Free Wife for a Day by Patti Berg

her shoulders. “I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect accomplice tonight.”
    The word accomplice brought her back to her senses, made her think of something sinister, made her remember that the night had only been a game, that she’d been paid to do a job. If they went any further tonight, she’d feel as if she’d been paid for that, too.
    And she wasn’t a whore. She’d loved her mama with all her heart, but she wasn’t like her and never would be.
    â€œStop. Please.” She pulled out of Jack’s arms, pushed the straps back to her shoulders, and walked toward the bedroom. “I’m going to change. It’s late, and I need to get home.”
    He didn’t argue or try to coax her into something more. He’d never know how much she appreciated that, because if he’d given her any kind of excuse, she might have rushed back into his embrace. She already felt guilty about deceiving Jack’s sister; she didn’t want to feel shame and disgrace, too.
    She could feel his heated gaze on her back long after she closed the door. She wondered if he might try to follow. She wanted him to; she didn’t want him to. She wanted to go back out to him; she didn’t want to.
    She leaned against the door. Oh, Mama. What should I do?
    The answer suddenly came into view. Sitting just inside the bedroom she saw Jack’s luggage, two expensive leather bags that had been found in some other airport and returned to Palm Beach. The suitcases reminded her that he was rich, that he could afford anything he wanted—a last-minute tux, a rented fiancée, a temporary makeover for a girl from the wrong side of the tracks. It also served as another reminder that the past few hours had been nothing more than a one-night stand. It was over now. Time to pack up and go home.
    Slowly, she locked the door to keep him out.
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    Jack heard the distinct click of the lock, answering the question he’d been asking ever since she pulled out of his arms: does she want me to follow her?
    Hell, she didn’t want him to follow. She didn’t want him anywhere near. She’d been paid for a job, she’d performed her part to perfection, and she was ready to go home—his feelings, his needs be damned!
    Stalking across the room, he took his checkbook from the inside pocket of the coat he’d worn on his flight from Wyoming. He still owed the redhead five thousand dollars for spying on Peter Leighton, and he didn’t holdany hopes that she’d turn it down.
    Arabella had liked his money. She’d never come right out and told him so, but she’d had a knack for spending one hell of a lot. The handful of women he’d dated before Arabella hadn’t been much different. He’d never really cared about the money issue because he had plenty to spare.
    But the redhead asked for money right off the bat. As far as she was concerned, he was a means to making big bucks fast and easy.
    That annoyed the hell out of him.
    He grabbed a pen from the desk and scribbled the date on the check, then hesitated at payee. Damn! He still didn’t know her name.
    He filled out the rest of the blanks, stuffed the check into the pocket of his tux, then went to the humidor and took out a cigar. Next he poured himself a swallow of whiskey and felt the burn in his throat as he swigged it down.
    Staring at the bedroom door, he thought about knocking to find out what was taking her so long. Maybe she was changing her mind about staying. He didn’t want to interrupt her thoughts if that was the case.
    God, he didn’t want her to go.
    Not now.
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    Sam stood in front of the dresser in her How Tacky ensemble. She took the pinsfrom her hair and let it fall, and pulled her own lipstick from her tote and painted her mouth cherry red. She almost felt like herself again, except for the diamonds.
    She touched the earrings and necklace that she hadn’t yet removed.