Read Wife Is A 4-Letter Word Online

Authors: Stephanie Bond

Wife Is A 4-Letter Word (11 page)

BOOK: Wife Is A 4-Letter Word
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“Pendleton?”
“No.”
“Pernicious?”
He laughed. “No. Forget it—I'm not telling you.”
“Will you tell me if I guess it?”
He dropped his gaze to his menu. “Sure, because you'll never guess it.”
“Pembroke?”
“No—and that's enough.”
“Who knows it?”
“Only my parents and siblings—and they're sworn to secrecy.”
“Jo doesn't even know?”
“Nope. What looks good?”
Pam bit her tongue to keep from saying that he looked mighty tasty. “Probably the orange roughy.”
“Fried, of course.”
“Of course.”
“How about lobster?”
Pam winced at the price. “I don't think the gift certificate will cover lobster.”
“Screw the certificate—last night I slept through dinner, and the night before I had a roll of breath mints in jail.” He folded the menu and gave it a light smack. “I'm having lobster.” .
She watched as Alan craned his neck, looking all around. “Our waiter said he'd be right back,” she reminded him.
“I know—I'm making sure they didn't seat us near a bunch of kids. I specifically asked for no kids.”
“Relax—I don't see any kids.”
“They can hide,” he assured her, lifting the tablecloth for a peek.
“The ‘P' stands for ‘paranoid.'” she declared.
“Would you stop with the ‘P' stuff already?”
“Alan, kids have to eat, too.”
“Fine—as long as they're not sitting near me. Nearly every time Jo and I—” He stopped and a strange look came over his face. “There I go again.”
Pam's heart twisted at the hurt that flashed in his eyes. “Alan, you have a lot of history with Jo—you can talk about her. Nearly every time you and Jo what?” Jo had divulged that her and Alan's sex life had been practically nonexistent, so she was relatively sure he wasn't going to say something too personal. Because of Jo's comments, Pam had always labeled Alan as a wet fish, but now she was doubting her best friend's judgment.
He straightened, but his cheer seemed forced. “Nearly every time Jo and I ate out, it seemed like some spoiled kid would ruin it—screaming, throwing food.” He passed his hand over his face and a dry laugh escaped his mouth. “Now I'm wondering if things were going sour between us, and I was simply looking for any excuse to explain the awkwardness.”
“What's so bad about kids anyway?” she asked.
He opened his mouth to answer, then looked puzzled. “I don't know—they're loud—”
“I'm loud.”
“And messy—”
“I'm messy.”
“And the diapers—”
“Okay, you got me there,” she said with a grin.
“Do you like kids?” he asked, his eyebrows raised in surprise.
Pam shrugged. “I practically raised my kid sister.”
“I didn't know you had a kid sister.”
Pride swelled in her chest every time she thought of Dinah. “She's ten years younger—twenty-two, I sent her to
your
high school. except I made sure she finished,” she added with a laugh.
“Where is she now?”
“Finishing up at Notre Dame,” she said with satisfaction. “But she'll probably start law school this fall.”
Alan whistled low. “Not bad.”
“Well, I wanted to make sure one of the Kaminskis ended up successful and on the right side of the law,” she said, thinking about her thuggy brothers.
“You're doing all right for yourself,” Alan said. “Top sales producer for the largest realty company in Savannah.”
Pam tingled under his praise, but knew that no matter what her achievements, she was, and would always be, a Kaminski. Dinah had informed her she would not be coming back to Savannah to practice, and Pam suspected the blight on the family name had influenced her decision. Looking across the table at a man whose name alone put him out of her reach, Pam suddenly felt queasy.
“Will you order for me?” she asked, then excused herself to the ladies' room, telling herself she had to banish the ridiculous thoughts that galloped through her head every time she looked at Alan.
In the rest room, she splashed cold water on her neck, then pondered the wisdom of leaving Alan in Fort Myers and returning to Savannah early. Once she was back in her normal surroundings, these crazy feelings for Alan would evaporate. She could fabricate something about being needed at her office, and make her getaway. The fact that she didn't want to leave him was frightening enough to cinch her decision. She left the ladies' room feeling sad but resolute.
On the way back to the table, a male voice stopped her. “We
must
stop meeting like this, Pamela.”
She turned to find Enrico dressed in black slacks and a shiny red shirt. Annoyance fueled her temper. “I can't stop to chat—I need to get back to my table.”
His smile was slow and syrupy as he fell in step beside her. “Did your husband bring you or has he abandoned you once again?”
“No,” Pam said through clenched teeth as she walked. “We're having a quiet, romantic dinner.” But he followed her around the corner, where she came up short.
Alan stood by their table, sharing a deep kiss with Robin the computer lady.
9
S
EVERAL SECONDS PASSED before Alan registered the fact that Robin, who had appeared from nowhere, was kissing him very hard and very invasively. After he managed to untangle his tongue from hers, he clasped her arms and gently pushed her away. Her eyes held the slight glaze of drunkenness. “Robin,” he said with a little laugh, “I don't think this is the place.”
“Oh? Then how about here?” she slurred, yanking his waistband hard. The button on his fly popped off and flipped up in the air.
A gasp sounded behind him. “Alan, how could you?” He wheeled to see Lila and Cheek standing near him, being led to a table. Lila stood with her hand over her heart. “I thought you were going to propose to Pamela tonight.”
“P
rrrr
opose?”
Alan turned the opposite direction, toward Enrico's rolling voice. The dark-haired man stood just a few steps away, with a possessive hand on Pamela's waist. Alan frowned. Where had
he
come from?
Enrico's expression was black as he stared at Pam. “I thought the two of you were already married!” Pam looked at Alan. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
“Married?” Robin yelped, jerking his attention back to her. “I thought she was your sister!”
“Sister?” Lila shrieked, and he swung his head back to see the older woman's face twisted in distaste. “That's disgusting.”
Cheek appeared slightly less distraught. “Well, it's illegal anyway.”
Everyone started talking at once, and Robin advanced on him, her eyes narrowed, and her steps wobbly. “Alan, what the hell is going on?”
Alan held up his hands. “Wait a minute.
Wait a minute!”
The group quieted. He took a deep breath and a step backward, then fell over a potted fern, landing on his tailbone hard enough to set his glasses askew. The waiter hurried over to help him up, but Alan, clawing the air in frustration, brushed him off. He scrambled to his feet, straightened his clothes, then made chopping motions in the air to punctuate his point.
“Look...you...you
people
! Pamela and I came to have a nice, quiet Valentine's Day dinner.” He felt a vein bulging at his temple. “The nature of our relationship is nobody's business!” He yanked up his pants by his sagging waistband. “Now, I'll thank everyone to move along!”
Lila and Cheek were the first to bustle away, then Robin and Enrico slipped off in the same direction. Alan had the brief thought that the two of them should get together, then he looked at Pam and swept an arm awkwardly toward the table. “Shall we?”
She nodded, then stooped and picked up his wayward button. She handed it to him, then moved stiffly to her place at the table. After pulling out her chair, Alan reclaimed his seat, snapping the napkin before settling it over his lap. For several long minutes, they toyed with their wineglasses and fingered the silverware.
Although he couldn't fathom why, Alan felt as if he owed Pam an explanation. When he could stand the silence no longer, he cleared his throat. “I wasn't kissing her, you know.”
“Not that it matters,” she said, sipping the wine that had been served in her absence. “But the lipstick on your mouth, nose, ear and eyelid proves otherwise.”
He swiped the napkin across his face, frowning at the reddish stain that transferred. “I mean I wasn't kissing her
back.
”
“Like I said, it doesn't matter.”
“I guess not,” he conceded with a wave, “since you were skulking in the hall with your Latin lover.”
She frowned. “My lover? Where on earth did you get that idea?”
His heart lifted a notch. “You haven't been messing around with him?”
Pam rolled her eyes. “If I wanted to mess around with him, why would I have told him you and I were married?” Unexplained relief flooded through him. “And he believed it?”
“Crazy, huh?” she asked with a little laugh. “That someone would think we were husband and wife?”
“Yeah,” he said, joining her laughter. “Ridiculous.”
“I mean, you and me—” Pam's giggles escalated.
“Right,” he said, laughing harder. “
Mr. and Mrs. Alan Parish.”
She roared. “
P-Pamela P-Parish!
”
Alan wiped his eyes and took a big gulp of wine. “The way the last couple of days have been going, I suppose anything seems possible.”
“It's been an adventure,” she agreed.
He sighed and glanced across the table, struck anew by her glowing beauty. Pam looked like a movie star, her hair and skin wrought with gold, her mouth wide, her eyes shining. Her gaze met his and Alan's ears started ringing. He felt as if he were teetering on the edge of a precipice, in danger of falling into a pit so deep he might never return. The notion skating through his mind, the emotion blooming in his chest was nothing short of insanity. He was falling for Pamela Kaminski.
Pam's smile evaporated and she squirmed in her chair. Looking into her glass, she said, “I was thinking about leaving tomorrow.”
Alan stopped and choked on the wine in his throat. “Leaving? You mean, going back to Savannah?”
She nodded.
He experienced the panicky feeling that something wonderful was about to slip through his fingers. “B-but why?”
Pam abandoned her glass and rolled her eyes heavenward, counting on her beautifully manicured fingers. “A bad flight, a flat tire, a dilapidated hotel, a powder blue limo, a police record...” Her voice trailed off. “You came to the beach for a week of R&R,” she said. “And so far it's been more like a week of S&M.”
“Well, it hasn't been your fault,” he offered generously.
But she simply smirked.
“Not totally,” he added weakly.
“Lying is not one of your talents.”
Spotting an opening, he leaned forward with eyebrows raised. “Is that a concession that I have talents elsewhere?”
“No.”
Deflated, he sat back. “Oh.”
Surprised at the wounded look on his face, Pam scrambled to soothe his hurt feelings. “I mean, I wouldn't know if you had talents elsewhere...” She swallowed and searched for firmer footing. “It's not like Jo and I ever discussed your, uh...anything.”
He shifted in his seat. “Well, I should hope not.”
“Oh, no,” she assured him hurriedly. “Jo and I never talked about what you and she did—or
didn't
do.”
Alan pursed his lips. “Didn't do?”
A flush burned her neck on its way up. “I didn't say ‘didn't.'”
“Yes, you did.”
Panic fluttered in her stomach. “Well, I didn't
mean
‘didn't.' I meant...oh, damn.”
He closed his eyes and downed the rest of his wine. After setting his empty glass on the table with a thunk, he inhaled deeply. “So, Jo wasn't happy with our sex life.”
Pam shook her head. “She
never
said that.”
He flagged the waiter for more wine, then gave her a dry laugh. “Well, I have to admit we didn't exactly keep the sheets ablaze.”
She held up her hands. “I don't want to hear this.”
“I can't explain it. Jo is a beautiful woman, but when it came to—”
Pam put her hands over her ears and started to hum, but she could still read his lips, and what she saw made her squeeze her eyes shut. “I'm not listening,” she sang. “I'm noooooooooooooot liiiiiissstennnnniiiiing. I'm noooooooooooooot liiiiiissstennnnniiiiing. I'm noooooooooooooot liiiiiissstennnnniiiiing.” When she opened her eyes, Alan sat staring at her, along with two waiters who stood by the table, their arms loaded with trays. She smiled sheepishly, straightened her napkin, then gestured for them to serve.
During dinner, neither she nor Alan mentioned the subject of her returning to Savannah early. They talked about their respective jobs, mutual acquaintances and state politics. They talked about the Braves and the Hawks and the Falcons, one advantage of having sports-minded brothers, she noted. They laughed and argued and laughed some more, and Pam hated to see the pleasant meal come to an end.
For dessert, they decided to split a rich, velvety cheesecake with cinnamon topping, which reminded Pam of the unused bottle of body liqueur in their room.
She picked up her utensil and with every luscious bite, she imagined devouring him—biting, licking and swallowing him whole. She savored every succulent bite, allowing the sweetness to melt on her tongue before letting it slide down her throat. The more she ate, the more moist her flimsy panties grew until she nearly moaned aloud. At the sound of Alan's chuckle, she glanced up, afraid she had. Instead, he was simply watching her.
“Was it good?”
“Wonderful,” she said, smiling to herself.
“You're killing me,” he said, shifting in his seat.
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Pam,” he said, leaning close and lowering his voice. “Do you always eat dessert with a knife?”
With a start, she stared at the huge, blunt dinner knife in her hand. She glanced up with a sheepish smile, enormously relieved to see the roving Italian musicians were approaching their table.
The men were dressed in brilliant costumes of red, black and gold, with snow-white shirts. The violinist nodded to Alan and kissed Pam's hand, then put his instrument to his shoulder and began to play a sweet, haunting melody, accompanied by the other musicians.
It was almost too much for her—the great food, the good wine, the beautiful music...and Alan's company. She glanced over at him and inhaled sharply at the desire she saw in his blue eyes. He abandoned his napkin, stood and swept his hand toward the tiny vacant area by their table. “May I have this dance?” Then he leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “Of course, I'll have to hold you close to keep my pants up.”
She grinned, then accepted his hand and allowed him to pull her into his arms for a slow waltz. He was a surprisingly good dancer, with natural rhythm and perfect form. It was a good thing he could lead, she decided with her chin resting on his shoulder, because she was too weak-kneed to do little more than follow. He smelled wonderfully spicy and she ached to taste the skin on his neck. He melded her body to his until she felt every muscle beneath his clothing. They might have been the.only two people in the universe. When the music ended, she sensed his reluctance to part was as strong as hers, but with an audience, they had little choice. While the other diners applauded, Alan raised her hand and kissed her fingertips.
“Happy Valentine's Day,” he whispered.
Later, on the way back to the hotel, Pam was quiet, consumed by raging desire for the man next to her, yet lamenting the ramifications of her actions. Conversely, Alan seemed downright cheerful, whistling tunelessly under his breath and fidgeting with all the gadgets on the limousine panel until she was ready to scream. The walk from the parking lot to their door seemed interminably long to her.
“Couldn't get that room Linda had reserved, huh?” Pam said, laughing to hide her nervousness as she stepped through the door onto the familiar shag carpet.
“Actually,” Alan said with a smile, “I told her I'd changed my mind since we only have two more nights. Want to go down to the beach for a walk?”
Remembering the disastrous results of their last moonlit stroll, she shook her head.
“How about the hot tub?” he asked.
“I'm not fainthearted, Alan, but even
I
am not brave enough to climb into that algae-infested wading pool. Besides, Cheek might be in it, naked.”
“Which could account for the algae,” he said. “Then let's make our own hot tub.”
She laughed. “What?”
He gestured toward the bathroom. “That ridiculous tub in there—it's plenty big enough if we fill it up with hot water.”
Amazed at the change in his demeanor, she reached up and lifted his glasses. “Who are you and what have you done with Alan P.—the-‘P'-stands-for-tight-as-a-pin—Parish?”
His mouth quirked to the side. “You better get your bathing suit before he comes back.”
Pam looked into his blue eyes and studied his boyish face. He was so incredibly handsome...and had turned into such a surprise. Ignoring the warning flags that sprang up en masse at the periphery of her brain, she grinned and said, “I'll meet you in the deep end.”
She grabbed her suit, went into the bathroom, then turned on the hot water, unable to ignore the pounding of her heart. Biting her lip hard, she stared at herself in the mirror as she tucked her curves into the gold bikini that had sparked a light in Alan's eyes at the department store. Beneath the harsh illumination of the bare bulb in the room, she looked raw and vulnerable. Her eyes stung from indecision. She wanted Alan so much her chest hurt. “If this is wrong,” she whispered, “send me a sign.”
BOOK: Wife Is A 4-Letter Word
9.35Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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