Fay Robinson - The Notorious Mrs. Wright

Whit chuckled. She looked up…and blushed.

The waiter had described Susan as “average” looking. She wasn’t. “Damned pretty” was more accurate. He’d also been wrong about the bodysuit and padded parts. Her parts were fine just the way they were.

“Can I help you?” she asked, closing the book.

“Susan Wright?”

“Yes.” She stood.

He walked over to the desk. “Whitaker Lewis. We talked briefly last night. You were kind enough to buy my dinner.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“I wanted to thank you, and to say how much I enjoyed your performance as Marilyn. Your Cleopatra and Dorothy were great, too.”

She cocked her head and smiled, changing from “damned pretty” to “beautiful.”

“How did you…?”

“The scar on your elbow gave you away.”

“Ah.” She rubbed it. “You’re very observant.”

“And you’re very talented.”

“Thank you.”

“Look, I apologize for barging in like this. I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.” He glanced down at the book title: Algebra With An Introduction To Trigonometry.

She bent and put the textbook in a drawer. “No, you’re not.”

“I have a confession to make. I asked my waiter about you last night. He said you’re no longer married.”

That statement seemed to fluster her. “No, my husband died several years ago. Why?”

“I was wondering—would you like to take a walk? I haven’t had much of a chance to look around the town since I’ve been here. Seeing it with a beautiful woman would be better than seeing it on my own.”

She blushed more deeply. Her face was now the color of the beets she found so disgusting.

“Are you asking me out on a date, Mr. Lewis?”

“Trying to, Mrs. Wright, but apparently not doing a very good job of it.”

“I appreciate the compliment and the invitation, but I don’t really know you. I don’t go out with men I don’t know.”

“I promise I’m a nice man.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“My only major vice is being spoiled rotten all my life by three older sisters.”

She smiled at that. “I wouldn’t call that a vice, but rather a lovely way to grow up.”

“Do you have siblings?”

“No, unfortunately, I was an only child.”

“There were times I’d have given anything to be an only child. Now I realize how fortunate I am.”

“Yes, you are.”

“If I can’t interest you in a walk, how about a very public cruise around the bay?”

She hesitated, and for a moment he thought she might say yes. But then she shook her head.

Whit scratched his jaw. God, he was rusty at this. Okay, the lady wasn’t interested. He obviously hadn’t made much of an impression on her last night or today. He should take his photos, excuse himself and be done with it. But to his chagrin, he found he didn’t want to.

He was about to try again when someone came in.

“Oh, Susan, I forgot—”

Whit turned. The woman stopped short. She had wild red hair and more freckles than he’d ever seen on one person.

“Well, hi there.” She grinned widely and extended her hand. Whit shook it. “Abby Townsend. I’m a friend of Susan’s.”

“Whitaker Lewis.”

“Michigan, right?”

He raised an eyebrow in surprise and glanced at Susan Wright. She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Yes, Lansing.”

“What type of business are you in, Mr. Lewis?”

“Insurance.”

“And is there a Mrs. Lewis?”

“Abby!” Susan sighed with exasperation. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lewis. I’m sure you didn’t come here to be interrogated.”

“That’s okay. I don’t mind, especially if it’ll make you feel more comfortable about me.” He turned back to Abby to explain. “I’ve been trying to convince Mrs. Wright to join me on a short boat ride around the bay this afternoon, but she said no.”

“Oh, Susan, why not go?” Abby asked. “It sounds like such fun. You were telling me only the other day how you hadn’t taken time to enjoy any of the city’s historic attractions. Here’s your chance.”

“I don’t remember saying that.”

“Of course you did.” Abby winked at Whit.

Susan pointed at the door. “Abby—out.”

Abby wiggled her fingers at Whit and mouthed “good luck” before making her exit.

Whit took his sunglasses out of his pocket and acted as if he planned to put them on. He aimed as best he could and snapped a series of photos by pushing a small button on the right earpiece.

He figured this would be his only chance. Susan Wright didn’t appear to be giving in. But her next comment surprised him.

“Is there a Mrs. Lewis?” she asked, charmingly biting her bottom lip. “I don’t go out with married men.”

Whit smiled. Damn, she was attractive! Spending the afternoon with her wouldn’t be a hardship at all, even if it was part of the job.

“The only Mrs. Lewis in my life has been happily married to my father for the past forty-five years,” he told her honestly.

“Promise?”

“Promise. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

He felt the slightest tinge of remorse about that last part. If it turned out she wasn’t Emma, she’d never know that some of what he’d told her today was a lie. But if she was Emma, she’d find out the truth soon enough. Like her, he was a fraud.

EMMA FLEW UP THE STAIRS to change out of her slacks and into something more casual. Her heart pounded. Nervousness churned inside her stomach.

Like a football player who’d just scored a touch-down, she did a little bowlegged dance in front of the full-length mirror in her dressing room, then laughed out loud at her own craziness. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so light hearted, so excited about anything.

Dating hadn’t been part of her life. She couldn’t even remember a time lately when she’d been affected by a man, had felt a raw, physical awareness of one as she did with Whitaker Lewis. Even being in the same room with him had made her restless and achy, reminded her that she hadn’t had sex in…well, too long.

Nothing could come of this afternoon, but she wanted to go through with it nonetheless. For once, although it was only for a few hours, she longed to be a normal woman and pretend she really was “beautiful” like he’d said. Only one other man had ever called her that, and he’d been a liar.

She was lonely. Admitting it was easy. What harm was there in spending a few hours with someone to erase that loneliness temporarily, even if he was a stranger? None that she could see.

Feeling comfortable with him—that wasn’t so easy. Behind the protection of a disguise she could be sexy with men and say whatever was on her mind. Not so when she was herself, especially when she was attracted to someone.

She sucked in a breath and fortified her resolve.

“You can do this,” she told her image in the mirror.

Now, if she could only believe it.

Hastily she shed her dressy slacks and blouse. She pulled on a pair of white shorts and slipped into a matching top and tennis shoes. Her cell phone went into her pocket in case the restaurant needed to get in touch with her.

Excitement made her want to squeal like a teenager, but thirty-eight-year-old women didn’t squeal, especially thirty-eight-year-old women pretending to be forty-five.

Oh, God, would her age matter to him? When she was twenty and about to give birth to an illegitimate child, borrowing the identity of her twenty-seven-year-old friend had seemed practical. She’d wanted to appear more mature. The ruse had helped keep Tom safe. But now she hated that people thought she was older.

She pushed away her silly insecurities. Whitaker Lewis was taking her on a boat ride, nothing more. Worrying about what he might or might not think of her was ridiculous.