Wife for a Day (24 page)

Jack wished Sam was still at his side. He could use the moral support. He'd kept things
from Beau far too long. It was time to tell him everything.

“I'm sorry about the truck,” Beau said. “I'll pay you back.”

“It's insured. So are you—but you can't be replaced.”

A weak smile touched Beau's bruised and swollen lips. “You mean that?”

“Never meant anything more in my life.”

“Do my grandparents know about the accident?”

“I called them almost twenty-four hours ago. I imagine they'll be here to see you sometime soon.”

Beau looked toward the window. “Are they going to take me back to LA?”

“They want to, but I told them the decision's yours.”

“I don't want to make that decision.”

“If you leave it up to your grandparents, they'll have you back in LA in a couple of days.”

Turning his head on the pillow, Beau looked Jack straight in the eyes. “I want
you
to make the decision.”

In sixteen years, he'd made only two decisions for his son. He'd given him a name—he'd picked his grandfather's, a loving man with a generous heart. And he gave his son
away—because he'd wanted to forget the best and the worst parts of his life.

This time he prayed he'd make the right decision.

“You're staying with me, Beau.”

Beau sniffed back a tear, and Jack leaned over and kissed his son, just below the bandages on his forehead. “I love you, Beau,” he whispered. “I always have. I always will.”

“Me too, Dad.”

L
auren relaxed on
the living-room sofa, thankful that Beau was out of danger, relieved that Jack had called her at the ranch to share the wonderful news. Her nephew had to be the most adorable young man on the face of the earth, and she couldn't bear the thought of losing him. As for her brother, he meant more to her than anything or anyone. Seeing Jack in despair had been more painful than either one of her divorces, far more distressing than her breakup with Peter.

Fortunately, Beau was recovering nicely, and now that she didn't have to worry about her nephew or big brother, she could get back to the job at hand: planning a wedding.

Taking a sip of coffee, she flipped through the pages of
Bride
magazine, ripping out pictures of gowns that she knew would look absolutely perfect on Arabella.

Or was her name really Sam?

It had seemed so odd to hear Jack call his fiancée Sam. Whiskey, she could understand. But a man's name? Perhaps the mistake should be forgiven, considering the horrid circumstances he'd been facing in that dreadful waiting room yesterday, but as soon as she and Mike got to the hospital this afternoon, she'd have a talk with her brother about his little slip. Heavens, she'd be mortified if the man she loved called her by the wrong name.

What if Jack accidentally did it on his wedding night or at the altar? No, she couldn't let that happen. It would spoil all her plans for the wedding and reception.

She'd already made out a guest list, then crossed off her ex-husband, Chip. She'd hesitated at Peter Leighton. Should he be invited? Shouldn't he? She'd drawn a thin black line through his name, stared at what she'd done, and rewritten her ex-lover's name at the bottom of the list just in case she changed her mind.

That was a woman's prerogative, after all.

As for where Arabella and Jack would get married, she'd already decided that, too. Her home in Palm Beach was the only place that would do. Arabella would look stunning gliding down the curving, pink-marble staircase. And even though the caterer for her last en
gagement party had mistakenly hired an inebriated ice carver who specialized in pornographic figures, he was the best in Palm Beach and the only one who could provide the cake, the hors d'oeuvres, and wine. Charles, her butler, had been instructed to have the house cleaned from top to bottom, and she'd talked with an aviary about renting doves and lovebirds to release when Arabella and her brother said, “I do.”

This wedding would be the most glorious event in Palm Beach history.

Arabella and Jack were both going to be thrilled.

The phone rang, momentarily pulling her thoughts away from what color china to use at the reception. “Charles,” she called out. “Could you—” Oh, dear, she'd nearly forgotten she wasn't at home. Tossing the magazine onto the coffee table, she crossed the room and answered on the third ring. “Hello.”

“Jack Remington, please.”

Lauren didn't like the sound of the woman's voice. There was a certain rudeness to her tone, like so many of the women Jack had associated with before meeting Arabella. “I'm afraid he's not here at the moment. Could I have him call you back?” she asked, plucking a pen from the pencil holder next to the phone.

The woman at the other end of the line
heaved a disgruntled sigh. “Tell Jack I'm getting married tomorrow. Tell him I found a man who knows how to treat a real woman.”

Lauren stared at the receiver. What a crazy message. Still, she wrote it down word for word. “Is that it?”

“Yes. Of course, you could also tell him that I still think he's a son of a bitch.”

Must be an old lover, Lauren thought. “Could I tell him who called?”

“Don't you know?”

“Why should I? You don't know who
I
am.”

“I'm Jack's
ex
-fiancée. Arabella.”

The pen slipped out of Lauren's fingers and rolled across the desk. “Arabella
Fleming
?”

“As far as I know, I'm the only Arabella Jack has ever been engaged to.”

“But I thought—”

“Who is this?” the woman interrupted, her tone sharp.

“Lauren,” she said softly, almost too stunned to speak. “Jack's sister.”

“Oh.” The woman's word was clipped. “Sorry I missed your engagement party. Jack wanted desperately for me to be there, but considering the state of our relationship at the time, I couldn't possibly go. You understand, I'm sure.”

“Of course, I do.” But there were many
other
things she didn't understand. “I'll make sure
Jack gets your message—Arabella.”

Lauren hung up the phone. She walked across the room, absently picked up
Bride
, and sat on the sofa. She stared at the pretty woman on the cover, at the baby's breath and rosebuds, the white satin and lace, and all of it became a blur.

Who was the woman pretending to be Arabella Fleming? she wondered. What was Jack up to and why?

And how could her brother and that woman—Sam, or Whiskey, or whatever her name was—put on such a wonderful act of being in love?

A terrible knot of sadness squeezed her heart. Jack may have thought he had a good reason for his foolish scheme, but in the long run, she felt deceived. Worse yet, for the first time ever, he'd hurt her.

 

Jack rented a room at the Holiday Inn. He hadn't wanted to leave Beau's side, but his son was resting comfortably, and the doctors and nurses were watching over him, providing the best of care. He'd spirited Sam away from the hospital in the middle of her protest. She hadn't wanted to leave Beau either, but he'd insisted. She needed rest. She needed comfort.

He doubted he could have made it through the past twenty-four hours without her. She'd
stood at his side every moment, offering him compassionate support and gentle strength. It seemed second nature to her. The hardships in her life had made her strong. Now, he wanted to spend a lifetime taking care of her, giving her everything she deserved.

Especially his love.

And right now, he desperately needed to love her.

“Are you tired?” he asked her, as she went to the bed and turned back the covers.

“A little.” She smiled softly, the kind of smile that had made him want her the very first time he'd seen her, the kind of smile that whispered I love you, I need you, and begged for a response.

“Come here,” he whispered.

She didn't ask why, she simply walked toward him. He clutched the bottom of her sweater and drew it over her head, tossing it somewhere across the room. “There's something I need to tell you about myself,” he said, releasing the catch at the front of her bra. “I don't need a whole lot of sleep. Never have. Doubt that I ever will.” He slipped the bra away and let it fall to the floor, at last cupping her sweet, wonderful breasts in his palms. “I might be keeping you awake a lot at night.”

“Is that a promise?”

He nodded, popped the top button on her
jeans, and slid open the zipper. Pushing his hands under her panties, he cupped the soft, smooth flesh on her bottom and pulled her hard against his hips. “I need a promise from you, too, Sam.”

“Anything.”

She slowly unbuttoned his shirt, pressing soft kisses to each speck of skin as it became exposed. “First, don't ever stop doing just what you're doing,” he told her, wanting her to make love to him with her eyes, her lips, her smile every day for the rest of their lives. “Second, don't ever leave me.”

The intensity of her frown startled him. “Why would I do something crazy like that?”

“Remember that investigation?”

“
Remember
? There's a possibility I might never forget.” She studied his eyes, obviously trying to read what was in them. “You didn't by any chance get another report—”

He kissed her to silence, tasting the sweet lips he knew he'd never get tired of. When she sighed, when he felt her fingers clutch the fabric of his shirt, he went back to his question, one that had bothered him for days. “I didn't get another report. Like I told you before, Wes Haskins isn't working for me any longer. But, that original report made it perfectly clear that you're not big on sticking around any one place too long. I've been worried that you
might have a tendency to get bored with everything after a while.”

“Do you really think you might bore me?”

“I've been known to bore other women. Arabella, for one.”

“Did you ever lasso her?”

“No.”

“Did you ever make her do a strip tease for you?”

“No.”

“Did you ever hire her to be your fiancée for a night?”

“No.”

She smiled that special smile again as she tugged his shirt from his jeans. “Well, Jack, I guess those women weren't as lucky as me.” She uncinched his belt buckle and trailed her finger along the edge of his waistband. “I guess they didn't know you as well as I know you, either, because you're the least boring man I've ever met.”

“I'm not a son of a bitch?”

“No.”

“And you love me?”

“Yes.”

“Then promise me one more thing, Sam,” he said, dragging her up his body, loving the feel of her breasts rubbing against his chest.

“Anything,” she answered, her pretty brown eyes sparkling.

“Don't ever learn about stock, or mergers and acquisitions, because those things are boring as hell.”

She smiled. “I promise.”

He kissed her, and Sam thought she'd gone to heaven. He had the most delightful way of swirling his tongue around hers, sliding it over her teeth and her lips, then teasing her with feathery kisses and soft nips as he worked his way down her neck.

How he got her to the bed was anyone's guess. How he managed to get her out of her clothes without her feeling anything but his kisses all over her body, and how he managed to strip down to his glorious skin was nothing short of a miracle. But suddenly she was lying on a firm, king-size mattress and he was stretched over her doing all sorts of delicious things with his mouth.

“Make love to me,” she begged. “Please.”

His blue-eyed smile sent heat rushing through her breasts. They tingled, hot and flaming, and then he nudged her legs apart and entered her in one powerful stroke that took her breath away.

His tempo was masterful, rhythmic. In and out, over and over, he moved with the grace of a cowboy who'd ridden hard and ridden long and never tired, and he seemed to know every time that he was driving her to scream
because that's when he kissed the living daylights out of her.

And just when she thought she couldn't take it any longer, he thrust one more time, deep and hard, and the most magnificent skyrockets she'd ever been treated to exploded around them both.

He stilled. His breath was ragged and deep, but a slow smile softened the taut, determined line of his lips. “God,” he moaned, resting his head on her chest, “I'm gonna be thanking United Airlines and Mr. Antonio for the rest of my life. If they hadn't screwed up, we wouldn't be here right now. And let me tell you, Sam, being here with you is the best thing ever.”

She could think of a thousand things to say, but words wouldn't come. Not now. All she could do at the moment was purr, and when he rolled over and tugged her on top of him, she ran her fingers down his chest, and did her very best to make him want her all over again.

 

They showered together, made love, dozed off and on, and in between lay together, sharing their love, their secrets, their hopes for the future, even the haunting moments from their pasts.

Jack held her close, drawing lazy circles on
her arm, hesitantly tracing the scar on her jaw. “How'd you get this?” he asked. She didn't want to tell him about that night six months ago, but all of it came pouring out. She couldn't hide anything from him, not now, not ever. She told him about her mother being beaten, about needing money for better doctors, about going to Graham Welles who'd promised to help her if she was ever in need. Anger flared in Jack's eyes, she could feel his muscles tense when she told him Graham had ripped her blouse and slapped her more than once before she'd been able to run away.

“It was so foolish, Jack,” she said, a tear sliding down her cheek. “I knew he was no better than the men in my mother's life. I knew what he'd ask of me, and when I went to his house I had every intention of giving him what he wanted—as long as he'd give me the money to save my mother.” She looked into his eyes. “Do you hate me for that, Jack?”

“Hate you? God, no, Sam. It makes me love you even more.”

“Why?”

“Because you'd do anything for someone you love.
Anything
. There aren't many people who'd do that.”

“You would.”

He laughed. “I love my sister dearly, and
I'd do anything for her, but my charade wasn't heroic.”

“I'm not talking about the charade, Jack. I'm talking about giving up Beau.”

“That wasn't heroic, either. That was the most foolish thing I ever did.”

“But you did it for what you thought were the right reasons. I believe that. Beau believes it. It's time you start believing it, too.”

He lifted her hand and pressed gentle kisses into her palm. “Right or wrong doesn't matter anymore, Sam. All that matters is that I have my son again. I've been given a second chance, and that's something I'll never jeopardize.”

She kissed him softly, loving everything about him. “You know what, Jack?”

“What?”

“My mama would have loved you.”

A smile tilted his lips as he pulled her on top of him. “I'll make sure she never stops,” he said, trailing his hands down her sides and over her bottom. “I'll make sure you never stop—”

The loud knock startled him to silence.