

  He knew she was still asleep, felt the languid, steady rhythm of her heart, the soft even breaths that warmed his chest. Her body molded against his side, warm, soft and enticing.

  He opened his eyes to see that the light of dawn stole into the bedroom window, pale yellow shafts that created a cozy golden glow to the room. He gazed at Angela’s sleeping countenance, wondering why he’d ever thought her plain.

  Her features were strong and distinctive, arranged just unconventionally enough to be interesting... but not plain. He rubbed a strand of hair between two fingers, not wanting to awaken her, but needing to touch the shiny silk.

  This is how husbands and wives all over the world awakened, he thought. In each other’s arms.

  And many of them would begin their day by making love to each other. It would either be a fast, passionate encounter, or a slow, languid joining. Or perhaps some of those husbands and wives would talk about their plans for the day, about what they hoped to accomplish.

  It was the kind of sharing that had always frightened Hank. But, at this moment, with Angela in his arms and the dawn of a new day sifting through the curtains, it didn’t seem frightening...it seemed nice.

  Before he had time to fully digest his thoughts, Angela’s eyes opened. For a brief moment their amber light bathed him and a smile curved the corners of her lips. In the blink of her eyes, the amber radiance disappeared, the smile fell away and she jerked to an upright position, her cheeks stained bright red.

  “I’m sorry,” she exclaimed as she scooted to the far side of the bed. Two buttons of her pajama top had come undone, gifting him a tantalizing glimpse of the swell of her breasts. “I didn’t mean to crowd you.” Her voice held her horror.

  “I didn’t feel crowded,” he replied. His head filled with a vision of him unfastening the rest of the buttons of her top, parting the cotton material to reveal the smooth, silky skin beneath. He could almost taste her on his lips, feel the warmth of her as he caressed each inch of flesh that was bared to him.

  “I don’t know why I do that...I mean...maybe I sleep on that side of the bed at home...maybe I get cold in the night...I don’t consciously...”

  “Angela, stop. It’s okay.” For some reason, her profusion of protests and excuses irritated him. “I know I’m the last man on earth you’d consciously want to cuddle with.” He got out of bed, more irritated with himself than he was with her.

  He must have been having a nightmare, thinking about making love to her... sharing morning thoughts with her. That’s what men did with their wives, and he didn’t want a wife. And he damned straight wasn’t about to get all soft and gooey over the idea of getting married just because of a week of marriage encounter workshops. What was happening to him? He had to get a grip.

  He grabbed his clothes for the day and stalked into the bathroom, leaving her openmouthed and staring after him from her side of the bed.

  Angela knew why Hank seemed distant and slightly irritated with her all day. It was because she’d once again sought him in sleep, curled up nearly on top of him, practically smothering him.

  She didn’t know what unconscious thoughts drew her to him in the darkness of the night. She wasn’t in control of the magnetic energy that flowed between them while they slept. But she could understand his aggravation with her unwanted snuggling.

  He remained cool and distant throughout breakfast, warming only when it was time for their private workshop with Barbara. Angela knew his warmth at that time was strictly for show, to keep the pretense of their marital state working.

  “Peccadilloes,” Barbara said once they were seated on the sofa in the library.

  “I beg your pardon?” Hank said.

  “Peccadilloes,” Barbara repeated. “Irritating habits, aggravating quirks that drive you insane. That’s what we’re going to explore today.”

  She handed them each a small notebook and a pen. “I want you to write down the little things that your mate does that drives you insane. No-holdsbarred, don’t hold back.”

  Angela stared down at the paper, trying to think of anything Hank had done in the two days they’d been sharing their room together that might be considered irritating. Nothing specific came to mind. He’d been a thoughtful roommate, picking up after himself and not spending too long in the bathroom.

  She closed her eyes, trying to visualize a day in, day out sort of existence with him. What would he do to aggravate her? What about him would irritate her to death?

  She opened her eyes and looked at Hank and saw that he was writing something. She frowned. What was he writing about her? What could she have done that was aggravating to him? Was he writing that she was a bed hog? Her cheeks warmed at the thought.

  Her frown deepened as she looked at her notebook again. She had to think of something. Everyone had little quirks, tiny habits that drove their mates crazy. Like squeezing the toothpaste from the middle or leaving the toilet lid up.

  But, in their time together, Hank hadn’t left the lid up and she didn’t know how he squeezed his toothpaste since his toiletries were always picked up and put away when she went into the bathroom.

  Mind racing, she started to write, realizing it didn’t have to be true. Their marriage wasn’t real, why did the quirks that bothered her have to be real? She smiled, beginning to enjoy the exercise.

  Barbara gave them about fifteen minutes to write. “Okay, by now you should have listed the biggest offenses,” she said with a smile. “Let’s start with Angela. What’s the first thing you wrote down?”

  “He never calls when he’s going to get home late from work,” Angela replied, not looking at Hank. She was almost afraid to look at him for fear of bursting into giggles.

  “And how does that make you feel?” Barbara asked.

  Angela thought for a moment. “Like I’m not important to him. He takes me for granted.” She warmed to the fantasy. “Sometimes I go all out to cook a wonderful meal. I set the table with our best china and light candles, you know, plan a wonderful romantic evening. Then he doesn’t call and he doesn’t come home until everything is ruined.” She shot a surreptitious glance at Hank. His eyes gleamed with humor...and the warning of payback.

  “Hank, do you hear what Angela is telling you? That by not calling her you make her feel as if she isn’t important to you,” Barbara said.

  “I hear her,” he replied.

  “Tell her that you’re sorry she feels that way.” Barbara smiled, the smile of a mother watching her children playing nice together.

  Hank nodded, and reached for Angela’s hand. “I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t realize how my not calling made you feel. I promise to do better in the future.” He squeezed her hand, a renewed promise of payback.

  “Okay...good.” Barbara smiled. “Now Hank, it’s your turn.”

  “She uses sex as a weapon,” he replied.

  Angela gasped. “I do not,” she protested.

  Hank nodded solemnly. “She does,” he said to Barbara. “You do,” he repeated
to Angela. He focused back on Barbara. “If I do or say something that makes her unhappy, she won’t make love to me that night. She won’t let me kiss her or hug her. I feel like there are times I have to practically beg her to get the opportunity to physically love her.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Angela exclaimed.

  Hank cast Barbara a hangdog look of sadness. “And now I probably won’t be able to touch her tonight, no matter how much I yearn for her.”

  Barbara looked at Angela. “Is sex uncomfortable for you, either physically or emotionally?”

  “No.” She glared at Hank. He smiled rather sadly, giving her a wounded look. Oh, he was good. He was definitely good.

  Angela gazed down at her lap, then once again directed her focus on Hank. “I’m sorry. It isn’t a conscious thing to withhold myself from you. It’s just when I don’t feel important to you, I’m not in the mood to be with you intimately. And most of the time your work is more important than me and my needs.”

  Satisfaction flooded through her as she realized how neatly she’d placed the issues back in his lap.

  “So, it sounds like one of the issues you two need to work on is mutual respect,” Barbara replied. “Mutual respect and making sure your mate feels important. Hank, what else do you have on your list?”

  “She binds her hair.”

  Angela looked at him in surprise, a hand automatically shooting to the nape of her neck where her hair was tied with a pale blue scarf. “I tie it back because it’s easier than messing with it.”

  “I wish you’d wear it loose. You have gorgeous hair, but you never show it off,” Hank said. All glints of humor were gone from his eyes. Instead, Angela saw a whisper of yearning, a shimmer of truth in their dark-blue depths.

  “I...I could wear it down sometimes,” she said. The light in his eyes caused a strange, evocative warmth in the pit of her stomach.

  “That’s seems easy enough,” Barbara said, drawing both Hank and Angela’s attention away from each other and toward her. “Some days you can wear it down, and other days you can pin it back. A happy compromise.” She smiled at Angela. “Your turn again. What else did you write down?”

  Angela picked up her notebook and gazed down at it, trying to forget that solitary moment when she’d seen those odd, unfamiliar emotions in Hank’s eyes.

  Surely she’d only imagined them. Uncomfortable with the sudden somber mood between herself and her pretend husband, she chose another item on her list that she thought would make him laugh.

  “Sometimes he treats me like his secretary instead of his wife,” she announced. “And, I can tell you for a fact he doesn’t pay his secretary half what she’s worth.” She was relieved to see the familiar light of humor in his eyes.

  The rest of the session sped by as Barbara talked to them about compromise, avoiding bad habits and how to reinforce good habits. She explained to them that it was better to talk about pet peeves than to let little irritations grow out of control. “Communication between the two of you is the key to a healthy, happy marriage,” she concluded.

  “I’m going to take a ride with Trent. He wants to take me over to his brother-in-law’s place to see a couple of horses,” Hank said after the session was finished. “We’ll be back in an hour or so.”

  “Okay,” Angela replied. Angela had a feeling his outing was less about seeing horses and more about seeing less of her.

  He probably hadn’t realized how long a week would be pretending to be bound to a woman he wasn’t interested in. He hadn’t consciously thought about how intimate it would be, sharing not only workshops geared to marital bliss, but also a bedroom... a bed.

  Angela went upstairs to the bedroom. She had a couple hours to herself before dinner. She knew Stan and Edie would be in their private session with Barbara.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and opened a magazine she’d packed to bring. She thumbed through the pages, but none of the articles interested her, none of the pages took her mind off her boss.

  She knew what was happening. The crush she’d once had on Hank, the infatuation she’d thought had ended long ago, had returned with a vengeance.

  She wasn’t sure exactly when it had reappeared... whether it had been when he’d kissed her, or during one of their sharing sessions with Barbara. In any case, the timing didn’t matter.

  Standing from the bed, she stared at the diamond ring on her finger. It sparkled as a ray of sunshine flooding through the window danced on its surface.

  It was a beautiful ring, but it didn’t fit quite right. Just like she and Hank didn’t fit right. The ring could be sized, made smaller or larger, but she and Hank would always be a misfit. She’d do well to remember that.

  It was foolish, entertaining any romantic thoughts where Hank was concerned. She knew better than anyone the kind of women he liked. She’d sent them all flowers, had ordered them gifts, had made dinner reservations at fancy restaurants for Hank and his lady of the moment.

  She couldn’t compete with those gorgeous, poised women, and she’d be crazy to even try. Funny face. Her dad’s pet name echoed in her mind. Hank obviously liked physically beautiful women, that’s all she’d ever seen him with. One after another, his love life was like a parade of contestants from a beauty pageant.

  Hank might think her hair was pretty, he might say he enjoyed her sense of humor. But, that was a long way from love. Men like Hank didn’t love women like Angela.

  Besides, she wasn’t in love with him. She just had a crush, a harmless little crush that would never evolve into anything more. She couldn’t let it evolve into something deeper, because only a fool would allow her boss to break her heart.

  Chapter Seven

  “Whoa. Easy boy.” Cameron Gallagher gentled the huge stallion with a caress on the neck.

  The black stallion was enclosed in a large, wooden corral. Hank and Trent stood outside the corral, watching Trent’s brother-in-law, Cameron, work with the half-wild beast. Dust rode the wind as the horse anxiously pawed the dry ground.

  “He’s a beauty, isn’t he?” Trent observed.

  “He sure is,” Hank agreed.

  “Cam caught him two weeks ago in a box canyon where several packs of wild horses roam,” Trent explained. “He’d had his eye on that stallion for months before he actually managed to rope him.”

  “He’s good with horses,” Hank said as he watched the tall, dark-haired cowboy working with the stallion.

  “Yeah, about the only things Cameron really likes are horses, his wife and his daughter...not necessarily in that order.”

  Trent nodded as Cameron approached where he and Hank stood. “Hey Cam.”

  “Trent.” Cameron nodded.

  “This is Hank Riverton from Great Falls. I’ve been telling him about your success in breaking the horses in the wild pack.”

  “Are you a rancher, Mr. Riverton?” Cameron asked as he shook Hank’s hand.

  “Not at the present time...but maybe in the future. Sometime I’d like a little place...maybe keep a couple of horses,” Hank replied, surprised to realize his words were true.

  “There’s lots of prime land around Mustang,” Cameron said.

  “I’d probably be looking around the Great Falls area,” Hank replied. He made a mental note to himself to check out the possibility of buying some property when he returned to Great Falls. It would be nice to have several acres, nothing too big, but enough land to keep some horses for pleasure purposes.

  “Well, best of luck to you,” Cameron said, obviously itching to get back to his work with the stallion.

  Trent looked at his watch. “Yeah, I suppose we ought to get back. Elena and I have our session with Barbara right before dinner.”

  “What made you decide to do this week-long marital enrichment thing?” Hank asked as the two men walked back to Trent’s pickup.

  Trent shrugged. “Elena thought it would be good for us.” He cast Hank a conspiratorial wink. “You know women, they love this bonding stuff.”
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  “And you didn’t mind?” Hank asked.

  Trent smiled, a smile that made him appear as if he had the most fantastic secret in the world. “Nah. I’m happy doing whatever makes her happy. This seemed to be a small enough price to pay to please her.”

  An uncharacteristic surge of envy once again shot through Hank. As the two men drove back to Brody’s place, Hank thought of Trent’s smile. It had been more than the simple gesture of a happy man...it had been the smile of a man who’d found the secret of profound bliss...and he’d found it in the happiness of his wife.

  Hank had never given much thought to marriage and family. He simply hadn’t been interested before. But now he found himself contemplating the idea, trying to imagine what it would be like to love a woman every day, every night for a lifetime. What would it be like to hold a newborn Hank Jr. or a little Ashley in his arms? For the first time in forever, the idea didn’t exactly scare him, but rather held a strange appeal.

  Maybe it was time to start wife hunting. He was thirty-three years old. If he intended to have children he didn’t want to start a family when he was too old to enjoy little ones.

  “You like being a father?” he asked Trent.

  Trent nodded. “If I do nothing else in my life but raise my little boy, I’ve done something important,” he replied. Trent grinned at him knowingly. “Does your wife’s pregnancy make you just a little bit nervous?”

  “My wife’s....oh...yeah...sort of...” The words stuttered out of Hank and for a brief moment he felt the need to come clean, to tell Trent that his marriage, Angela’s pending motherhood, all of it was nothing more than a manufactured lie for business’ sake.

  “Don’t sweat it,” Trent said with a reassuring grin. “Having babies is almost as much fun as making babies.”

  Hank gave him a weak smile in return. The impulse to come clean passed. There was no point in telling the truth, no point in risking the Robinson account because of a momentary flare of his conscience.

  When they got back to the ranch, Trent met up with Elena for their private session with Barbara, and Hank found Angela pacing in their bedroom.