Wife in Name Only

chapter Two


A snort of disbelief tripped out of her mouth. “You haven’t had sex in a year?”

She stared up into Rory’s heartbreak-blue eyes and nearly tripped over her feet. Mister I-Can-Have-Sex-Anytime-Anywhere-Just-Give-Me-Two-Seconds hadn’t in twelve months? Impossible.

“Nope.”

None of my business. Still, a man had needs. A quiver pulled low in her belly. And Rory had needs. She swallowed over a suddenly dry throat.

“But…”

“I take my vows seriously. As far as I’m concerned, we’re still married.”

She blinked up at him, surprised at the ripple of emotion expanding outwards from her heart. Oh. “But we’re only married on paper. We’ve, ah, we’ve moved on.”

“So it would seem.

“So you don’t have a Rudy?” The words squeaked out of her like Helium Barbie. Excellent. Just what she needed. She tried to lighten the mood as her insides went on a washing machine spin.

“I have a shower.”

With his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, his back ramrod straight, and a flush staining his face, his eyes bored directly into hers, leaving her with no doubt why he wanted a shower.

“Wouldn’t mind one now.”

Damn.

Her whole body flushed. It wasn’t good, thinking of Rory naked in a shower. Water dribbling down long, lean, tight muscles. Soap peppering his swimmer’s shoulders, the suds dropping over lickable pecs before dripping down over a flat, tight abdomen and down, down, down. It was bad enough he stood here, his hair all messy dark waves, wearing low-slung jeans and a pale blue t-shirt covered in drips of red across his tight body. Crap, he’d even gone all pirate and wasn’t wearing shoes. He hadn’t worn anything but designer in years.

Heated blood fizzed through her veins, heading straight to her pelvis, ready for an all-night party Rory-style that would end at dawn, leaving her muscle-weary and wrapped in him.

Reality threw a cold bucket of water over her.

“We’re done, Rory,” she said quietly.

His eyes narrowed.

She took a deep breath, ignoring the rush of blood to her lips, and walked to her bungalow.

She pushed open the door into instant calmness. Bowls of pink and white frangipani and magnolia flowers sat on dark teak chests. An overhead fan whooshed their scent to all four corners of the room. A deep growl stopped her in her tracks.

“Hello, you.” She dropped to her knees and hugged the stiff ball of fur who glared at Rory.

“I don’t think he likes me.” Rory knelt beside her.

“It’s a she.” She patted her dog’s head and couldn’t help but grin. With an overbite that made her look like she was perpetually smiling and one missing eye, to Zoe she was the most beautiful dog in the world. “And her name is Cinderella.”

Cinderella gave Rory a thorough sniff test. Seemingly satisfied, she went back to glaring at him, one-eye style.

Her heart did that funny clench when she thought of what might have been if she hadn’t found Cinderella that day.

A sudden thought somersaulted into her head and didn’t stick the landing.

Her eyes flew to the tiny couch, and she scooped a towel and a bra off it.

“I’ll take it.”

His eyes rested on the couch.

Since he was six foot two, only one of his legs and half his torso would fit.

“I’ll be here for the photoshoot, and it will be an awesome photoshoot. I want the publicity. They’ll be here tomorrow, right? That was on the schedule you sent. As soon as that’s done, I’ll be gone.”

She frowned. “It should be tomorrow, but we pretty much work on island time. No timetables here. If they’re late, they’re late, and we just deal.” She shrugged. “You learn to go with the flow.”

She almost smiled at the look of horror on his face.

“I couldn’t imagine anything worse,” he muttered. “Been here two minutes and I already hate the place.”

She didn’t miss the way his eyes swept over her in a heated rush or the way her breathing increased slightly, but deep in her heart, she knew it was only physical. She’d cried herself dry when she’d left, knowing she’d done the right thing.

Deep fatigue grooves etched around his eyes. He rubbed his hand across his face, eyeing the bed.

“Grab a couple of hours sleep. There’s the last dance for the departing guests tonight. It can get quite noisy. I can bring you a dinner tray later on.” She tried to smile, but her brain and her lips were having a hard time communicating.

“I’ll be there.” His voice hummed through her like chocolate syrup.

She squeezed his hand as she passed, hoping to convey friendship, ignoring the zing of electricity ripping up her arm.

…

“Oh my God. Your husband is gorgeous.”

Zoe turned her head toward Samantha, who’d sidled up to her during a break in the dancing. Samantha had been here two weeks, and already Zoe was going to miss the Texan’s easy laugh and companionship. It could get lonely when everyone left—only her and her thoughts.

“You’re married. Evan is the greatest guy on the planet.” She playfully patted Sam’s shoulder.

“Yeah, but doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a totally hot man.”

Rory was gorgeous . . . and cutthroat and feared in the business world. Everything she wasn’t, and didn’t want in her life.

Rory’s eyes locked with hers over the crowded room before she broke contact and looked at Sam.

“I’m glad I got to meet him. There’d been rumors that he didn’t exist. You know, with no one seeing him and all.” Samantha fanned her face. “Honey, I don’t know how you keep your hands off of him.”

Before she could answer, Rory appeared at her side, his dark hair shower-wet, a crinkled shirt pulled over his powerful chest, shoulders threatening to burst through the cotton. Faded denim molded over long, lean thighs.

Her throat dried at his physical beauty. He’d always be a man who made hardened soccer moms reach for compacts, married women wonder what if, and nuns forget their vows.

“Dance?”

Goosebumps shivered across her skin as his hand brushed her back.

“Nice dress,” he murmured in her ear. “Sapphire suits you. Same color as your eyes.”

She looked up at him, totally appreciating a well put-together man. “Thank you. Going casual suits you.”

She could feel many eyes on them as Rory expertly spun her round the dance floor.

“Not quite our honeymoon.” His breath teased her ear.

“An all you can eat buffet for nineteen ninety-five?” She stared at his chest, smiling at the memory and ignoring the tickle of his breath that sent shivers down her body. “You fed me noodles and chocolate pudding.”

“I meant the honeymoon part.”

“Yeah, I know what you meant.” His fingers tightened around hers. She glanced up into his darkening eyes and felt the same pull. Her mouth dried, and she couldn’t swallow.

“Damn,” he whispered, pulling her tighter.

“This is just for show, right?” Her voice sounded ridiculously high and school-girl breathy.

“I’m pleading the fifth on that.”

His lips brushed hers and her chest tightened, her nipples fighting to break free from her bra.

The air pressure in the room dropped until they were the only two on the dance floor.

His eyes flicked from her visibly hardened chest and back to her lips. His hands cupped her lower back, and he pulled her closer. Sparkles of deep, dark, and delicious want coursed through her veins. With his thumb, he drew circles over the thin fabric of her dress. Before she could help herself, a deep moan escaped from the back of her throat.

She stilled at his sharp intake of breath.

Heat pooled between her legs.

He tipped her head back. The raw, carnal intent in his eyes softened her knees. Her fingers flexed around his. She fought the deep need to press her body against his.

Flushed, flustered, and sticky where she shouldn’t be, she backed out of his arms and, on shaky legs, walked toward the bar for a tall glass of water.

…

“Damn, woman. You and your husband still have the whole love thing going,” Samantha said. “I hope Evan and I still want to bang each other on the dance floor in eight years. I thought you two were going to explode out there.”

A brittle laugh escaped Zoe. She waved off the compliment, unsure if she was going to sound all breathy like Marilyn. There was no way she could risk speech. Anyone who heard her would know that Rory still affected her. And he shouldn’t, considering she’d been here a year and hadn’t been in love with him for two. There was craziness happening in her head right now that she needed to get a handle on, and fast.

She jumped when Rory grabbed her hand. His fingers tightened around hers.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked with flushed cheeks and a laser stare that told her exactly what he wanted.

Bad, bad thoughts of them wrapped in each other heated her face.

Before she could answer, a buzzing sound snapped her head back.

“Hold that thought,” he said.

In an instant, he stepped back and fished his iPhone from his pocket. “That’s my alarm. I’ve got a conference call I’ve got to make.” He pulled his hand through his air.

The electricity sparking between them fizzled. She stepped back, blinking at the sudden change in tone. Speak-or-shut-up Rory was back. Her heart shifted painfully in her chest. She bit her lip and looked away. This was how Rory rolled. Would always roll. Work first, always and forever.

She closed her eyes and let out a long breath.

His body and mind had snapped into work mode in a heartbeat.

He’d once left a funeral to take a call that couldn’t wait.

She stared at him. This man she’d walked away from.

“I put off all other phone calls. I lost cell reception at Vava’u. Smithy let me use his satellite phone. But I have to make this call.” He started tapping numbers on the phone, his dark brows drawing together. “Wait. There’s no coverage here?”

He looked so much like a boy who’d had his favorite toy taken away that she couldn’t help but laugh to shrug off the tension. “It’s a honeymoon resort. No cell coverage. Only a cranky satellite phone that I take calls on, and there’s a second line dedicated just to e-mails. That’s just as temperamental as the phone line, though. Basically, we’re cut off from the outside world.” She rolled her eyes at him. “You know, like how honeymoons should be.”

He gave her a hard glance before he turned and walked out into the night. She caught sight of him a few minutes later standing under a clump of palm trees, his back to the ocean, staring at the ground.

Hours later, with the last of the guests tucked into bed, and with no sign of Rory, she slipped off her shoes and walked to the office to check her e-mails. The solar lights cast pools of yellow light onto the cool sand where she dug in her toes, anchoring herself to the island. Sleep would prove elusive tonight with Rory two feet from her, twisted in sheets, naked, his man-scent making her insides all quivery.

No quivery insides for me.

She patted her computer and hit refresh on the e-mail program, waiting for it to gasp into life.

Tomorrow, I’ll come up with a genius plan.

The satellite phone booted up and, after thirty seconds, all thoughts of Rory and their pretend marriage turned to dust.