Читать книгу Hired Wife - Karen Van Der Zee - Страница 8

IN STUNNED silence, Kim took in the man’s appearance, all thoughts of a nice dinner with Sam fading into the distance. He looked like something that had crawled out of a swamp with his long, unkempt hair, his wild, woolly black beard, his old, ragged jeans. His shoes were off, muddy hiking boots the size of ocean liners. A bulky backpack, worn and faded, lay on the floor with half of its filthy contents spilling out onto her lovely Navajo rug.

She did not know this man.

Sam stood beside her in the door, calmly surveying the scene. For some reason she couldn’t make herself speak. This was the moment for comic relief, to say something witty, something clever, something…anything.

“And who is this one?” asked Sam casually, as if he were already resigned to the fact that her life was littered with weird men, and that here was yet another specimen.

She swallowed hard. “I don’t know,” she answered, tonelessly.

A short, significant silence. “You don’t know?” he inquired, as if he found it hard to believe.

“No.” She didn’t dare meet his eyes. She kept staring at the huge man on her sofa. His chest was moving up and down, so he wasn’t dead. She supposed she should be grateful for small mercies.

So, what do I do now? she asked herself. What do you normally do when you come home and find a derelict passed out on your sofa? Call the police?

“How did he get in?” Sam asked practically.

She ventured a look at him. He looked very clean, very respectable, very…sexually appealing. Everything the comatose stranger was not. “I don’t know,” she said again.

“I think there’s someone else here, too.” Sam gestured casually toward the bathroom, where she now heard the noise of running water. A moment later the door opened and Jason emerged, naked apart from a blue towel wrapped around his hips. Water drops glistened on his manly shoulders. Apparently he’d just had one of his many showers to set him up for a night of serious brain work.

Jason was the only person she couldn’t blame for making an appearance while Sam was around—after all, he lived here. However, did he have to show up in all his half-naked glory?

Her hopes of making a dignified impression on Sam had been duly crushed. Why had she even thought she could pull it off, she who had such undignified friends, led such an undignified life? How could she possibly expect him to take her seriously now? She’d asked him to her apartment for a civilized visit and instead he’d found an idiot clown on her doorstep, a swamp creature passed out on her sofa and a naked Adonis in her bathroom. All she really wanted was the chance to go back to the Far East for a while. Was that too much to ask? Why were the gods playing games with her, first dangling the opportunity in front of her, then yanking it out of reach? It just wasn’t fair.

She didn’t normally indulge in self-pity, but now she was truly being tested. She had the momentary impulse to just crumple to the floor, curl up in a ball and cry her heart out like a little girl. But that would not improve matters. Nothing could.

And she was right. The situation did not improve; it got worse.

“I hope it was okay for me to let him in,” said Jason, indicating the inert body on the sofa. “He said he was your cousin.”

“My cousin?” She only had two male cousins. One was a balding accountant in New Jersey, the other a red-haired student in dental school. “This is not my cousin. I don’t know who he is.” There was a desperate little shrill in her voice that embarrassed her.

The stranger stirred and opened his eyes. He gazed around dazedly.

Kim took a step forward on wooden legs, fury rushing through her, hot and fast. She glared down at him. “Who are you?” she demanded sharply. “What are you doing in my apartment?”

He focused his eyes and a slow smile crept over his hairy face. “You know who I am, Kimmy, you know.”

She froze. There was something nightmarishly familiar about those words. And then it came to her.

The dream.

Her secret lover.

The stranger on the sofa reached out to her with his big hand, and she stepped back instinctively, nearly tripping over his boots. Boots like boats.

And then she knew.

Oh, God, she thought, it’s Jack! Jack with the big feet. A horrifying thought occurred to her. Had she been dreaming of Jack? Of this repulsive man on her sofa? Of course he hadn’t always been repulsive. He’d been clean and shaven once—seven, eight years ago when she’d been barely out of high school and hopelessly naive. She’d loved him for his charm and generosity, hoping marriage would change his excessive drinking and irresponsible behavior.

She closed her eyes. I can’t bear this, she thought. I want him out of here. Now.

He kept smiling his dim-witted smile at her. It was like some awful slow-motion film sequence. She saw Jason standing by the bathroom door in his towel, Sam in front of the bookcase, hands in his pockets of his trousers, silently observing the sorry scene, not interfering. And then the door flung open and the clown barreled in.

“Kim! I—” He glanced around the room, at the other men, then back at her, apparently stumped for words. Now all four were staring at her.

Jack shifted his big body on the sofa in an effort to sit up. He did not succeed and slumped back down. “Remember, Kim?” he muttered.

“No,” she said hotly. I’ll kill him if he says anymore, she thought wildly.

“We eloped, Kim. We eloped.”

Her heart could not sink any lower—there was no lower place to go. But then, it didn’t matter anymore. She’d had enough.

Kim gritted her teeth, took a deep breath and glared at Jack with all the ferocity she could muster.

“You’re drunk,” she said with disgust. “I want you out of here now, this minute!”

“Don’t you remember, Kim?” he went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “We eloped. Remember the island? It was so…the sea was so blue and the palm trees—” He stopped, as if talking was too much effort.

She didn’t want to hear anymore. Not about the sea or the palm trees, not anything to do with her lovely dream.

“I want you out of here,” she repeated. “Go home.”

“Home?” His face was all dull confusion. “I want you back, Kim,” he said plaintively. “I wanna be with you.”

She decided not to react to this. “I’m going to call you a cab and you can go to your mother’s house.” She’d run into his mother quite by coincidence a couple of weeks ago, in Macy’s, had chatted politely for a few minutes, gathering the news that Jack was on a trip around the world and was coming home soon. She’d never thought of it again. Thank you, thank you, she said to the gods, at least I know his mother is still around.

She made for the phone, only to find Sam was already doing the honors. He gazed at her as he was talking into the phone, ordering a taxi in a businesslike tone. His face was impassive, giving nothing away. She could only imagine what went on behind that inscrutable exterior, and it wasn’t good, she was sure. She clenched her hands and turned away, gathering strength.

One down, one more to go. She turned to Tony, who had taken off his orange wig. “And you!” she exploded. “I’ve had enough of you! If you don’t stop bothering me I’m calling the police, and I’ll call my uncle, who’s a pit bull lawyer, and you’ll wish you’d never met me! Go get yourself a job! Get yourself a life! Out!” She marched right up to him, as if to push him out through the open door. He didn’t budge, but gazed sadly down at her with his painted clown face.

“But you’re my life, Kim,” he pleaded.

“Get yourself a psychiatrist!”

He sighed. “I think I’ll go to Hollywood.”

“Now there’s a good idea!” She pointed past him out the door. “It’s that way.”

He turned and shuffled out and she slammed the door behind him. She drew in a deep breath. She felt energized. Ah, a little fury did a person good!

Jack had hauled himself up in a semierect position and buried his head in his hands.

“Put on your boots,” she ordered, pushing the offensive things closer to him with her foot.

He mumbled something inaudible and reached over to retrieve them. Jason came out of his room, dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt. She hadn’t realized he’d left the scene. He moved past her toward Jack.

“Let me get his gear.” Jason bent down, stuffed Jack’s filthy belongings back into the backpack and hauled it out the door.

She glanced around for Sam. He had opened the beeping microwave oven and had extracted a mug, which he was delivering to the mumbling Jack. Warmed-up leftover coffee, Kim guessed.

“Drink this and make it fast.” Sam’s tone was impressive, full of cold authority.

Jack took the cup and drank it obediently while Sam towered over him.

Ten minutes later peace of a sort had returned to the loft. Sam and Jason had dragged the stumbling Jack and his gear into the elevator and into a taxi. Back in the loft, Jason had retreated to his room and Sam was sitting in a chair, observing her calmly. She was overwhelmed with a mixture of embarrassment and despair, but fought not to show it.

“How about a drink?” she asked, seeking refuge in social graces, wishing he would just magically disappear from her loft.

“Thank you, yes.” Was there humor in his eyes? Surely she was mistaken.

“I have Chardonnay,” she offered. She’d bought it to have with dinner. She didn’t have anything else; she never drank the strong stuff.

“That will be fine.”

Happy to have something to do she rushed into the kitchen, got the bottle out of the refrigerator and managed to open it without breaking off the cork or crashing the whole thing to the floor.

She took out a wineglass and filled it. Knowing she was in a gulping state of mind, she poured herself a glass of mineral water. She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and tried to look calm and in control as she handed Sam his glass.

“I’m sorry for the distraction,” she said lightly, as if she had merely dispensed with a minor annoyance.

He gave a crooked little smile. “There was always a lot of distraction when you were around. I seem to remember you were often surrounded by a retinue of odd-ball friends.”

“These guys are not my friends!” she said defensively.

“What about that Viking in there?” Sam gestured in the direction of Jason’s room. “He seems decent enough.”

“Oh, I never introduced you, did I?”

“It was a bit confusing, with your husband drunk on the sofa and him wearing a towel,” he said forgivingly.

Under other circumstances she might have laughed, but not now. She glared at him. She was trying to rescue the embarrassing situation, but he wasn’t going to let her. “Jack is not my husband and never was,” she stated, feeling defeated already. And we were never together on any tropical island, either, she wanted to add, but didn’t. They’d only looked at travel brochures and fantasized a lot.

Sam stretched out his long legs and made himself more comfortable in his chair. “He seemed to think you two had eloped.”

“We did.” Oh, God she didn’t even want to think about her stupidity. She gulped down some water.

“You did?”

“We started out eloping, we just didn’t finish.”

“Ah,” he said meaningfully. “What happened?”

She’d seen the error of her ways in the nick of time. Jack’s car had expired from old age in the middle of a small town in New Jersey. Stranded by the road without money, listening to Jack suggesting they steal the car parked nearby, she’d finally seen the light.

Kim decided to give Sam the short version.

“His car broke down, and I got a headache.”

He nodded understandingly. “That’ll do it.”

He was laughing at her. She’d had enough. Enough of him, enough of men in general. She came to her feet.

“You might as well go, too, Sam. There is no point in wasting your time here.”

“You promised me dinner.”

“I’ll give you money for a hamburger.” Her knees were trembling. She wanted him out. She wanted to be alone to lick her wounds in a dark corner.

One dark eyebrow lifted fractionally. “Why are you angry with me?”

“You’re laughing at me! I hate men,” she added to her own surprise. She had never said that before; it was a rather sweeping statement. “I’m going to ensconce myself in an ashram somewhere and learn to meditate and get in touch with my higher self and forget about men. No more men.”

“I thought you were coming to Java with me.” He took a leisurely drink of wine. He seemed so calm, so relaxed, she couldn’t stand it.

“I imagine you’re seriously regretting your decision, so I’ll let you off the hook.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. She wished he’d get up and leave. She was feeling dangerously fragile, as if she might break down any minute. It was not a good feeling.

He rose and stood in front of her. “I thought you wanted to go to Java,” he said quietly. “What’s going on here, Kim?”

It was the tone of his voice, the quietness that suddenly made her throat close. Tears pressed behind her eyes. She could not believe it; she wasn’t the weepy type. She hardly ever cried.

And she wasn’t going to do it now, not even standing in the rubble of her hopes. She swallowed the constriction in her throat, blinked her eyes, composed herself. Well, she tried.

“You don’t want somebody like me working for you. Somebody flighty and incompetent who holds company with clowns and derelicts.” To her horror, her voice shook. Then, to her surprise, she heard him laugh.

“Ah, the drama, Kim,” he said. “You didn’t come across as flighty and incompetent at all when you booted those two jokers out the door. That was quite an impressive performance.”

Well, it had been, actually, come to think of it. Her spirits lifted marginally.

Sam took her hand and smiled. “Fix me that dinner you promised me,” he said. “And afterward I’d like to talk about my house.”

For a moment her breath would not come. All she was aware of was his face and the warmth of his big hand holding hers, and his dark eyes as they gazed into hers.

I’m a fool, she thought. I’m such a fool.

“So, who shall we say I am?” she asked. “Your personal assistant? Your interior decorator? Your housekeeper?”

They were sitting on the sofa, drinking coffee. Kim was feeling better, much better. She’d cooked him her delicious little dinner, executed to perfection. He’d studied her portfolio, admired the decor of the loft and they’d discussed his requirements, likes and dislikes concerning dwelling places and their interiors. Her confidence had returned and she was beginning to feel like her normal happy self again.

“Somehow I don’t think anyone will believe that,” he said, giving her an amused look.

She could well imagine what people might think. Personal assistants, interior decorators and housekeepers were readily available locally and importing one from the other side of the world might raise questions. She smiled. “Saying I’m your sister, Yasmina, is not going to work, either.”

He laughed, reaching out to touch her hair. “Not with your coloring, no.”

He only barely touched her head and she hardly felt his hand, yet it seemed such an intimate gesture that her heart turned over in her chest and her breath caught in her throat. She looked into his eyes and couldn’t tear her gaze away. She couldn’t believe what was happening to her, she who had sworn off men.

“I suppose we could say you’re my mistress,” he said evenly, “which is not the truth, but they’d believe it.”

The devilish glint in his eyes belied his level tone and she knew he was playing a game with her.

“Mistress? Me? Not on your life. I’m not going to be a kept woman, not even a pretend one.”

He raised a brow in question. “Why not?”

“I find it distasteful,” she said loftily. “In the extreme.”

“Because it would imply you’d be having a sexual relationship with me?” He leaned back against the sofa cushions, apparently curious rather than offended.

Just like a man not to understand this. She sighed. “No.”

“Oh, good,” he said, quasirelieved. “I was beginning to think you found me unappetizing.”

Oh, sure, she thought, looking at his handsome face, seeing the faint smile.

“Why then?” he asked.

“Because,” she said patiently, “it would imply that I was getting paid or maintained in return for sexual favors.”

“Ah,” he said. “I understand. You have a high moral code.”

A high moral code. It sounded so saintly. She didn’t feel saintly in the least, but if he wanted to think that, okay, why not. She smiled breezily. “My mother taught me well,” she said for good measure.

He laughed. “Of course, I should have known.”

“However,” she went on, “since I’ll be looking for a house and furnishing it and doing all those cozy housewifely things, we could just tell them I’m your wife. It will simplify matters.” She could play the game, too. She smiled innocently.

His eyebrows shot up and she laughed. “Oh, don’t you worry,” she said sunnily, “I have no designs on you.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “That was eleven years ago. Boy did I have designs on you then.”

He nodded in agreement. “You owe me big,” he said with dry humor in his voice.

The answer was not what she had expected. “Owe you?”

“You tempted me mercilessly and I had to be good.”

“You had to be good?”

“You were my friend’s little sister and I was offered hospitality in your home, which was very valuable to me, since your mother was an excellent cook. Needless to say fooling around with you was not a good idea. Apart from the fact, of course, that you were a mere child.”

“And flighty and silly. Don’t remind me.”

“Okay,” he agreed magnanimously.

“Besides, that’s all in the past. It won’t happen again.”

“Good,” he said deadpan. “It would be very disappointing to discover you hadn’t fine-tuned your seduction techniques in the past eleven years.”

There had to be something clever to say to that, but her scrambling mind could not come up with it. Instead she shrugged lightly.