Wife in Name Only

chapter Twelve


Sun streamed through the window, casting an orange haze over Zoe’s face. She laid her hand across her eyes, went to stretch, and immediately regretted it. The pain that had shot from her shoulders to her knees had lessened after three days, but it was still there. She rolled over expecting to find Rory. Instead she stared at the indentation on the pillow. She reached across and drank in the smell of him. She’d woken during the night in the last couple of days with her heart threatening to escape out of her chest and her breathing coming in short bursts. Rory had been there, had kissed the back of her head, had pulled her tighter, and had held her until she’d fallen back asleep.

“Hey, babe.”

Great. Caught smelling his man scent.

“Morning.” She tried to sit up, but her whole body scowled. “What time is it?”

“Just turned nine,” he replied. He moved to the bed with a tray balanced on one hand. Toast and the rich aroma of coffee filled her nostrils. He pulled her into a sitting position, placed the tray on her lap, pushed back her hair, and scanned her neck and face, something he’d taken to doing since she’d been attacked. At odd times of the day, she’d look up to find his eyes burning into her. It wasn’t uncomfortable; actually, it was kind of nice. Just super intense in the way only Rory could pull off.

“You’re calling me babe a lot more than when you first arrived,” she said, looking at him from beneath her lashes. The easy way it slipped off his tongue sent little tremors to her heart. Those little tremors could turn into a full-on earthquake if she let them.

He looked at her, surprised. “Must be slipping back into old habits.” He scratched his head. “Does it bother you?”

“No, it’s not that.” It just makes me melt a little bit more. “It just…”

“Just a word guy’s use. I bet even Darth Vader called Mrs. Vader babe on occasion.”

She laughed, stared down at the tray, and sighed, knowing they were going to have the same argument they’d had three days running. “You’ve got to stop bringing me breakfast in bed. I’ve got too much to do.”

“After breakfast.” He sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed the hair back from her face.

“I like looking after you. You were always so bad-ass and independent, it was impossible for me to do anything for you.” He ran his hand over his chin. “You know, back in the day and all.”

“Really?” Where was this coming from? “You never said.” A fluttery feeling invaded her stomach.

His face softened. “It’s what drew me to you in the first place. You just did your thing, not caring what people thought. I liked that you were totally independent.”

She sucked in a halting breath. “I was, but when we moved to L.A., I lost it. That’s when I started to fray,” she said quietly.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry I didn’t see it, Zo.”

“When we first married,” she continued in the same quiet voice. “I completely lost myself in you. I’d never depended on anyone except Mom, and I hardly remember her. Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, Rory. The two people I loved most in the world, I lost.” Tears burned the back of her eyes.

“Let me look after you.”

Her gaze flew to his. A haunted look hung in his eyes. He reached out and his fingers flexed around hers.

He studied her, and she burned under his heated stare.

After a long pause, he broke the tension. “It’s just that dudes like to look after their women. Lets them know they’re wanted.”

She tried to smile, but nothing moved. “Ah, nurturing caveman-style.”

He released her hand and cut up her toast. That was another argument she’d given up on. If cutting up her toast made him happy, she’d let him.

“So, how ya doing?” He studied her face, and his eyes darkened when he looked at her neck.

“I’m doing all right.” She tried for a sunny smile, but it felt as if her lips had been welded onto her face. She broke away from his intense gaze. “How’d you sleep?” She snatched a piece of toast. It was slathered in lime marmalade, which was her favorite. He smirked. “I slept okay.”

“Really? You’ve got bags under your eyes my industrial strength moisturizer would struggle with.” She sipped the coffee despite her tight throat.

“Got a lot on my mind,” he replied, tucking the sheet around her.

“Henchmen not performing? Are they going to the tower with an ‘off with their heads’ command?”

“Something like that,” he said evasively. “Simi phoned. Toma—or as I prefer to call him, the f*cker—is still locked up. There’s going to be a meeting later on this afternoon. It’s taken a while to get all the elders together.”

Rory had sat holding her hand when the elders had come to take their statements. She nodded. “The justice system works differently here. Different rules.”

He stared at her until the air pressure plummeted.

“Smithy phoned as well. He should be here in the next few days or sooner.”

Oh.

“So we have a couple of days left?” Great. Just when she wanted to sound all strong and cool with him leaving, Helium Barbie slipped out.

“Yeah, if that.”

Silence crept over them.

“Thank you for the breakfast,” she said quietly, aware of the wall of emotion pushing against the back of her eyes.

He nodded, studying her. “I’ll bring you lunch and dinner.”

She let out a long breath touched with a bit of exasperation. “Rory, I’m fine. I let you go all caveman on me, but today I need to get up and do all the stuff I need to do.”

He crossed his arms. “Tell me what I need to do, and I’ll get them done.” His eyes bored into her.

She sighed and shifted the breakfast tray to the bed. “I’m fine. Truly.”

She padded to the bathroom, wincing at the tightness in her muscles and the aches in her joints. After washing her face and brushing her teeth, she checked out the fading purple bruises.

She opened the cabinet, grabbed a pot of arnica, and walked back into the bedroom, surprised to see him still there.

“No evil plots?” She cocked her head to one side.

“Headless henchmen are looking after everything today. I’ve cleared my calendar so you can stay here in bed, and I can get what you need done.” He folded his hands across his chest with a don’t mess with me look on his face.

She countered with hands on her hips and a get real look on hers.

“Jesus, woman, will you ever listen to me?”

She purposefully narrowed her eyes. “Will you ever listen to me?”

Sighing, she broke away first and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I appreciate the gesture, I really do, but no thank you. The generators need doing, and I was hoping to get some pictures of us at the beach this afternoon.” She looked up at him. “My island, Rory. I’m driving.”

“I don’t think the photos of us at the beach will be any good with the bruises.” He frowned, and then his face cleared. “Although when you’re in a bikini, things do happen.”

Fire burned her face. “Yes, well. There won’t be any biology lessons anytime soon, and as for the bruises, you forget that I’m the queen of Photoshop.”

He tipped her chin up, and his eyes cut to hers. “Babe, there will be no biology until you’re ready. If you’re ready.” He traced his knuckle down her jaw. “You in a bikini does things to a man. I’m just saying.” His eyes traveled to the pot in her hand. “Is that the arnica stuff you mentioned?”

“For the bruising, yeah. I’ve been putting it on daily. It really helps.” He took the pot, led her to the couch, and pulled her down so that they sat facing.

With strokes so soft it made her want to cry, he worked the cream into her neck and across her face. She closed her eyes, afraid he’d see the emotions she knew were hanging there for public display.

“Lift up your shirt.”

Her eyes flew open, and she gazed into hazy and soft eyes.

He chuckled. “Cream only. I want you to heal.”

She pulled the t-shirt over her head and watched as his eyes swept over her body and narrowed.

“I should have killed the f*cker when I had the chance,” he said in a long hiss.

With one hand, he held up her hair and gently rubbed the cream in where he knew her darkest bruises had settled. He swept the cream across her shoulders, rubbing in large circles and long strokes across her ribcage. He propped her leg on his and spent extra time on the grazes and bruises on her thighs and calves.

His touch was so gentle and soft that she felt utterly relaxed sitting on him in only a pair of granny panties that she normally reserved for period days. It had never felt so right and so very wrong. A jolt of tenderness snapped straight to her heart, and she gasped.

“You okay?” His hand stilled on her calf.

“Yeah, all good.” She went to move off him, but he held her leg. “I think you’re finished. I have to use the bathroom.” She pulled her leg from his grasp, grabbed her t-shirt, and rushed into the small room. She stood with her hands against the sink. The quivers in her heart shocked the air from her lungs.

This cannot be happening.

Tears rolled down her face.

She stared at the porcelain, steeling her heart to feel like the cold stone. She felt The Beast yawning and pawing at her, trying to force her to succumb. With her breath shuddering in and out of her like she was a sprinter, she stared at the mirror.

Yep. There it was. Shiny eyes, feeling all wobbly inside. Face pale. But it wasn’t The Beast after all.

Staring back at her was a woman on the slippery slope of falling back in love. She was hanging by her fingertips, but she was there. If she let go she’d be setting herself up for…well, misery. She’d caught a glimpse of the Rory she’d fallen for head first. But that was only part of the parcel that was her complicated Rory. Still, her heart spasmed thinking about it.

“No thinking,” she whispered to herself in the mirror. Her lips moved, but she barely felt them.

“Big girl pants. He’s leaving. We don’t fit together anymore. He’s definitely leaving soon.”

She nodded to herself.

She gave herself a mental hug and splashed water over her face.

He’d be gone in a couple of days, and until then she’d Photoshop Rory out of her heart even if it killed her.

She splashed more water and scrubbed away the emotion clogging her eyes.

“You okay in there?” Rory’s concerned voice called to her through the heavy wooden door.

“Yep. All good.” She gave herself a mental shakedown, practiced a smile, wrapped a towel around her near-naked body, and walked back out.

…

An hour later, she’d had it. With a thundercloud settling in on Rory’s face, he’d stood as a silent sentry, shadowing her until she was about to scream. She threatened to sing her playbook of ABBA songs very loudly for a very long time unless he stopped following her like she was a wounded fawn, and he’d relented. Sort of.

“Pass me the spanner, would you please?” She held out her hand and the heavy tool landed in her palm.

“Why don’t you teach me how to take one apart?”

She wiped her hand across her forehead. Her muscles burned and ached, but she needed to do normal stuff. If she dwelled on the man who hated her and Cinderella, he’d win. He’d have the power, and that sure as hell wasn’t going to happen.

“It’s easier and quicker if I do it on my own.” She grunted, pulling on the spanner and tightening the nut.

“That’s very unbendy of you, Zo.”

“What?” She dropped the spanner.

“Isn’t that what you called me? Unbendy and as flexible as a broom?” When he leaned in to examine what she was doing, she caught a whiff of the soap smell that rolled off him in waves. He wore no shirt, only dark board shorts with bare feet, and it looked like a bronzed Statue of David had crash landed on her island. Her eyes flew to the part of his shorts that David would never see rise.

“Zo, did you hear me?” A smirk danced across his face.

“Yeah, I did. But it’s just so much easier…I’m just so used to doing this—”

“I believe it’s called compromise.”

She studied him for a full minute, saw the determination, and sighed. “Fine. I can compromise, unlike you.”

“What do you mean me? I let you get out of bed, didn’t I?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “As if you had any say in the matter.”

He grinned, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “You look like a boy who’s setting up his first sandpit.

A grin turned his eyes sparkly sapphire. “Bring it on. I’ve got the grader and all the heavy lifting tools.” He slapped her behind playfully. “It’s a dude thing.”

“It seriously isn’t,” she shot back, grinning. “It’s you being a tool.”

He threw back his head and laughed.

Two hours later, she stood back and admired four gleaming, greased, shiny generators that were all hooked up and ready to go.

“Wow. You learn fast.” She grabbed the hem of her t-shirt and, completely forgetting she was sans bra, pulled it up and wiped her brow.

“Shit, Zo. I know you’re hurt and all but, Christ, I am human.”

Heat flared in her cheeks, and she stepped back. “Sorry.” His desire for her was outlined magnificently against his shorts. “I, ah, think I’ll head to the beach.” Embarrassed that her body screamed I’m up for grabs if your name is Rory and you’ve got a chubby that needs checking…into me. She ignored the familiar slick of heat between her thighs and the way her very hard nipples rubbed against her cotton tee. She glanced back at him, saw his eyes narrow, and spun around.

It had been three days of waking up to Rory carved around her, his body saying ‘good morning’ way before a word had come out of his mouth.

She had needs.

He narrowed his eyes. “I saw that look. Don’t even think of Rudy. I’ll find the f*cker and bury his batteries. You need something, Zo and I do know what you need. You come find me.”

If she’d been walking, she’d have stumbled. Damn it. How did he always freaking know what she was thinking?

“I’ll give you two minutes, then I’ll meet you back here.” His dark, gravelly voice grazed over her. “I’ll come find you.”

She made it back to her bungalow and threw on a bikini she’d never worn. She’d been saving it for a trip in the future, like a singles cruise or a man-hunting trip to New Zealand.

A band of loneliness wrapped tight around her heart. She hoped she’d be ready for such a trip sometime in the foreseeable future.

She dragged on a gray coverup dress, stuffed sunscreen and the camera into her bag, grabbed two towels, and made it back with five seconds to spare. She ignored the flutter of her heart and the way her blood zinged through her veins at the killer smile that Rory sent her way when he saw her.

…

“That’s one hell of a bikini.” Rory sucked in his breath as Zoe peeled the gray dress from her body. Two triangles just barely held her breasts. If she moved too fast, he was sure one would break free. Damn him for not bringing a Frisbee. Instead of string, the top was joined together by a tiny gold chain. Another triangle just covered the front of her, and he hissed in a breath when she turned around. All he could see was a thin chain that sat on her hips and a tiny scrap of fabric that disappeared into her very brown, very firm, and very supple butt cheeks.

He blinked and big head just overruled little head. Barely. Even with the bruises on her neck and shoulders, she was one smoking hot woman.

Down boy, he mentally called to his shorts.

Blood fired through his body at a rapid rate, and he narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tell me anyone else has seen you in that.”

“Honestly, you cavemen. You’d have us walking around in sacks if you had your way.” She rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips.

“No, just you in that bikini.” He kept his hands loose at his side when all he wanted to do was pull the dress back over her head in case anyone else happened by. Meanwhile, he’d burned the image of her into his brain for long, lonely nights.

“It’s a honeymoon resort.” She walked toward him, shimmying in the sun, the bronze of her bikini firing spears of light into her hair. “I’ve never worn it before today.”

“Lucky me.” The pulse in his belly wasn’t going away anytime soon. He stared at the ocean. “I’m going in.”

“Same.”

He kept a measured distance between them as they walked into the waves.

“This is my beach. The locals don’t come here, ever. I know they respect the privacy we want to give visitors.” She patted his arm. “No one is going to see us or me when I’m here alone, so chill.”

He banked her words. He sure as hell wasn’t going to think of her being alone, not now, not after what had happened to her. That sent a bucket of icy reality to his heated skin.

She ran into the waves and kicked at the turquoise, sending a curtain of sparkles into the air. As she passed, he’d seen the look of disquiet on her face. She had been rattled by what had happened, probably more than she cared to admit, and her announcement that she was unobserved and alone here had hit her as hard as it did him. Jogging into the water, he plowed into the Pacific and swam in long, powerful strokes until he hit a cold current. Treading water, he waved to Zoe. She was just a dot on the shore. With what felt like indigestion in his gut that he knew wasn’t, he kicked off and headed back to the shore.

His lungs screamed as he finally pulled himself to the shore and sat with her at the water’s edge. She rubbed sunscreen from a nearby bottle onto her arms, filling the air with what would be a Coppertone memory.

“Let me get your back.” He moved behind her and smeared the cream onto her back in a bullseye shape. Using gentle strokes, he massaged the cream into her velvety skin. He couldn’t help himself. He gently pressed his lips to her shoulder.

She turned her head. “You going all soft on me, are you?”

He pulled her to a standing position and pulled her toward the shade of a clump of palm trees.

“Nah, just worried you’ll get burned. There is quite a lot of you showing.” He glanced at her very lovely butt.

The wind swishing through the trees and the waves hitting the beach were the only sounds.

“Do you ever get lonely here, Zo? It’s so damn quiet I can hear what’s going on in my head.”

She sat on her towel and dug her toes into the soft sand. “Sometimes. When the resort is full of honeymooners it can be lonely, with all that love. It’s nice to see, though. Love. Gives a girl hope.”

She pulled on her bottom lip and busied herself with digging a hole in the sand.

That feeling that he’d started carrying around with him returned. It felt like a WWF fighter had crashed into his chest and was doing pushups.

“I’m cooking dinner tonight.”

She smirked. “You? Cook? What are we having, toast?”

“Yeah. I’m cooking.” He shot her a sidelong glance. “And no, it won’t be toast.”

“Honey, we don’t have any wild, wooly mammoths here that you can spear and roast over a campfire, you know.” Her voice sounded a bit shaky, as if she was masking what was really going on inside.

Look at the king of pain, sweetheart. I’m f*cking covered in Band-Aids.

“Hey, my caveman skills are pretty legendary. You’ll see.” He tried to smile, but his lips refused the command. He held out his hand. “Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder and take you back.”

She smirked. “Yeah, you and what army?”

In one scoop, he had her over his shoulder, one hand on her very firm butt, the other jamming their stuff into the bag.

She smacked his shoulder. “Put me down, or I’ll start singing ABBA.”

“Since I’ve been here, I’ve reluctantly learned the words to “Waterloo,” so I’ll join you in the chorus.” He stilled. “You all right back there? Anything hurt?”

“The only thing that will be hurting is your pride if you don’t put me down.”

He walked along the path while Zoe squirmed against his hold. When that didn’t work, she tried tickling, nuzzling, and slapping, and then she finally went limp in his arms. He loosened his hold on her only to have her wriggle off his shoulder, land, and start running toward the resort, her breathy laughter trailing her.

He let out an expletive and took off after her. She disappeared down trails he didn’t know, and with blood ripping through his veins he arrived back at the resort a few steps behind her.

“Shit, Zo. Don’t do that. I have to know your safe.”

“I am safe,” she panted.

They stood facing each other, breathing hard.

When he’d lost sight of her, his heart had practically somersaulted in his chest. That whole memory of her running down the path away from the dude who meant to do her harm flashed through his head, and it didn’t put him in an amiable mood.

He pulled a hand through his hair. “I didn’t like the feeling of not knowing if you’re safe.”

He scanned her face, but she’d slipped on a neutral mask.

“I’m fine, Rory. I’ll be fine. Honestly. You have to let it go.”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Hard to unsee what I saw.”

“I know, but you have to try. I’m trying.”

He blew out a gutful of air.

“I’ll go start dinner. See you at seven thirty. Dress is formal.”

She nodded, turned, and walked away.

A tension headache tightened around his forehead. He stared out at the tranquil waves of the resort and beyond the atoll to the pounding waves of the Pacific. Soon he’d be sitting on a yacht making his way toward the mainland. After that, he’d be sitting in his downtown office, sipping a triple espresso, and having a pissing competition with a room full of suits. For the first time in years, that didn’t fire his blood.

With his feet dragging through the sand and the tension headache turning into a bad mood headache, he made it to the kitchen and turned on Zoe’s iPod, which immediately started in with a song about a girl called Nina and something about ballet.

Zo’s happy music.

He started pulling stuff from the industrial-sized fridge, his muscles relaxed, and he started humming.

He snorted and nearly laughed aloud. She was right. You couldn’t stay pissed off at the world while ABBA was playing.

…

Zoe walked toward her bungalow with a hollowness in her bones, and she smartly gave herself a speech that started with “get over yourself” and ended with “what the hell is wrong with you?” She pulled on a pair of shorts and a tank top over her bikini and stood in her bedroom, trying to figure out what to do. Her mind was a jumble of different thoughts she wasn’t going to unravel. Best to ponder those when Rory was gone and it was just her and a giant bag of cheese puffs.

She glanced at her watch. Simi had told her he’d call about now. She walked to the office and a few minutes later, the phone pinged into life. She gripped it tight and listened to Simi, her blood crawling through her veins. The meteorological office in Nuku’alofa had phoned the island police to advise him of the potential danger.

“Another one?” She stared out the window at the blanket of blue sky. “Francis? Where do they get these names?” Static crackled down the line.

She listened while Simi gave her the rundown. Francis was out there tracking through the Pacific but wasn’t predicted to come anywhere near the island.

“Okay, thanks, Simi.” The air gushed out of her.

She gripped the phone tighter when Simi told her in very solemn tones that Toma, after claiming he’d met Zoe for a planned tryst, had been disowned by his family and had agreed to leave the island and never return.

She sucked in a breath and squeezed her eyes shut.

“You know that’s not true, Simi. I didn’t meet Toma to have ‘a liaison’ with him.” Angry tears built at the base of her throat. She nodded, and the air whooshed out of her. “I know. His word against mine. But he’s gone, right? Never to return?”

She rung off a few minutes later after telling Simi she loved him and heard his whispered “I love you, too.”

She sat lost in thought until the song belting out of her speakers shook her from herself.

She grinned as “Nina Pretty Ballerina” danced on the breeze.

She had two hours left before dinner, and tonight she had plans. Big plans. She washed and conditioned her hair and, wanting tonight to be special, hauled out her hardly used blow-dryer and curled her hair. She carefully made up her face, chose her favorite dress, and put on kickass lacy underwear with a garter belt and super sheer stockings. With her blood already dancing a samba through her veins, she pulled out the Scrabble box and put it on the nearby table.

Smithy would be here soon, and tonight she was going to have one last fling with her husband before he left to return to his mistress, the one who held his heart–––Hughes Enterprises. It would be one night that she could remember every night he was gone, that she could relive each exquisite minute of.

Tonight she was giving him a piece of herself. Tonight she was giving him his freedom.

She looked at herself in the mirror and practiced a smile. She pinched her cheeks to bring color to her pale face. At least her bruises had faded to the point where she could cover them with makeup.

“See you later.” She looked down at the Scrabble box and then slipped on ridiculously high silver heels, checked the time, and walked toward the restaurant bathed in a sea of candlelight.

“Hey,” she said, knocking on the door, a clutch of nerves racing around her body.

Rory looked up from where he’d been frowning down at a crystal glass on the counter. He stilled, his eyes raking over her.

“You’re beautiful.” He walked toward her, holding out the goblet he’d been glaring at.

She took the glass from him. “Thank you. The tux looks good on you.” She took a sip, grateful for the cool liquid sliding down her too-dry throat.

The tux looked more than good on him. He looked hot enough to eat. Snowy white cotton that strained to cover his shoulders was tucked into black pants. His blue eyes were mesmerizing against his tanned face. Dark stubble peppered his chin.

“No shoes.” She glanced down at the rubber thongs on his feet. If there was a calendar of super-hot corporate gurus, Rory could grace every month.

“Feels good not wearing them.”

She took another sip of the purple drink. “This is really good. What is it?” she asked, trying to distinguish the fruit flavors.

“I thought I’d give your cocktail thing a go, but with alcohol. That,” he indicated with his head, “is The Transporter. One sip and it will take you to where you want to be.”

“Nice. I like that it’s purple. Blackcurrant is a nice touch.” She walked to the table set for two and smiled at the vase in the center. Two hibiscus flowers dangled to the side. She pushed them back in and sat down. “Where do you want to be when you take a sip? Downtown L.A.? Clogged arteries of the 405? Sitting in a meeting with the henchmen, axes sharpened, mace balls at the ready, competing in silent pissing competitions?”

He padded out and placed a plate in front of her. A New York steak surrounded by garlic and rosemary baked potatoes and French green beans sat before her. Her mouth watered. She didn’t know how he knew, but a steak was exactly what she’d wanted tonight.

“Where I am tonight is good.” He sat across from her. “Though, when I leave I might take some of this back with me. So I can transport back here in my head.”

“Yeah, I’ll probably have a glass every now and then as well.” They clinked glasses, and before she knew it, Zoe cleaned her plate.

“Did you talk to Simi?” he asked, clearing away the plate.

She waited until he returned, refilled her glass with more Transporter, and sat down.

She updated him on Francis, telling him that there was probably no way the storm would turn and track here. He paled at the news nevertheless. She reached across and squeezed his hand then took a deep breath and told him that her attacker was sailing away as they spoke. He’d agreed to leave on the commercial fishing vessel Nina Louise and would never be coming back. She grasped his hand and bit back the anger when she told him that there hadn’t been any charges as Toma had told the elders that she’d written him a note—which he couldn’t provide—asking to meet him for sex, and she’d like it rough.

She glanced across at Rory’s dark face.

“Don’t let him win, Rory. I’m not thinking about him anymore. He’s gone, and I’ll never see him again. The Nina Louise moors at the main island. He’s agreed to never come back. Don’t let him ruin our night.” She patted her full stomach and pasted on a grin. “That was lovely, Rory. Thank you. And this,” she tilted the glass, “is lethal. One more of these, and I’ll be toast.”

“I swear, Zo. If I hear of him coming anywhere near you…” He dug a hand through his hair, his eyes burning. “I’ve told Simi my views, and he agrees. He was adamant that Toma wouldn’t be allowed back on the island.” He let out his breath. “Can’t say I wouldn’t rather see him behind bars, though.”

After a comfortable silence during which they finished a very tasty lemon meringue pie he’d unearthed from her freezer, she thought ahead at what she had planned and smiled. “I’ll help you clean up; there’s something I want to do tonight, and I think you’ll enjoy it.”