The Weekend Wife Read online

  She was beautiful. More now than before. Earlier, in that dress made for sin, she’d looked beyond hot, beyond steamy. But now, like this—she was just a plain natural beauty, simple with her bed-tousled hair and lips half-parted in sleep, the lipstick gone to leave them a familiar color, like slightly faded berries.

  Either way, it didn’t matter—the lust he felt for either side of her was equal. And intense.

  And he knew that if he stayed in this bed much longer, he’d be reaching out his hand beneath the sheets and…

  Come on, Tate, shake this off now. You’re a professional—act like it.

  Finally, he pushed back the covers and got out of bed. He couldn’t sleep here and not have her. Taking his pillow, he made his way to one of the chairs across the room by the fireplace, where he’d just have to suffer until morning.

  Kimberly awoke to the songs of birds beyond the balcony door and to the surprise of waking itself—she’d not expected to ever fall asleep last night.

  Getting in bed with him for what she’d thought of as fake sleep had been challenging enough, especially given her reckless choice of sleepwear. But to then find out she was expected to spend the entire night in bed with him—oh, the sweet, horrid torture of it! She’d pretended to fall asleep immediately, but her skin had prickled with want, and it had been all she could do not to reach out and touch him.

  Now she rolled slowly in Max’s direction, cautiously easing her eyes open.

  But he was gone!

  She sat up in bed, startled. Yet just as quickly she spotted him—across the room, curled impossibly in a chair by the fireplace, one leg stretched across the marble table next to it.

  Her heart sank a little at the sight. Sleeping next to him had been difficult, but that didn’t mean she’d wanted him to leave. Just being close to him—whether or not they touched—made her feel so…alive.

  She slumped back against her pillow. Well, so much for feeling alive. She hadn’t imagined being next to her would be so offensive to him that he’d actually get up and go away. He must harbor even more resentment for her than she understood. And maybe even more than he understood. After all, it had been his plan that they share the room, and the bed.

  She rolled back over the other way, facing away from him, and shut her eyes tight, holding back tears. A P.I. didn’t cry. Especially not one who was determined to show her old boss she was worthy of her job. Be tough, Kimberly.

  She’d had no trouble being tougher, surer, cockier, these past three years since parting ways with him. Because she’d had to be. She’d had to let her personality take on new dimensions in order to keep her emotions out of her work.

  But Max…well, he was enough to bring all those old feelings—all of those old pieces of her—rushing back. And she didn’t know what she could possibly do to stop it. Part of her regretted ever taking this job on for Frank. And part of her dreaded it ending and never seeing Max again. But the only thing that mattered now was getting her game face back on and finding out what this next day held in store for “Mrs. Max Tate.”

  Chapter Eight

  Three hours later, Kimberly lay stretched out next to the fabulous pool in her bikini, in an equally fabulous lounge chair. Next to her, the water sparkled beneath the sun in aqua splendor. Potted palms dotted the area, vibrant summer flowers in bright yellows and hot pinks lining the perimeter. White lawn furniture sat scattered about, the tables covered with enormous turquoise umbrellas, and hidden speakers sent music wafting over the scene to make it complete. She lay back and sighed with the grandeur of it all—L.A. wasn’t the Caribbean, but today it came close.

  Another heavenly aspect of the moment? She was blessedly alone in her sunny paradise, at least for now. Carlo and Max had gone out to get steaks for the grill. And she desperately needed this private time. She had to regroup—from everything that had already happened. And she had to prepare—for everything yet to take place.

  For one thing, she’d grown suddenly squeamish about having Carlo’s eyes on her in a bikini. Normally, she didn’t have qualms about hiding her body, but it was different when a man looked at you like that. Given the lecherous quality she’d instantly sensed in him, she found herself hoping Max would be around for the duration of their sunning and swimming.

  Then again, she was practically just as squeamish about being around Max right now, too—only in a different way. She felt embarrassed that he’d left the bed. And she’d even wondered if he’d somehow been able to feel her wanting him so badly, if somehow the vibes had slinked across the silk sheets and onto him.

  They hadn’t discussed it this morning. She’d fallen back asleep and by the time she reawakened, he had showered and dressed. And he’d conveniently stepped out onto the balcony while she scurried from the bed to the bathroom, all the more aware of what she still wore.

  Releasing a long sigh into the balmy air, she remembered promising herself she wouldn’t give in to her desires for him—yet that kiss before dinner had quickly done her in and now she felt helpless.

  But wait. Stop. Helpless was a terrible word and something she never wanted to be, let alone because a man made her feel that way. So as she’d told herself this morning, this would be a good time to refocus on her original goals for this job. She needed to show Max she wouldn’t let him down. Which meant being tough. And she needed to survive being near him without going crazy with lust or letting it impede her job performance in any way.

  A tall order. But she could do it. She would do it.

  Only she would do it later. Right now—this was her time. To bask in the sun, and the luxury of it all. To clear her mind and get re-energized. To let the rays soak all the tension away. She closed her eyes as the soft sounds of the music filled her, as the warmth of the sun lulled her into relaxation.

  Max was glad he’d noticed a supermarket nearby as he and Kimberly had driven to the mansion yesterday, or he wouldn’t have known where to go for steaks. Carlo wasn’t the sharpest knife in the cutting block, but even he might have found it suspicious if Max didn’t know where they bought groceries.

  Now they meandered the aisles together, Max covering his lack of store knowledge by explaining that Mrs. Leland did most of their shopping, and that anything else they needed, Kimberly usually picked up.

  “Gorgeous woman, Kimberly,” Carlo said.

  Max just wanted to shake his head at the guy. How many times had Carlo made the same comment since he’d met her? Get a new line, pal. And remember you’re talking to her husband. But Carlo seemed so completely taken by her that if he had any sense at all, it had obviously vanished.

  “Yes, she certainly is,” Max said, his stock reply. And then he spotted the meat counter in the back of the sprawling store. “This way.”

  “Bet she’s something in bed,” Carlo snickered under his breath.

  Okay, was this guy serious? He wasn’t even sure if Carlo had intended him to hear that, but either way—what a total clod! Under any other circumstances, Max would have punched the imbecile in the mouth.

  But punching Carlo in the mouth wasn’t on the agenda here. Stay cool. Play dumb. That’s your role, annoying as it is. So he gave a throaty, knowing laugh and said, “I don’t divulge trade secrets.”

  And then he remembered that if he did divulge trade secrets…he’d have said that she was outstanding in bed, that making love to Kimberly was, in fact, a sublime experience. Not that he could speak from recent experience, but those kinds of memories didn’t fade.

  Max ordered the steaks from the butcher while Carlo went off in search of beer. And while he waited for the meat to be wrapped, he found his mind drifting back to what had happened last night, or more precisely, to what had not happened. Apparently, Kimberly didn’t even have to be doing anything in bed to drive him wild—just sleeping near her was enough to set him on fire. He shook his head at the insanity of it.

  Only now was it occurring to him that he’d been so in heat over her that he’d lain there obsessing over it, not
even thinking about Carlo, or the case, or the fact that they were under the same roof as him. Carlo had been lying in the next room still planning to rob them—he knew that much. So, in effect, the thief had been on the job and he hadn’t. Hs partner had completely taken over his mind. Not exactly good form, Tate.

  Well, it was just a damn good thing he’d gotten out of bed. And one thing was for sure—this had been a wake up call. He couldn’t let her keep distracting him. The job depended on it. And his client was depending on it, too. So that was it. From now on, he’d shape up and take control of this thing. No more juvenile reactions. No more thinking with his pants.

  As Carlo returned, a six-pack of beer tucked under each arm, Max put on his game face. Now back to work. And that meant doing exactly what would reel old Carlo in, turning things back toward his “wife” and dropping a line that would come in handy later, when they put the sting in motion.

  “Kimberly will really enjoy grilling out this afternoon,” he said. “We have that huge area for entertaining, but with just the two of us, and me being so busy at work, we don’t make much use of it.”

  “Spend a lot of time at work, do you?”

  Max held back his smile. Carlo had taken his bait perfectly. “Yeah. I’m stuck there late a lot. Sometimes I even get called in on weekends. I know Kimberly gets tired of spending so much time on her own.”

  “Weekends, too, huh? That’s rough. Happen often?”

  Max pretended to concentrate on the vast array of snack chips he’d turned to study while waiting for their steaks. “Um, yeah, pretty regularly.”

  Carlo’s eyes widened earnestly. “Well, I hope you don’t get called in this afternoon—I’m looking forward to these steaks,” he said with a smile. “But if you do…”

  “Yeah?” Max scooped up a bag of tortilla chips.

  “Well, at least Kimberly won’t be left alone. I’ll be there to keep her company.”

  Max grinned and even patted Carlo on the back. “I guess that’s true. And I can tell she’s enjoying getting to know you.”

  “Oh?”

  Max played it off as nothing. “Well, it’s quiet in that big house, even when I am home. I just get the idea sometimes…well, that she might like a change of pace, you know?”

  Carlo let his smile deepen, clearly reading into the words exactly what Max wanted him to.

  Although that imaginary call into the office might not come until tomorrow now, Max had decided. It wasn’t that he wanted to keep stretching this thing out—it already seemed interminably long—but he didn’t want to be obvious by rushing it. Carlo had spent four days with Max’s client before he’d made the move to seduce her and steal her jewelry. And now that the game was afoot, he got the distinct impression Carlo liked the lead-up, liked mooching off them, liked thinking he was building a rapport with Max at the same time he was building a flirtation with Kimberly.

  Of course, maybe his client’s husband hadn’t been as blind and encouraging as Max—maybe it had just taken that long for seduction to come into play. But the more Max studied this piece of sludge, the more one day just seemed too soon. Two would be better. Let him mooch a little more. Let him see Max’s blindness a little longer. Let him get revved up for Max’s “wife” a little more completely. Let him get sucked in by the lure of his own scheme.

  “That reminds me,” Max added. “Kimberly wondered if you’d like to stay the whole weekend—let those paint fumes settle a while? What do you say?”

  That smile of Carlo’s now stretched from ear to ear. “Sounds great!”

  Thought it would, Max wanted to mumble. But he held it in.

  Upon returning to the house, he immediately suggested that Carlo go back to his place and pick up enough clothes for a couple days. “I’ll heat up the grill while you’re gone,” he said, waving as the other man departed. And then he turned away, glad to let the smile fade, glad to quit acting for a few minutes. That was why he’d insisted Carlo go to the store with him—besides not wanting to leave Kimberly alone with the guy, he wanted to make sure she had an ample break before resuming her role. Now he’d discovered he needed one, too. It would be good to have the creep gone for a little while.

  Heading inside to put the steaks and drinks in the refrigerator, he then located plates and the utensils he’d need for grilling, gathering them on the counter. After that, he moved toward the doors that led out back, where Kimberly was probably relaxing by the pool.

  He walked out—and stopped dead in his tracks. Yep, Kimberly was by the pool, all right. She lay there in glorious, sensuous abandon, her arms lifted over her head, her body stretched across the chair like a cat sunning itself.

  He’d forgotten how good she looked in a bikini. This one was bold and floral in design, the colors vibrant beneath the bright sun. But he wasn’t really looking at the bikini. He was looking at what was in it.

  She was no twig—she had a perfect hourglass shape, slender but curvy, and every inch of her appeared incredibly touchable. His mind drifted back in time to what he knew about those curves, to how they felt in his hands. Touching her was like touching a work of art, her body a soft, malleable piece of sculpture.

  He was getting hard again just watching her. But damn it, hadn’t he just told himself this kind of crap had to stop? Hadn’t he just realized that he was putting everything in jeopardy by letting his body take over his mind?

  He ran one hand back through his hair and kept gaping at her. She was asleep, which somehow made this seem all the more bad. She didn’t even know what she was doing to him—she was completely innocent.

  And despite himself, it suddenly seemed that all the logic and reasoning and self-lecturing in the world wasn’t gonna make the hardness in his shorts disappear. Like it or not, he was only flesh and blood. And she was…beyond tempting. Just look at her. Perfection in the sun.

  And then he remembered how she always burned in the sun, how she never took the time to put on sunscreen, always so anxious to bask in the rays, to just soak it all up.

  So he quietly padded to the small pool house across the way and let himself inside. Locating a vast array of sunscreen on a shelf near the door, so he chose a medium SPF, then exited the pool house without a plan.

  As he crossed the vast patio toward her, he heard more logic and reasoning in his head. Just give it to her. Just wake her up, fill her in on what she missed with Carlo, and give her the damn sunscreen.

  But inside he was trembling. Trembling with how badly he wanted to touch her. Trembling with wondering—would she welcome it, would she want it, too, his hands on her body?

  Shit. He stopped, pausing in place, shutting his eyes.

  Things were out of control here. How the hell had this happened?

  But the answer didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was way too turned on to push down his desire for her, way too turned on to do anything but act on it. He knew it was suicide, in more ways than he cared to acknowledge. But he couldn’t keep himself from going to her, not even for one more second.

  He strode the rest of the way across the patio and gazed down on her, all the heat in his veins making his entire body pulse with anticipation.

  Then he kneeled next to her.

  And he reached out to touch her.

  Chapter Nine

  In Kimberly’s dream, Max was touching her.

  His fingers drifted over her bare stomach, moving in slow wide circles. He was rubbing something—lotion—onto her, making her hot skin feel moist and slick beneath the sun’s heat. It was a good dream.

  She pulled in her breath with a slow hiss when he ventured farther down, moving his hand over her belly button and lower, to the edge of her bikini bottoms. She bit her lip when his fingertips slid inside. Oh yes, this was a very good dream.

  But then he slid them back out and she suffered a small stab of disappointment as a wet dollop of lotion connected with her thigh, and she began to think sleepily, Oh, what if this isn’t a dream? What if Max is really touching�
��?

  She tried to grab on to the thought, but half-sleep kept her from thinking clearly, kept her from coming fully awake. Yet when she finally summoned the strength to ease her eyes open, she found…dear God, Max bending over her, applying suntan lotion to her legs. “Oh,” she breathed.

  He looked up and their gazes met. But he didn’t stop massaging the lotion—he worked it into her calf now, his touch deep and slow, like the penetrating caress of a lover.

  “Didn’t want you to burn,” he whispered.

  “Where is…”

  “Not here.”

  “Oh, then it’s…”

  “Just you and me. For now.”

  “Mmm.” She bit her lip as his fingers caressed deeply into her lower thigh, moving back up her leg. It felt so good. Too good.

  “Close your eyes, babe,” he murmured.

  And she didn’t argue or protest. She did what he asked. She closed her eyes. She let him keep touching her, and touching her, and touching her.

  He used both hands, smoothing the lotion into her other leg now, down her thigh, over her knee, and onto her calf. Then he slid them warmly back up, still rubbing, massaging, making her tingle with heated desire as his sweet touch came higher, closer to where she longed for it.

  He pulled away then, shifting his ministrations to a new place, beginning to rub lotion onto her shoulders and slowly down each arm. And Kimberly lay there drinking it all in, each sexy touch, each sliver of excitement that it injected into her soul.

  Then his fingers were—oh!—near her neck, smoothing, pressing in small rhythmic circles, working their way down one strap of her bikini top, moving onto the exposed ridge of her breast, fingertips reaching just past the top’s edge, sending her desire to a fever pitch. She bit her lip in response to the throbbing sensations below. She wanted him to touch her more, everywhere. Wanted him to slide one hand into her top, another into her bottoms. Wanted to move against him and seek her pleasure and explode for him in wild release.