Wife Is A 4-Letter Word (7 page)

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Authors: Stephanie Bond

BOOK: Wife Is A 4-Letter Word
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When she had exhausted every nit-picking phone call she could think of, she winced at the still-strong recharged battery light on her phone, then sighed and dug out the scrap of paper on which she'd written her friend Jo's new phone number. With her heart pounding guiltily, Pam punched in the numbers and prayed no one would answer.
“Heh-wo?” said a young voice.
“May I speak to Jo, please?”
“Jo-mommy?”
Pam blinked. Boy, did that sound weird—her friend Jo, a mommy. The littlest one must have picked up the phone, she decided. And although she was no expert on kids, he seemed way too young to be answering the phone. “Yes, Jo-mommy,” she said carefully. “Go get Jo-mommy.”
“Hello?” another voice said, this one slightly older. “Who is this?”
Pam frowned. “Who is this?”
“This is Peter Pa—I mean, this is Jamie Sterling. Who do you want?”
The middle one, she decided. “I need to speak with Jo.”
“What for?”
Taking a deep breath, Pam forced a soothing lilt into her voice. “Just to talk—I'm a friend of hers.” Then she heard the sound of the phone being ripped from his hand, followed by a scuffle and at least two raised kid voices as they tried to claim ownership of the phone, which was being bounced around the room.
“Hello?” A girl's voice came over the line. Jamie was still yelling something in the background.
The oldest one, Pam remembered. An owlish-looking little thing. “May I speak with Jo, please?”
“May I ask who's calling?”
At least she was polite. “This is her friend Pamela.”
“She's indisposed at the moment.”
Pam pulled back and looked at the phone. Indisposed? Quite a vocabulary for a tyke. “I'm calling long distance—are you sure she can't come to the phone?”
“She and my daddy are upstairs jumping on the bed.”
With pursed lips, Pam nodded to herself. Of course. Where else would they be? Before she could think of an appropriate reply, Jo's voice came on the line. “Hello?” she asked breathlessly.
“Gee, Jo, can't you guys control yourselves at least until the kids go to bed?”
“Pam!” Jo laughed. “It's not what you think—John is testing the springs on the new mattress.”
“Oh, is
that
what married folk call it?”
Jo laughed again, this time harder. She sounded almost giddy, Pam thought irritably, despite the clatter in the background. “Oh, never mind, Pam. I called your office this morning and they said you were out of town. Let me guess—Nick the All-Nighter?”
Pam squirmed on the lounge chair. “No.”
“Delectable Dale?”
Sweat beaded on her upper lip. “Uh, no.”
“Someone new?”
After mustering her courage, Pam muttered, “I'm with Alan in Fort Myers.”
“Excuse me? Hang on a minute.” Jo put down the phone, then Pam heard the sound of a police whistle peal shrilly, followed by, “QUI-I-I-I-I-I-ET!” The clatter ceased, then Jo picked up the phone. “Sorry. Now, what did you say?”
Pam tried again. “I'm with Alan in Fort Myers.”
“You're with Alan in Fort Myers?” Jo asked, her voice richly colored with surprise.
“Yes, I'm with Alan in Fort Myers.” It was getting easier to say, but she still felt as if she was going to have a stroke. She took another deep breath. “He decided to take the trip anyway. I gave him a ride to the airport, and he talked me into coming along. I haven't had a vacation in over a year, and he was acting a little desperate—”
“Pam,” Jo cut off her rambling. “You are the best friend a woman could ask for.”
Swallowing guiltily, Pam ventured, “I—I am?”
“I've been so worried about Alan. Now I can relax because I know you're looking out for him. How is he?”
Pam paused, thinking of all the just plain looking
at him
she'd been doing since they arrived. “He's a little depressed, which is normal, I guess.”
“I'm sure his ego is bruised,” Jo said mournfully. “I feel terrible. Can you try to cheer him up?” she pleaded. “Maybe take him dancing or do something fun?”
Pam's hands were so sweaty she nearly dropped the phone. Manufacturing a little laugh, she said, “Well, I'm not so sure the words
Alan
and
fun
can coexist, Jo, but I'll give it a shot.”
“Make him extend himself a little,” Jo urged. “Maybe he'll meet his soul mate while he's there—or at least have a little beach fling.”
“He's certainly getting a lot of female attention,” Pam agreed, failing to mention how much of it had derived from her.
“Good. Eventually Alan will realize we weren't right for each other, and that our marriage would never have worked. But for now, he could probably use a diversion.”
“Right,” Pam said as if she were receiving an assignment. “So, how's married life?”
“Wonderful,” Jo said. On cue, a hellacious howl erupted in the background. “Oops, gotta run. Thanks again, Pam—you're a savior. Bye!”
Pam frowned at the silent phone. Savior? Sinner, perhaps, with all the wicked thoughts about Alan spinning in her head. She bit her lower lip—she should have gone to mass yesterday morning.
“What's wrong?” Alan asked as he dropped into his lounge chair, his body gleaming with perspiration. He picked up a towel and wiped his face. “Did the FDA issue a moratorium on fried foods?”
She smirked. “No. I talked to Jo.”
He stilled, then pressed his lips into a straight line. “You mean, Jo
Sterling?”
“Um, yeah.”
Alan lay his head back and Pam's heart twisted at the hurt on his face. “And how are the newlyweds?”
“Busy, from the noise in the background.”
“Did you tell her where we are?”
Pam studied her nails. “Yeah. She seemed relieved.”
He made an indignant sound. “You mean that I haven't self-destructed?”
“Well, she didn't use those words.”
“She wouldn't have.”
“I think she really does feel bad about what happened, Alan.”
A deep sigh escaped him. “I'd rather not talk about it.”
“Fine,” Pam said, also eager to drop the subject. She glanced toward the water, then noticed a young man had set up shop on the beach, guarding a half-dozen Wave Runners bobbing in shallow water.
He picked up a megaphone and yelled, “Rent a Wave Runner, by the hour, by the half hour.”
“Let's do it,” Pam said, clambering out of her chair.
“Do what?”
“Rent a Wave Runner,” she said, tugging on his hand.
“They look dangerous,” Alan said with a frown.
“Can you swim?”
“Yes,” be answered indignantly.
“Then come on, take a risk for once in your life.”
He pushed himself up slowly, then followed her at a leisurely pace. “I'm a risk-taker,” he defended himself tartly.
“Oh, sure, Alan,” she said over her shoulder. “You're a regular daredevil.”
Alan bit his tongue. She was the most infuriating woman! He wanted to shake her, but he suspected that putting his hands on her and giving her breasts an excuse to jiggle would probably undo him in his current state. She strutted away from him, giving movement to the rub-on flower tattoo he'd watched her apply to her hip this morning in the room—a performance he'd been able to endure only by virtue of much teeth-grinding. His jaws still ached.
The young rental man was so bedazzled by Pam and her little bikini, he could scarcely speak. Amidst the boy's nods and a dancing Adam's apple, Alan halfheartedly negotiated a price for a Wave Runner and two wet suits, still unconvinced he would relish the ride.
Pam poured herself into a full-length neon pink wet suit with a built-in life jacket whose front zipper simply could not accommodate her chest. But leaving the zipper down a few inches only lifted her breasts higher and further emphasized her deep cleavage. Alan pulled on his own rubber suit, which was about six inches too short in the arms and legs. He performed a deep knee bend to loosen the material.
“I'll drive,” Pamela announced, grabbing the handlebars and floating the Wave Runner out a few feet into the shallows.
“Oh my God,” Alan gasped when he waded into the bracing cold water. “Are you sure this is going to be enjoyable?”
She scrambled up on the bobbing machine, straddling the bright yellow vinyl seat and plugging in the ignition starter. After slipping the stretchy key ring over her wrist, she turned around and held out her hand. “Would you stop complaining and get on?”
“What's that for?” he asked, pointing to the wristband that connected her to the machine.
“It's like a kill switch,” she said with a grin. “If I throw us off, the engine dies.”
“Oh, that's comforting,” he said as he gingerly climbed up on the back and settled behind her on the long padded seat.
She pushed a button and the engine purred to life. “Better hang on,” she warned over her shoulder as she turned the handlebars quickly and revved the engine, sending them into a sideways spin.
Alan grabbed the strap across the seat and managed to hang on, barely. “Have you ever done this before?” he shouted into the wind.
“Too many times to count,” she yelled, leaning low and feeding the gas until they were hurtling across the waves at a breathtaking speed. They caught a wave, rode off the. edge into the air, then landed with a teeth-jarring—and frigid—splash. Pam squealed in delight, then shouted, “You're throwing us off balance. Hang on to me!”
Too shaken and waterlogged to refuse, he wrapped his arms around her waist, twining his fingers into the buckles of her wet suit. She was going to kill him. Was drowning a painful way to die? In this case, he'd probably have a heart attack first. The air whooshed from his lungs as they landed hard and a wave of freezing water swelled over the back and drenched him. At this rate, he might suffer both tragedies in the space of the next few seconds.
Several hundred feet offshore, they zigzagged the water many times, and Alan could feel her confidence growing with each pass. He could have simply let go to escape the frenzied ride, but he had to admit the experience was rather thrilling. He jammed his body up behind hers, holding fast to her waist and pressing his face into her wet hair, giving in to the sexual zing that pierced his abdomen at holding her so close and bumping against her with every jump and spin.
She drove faster and faster, jumping higher and higher, landing with belly-flipping spinouts. When they caught the underside of a particularly deep wave, Alan sensed impending doom. Pam screamed in delight, and they were airborne for what seemed like a minute, when Alan decided they would be safer to land separate from the Wave Runner. He lifted his arms to clasp her, harness-style, then twisted off to the side, taking her with him, but releasing her before they hit the water.
He plunged in, bubbles fizzing around his ears, his senses temporarily clogged with the glug, glug of enveloping water. With two powerful kicks, he reached the surface, then slung water from his eyes and immediately looked for Pam.
Alan spun all around, treading water, frantically searching for a flash of neon pink, but he saw nothing except the silent wave runner several yards away and endless foamy green-gray waves.
7
A
LAN'S HEART SLAMMED against the wall of his chest and panic coursed through his veins. “Pam!” he shouted, “Pam, where are you?” He swam toward the Wave Runner using long strokes, swallowing great gulps of cold, salty water as waves pushed and pulled at him, elevating his terror. She could have hit her head on the machine when he pulled her off...she could have hit the water at an odd angle and broken her silly neck...she could have been dragged down by an undertow...she could have—
“Of all the...stupid...things...to do!”
Alan stopped, then went weak with relief as he realized her voice came from the other side of the Wave Runner. She coughed fitfully until she gagged, then coughed more, wheezing, cursing him with every breath. He swam around to find her clinging to the side of the water bike, her golden hair molded to her head and neck, her mouth open to take in as much air as possible. She confronted him with wide, blazing blue eyes.
“Were you trying to kill me?” she croaked, then another coughing spasm overtook her.
“Me?”
Alan yelled. “I was trying to keep you from killing us
both!
We would have been thrown off for sure on that last kamikaze maneuver!”
“Would not!”
“Would too!”
“Would
not!
”
“Would
too!
”
Pam stuck her tongue out at him, then reached up to climb back on the Wave Runner. “Next time I'll leave you on the beach with your book.”
Alan shook with fury. First she'd given him the scare of his life when he thought she'd drowned, then she yelled at him for spoiling her fun! “Wait just a minute,” he said, grasping her arm and pulling her back into the water.
“Let go of me!”
“I'm driving back.”
“Oh no you're not!”
He squeezed her upper arm and pulled her face near his. “Oh yes,” he said with finality, “I am.”
Her eyes widened slightly in surprise, then her mouth tightened, but she didn't argue. A drop of water slid off the end of her nose and Alan once again marveled at the smoothness of her skin. The thought crossed his mind that she was close enough to kiss, but he was pretty sure she'd drown him if he tried. Her chest heaved with her still-labored breathing, straining the already taxed wet-suit zipper to near bursting. His body leaped in painful response because there was nowhere in his wet suit to expand. But the flash of pain brought him back to reality and he released her slowly, then moved away to a safer distance.
His brain had been scrambled from Pamela's joyride, Alan reasoned as he pulled himself out of the water to straddle the Wave Runner. He took a deep, head-clearing breath before turning around to offer his hand to help Pamela climb up. Her mouth quirked left, then right, but finally she let him help her up. She slipped a couple of times, which made him laugh, then she went limp with giggles and sank back into the water.
“You,” he said, shaking his head, “are wearing me out.”
“Then you,” she said, heaving herself up far enough for him to pull her onto the seat, “don't have much endurance.” She handed him the wristband.
“I never needed it with Jo,” he said as she slid behind him. He bit the inside of his cheek and turned over the engine, immediately regretting mentioning his ex.
But Pamela simply reached around his waist and laced her hands together, then said close to his ear, “But I'm not Jo, am I, Alan?”
Her breath felt warm against his cold, wet ear, and her words swirled round in his head, taunting him.
I'm not Jo, am I, Alan?
An understatement of gigantic proportions.
I'm not Jo, am I, Alan?
As if he weren't electrically aware of the fact.
I'm not Jo, am I, Alan?
And he realized with a jolt that he was having fun, more fun than he'd had in a long time—and he was very glad that Pam was, well...just Pam.
His heart strangely buoyed, he tossed a mischievous smile over his shoulder and said, “Hang on.” Then he leaned low over the handlebars and mashed the gas with his thumb, sending them lunging forward. Pam squealed in surprise and delight, ramming herself up against him, which tempted Alan to squeal with delight. He mimicked her earlier technique, driving fast, catching waves and landing with a spin, drenching them with walls of water that surged over the back. Adrenaline pumped through him and, combined with the sheer physical thrill of being close to Pamela, for the first time in his life he felt blatantly cocky.
Alan threw back his head and whooped, reveling in the pressure of Pam's thighs squeezing his. For several minutes, he sent them skimming and jumping over the sundrenched water, slowing at last as their time remaining slipped to less than ten minutes.
Hating to see the ride end, he adjusted the speed to idle and guided them toward the rental stand several hundred yards away. All sorts of strange and inappropriate emotions were running rampant through his body, and they were all directed toward Pam, who hadn't relaxed her hold around his waist. Waves slapped against the sides of the Wave Runner, and the sounds of beach music rolled out to meet them. Although sunset was still hours away, the beach was emptying rapidly as the locals. packed up their families to go home for the evening meal.
“Did you have fun?” she asked, resting her chin on his left shoulder.
For a split second, Alan considered lying—he had an uneasy feeling that admitting he enjoyed Pam's company was not in his immediate best interests. But for the past hour, he had laughed more than he would have thought possible only a few hours ago, and for that, he owed her the truth. “Yeah, I did have fun. Thanks for taking my mind off...you know.”
“What are friends for?” Pam asked lightly, closing her eyes and swallowing her guilt. She'd promised Jo she'd make sure he had fun. But at some point during their outing, she had forgotten she was supposed to be entertaining Alan because she was having such a good time herself. And now, putting back toward shore, she felt deflated and angry with herself for even thinking there wouldn't be too many excuses this week to hold Alan so close.
“Maybe we can take it out again tomorrow,” Alan suggested, turning his head and inadvertently bringing his smooth cheek next to her mouth.
“Sure,” she said casually, already looking forward to the ride. “Unless you'd rather take Robin.”
“Who?” he asked, his tone innocent.
“My, what a short memory we have,” she noted dryly. “You know, the smart woman in the hat.”
“What makes you say she's smart?”
“Well, she works with computers, doesn't she?”
“The computer industry has its share of incompetents.”
Pam brightened. “So she isn't smart?”
“Oh no, she's smart,” he corrected, evoking a little stab of jealousy in her. “But don't assume anything just because someone talks in acronyms.”
“You're getting sunburned,” she said irritably.
He laughed and they pulled up next to the rental stand. “Are you sure it isn't the reflection from your suit?”
The young rental man had walked out into the shallows to meet them. Pam reluctantly relinquished her hold on Alan and dropped into the water up to her knees, already tugging at the confining zipper. By the time she reached the warm sand, she'd only managed to peel the rubber suit from one shoulder and she was already exhausted. She fell to the sand, knowing the grit would only make things worse, but she didn't care.
Lying on her back, she squinted against the sun and watched Alan extricate his magnificent body from his too-small suit with great sucking sounds as the rubber relented. Her breasts tightened in awareness and desire struck her low as he dragged the suit down, yanking his conservative navy trunks low on his hips. Standing in the sun with gleaming wet skin, his fair hair dry and tousled, he looked healthy and sexy, and Pam acknowledged for the first time that she was very attracted to him. And in more than just a physical sense, although simply looking at him had become a favorite pastime.
Today when he'd driven the Wave Runner, she had seen a side of him she'd never glimpsed before: carefree and spontaneous. He was actually fun to be with.
“Need a hand with your suit?” he asked, standing over her and grinning.
Pam nodded and took the hand he offered her, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet. She tugged at the opposite shoulder of the suit and succeeded in budging it an inch or so. Alan reached for the collar. “It's harder now that your skin is wet and the suit is heavy.”
His fingers felt like branding irons against the cold flesh of her collarbone. He gripped the thick material and peeled the suit down her arm, turning the sleeve inside out. With both arms free, Pam was able to work the suit past her hips with some self-conscious wriggling, but had to admit defeat at her thighs. Then she lost her balance and sat down hard in the sand. Alan howled with laughter, but before she could get her breath to chew him out, she was thrown to her back because he had yanked her legs in the air to finish stripping off the stubborn suit. Sprawled in the awkward position and at his mercy, Pam felt like a too-big toddler being changed, and bristled at the hoots and laughter of the sparse but rapt audience staked out under umbrellas in the sand around them.
Alan also appeared to be enjoying her discomfort. At last he held up the pink garment as if it were a trophy and said, “I don't think this suit will ever be the same,” then gestured to the deformed top of the fatigued-looking rubber suit. The comment brought him cheers from the members of the male gallery within earshot.
Pam scrambled to her feet, not sure if she liked this new, cocky side of Alan. “Well, while you strut for the other roosters,” she said with a deceptively sweet smile as she brushed the sand from her bottom, “I'm going to find a beer.”
Then she turned to march back to their blanket and chaise lounges they had rented for the day.
“Better go after her,” some guy yelled to Alan behind her back.
“I'll go,” another male voice piped up, triggering more laugher. But Pam had to acknowledge a little thrill that everyone assumed she and Alan were together.
“Hey,” Alan said, jogging up beside her with a sheepish grin. “I'm thirsty, too.”
Pam glanced at him, increasingly alarmed at the pull she felt toward him. “You need sunscreen.”
He scrunched up his face and rubbed his cheek. “My skin does feel a little tight.”
“Uh-oh,” she warned. “Wait until after sundown.”
He stepped in front of her, stopping her in her tracks. With eyebrows raised, he asked, “What will happen after sundown?”
Pam's pulse skipped and, not without a certain amount of panic, realized Alan was also feeling the sexual pull between them. His eyes searched her face, and she sensed that, ever the gentleman, he was waiting for a signal. They had reached the sticky point where everything they said to each other could be stretched, warped and misshapen to mean something else, an unstable area that might lead them to ruin unless one of them took control. And since Alan was freshly wounded from Jo's rejection, he was vulnerable to sexual revenge, even if he wasn't conscious of his motivation. And it was Pam's job to make sure that she wasn't a physical party to his retaliation for being dumped at the altar.
She forced lightness into her tone, ignoring his invitation to prolong the flirtation. “Sunburns are always worse after sundown,” she said quietly, glad they had reached their chairs. She tossed him a bottle of sunscreen and pulled a short mesh cover-up over her head. Pointing up the sandy incline, she said, “I'm going to get a beer.”
“Sounds great,” he said, grabbing a T-shirt, but Pam held up her hand.
“Stay here and I'll bring them back,” she said, desperate to escape his proximity. She practically ran up the stone path to the grill, but told herself she'd have to find a way to steel herself against the magnetism that had materialized between them—they would be here another four days!
The grill turned out to be a charming little outside eatery comprising a long bar and three weathered multilevel decks covered with latticed-wood “ceilings” that allowed the sun and wind to filter through. Pam glanced over the crowded tables, then walked to the bar and ordered two draft beers. “Ah, Pamela, we meet again,” came a deep, rolling voice behind her. Pam turned to see the handsome Enrico standing with an umbrellaed drink in his bejeweled hand. “Er, yes,” Pam said, offering him a small smile. As dangerous as the man appeared, at the moment he seemed the safer of two choices.
“Have you been enjoying the afternoon?” he asked conversationally, straddling a stool next to where she stood. His chest was well-developed and covered with dense, black hair. Pam made a split-second comparison to Alan's sleek physique, then bit the inside of her cheek when she acknowledged her preference.
“Sure,” she answered casually, as the bartender slid two beers toward her.

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