Wife Is A 4-Letter Word Page 5

  Alan felt his knees weaken, and averted his glance to the ceiling as he cleared his throat. “Okay.” The plastic bag rattled.

  “And a hair dryer.”

  “Sure.” He sneaked another peek. Her back was still turned, and she was still standing butt up, the towel barely covering her. Squeezing his eyes shut, he suppressed a groan.

  “Are you okay?”

  His eyes snapped open. Pam was staring at him, squinting.

  “Uh, tired and hungry, same as you, I suppose.”

  She nodded toward the bathroom. “You’ll feel better once you shower.”

  Gratefully, he escaped to the bathroom, where he leaned heavily against the closed door for a few seconds to compose himself. But he was still muttering to himself a few minutes later when he stepped under the cold spray of the cramped shower. Any other man would have ripped off that towel and carried Pam to the bed... so why hadn’t he? Sighing, he massaged his tired neck muscles. Because Pam would have welcomed it from any other man. But he’d been around Pam enough to realize she saw him as little more than a big brother—completely asexual. Why else would she have sashayed into the room practically naked, as if he wasn’t there? She hadn’t acknowledged his masculinity enough even to be modest around him. It was downright insulting. Just because he wasn’t like the Neanderthals she typically dated didn’t mean he wasn’t alive.

  A tapping sound on the shower glass startled him. “Alan?”

  He froze, then whirled, instinctively crossing his hands over his privates.

  4

  PAM BUNKED. She’d seen so-so bodies and she’d seen good bodies. But who would have thought this magnificent specimen had been walking around Savannah all this time disguised as Alan Parish? Wide, muscled shoulders, smooth chest, washboard stomach...now if only he’d move his damn hands out of the way.

  Through the steamed glass of the shower door, his face was screwed up in anger. “Pam!” he yelled. “Do you just walk in on a person no matter what they’re doing?”

  Pam gave him a wry smile. “Don’t get your bowels all twisted, Alan. Unless yours is green, you don’t have anything I haven’t seen before. Your secretary is on the phone.”

  “Linda?” he asked, talking above the noise of the water.

  “How many secretaries do you have?”

  “Has she found another place for me—us—to stay?”

  Pam sighed impatiently. “I didn’t ask, Alan. I think she’s still recovering from the fact that a woman answered the phone.”

  His eyes widened. “Did you think to disguise your voice?”

  She planted her hands on her hips in annoyance. “Sorry, I was fresh out of helium, but I think we’re safe.”

  Alan nodded, the water streaming down his face. “You’re probably right—she’d never suspect you were here with me.”

  “No one would,” Pamela agreed dryly. “Not in a million years.”

  He stared at her, nodding and dripping, then sputtered, “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “Well, hand me a towel!”

  Pam grinned, enjoying his self-consciousness, then reached for the remaining bath towel folded not so neatly on the toilet tank. She dangled the flimsy cloth in front of the shower door and watched as he considered uncovering himself to retrieve it. Thirty seconds passed.

  Alan shifted and blushed deep pink. “Just drape it over the top of the stall, will you?”

  Pressing her lips together to control her smirk, Pam tossed the towel over the top of the shower door and Alan grabbed it just as it passed his waist. She laughed and exited the room shaking her head.

  Imagine, she thought as she collapsed on a yellow beanbag chair and began to untangle her wet hair, Alan was modest. It was actually kind of... refreshing in an attractive man, quite the opposite from the chest-pounding antics of her transient lovers. Then she frowned. Maybe Alan was more than just a “lights off” kind of guy—maybe he harbored a host of hang-ups that kept him from enjoying sex. Her friend Jo had never gone into specifics, and even though Pam had been dying to know details, she’d respected her friend’s privacy.

  The sound of the bathroom door opening broke into her thoughts. Alan emerged in a pair of navy sweatpants and strode over to the phone. He was polishing his glasses with the bath towel and didn’t look at her, but the set of his shoulders told her he was still ruffled by her invasion. He shoved aside the wet hair hanging in his eyes, yanked up the handset and turned his back to Pam.

  “Hello, Linda?”

  Unabashed, Pam used the opportunity to more closely scrutinize his startling physique. His skin was damp and glowing, golden and sleek, like a swimmer’s.

  “You just got back from the wedding? They must have had a blowout reception.”

  His shoulders were wide and covered with knotty muscle that rolled under his skin as he paced around the nightstand, gripping the phone.

  “No, Linda, don’t feel bad—I’m glad you enjoyed the champagne...well, thanks for the condolences, but it’s probably for the best.”

  She could smell the clean, soapy scent of him even at this distance, stirred up every time he pivoted on his bare feet.

  “Yeah, I decided to take the trip anyway.”

  Pam squinted at the length and width of his feet, made a few mental calculations, then pursed her lips in admiration.

  “Let’s just say this place is not exactly what I expected.”

  The baggy sweatpants dipped low to reveal the top of his hard-won boxers and a narrow waist. Being a computer nerd must be more physically demanding than she thought.

  “Actually, Linda, it’s a dump.”

  Now that she thought of it, she had passed him going in and out of the workout club a couple of times.

  “What do you mean, this is the only room available?”

  His butt was narrow and hard, like a greyhound’s... aerodynamic...built for speed. Desire struck low in her abdomen, shocking her.

  “The woman who answered?” Alan glanced at her over his shoulder, then quickly back to the phone. “Uh, nobody... that is...nobody you’d know.” He laughed nervously. “A m-maid.”

  Pam frowned, but a knock at their door and thoughts of food distracted her. She scrambled up and swung open the door, then practically snatched the covered food tray from Twiggy’s hands. When the girl stuck out her skinny foot to prevent Pam from shutting the door, Pam smirked, set down the tray and shoved a five-dollar bill into her bony hand.

  She slammed the door with a bang and motioned for Alan to get off the phone. He nodded, his face a mask of frustration. “Just keep checking, Linda, and let me know when you find something.”

  By the time he hung up, Pam was already sitting cross-legged on the water bed and lifting the lid from their meal.

  “Bad news.” He sat on the edge of the mattress and triggered a small tidal wave.

  “I know—no pickles,” Pam said, staring down at a platter of grilled-cheese sandwiches.

  “Linda says it’s the height of the season, and with Valentine’s Day only a few days away, everything is booked.”

  “Damn,” she mumbled, sinking her teeth resignedly into the surprisingly good sandwich. “I really wanted pickles.”

  “She’s going to call if something opens up.”

  “Mmphh,” Pam said, licking gooey orange cheese from her finger.

  Alan stared at the food tray. “I ordered steak. That is not steak.”

  “But it’s good,” she mumbled, cracking open a can of cold soda.

  “And that is definitely not wine.”

  She glanced up at him. “You ordered wine?”

  He blushed, then stammered. “W-well, you know, the meals are already paid for.”

  “I thought I was too tired to eat, but I was wrong.” She stuffed in the last bite of her sandwich.

  Alan picked up a sandwich by the corner and sniffed it. “Cholesterol city.”

  “My hometown,” Pam said with a smile, then she tore off a huge chunk of a second gr
easy sandwich. “Live a little, Alan.”

  He wrinkled his nose and took a tentative bite, then chewed slowly. “Linda said the wedding was a big hit.”

  At the serious tone of his voice, Pam stopped munching and searched for something comforting to say, but nothing came to mind.

  “I thought Jo really loved me,” Alan said without self-pity. He seemed genuinely perplexed.

  “She did,” Pam quickly assured him. “She told me so many times.”

  “Then she fooled us both.”

  Pam shook her head, then finger-combed her wet bangs. “That’s not true—Jo doesn’t have a deceitful bone in her body. Look how close she came to marrying you because she thought it was the right thing to do.”

  Alan gave her a wry smile. “Pam, don’t ever go into motivational speaking.”

  “Okay, that didn’t come out just right, but you get the gist—she really does care about hurting you.”

  His blue eyes darkened. “I knew John Sterling was trouble the minute I laid eyes on him.”

  Pam chose her words carefully. “It takes two to tango, Alan.” Then she muttered to herself, “Three in France.”

  He sighed heavily. “You’re right. She certainly fell hard for him.”

  Sympathy barbed through Pam—the man had been robbed of the future he’d planned. She felt compelled to say something. “Well, if you ask me, Jo missed out.” Pam leaned sideways to give Alan’s shoulders a friendly squeeze, but she was unprepared for the electricity beneath her fingers when she made contact with his smooth skin. Alan jerked his head around and their faces were mere inches apart.

  For a few seconds, neither one spoke. Pam swallowed audibly.

  “Do you really think she missed out?” Alan asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his gaze locked with hers.

  Sirens went off in Pam’s head. She fought the waves of awareness that flooded her—his scent, his warmth, his incredible physique. Her body softened and hardened in response. Sexual energy flamed to the surface and singed the fringes of her mind. Incredibly, a message was delivered to her brain amidst the smoke and fire. It’s Alan. Alan—who’s still in love with your best friend.

  Pam inhaled sharply and pulled back carefully, not wanting to make the moment even more awkward. The fluid mattress bumped them up and down. She laughed nervously. “Yeah, I do,” she said brightly, then swept her arm out toward the room. “She missed all of this on her wedding night.”

  To her relief, Alan smiled and looked around. “Something tells me she wouldn’t have appreciated all this, um, atmosphere as much as you do. Jo would never have climbed into that ridiculous tub.”

  “It was fun.”

  “And she would never have sat on a beanbag chair.”

  “The most underrated furniture on the market, in my opinion.”

  “And this bed...” He laughed, smacking the shiny comforter, then bobbing up and down with the waves. “She would never—” He stopped midlaugh and glanced up, then blushed.

  Pam grinned and shrugged. “She might have surprised you. Water beds aren’t so bad.”

  With one eyebrow raised, Alan reached for another sandwich. “You speak from experience, I take it.”

  She nodded amiably. “My first experience, as a matter of fact. Which was so unremarkable, it’s a wonder I don’t have a bad association with water beds.”

  He laughed again. “My first time was less than memorable, too. To this day I have an aversion to spiral stairs.”

  Surprise shot through her, and she couldn’t keep it out of her voice. “Spiral stairs? You, Alan?”

  His smile was sheepish. “I seem to remember that was also my first introduction to Kentucky bourbon.”

  “Ah,” she said knowingly. “Been there, done that.” She dropped her half-eaten cheese sandwich onto the platter and stifled a huge yawn. “I think the day is catching up with me, but it’s scarcely ten-thirty.”

  He glanced toward the television cabinet. “How about a movie before we, um, turn in?”

  “Sure,” she said, shifting on the bed, flashing forward to their sleeping arrangements. She felt restless and uncomfortable with her newfound attraction to Alan, and grateful he didn’t share her momentary indiscriminate horniness. But the thought of sleeping with Alan and then returning to Savannah to face her friend Jo was enough to have her begging her guardian angel for strength.

  She watched out of the corner of her eye as Alan removed the food tray and slid it onto the dresser. He moved with casual elegance, running a hand through his drying hair, separating the glossy strands. Pam groaned and crossed her arms over her saluting breasts, squeezed her eyes shut and whispered, “Oh Holy Angel, forsake me not...”

  At the sound of his moan, she peeked. Alan leaned over and arched his back, cracking and popping the stretched vertebrae, flexing his well-toned upper body. Sweat broke out on her upper lip. “...give no place to the evil demon to subdue me...”

  “I hope this free video library has something decent to offer.” He straightened, then walked over to the cabinet and swung open the door. When he knelt down to finger the row of black video cases, his baggy sweatpants inched even lower, revealing more of the new pale blue boxers.

  “...take me by my wretched and outstretched hand...”

  “Oh, great,” he scoffed, his back to her. “Denise Does Denver, Long, Dark, and Lonesome, and the soon-to-be-classic Tripod Man.”

  “...and keep me from the front—I mean, every affront of the enemy...”

  “Did you say something, Pam?”

  Her eyes widened. Alan was squinting back at her over his shoulder. She straightened and smiled, her mind racing. “N-no, just reciting my to-do list for tomorrow.”

  He frowned. “To go shopping?”

  “No, I, uh...I have a big home deal in the works that I have to check on.” Which was the absolute truth, although she hadn’t given it any thought until now.

  “Anyplace I’d know?”

  “The Sheridan house.”

  He whistled low. “That should be quite a commission.”

  “That’s why I need to check on it.”

  After reshelving the tapes, he retrieved the remote control and pushed himself up from the floor to sit at the foot of the bed. With his back to her still, he asked, “Isn’t the Sheridan house haunted?”

  Pam felt the wave he’d started ripple beneath her rear end. “Please don’t add fuel to that rumor—the house has been on the market for nearly two years and I finally have an interested buyer.” And please don’t come any closer.

  “Hey—‘X-Files’ reruns.” He turned and clambered up to join her on the bed, a happy grin on his face. After stacking the slippery, bumpy pillows behind his back, he scratched his bare, flat stomach and crossed his long legs at the ankles.

  Pam held her breath, rattled by his nearness. Her head bobbed from the rolling mattress. “I’ve seen this episode,” she said, exhaling.

  He turned his head toward her and pushed his glasses higher on his nose. “Really? You like this show?”

  “Never miss it—I’m a big science-fiction fan.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Me, too.”

  Pam sat perfectly still, her thigh a mere eight inches from Alan’s elbow. “So, do you think Mulder and Scully will ever get together?”

  Alan made a clicking sound with his cheek and shook his head, his fair hair splaying against the shiny gold pillows. “I hope not.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they’re great just the way they are. Sex would...would—” He waved vaguely into the air. “Well, you know—”

  “Complicate things,” Pam offered, trying to relax.

  He nodded. “Cloud the picture.”

  “Muddy the waters.”

  “Yeah, I’d hate to see them backslide to the ‘X-rated Files.’” Alan smiled and forced himself to take his eyes off Pam and concentrate on the television show. His skin tingled from her proximity and he had to keep his leg bent in order to hide the other physical r
eaction she provoked. “Of course it’s obvious that Mulder thinks Scully is really hot.”

  “You think?”

  “Sure,” he said, sneaking another peek up at her from his reclined position. He was eye level with her chest...and she wasn’t wearing a bra. She glanced down at him, twisting a lock of dark blond hair around her finger. His bent leg began to tremble. “Can’t you tell by the way he, um, looks at her all the time?”

  She squinted at the screen. “Does he?”

  “Yeah, and haven’t you noticed that they’re always invading each other’s personal space?”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Eighteen inches. Americans like to keep a private space of eighteen inches around them.” He started to draw an imaginary arc around him, but stopped when he realized the line would encompass Pam. His leg was practically jerking now. “Th-that space is reserved for, uh—”

  “Intimacy?” she prompted, looking completely innocent.

  His pulse leaped. “Or k-keyboards,” he croaked.

  Her finely arched eyebrows drew together. “What?”

  He shrugged, suddenly feeling foolish. “Computer humor—most of us spend more time with our PC’s than with any one person.”

  “Agreed—more than with any one person,” she said, smiling wryly, then breaking out in a huge yawn.

  Great, Parish. Not only is your conversation putting her to sleep, but you come off looking like some kind of freak who’s turned on by his mainframe. And he hadn’t missed her unnecessary reminder that when it came to sex, she liked to experiment. Which was an even bigger slap in the face considering they were in bed together and she was fighting to keep her eyes open.

  He turned his attention back to the television, trying to lose himself in the fantasy on the screen. His wedding night was turning out to be somewhat less exciting than he’d hoped for. Not that he’d invited Pam along as a substitute for Jo—sleeping with her hadn’t entered his mind.

  Well, okay, so it had entered his mind, but not seriously. Not any more than when he saw a gorgeous model or movie star on TV. To him, Pamela had always seemed just as distant, just as untouchable. And even though the long expanse of her bare leg beckoned to him just a few inches away, she might as well have been still in Savannah for all the good it would do him.