Susan Mallery - Wife in Disguise

“What’s so funny?”

She hadn’t realized she’d been smiling until she felt her lips straighten. She glanced up and saw Del standing in the entrance to the kitchen. He leaned against the door frame, looking as strong and handsome as ever, darn the man. Today he wore a navy T-shirt tucked into jeans. The soft fabric of the T-shirt clung to his chest, outlining every inch of muscle. Just to make her situation worse, she knew what he would look like without his clothes and that image was even better.

Her breath caught in her throat when he pushed off the support and walked toward her. Or maybe her breathing problem came from the fact that he actually sauntered. A slow, male movement that reminded her of a tiger staking out territory. Is that what he was doing with her? She desperately wanted to believe it was true.

“You were chuckling about something,” he said when he came to a halt less than a foot in front of her. “Are you afraid we’ll never get your house back together?”

“Not at all. I was thinking about some surgery I had a while back. How I would have frightened everyone if I’d come in wrapped in bandages.”

“I think we would have survived.”

He touched a hand to the small of her back, urging her to take a step to the side. As she did, a man of medium height but built like a fullback came through carrying armfuls of tools. She recognized Mark right away, but again didn’t say anything to the man. Like Jerry, Mark gave her a polite nod.

She saw his gaze slide to the cane and then to her legs. Self-consciousness flooded her. Today was one of her bad days, when getting out of bed and forcing herself to stand had taken nearly all her reserves. She was stiff and suffering from muscle cramps and fatigue. The result of missing too many therapy sessions. But that couldn’t be helped. Once she got settled in the house on Friday, she would find a therapist close by and get back to her treatments. Until then she would survive-on sheer will if necessary.

“Come see what we’ve done,” Del said, pointing to the kitchen. “It’s empty.”

“I noticed. I guess I’m going to learn the phone number of every nearby takeout place, huh?”

He pointed to a list on the wall by a battered black phone. “Already done. Just part of the excellent Scott family service. I recommend the Chinese place. It’s the best. So’s the Mexican, but that’s better at the restaurant because they have terrific margaritas.”

He stepped back and touched a small refrigerator tucked under a makeshift counter made of sawhorses topped by plywood. “It won’t hold a week’s worth of shopping but it will get you by for now.”

She pointed at a microwave sitting on top of the counter. “A loaner?”

“Exactly. We want you to be comfortable during the construction. Dust and noise can’t be avoided but we try to make everything else as pleasant as possible.” He slapped one hand against a bare wall. “As you can see the old cabinets are down. I’ve already taken measurements for the new ones and I’ll get started on them this week. In the parlor you’ll find an assortment of paint samples and wallpaper sample books for you to peruse in your free time. And in the main room you probably noticed our luxurious seating accommodations.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the ratty sofa. “I thought that was the trash pile,” she teased.

He stepped back, obviously outraged. “It’s an antique.”

“Uh-huh. Del, it’s junk. I can see through patches of the fabric and there are springs poking out all over.”

“Having it around is kind of a tradition. Is it too offensive?”

“Not as long as it leaves when the job is over.”

“Deal. We have clean sheets we toss over the sofa and the recliners at the end of the day. So you’ll have something clean to sit on.” He paused and frowned. “I never thought to ask. How much furniture are you going to be moving in?”

“Less than you’d think. I have a bedroom set being delivered Friday morning. Otherwise, just what I can fit in my car.”

“You travel light.”

“I’ve learned to.”

She’d spent the past year in three different hospitals and multiple rehab centers. Furniture hadn’t been much of a priority. She still had a few things in the Los Angeles apartment she’d shared with her stepsister, Dallas, but saw no need to tell that to Del. Besides, she wasn’t sure if she would be moving anything up to Beachside Bay. That sort of depended on whether or not she decided to stay here.

She remembered the contents of her car trunk. “Did you already get paint for the guest bedroom and bath?” she asked.

“No. Why?”

“I did some shopping this weekend and ended up buying paint and wallpaper.”

His dark eyes brightened with laughter. “Let me guess. Pink and lavender. And the wallpaper had flowers on it.”

“How very sexist.”

“Am I wrong?”

She reached in her skirt pocket for her car keys. “Why don’t you see for yourself. Everything is in the trunk.”

He grabbed the keys, then called for one of the guys to get the supplies. “Want to show me what goes where?” he asked.

Del led the way to the stairs and waited for Rose to follow. She hesitated a moment before nodding her head in agreement and coming after him. He watched her walk, noticing that her movements were slower than usual, as if every step caused her pain.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Sure. Some days are easier than others. Today’s turning out to be one of the hard ones.”

As she spoke, he noticed the lines of tension and hurt around her eyes and mouth. She’d pulled her long blond hair back into a sleek ponytail that left her slender neck bare. A white T-shirt hugged her top half while a crinkly white and teal skirt fell to mid calf. He tried to concentrate on anything but the full curves outlined by her shirt. She was big enough to fill a man’s hand and while he’d never considered himself much of a breast man, Rose made him rethink his position.

She started up the stairs. Her movements were slow and awkward, with her taking each step individually. She raised her right foot and set it firmly on the next level. The cane followed. She then braced herself on the cane and raised her left foot. He didn’t know if she was in pain from what she was doing, but it sure hurt him to watch. He had to force himself not to hover behind her.

“Were you in an accident of some kind?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“Yes. A truck hit my car.”

She spoke between sharp gasps of breath.

Del told himself not to watch, that if he had a brain in his head he would talk about something unrelated so that she wouldn’t know he was itching to help in some way. Except she hadn’t asked for help and he didn’t know how to offer. But before he could think of a single thing to say, her left leg gave way and she started to go down.

She was less than a quarter of the way up the staircase. He was at her side, grabbing her arm and holding her upright before she even came close to falling. He wrapped one arm around her waist so she could lean on him.

They were close enough for him to inhale her floral scented perfume…and something else. Some female essence that was both attractive and oddly familiar. But before he could place it, she turned to look at him.

All thoughts fled his mind as he saw the pain and bleakness in her eyes. The blue irises darkened with a thousand emotions he couldn’t begin to identify. He had no idea what she was going through or what she’d endured. He only knew that she didn’t utter a word of complaint.

She trembled slightly, making him aware of their close proximity. His thumb was just under the curve of her right breast, and he was six kinds of an idiot for noticing. He also ignored the fact that her curvy rear rested against his thigh. All men were slime, he told himself, and he was the slime king.