Wife for Hire (3 page)

Chapter Three

The ten days sped by like a locomotive and Owen Phipps was the conductor. Once they’d signed the contract, he’d taken the reins and before she could even settle down to regret her decision, the day had come. They’d seen each other twice during that time, once to deal with the financial aspect of things and some additional paperwork, and a second time so he could brief her on their backstory and get her measurements for a few items he felt the wife of an affluent businessman should have. On both occasions, she’d gone to bed at night only to be woken by the most intensely erotic dreams, whispered words of passion spoken in a husky Irish accent still ringing in her ears.

She shook off the memories and paced the hallway, waiting for Owen but unable to sit still a second more. Six of the puppies mimicked her motions while Sleepy nipped playfully at her heels. And what heels they were. She paused to stick out a limb and admire them once again. Nude Jimmy Choo t-strap stilettos. Her stubby little legs looked a mile long in them and she was in love. She loved the whole outfit from the chocolate cashmere jacket to the designer jeans that fit like a dream. A few days earlier, a man in a sleek black car had dropped off two suitcases and four garment bags filled with clothes. He’d handed Melba a sumptuous, ivory-colored envelope before backing out of the door with a bow.

“Feel this paper, would ya Lindy? It’s softer than a baby’s bottom. I bet it’s from your dreamy Mr. Phipps,” she’d said with a delighted cackle.

“He’s not my Mr. Phipps. I don’t want you getting ideas in your head. This isn’t a real marriage, Melba. I’m helping him out with a job. That’s all.”

The older woman waved her off. “You keep saying. Still, it’s so romantic. It’s like he’s James Bond or something and you’re Octopussy.”

Lindy had winced. “Please don’t share that sentiment with Mal or Nate.” The last thing she needed was is a new nickname.

Melba had forced her into an impromptu fashion show, which Lindy pretended was a hardship. She’d never owned such gorgeous clothes and couldn’t wait to show them off. They must have cost her new employer a small fortune. She’d wrestled with her conscience on and off since receiving them, but one more glance at his note had reassured her.

Lindy
—

Don’t
give me any hassle. You need to look the part. If it makes you feel better, you can give half of them to the homeless women’s shelter on Market Street when we get back.

—
O.

It
had
made her feel better. She’d already made her selections, and the shelter would be her first stop once they got back to town. How he knew her so well after only a few meetings and subsequent phone calls, she couldn’t fathom, but it was a little unsettling. Now that her initial fears had been truly squelched by a list of references and the dossier he’d provided, she had to face her attraction to him head on. No longer diluted by paranoia, it was a pretty heady thing, and she wondered if she’d find him as devastatingly distracting today as she had the other times they’d met. She sure hoped not, or it was going to be a long three weeks.

A staccato knock interrupted her thoughts and sent the puppies into a frenzy. “Coming,” she called, snatching her coat from the chair as she passed. Her stomach twisted and she laid her hand on the knob. He hadn’t seen her makeover. Would she pass muster in the harsh light of day?

She swung the door open and froze. Owen crowded the doorway, his broad body filling the space. His dark, freshly cut hair was still damp from the shower. He wore his coat open over an athletic fit camel-colored sports jacket. The ensemble emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and his lean waist.

He’s your employer and temporary no-sex husband and you are on a job,
she reminded herself firmly. “Good to see you again. Come on in,” she said, bending low to shoo the puppies back and make a path for him.

“Thanks.” He stepped in fast, closing the door before any of them could make a break for it. “Quick little buggers, aren’t they?”

“Yeah. Mal is going to take them to his house for the next few weeks. He should be here any minute.”

Owen glanced around the room. “What about your friend? Mrs. MacElroy?”

“Melba is staying with Nate. Neither wanted to deal with the puppies, so they drew straws. If you ask me, Nate got the tougher end of the deal.”

“Is she difficult to get along with?”

She contemplated that for a moment and then shook her head. “Get along with? Nope, she’s a dream in that sense. Funny, loyal, caring. It’s just things tend to…happen when she’s around. It’s amazing how such a tiny woman can cause such chaos. I’ll miss her when she moves out, though. It’s like having a really destructive mom around the house.”

Owen’s gaze collided with hers. “And your own mother is?”

“My parents are both dead. Car crash when I was ten.” Better to say it plainly, no frills, but give enough info to stay avoid further questions. She had a lot of practice.

“I’m so sorry to hear that.”

Oftentimes, especially with virtual strangers, it was a platitude. The things people said when they didn’t know what else to say. But something in Owen’s eyes made her believe that he understood and truly was sorry to hear it. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

He opened his mouth as if to say more, then closed it with a snap, opting instead to pick up two of the three suitcases in the foyer. “I’ll start loading the car while you wait for your brother.” He headed for the door but paused, turning to face her. Taking her in from head to toe with a lingering look, he gave a curt nod. “You look great, by the way.”

He had set her up with a stylist at the chic Cirque salon the day before, and she’d gotten the full treatment. The girls over there were truly a coven of fairy godmothers, and when she’d walked out, she felt like a movie star. Now, his offhand compliment sent a warm thrill through her that she refused to examine. He walked out just as Mal jogged lightly up the steps onto the porch.

“Hey, there, sis.” His greeting was aimed at her, but his hard gaze was locked on her employer. “You must be Phipps.”

“I am.”

“I’m Mal, Lindy’s very protective younger brother.”

A shark-like grin split Owen’s face. He had a good couple inches and thirty pounds of solid muscle on her rangy brother and clearly felt he knew how to use it. Still, his response was polite, considering Mal was the second Knight in a week to all but accuse him of malicious intent.

He stuck out a hand and Mal shook it warily. “You don’t need to worry. I’ve no intention of mistreating your sister. My mother would come back from the dead and kick my arse if I ever hurt a lady. Especially one that looks like a pixie.” He treated Mal to a rakish wink, scooped up the bags, and headed toward the car.

“Okay, well she gave me your information, so if there’s a problem, all I need to do is make a call, and…” he trailed off, realizing that Owen had no intention of turning around to complete the conversation. Her brother faced her, concern marring his usually puckish face. “Lin, are you sure you want to do this? The new job is going well, I’m hitting all my sales goals. You could sell the house and stay with me until you find something else.”

“No way. I appreciate the offer, bro, but I love my little house and I love my independence even more. It’s going to be great, you’ll see. This is the first vacation I’ve had in years and I’ll come back rested, flush with enough cash to buy me a few months to find a job I really love.” She tugged a lock of his auburn hair until he met her gaze. “Trust me, okay?”

He nodded half-heartedly. “Okay. But call me every couple of days, all right? I won’t sleep if you don’t.”

“Deal.” She gave him her key and grabbed the remaining suitcase. “Love you,” she said, bussing him lightly on the cheek. “And remind Nate to make sure Melba takes her pills every morning.”

“Will do.”

She plastered a reassuring smile on her face and gave him a jaunty wave before starting down the walkway. Owen hefted her bags one by one into the trunk, his coat pulling tight across the breadth of his shoulders, black hair gleaming in the winter sun. A sizzle went through her as she imagined trailing her hands over those muscles, and the smile slid from her face. He might not be a sociopath, but one thing was for sure.

She was still very much in danger of getting hurt.

…

“Breathe through your nose. There’s a girl,” he murmured with a wince. The private jet had left the ground and Lindy’s fingers dug deeper into his palm with every foot they ascended. They were like little talons. Good thing her nails weren’t overly long or his hands would have been mincemeat.

“Everything’s fine, everything’s fine,” Lindy whispered under her breath. From the time they’d boarded ten minutes earlier, the mantra had been almost continuous. Her eyes were scrunched closed, her face had been drained of all color, and her body was curled into itself like a badger that had seen a fox.

Now was probably not the time to ask why she hadn’t told him about her fear of flying. Nonetheless, the question burned on his tongue. He might’ve suggested she see the physician for something to calm her nerves. Instead, he was playing nursemaid.

The plane smoothly gained altitude and, after a few minutes, Lindy opened one eye. “Are we out of the woods yet, you think?” she squeaked.

“I would say so, yes, but I’m not an expert.”

Wrong thing to say. Her eye snapped closed and she hunkered further into her seat.

“I have flown hundreds of times, though,” he said, “and I’ve never even come close to crashing.”

“So you think you’re probably due, then?”

His annoyance faded and he smothered a chuckle. “Ah, no. My pilot is the best, and even if he wasn’t, I don’t think that’s how it works. But you’re an intelligent woman. You already know this is the safest way to travel, and have probably told yourself that repeatedly. No matter what I say, it’s not going to make you feel better because your fear isn’t rational. Instead of talking about it, let’s try to distract you. If you release my hand I’ll have Elspeth get us a drink. Maybe a brandy would calm your nerves some.”

She opened the other eye and slowly relinquished the death grip on his fingers. “Maybe.”

They reached cruising altitude, and the plane leveled off. He motioned to his flight attendant. “A brandy for the lady and a scotch, neat, for me.”

“Certainly, sir.”

As she left to get their drinks, Lindy struggled into a more normal sitting position.

“Why don’t I fill you in on some things about the job? When we get there, we’ll be asked to complete some questionnaires so we want to have our story straight. Have you had a chance to look over the file?”

She nodded. “Several times. Want to quiz me about our life together?”

He shrugged. “Sure.” If making it into a game would keep her mind off the whole twenty-thousand feet off the ground thing, he was willing. “All right, then. What’s your name?”

“Belinda O’Neil, but I go by Lindy. I’m twenty-eight and live in Great Neck, Long Island.”

“And your husband?”

“Management consultant Owen O’Neil. Age thirty-five. He enjoys racquetball and sailing. Favorite meal is steak au poivre, blanched asparagus, and parsnip puree,” she recited neatly.

He nodded, pleased she’d done her homework. “All true, by the way, aside from the last name and the job title. I left the interests section of your dossier blank so we could fill it in together. The best lies are close to the truth. No reason for you not to add your hobbies, so long as we can tweak them to match our jet-setting lifestyle.”

“What do you really do for a living, anyway?”

“I’m a venture capitalist.”

She eyed the luxurious aircraft, her sharp gaze flicking from the buttery leather seats to the cabin-sized flat-screen TV. “Must be a pretty sweet gig.”

He gave a curt nod. “Not too shabby. I’m rather good at it.”

“I do have one question, though. Aren’t you nervous Nico will figure out who you are? Can your cover withstand some poking around if he gets suspicious? Or what if he sees the resemblance between you and Cara? There are people I’ve seen in the grocery store and have said ‘Oh, that must be Bill Macullough’s daughter’ because they look so much alike. Plus the accent…”

“Not an issue. I hired a friend who owns a security firm to build our covers. He doesn’t know the details, just that we’re here and I needed some aliases, which he was happy to supply. I don’t think Nico has the time or the means to get through all the layers, and frankly, why would he bother trying? With regard to Cara, she’s my half-sister. My father left my mother for hers.”

Lindy’s eyes clouded with sympathy and he looked away. Why had he even said that? It wasn’t at all pertinent to the conversation. He pressed on briskly. “At any rate, we grew up on separate continents, so she talks like a Yank. He won’t know me.”

“Can I ask how you got so close if you lived so far away?”

“We weren’t close at all until about ten years ago. She’s the only family I have left and vice versa. Part of the reason I relocated to New York was to expand my business to the States, but I won’t lie. The thought of living closer to Cara was certainly a consideration. Especially now when she needs me. I’ve been here for three months and, frankly, I can’t imagine moving back to Belfast now. It’s been really nice having her so close.”

“I feel the same about my brothers,” she said softly. They hit a patch of turbulence and she cringed. “Ugh.”

“Focus on me, all right? We’ve got work to do and I’m paying you a lot of money to do it, so focus.” He held her gaze while he spoke, and took a pen and small notepad from his sports jacket.

“Y-you’re right. Go ahead.”

“When is your birthday?”

“May eighth.”

“Hobbies?”

“I love to bake for people. I try to go to the nursing home near my house twice a month and bring goodies. Cookies, cupcakes, and they love my rice pudding.”

Of course they did. He pursed his lips. “Let’s say we put down ‘Enjoys gourmet cooking.’”

She chuckled and a little of the color seemed to return to her face. “That’s a stretch, but I’ll take it. I can’t cook a lick. Baking is a whole other ballgame.”