His Temporary Wife (7 page)

“Please follow me,” Marie ordered crisply, keeping Esmeralda from trekking over to
an ornate rock fireplace, with a mantel holding a collection of trophies, awards,
and pictures of Cody Benton.

They climbed a winding staircase that took them to a second floor and went along a
marble hall to the last door. Marie knocked, opened the door as slightly as she had
opened the front door, and said into the crack, “Ms. Salinas is here to see you, Rafa.”

A muffled voice answered, and the door swung open. “Go on in, honey,” the brunette
said, suddenly catty.

Thank you, sweetie
. Esmeralda ignored the dig.

Across the room, behind a huge mahogany desk, Rafael rose gracefully, smiling, and
she walked toward him, remembering again all the unease and dark feelings she’d had
since running into him in the club kitchen.

He held out a hand, nodding at her as she arrived, and greeted her politely. “Ms.
Salinas! Thanks for coming. Please, sit down.”

He sat after she did, and seemed momentarily at a loss for words. After a brief pause,
though, he gestured at a nearby bar full of bottles and cut glass decanters. “Something
to drink? Tea? Water?”

“No, thank you. Mr. Benton, my aunt asked me to come here to interview for some job
she thinks I might be interested in. I’ll be honest—I have a profession, and I hadn’t
planned on working this summer. I don’t think I’m interested in anything you could
offer.”

Sparks danced in his eyes,
chispitas
of fire that burned. “Nothing?” he asked, dimples slashing his bronze cheeks. Then
he shrugged and the slow-burning fire died away as the businessman he had to be took
over.

“I don’t know that you’d meet the qualifications, either, but perhaps we should both
look at the situation. I’m not offering a common job, and I don’t expect the applicant
to accept a common salary. Because of the extremely complicated situation, I’m offering
a salary—with expenses covered—which could close in on two hundred thousand. For six,
seven weeks—maybe two months, tops.”

She stared at him, shocked. “You’re serious?”

He nodded somberly.

“Wow.” Disbelief still clutched her. “This isn’t a joke? I don’t have to hurt or kill
or destroy someone?”

This time he shook his head, just as serious.

“Wow,” she said again, and just stared at him for a long time.

What kind of temporary position was worth more money than she could make in three
years as a school counselor? For two months? She ran a hand through her hair, mussing
it and not caring, then clutched the clunky necklace as if it could answer her questions.

What would she even do with close to a quarter million dollars? Unbidden the thought
came:
I could save Tía’s. Couldn’t I?
But …

“I guess you’ll have tons of candidates to sift through,” she said at last. Why did
she pretend she could win a job with that kind of salary? It couldn’t be clerical,
could it? She could do correspondence and she was trained to deal with upset parents
and children. She’d had training in suicide prevention and CPR. On a purely practical
level, she didn’t consider herself worth a six-figure income for secretarial work.
So what did the man want?

“I’m going to break all the rules and tell you you’re the only candidate I’ve considered
so far.” He leaned back and locked his hands behind his head, watching her intently.
“The job I need filled isn’t one I can advertise for.”

He might have seen something change in her expression, because he leaned forward again
so abruptly he startled her. “Just to be clear, I don’t necessarily think you’re the
best candidate. I’d need a lot more information. But I promised your aunt I’d at least
consider you.” He paused again, then sighed. “Your aunt’s recommendation doesn’t help
you. You should know that, too. I … we … detest each other. Unfortunately, sometimes
that’s not reason enough not to deal with each other.”

She shrugged and shifted in her chair, crossing her legs. “I’m a big girl, Mr. Benton.
I don’t expect family to get me jobs. I never have.”

He rubbed a hand over his chin, and she thought he suddenly looked tired. Or sad.
She couldn’t imagine why he would, though, and so she lifted her eyebrows and gave
him a tight smile. “Before I give you any additional information, Mr. Benton, shouldn’t
you tell me what this very lucrative position is? Because there are things I’m sure
your money can’t buy.”

“I wish that were true,” he said, more to himself than her, his eyes fixed on his
cell phone, though she hadn’t heard it ring or vibrate. Then he tossed it aside, straightened,
and speared her with hard, dark eyes.

“My money needs to buy
you
,” he told her flatly. “I need to hire a temporary wife.”

• • •

I could have handled that better
.
Duh
. He sighed and retrieved his cell phone, checking that nothing cracked when he’d
tossed it. He skimmed the switch, and Justin’s innocent face peered up at him.

“Sorry,
chiquito
. That was about as dumb as it gets,” he muttered, standing and pushing the phone
into his pocket. He walked over to stare out the window, looking out, seeing her pick-up
disappear into the part of the drive hidden by cedars. She’d made her escape.

Damn. He leaned his forehead against the air-conditioned glass, hoping the smooth,
icy surface would help him recover his composure. He wanted to buy her? Sure as hell
not what most women wanted to hear from a complete stranger. He’d let his distrust—and
dislike—of her aunt color his words. His father and mother would be horrified if they
had heard him. Of course, they were the reasons for this subterfuge, this whole desperate
shot at repairing Justin’s broken life. His parents and Doug Harper, he amended. Hadn’t
that s.o.b. done enough damage without starting to bare his damn fangs and mutter
he was Justin’s father and wanted custody? Parasitic, blood-sucking creep. The phone
almost flew again, but he settled for slamming the desk with his fist, hard enough
that it hurt. He could blow things so easily, not just as far as being awarded custody
himself, but even endangering the temporary rights extended to his parents. If Harper
was Justin’s father and found out that Rafael had entered a marriage primarily to
look better in a custody dispute—and to placate his own parents—it would be easy to
twist his motives to hell and back. Harper could claim that Rafael’s own parents didn’t
trust him with Justin. That a man who would pay a woman to be his wife, wasn’t fit
to be a father. And then his parents would face the attacks in social media and some
business circles when their relentless belief in marriage before parenthood became
a controversy again.

Cody had faced questions over that when news of her pregnancy first broke. A disgruntled
Benton employee had accepted a settlement after suing the Bentons for creating a hostile
work environment by actively encouraging marriage at company functions. A particularly
vicious gossip reporter even had the nerve to bring the Bentons’s well-known views
on marriage up as one of the reasons Cody embarked on her path to self-destruction.
The Bentons had embraced their first grandchild and gone on loving Cody, even without
a husband in the picture. Sure, they’d made offers to help the father if he married
her, and sure, they wished Cody’s choices were different. But he still could hardly
believe the attack they’d suffered over their own personal belief in marriage. He
could give them the comfort of a traditional marriage for Justin until the danger
of predatory “fathers” claiming the child faded away. And someday he would marry for
real. His birth parents hadn’t married, hadn’t wanted him—hadn’t even known him. Every
child deserved better, and he could take the first steps to ensure that Justin had
a solid future.

That meant he needed to set things right. He doubted Esmeralda would be interested
in the position, and he didn’t blame her. But she was one more person who knew whatever
woman stepped into the small town spotlight of Truth, Texas, would be an actress,
a woman pretending to be his life partner. He couldn’t afford to have her spoil everything,
especially given the danger to his plans her aunt already represented. He sighed heavily,
feeling a grinding weariness that hadn’t bothered him in years.

He tapped a button and spoke into the intercom. “Marie, I need to know where to find
Ms. Salinas. Let me know right away.”

He thought Marie huffed, but maybe he imagined it. He sighed. Marie was efficient
and she needed the job desperately. She supported two aging parents. But sometimes
he worried that she thought because there was no one permanent woman in his life,
he was actively looking. She was the least of his problems, but a temporary marriage
might even help assure that Marie knew he wasn’t available—at least not to her.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked over to look out the window. Roses
and bougainvillea were a riot in the stone-ringed gardens below. The Hill Country
weather wasn’t optimal for the decorative plants, but given his gardener’s devotion
and skill, they flourished. The bright gardens lightened the house’s dark mood, and
he couldn’t say he minded that. When he’d followed his sister here, the house already
had its damning name, Witches Haven. But he supposed he hadn’t exactly helped soothe
the locals’ distaste for the property.

Marie knocked on the door instead of using the intercom, which he would have preferred.
“She’s not at her aunt’s house, which is where she’s living, according to the man
who answered the phone there. He thought she might have gone to Tía’s, or maybe she
stopped at Irving Peterson’s to see her horse.”

“Thanks, Marie.”

“My pleasure,” she murmured. “Anything else you want, boss?”

He shook his head. “No. You may go.”

She shrugged and slid out, closing the door a little loudly between them.

He picked up his keys and his phone and headed out to find Esmeralda Salinas.

• • •

She wasn’t dressed for visiting Domatrix. The Petersons’ car and truck weren’t in
the drive, but they’d told her she could just go down to see her horse anytime she
wanted. She trekked carefully across the uneven ground, a little afraid of stumbling
on a rock and twisting an ankle. Heels weren’t a good idea over Hill Country terrain,
unless they were shorter and stubbier and on a pair of boots. She stopped halfway
and glanced at the truck, parked back near the house. Maybe she’d just go home and
change.

But she couldn’t, because Domatrix suddenly appeared from behind the wall of her shelter
and whinnied pitifully. And loudly. Then she trotted back and forth along the fence
line in desperation, stopping again after a moment to stomp the ground and whinny
again.

Laughing, Esme discarded any idea of leaving and went to pet the mare.

“You big baby,” she scolded. “I dropped by yesterday. And Connie told me she gives
you home-baked cookies every day, which you’ve never gotten in your life. In fact,
my friend, at your age you should be careful of sweets.” She stroked a hand down the
sleek neck, glad that there were few signs of the mare’s seventeen years. Constant
care and gentle use worked wonders for horses, apparently.

Domatrix snorted and snuffed, reaching out to blow against her cheek.

“Look, let me go change and I’ll come back and ride you. How’s that?”

Domatrix’s head went up suddenly and her ears pricked.

Clearly she wasn’t alone any longer. Careful not to dig a heel into the rocky ground
and trip herself, she turned to find Rafael there, even though she hadn’t heard him
pull in.

The man who’d offered to buy her had followed her here? She frowned, anger flaring
through her.

“Stalking me, Mr. Benton? I believe I refused your kind ‘job’ offer!”

He stopped where he was, and held out his arms, palms outward, as if to reassure her.
Or fight her off if she lunged at him, which she was sorely tempted to do. The click
of a heel against a rock stopped her, though, so she just glared at him, her hands
knotting into fists again as she fought her own temper.

“I didn’t follow you here. I’m not a stalker.”

She snorted. “You just showed up at this shed in a mud field by chance? Please! How
stupid do you think I am? Wait—don’t answer. You mistook me for a whore, so you’re
pretty stupid!”

He looked … shocked. Appalled, maybe. His mouth opened slightly, wordlessly, and then
he pressed his lips together, ignored her, and walked over to the fence.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he crooned, and the usually finicky mare went right up to him.

Traitor. First Connie, and now you’re in love with this … this
. “Do you have some reason to be here?” She kept her tone neutral this time, though,
not willing to show how furious—and uneasy—his coming here made her.

He half-turned toward her, leaning on the fence, and Domatrix leaned her head over
his shoulder, looking like she, too, was waiting for his answer.

“You need to know that I was—am—offering someone a very legitimate position, Esmeralda.”
He gently pushed the mare’s head away and stepped a little closer. “Look—I spoke stupidly.
Agreed. But it wasn’t how I meant to say it, and …” He shrugged. “I’d love to go some
place you choose and explain myself.”

“We don’t need to go anywhere. I got the gist—you’re offering me money to go to bed
with you. Does calling it a ‘temporary marriage’ make it any cleaner or more proper
than calling it ‘hooking up’ or ‘shacking up’ or …”

“You’re the one who brought up sex,” he pointed out. “Makes me wonder …” He shook
his head, chasing away whatever he was apparently thinking. “I offered marriage.”
He waggled his bare ring finger at her. “Gold ring, pre-nuptial agreement, license
in the courthouse, marriage at church if you want … marriage.”

“And just why would you be doing that, Mr. Benton? And how is that not paying for
sex?”

The sounds of tires crunching down the drive kept him from answering. The Petersons
were pulling up to the house. Connie slid out first, then waited until her husband
came around the truck to grasp her arm and pat her shoulder, leaning close to say
something that made her nod. Together they walked over, never letting each other go.