Sheila Roberts - What She Wants

“I do not,” he insisted, both to her and himself.

“Oh, yes, you do. And this isn’t the first time you’ve messed up.”

All right, so he’d accidentally gotten tickets to a Mariners game on the day of their anniversary the year before last. And she’d never have known he’d screwed up if his brother Greg hadn’t called from Seattle asking what time they were meeting at the stadium. He’d done penance and gotten her diamond earrings. A whole carat, for God’s sake. He’d even taken her to the game and they’d ended up having a great evening.

And last year he’d remembered. She hadn’t needed to remind him the week before. Why did women keep score like that? They kept track of every screw-up and then threw it in your face. In the middle of the night.

“Oh, come on, babe. Cut me some slack. Let’s talk about this.” She always wanted to talk.

Not tonight. She ended the call and the bedroom light switched off.

Of course he tried to call her once more, but it immediately went to voice mail.

Great. Just great. Where would he go at eleven-thirty at night? He supposed he could go to one of the town’s B and Bs, but if he did that, everyone would know his wife had kicked him out.

Since this was only temporary, he saw no point in going that route. Tomorrow he’d take her out to dinner. They’d kiss and make up and everything would be fine.

Meanwhile, though, he couldn’t sleep on the porch. He hauled his carry-on back to the car. If that was the way she wanted it, he could sleep there. Except while an SUV would be okay for sleeping, it made for a poor place to shave in the morning.

He started the engine and drove slowly away from his house. His house! He had no idea where he was going. He sure knew where he was, though. In the doghouse.

* * *

Jonathan was having an incredible dream. He’d just killed a man in a sword fight, and now the woman he’d rescued—Lissa, in an old-fashioned pink gown—had thrown herself into his arms.

“How can I thank you?” she breathed.

“Well,” he said, and lowered his head to kiss her.

“Oh, wait. What’s that I hear?” she said, turning her head just before he could reach her lips. “The church bells.”

“That’s the bells, all right,” he agreed, and tried for her lips again.

“They’re summoning you. You must go.”

“Who’s summoning me?”

He never found out. Between the insistent ringing of his doorbell, coupled with pounding on the door and Chica’s barking, he was now hopelessly awake.

He checked the time. Midnight! He swore and threw off the covers, marched out of the bedroom and flicked on the hall light, Chica running ahead of him. Whoever it was, Jonathan was going to kill him.

But then he realized that anyone summoning him at this hour must be in trouble. Juliet! She’d had a fight with Neil?

He picked up his pace. By the time he got to the living room, his visitor was not only ringing the bell and banging on the door, but calling his name, as well. Definitely not Juliet.

Jonathan opened the door and there stood Adam. “I need a place to sleep.”

“Huh?”

“Can I crash on your couch?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jonathan said, and stepped aside.

In walked Mr. Success, dragging his carry-on luggage behind him. “Chelsea kicked me out.”

“’Cause you went salmon-fishing?” That seemed a little extreme.

“No, because I forgot our anniversary.”

Jonathan, no expert on women, still knew this was a cardinal sin. “How’d you manage that?” If he was with Lissa he’d never forget their anniversary. Heck, he’d make everything an anniversary—first date, first kiss, first time they slept together. At the rate he was going, that wasn’t even happening in his dreams.

Adam paced into the living room and parked his carry-on next to Jonathan’s couch. He ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to forget.” He fell onto the couch. “She says I take her for granted.”

“Do you?”

“No. Well, maybe. Once in a while. I don’t know.”

Like hell he didn’t. “Right.”

“Okay, so I’m not perfect like those men on the covers of her dumb romance novels.”

Jonathan caught sight of his Vanessa Valentine paperback on the kitchen counter and subtly dragged his copy of PC World over it.

Adam never noticed. He was too involved in his own drama. “But cut a man some slack, you know?”

Jonathan didn’t know.

“She changed the locks.”

Whoa. His friend had sailed down the river of no return. “That’s harsh.”

“That’s what I thought,” Adam said. “Anyway, I know we’ll get it all straightened out tomorrow.”

And now who was dreaming?

“Sorry to get you out of bed. You were the first one who came to mind.”

Vance lived right down the road from Adam, but Jonathan understood why Adam hadn’t gone there. Vance would have taken great delight in taunting him. Whereas Jonathan...was a soft touch.

“I just need a place for tonight.”

Jonathan had a suspicion that his poker pal was going to need a place for longer than one night, but this probably wasn’t the time to point that out. Anyway, he was tired and he wanted to get back to bed. Back to Lissa in her pink gown. He pulled a sleeping bag out of the closet and tossed it to Adam.

“Thanks, man,” Adam said. “I’ll get this sorted out in the morning. Right now, I just need a good night’s sleep.”

He needed a lot more than sleep. Jonathan didn’t tell him that, either. Some things a man had to figure out for himself.

Chapter Five

Jonathan never found Lissa again. Every time he drifted off, he was awakened by the sound of a rumbling train. It didn’t take more than the first rude awakening for him to realize that no one had built a train track through his house in the night. No, the horrible noise that dragged him from his dreamland search for Lissa had been Adam’s snoring.

He finally gave up on sleep around seven to find Adam still zonked out on his couch, like a giant caterpillar half out of his sleeping bag cocoon, his hair going every which way and his mouth hanging open. There was a sight a guy didn’t need to wake up to.

Coffee. He needed coffee.

He had a handy-dandy little coffeemaker that delivered one serving at a time, and he made himself a mug. The aroma of brewing java sure would’ve awakened Jonathan, but Adam slept on. How could the guy sleep so well when his wife had kicked him out? And didn’t he have to be at work? Jonathan’s schedule was flexible and depended on what clients he had lined up for the day, but he assumed that on a Monday Adam would have to report in to his office.

Not your problem, he told himself as he filled Chica’s dog bowl. You’re not his mother.

Still, the idea of Adam happily snoozing away after ruining his sleep the night before wasn’t appealing. It was quarter after seven now. Time to wake up. Jonathan yanked the sofa pillow out from under Adam’s head and whacked him with it.

Adam bolted up. “Wha?”

“Thought you might have to get up.”

Adam groaned. “I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

Right. He’d just been faking. “You snore.”

Adam frowned and rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Quarter after seven.”

“I have to get going. Man, I’m shot.” He eyed Jonathan’s mug. “Is that coffee?”

Jonathan nodded at his coffeemaker. “You can make yourself some.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Adam said, and unzipped his sleeping bag. “But first things first.”

Jonathan watched him wander off down the hall to the bathroom, wearing boxers and a T-shirt. Lucky for Adam he had a suitcase of clothes. It was a cinch he wouldn’t be getting into his house for more anytime soon. Poor guy.