Foreign Affair

Dedication

Foreign Affair was the very first book I ever wrote, and I’m so thrilled Samhain Publishing has given it a new home. Thank you to all my readers, my family and friends, and anyone who’s helped let me live my dream of writing and call it a career.

Chapter One

Lena Richards kept a bright smile pasted on her face as she listened to her obnoxious client ramble on about Aspen.
Be cheerful
.
Don’t let her know you’d
like to take a butter knife to those plastic breasts.

“I want the most exclusive lodge. Not some Travel Channel knockoff deal of the week.” Her client tossed her head, but the platinum curls didn’t budge. “This is my honeymoon, for Christ’s sake.”

“Of course.” Lena gave an understanding nod. The woman wore enough dead animals to open a postmortem zoo. Beyond her clothing and accessories, nothing about the woman looked real, and she hadn’t shut up since she’d entered the travel agency. She was like one of those yakking dolls with a pull string. Only this doll had a rack like a porn star and the personality of a pit bull.

“I don’t care what the cost. I’ll make my fiancé put it on his credit card.”

“A honeymoon is special. You deserve nothing but the best. Let me find some brochures and information on Aspen for you.” Lena’s mouth curved into a smile as she opened the file cabinet to her right. “I’m actually getting married mysel—”

“I don’t give a damn if it’s my honeymoon or my weekend off. There’s nothing more appalling than middle-class lodgings.” The woman crossed her legs, and her gaze moved over Lena. Her lips thinned in obvious distaste.

What a bitch
. Lena’s mouth tightened as she searched for the Aspen folder.

No doubt, she was being written off as some Walmart-shopping Pollyanna from Hicksville.

All right, maybe she didn’t own a Louis Vuitton purse, and she didn’t own some jacket made up of dead, skinned animal—not that she’d want to. She worked at an upscale travel boutique. It brought in enough to pay the bills and keep her dressed well, but in no way did it give her an allowance to support a Hollywood wardrobe.

Lena forced her warmest smile. “Give me just a moment, Miss Monroe.”

Carolyn Monroe.
Fifty bucks said the woman had her name changed
legally so she could thrive on a dead woman’s fame.

“Ah, here we are.” Lena placed the folder on the oak desk that separated them.

As she sifted through for a particular brochure, she noticed Miss Monroe eyeing a box of imported French truffles sitting on Lena’s desk.

“Another client brought those in. Please, have one.” Lena slid the box toward her.

The woman looked horrified. “I couldn’t. Do you realize how much
fat
is in just
one
?”

Yes, have five.
Lena smiled and murmured, “I try not to look at the
nutrition label on those things.”

“Well, you should.”

Lena drew in a deep, calming breath and kept the smile on her face. This woman just begged to be slapped. She found the brochure she needed and set it aside, then took out a couple more.

“These are the more exclusive lodges. I might also add that the one on top is famous for celebrity sightings.”

As she’d predicted, Miss Monroe’s eyes lit up with pleasure, and she snatched the paper from her hand. “I’ll look these over and get back to you.”

“When is the wedding, if I might ask?”

The woman’s lips thinned. Interesting. Had it been because of the question? Or perhaps a little turbulence in the engagement?

“Early summer, I imagine. My fiancé is an architect in New York. We’re still working out the relocating bit.” Miss Monroe stood, slipping a purse that cost more than Lena made in a week over her shoulder. “Thank you for your help, Leah.”

“It’s Lena,” Lena corrected, but the woman had one foot out the door already.

“Lord, am I sorry you got that one.”

Lena glanced up as her coworker, Lakisha, approached.

“Funny, I didn’t get that impression when you took off toward the break room when she came in.” Lena smiled and then asked, “You think her boobs were real?”

“About as real as my hair.” Lakisha pointed to her braided extensions. “Wanna go get some lunch?”

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry. I had one of those drinkable yogurts on the way over.”

“Okay, gross.” Lakisha shuddered. “That’s like drinking curdled milk or something.”

Lena winced. “Thank you for that image. I probably won’t be having another one anytime soon. I just started on them because Keith is encouraging me to get down to a size six before the wedding.”

“Encouraging you?” Lakisha put her hands on her own wide hips and glowered. “Sometimes I think that fiancé of yours has got a few screws loose in his head. You ain’t got nothing to be ashamed of, girl. You got curves on that tiny little body of yours.”

“Mmm hmm.” Lena wasn’t about to argue that she had curves. Being five-three and eating fast food once a week did that. Keith had been trying to convert her to rabbit food for years. It wasn’t as if she hated it. She just didn’t want to eat it
all the time
. She didn’t tell him about the occasional fast food she downed, so he had the impression she lived as a devoted health nut.

Lena glanced at the clock. Lord, it was barely noon. Still five hours to go. Pushing down an errant strand of her short, blonde hair, she sighed.

The movement must’ve drawn Lakisha’s gaze, because she frowned and grabbed Lena’s hand.

“Where’s your ring? Seeing as you two finally set a date and all, you think you’d be flaunting it like crazy now. Is he upgrading to a new one?”

“I’m getting it resized.” The engagement had been announced almost three years ago. With all the time that had lapsed, the ring had gotten a little snugger.
Or I’ve gotten a little fatter
. “I don’t think I’d want anything too flashy on my hand anyway. Keith bought it with practicality in mind.”

“Now that just sounds like more romance than a gal can handle.” Lakisha’s tone went dry.

Lena shoved the Aspen file back into the cabinet and frowned. “Romance is overrated. It won’t secure your retirement or your kid’s college education.”

Lakisha stared at her a moment, blinked, and then threw her head back and laughed.

“Good thing you don’t believe in romance, Lena, seeing who you’re marrying and all.”
 

That comment resonated in her head long after she went home that night.

“Man, what a day.” Lena kicked the door shut and tossed her scarf onto the couch.

When there was no response, she frowned and walked down the hall toward the bedroom. “Keith?”

“In here, babe.”

She cringed, tempted to remind him there were better endearments than
babe
. She followed the sound of his voice and wound up in the bathroom. “What in the...uh, what are you doing?”

Keith glanced at her reflection in the mirror and paused, the tweezers frozen midway back to his nose. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Well...” She shook her head and averted her eyes, biting her lip to avoid laughing. “Never mind. What did you want to do for dinner?”

“Oh, I already ate. Don’t worry about cooking anything.” He jerked another hair from his nostril.

She crossed her arms, her irritation level kicking up a notch. “Actually, I wasn’t offering to cook. I’ll just run down to Dave’s Deli and get a salad.”

As she turned to leave, Keith dropped the tweezers and reached for her hand, pulling her back into the bathroom.

“That came out all wrong.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him, dropping a small kiss on her lips. “I appreciate the offer, and you know I love you.”

Lena pried his hands off her and took a step back. Had he always been this dense?

“Of course I do, Keith. I’m sorry I interrupted you.”

She snatched her scarf back off the couch and left the house, shutting the door with as much restraint as she could manage. After climbing back into her car, she sat for a moment, glancing up at the lights of the house.

Keith had balanced himself pretty precariously on her emotional tightrope lately. She’d found herself wondering, more than once, just how she’d ended up here. Going on ten years in an unmarried relationship with a man she’d dated since high school. Who would put up with that? Most women would have ditched him long ago.

With a growl of frustration, she started the engine of her Volkswagen Beetle and backed out of the driveway.

I don’t want to ditch him because I’m comfortable with him
.
There is nothing wrong with our relationship
.

There isn’t much right with it either
, another voice argued. She shook her head to be rid of the contrasting voices and turned her focus on her driving.

The road was deserted, which wasn’t unusual for the cozy neighborhood they’d chosen to live in. They’d bought the house a year ago because the buyer’s market had been so hot.

Technically they weren’t married, but legal documents or not, they might as well have already said the two sealing words.

Despite how perfect things should’ve been, they seemed to be going through some kind of slump. More sex happened in retirement homes than in her house.

The last time they’d had sex had been just terrible. Keith had come home a little frisky one night after having a few beers with the boys from the firm. He’d been the instigator, crawling into bed still dressed and more than a little drunk.

She’d awoken from a deep sleep to feel his tongue ramming into her mouth and his hands pushing up her nightshirt. It had lasted all of two minutes.

Lena shuddered and pushed away the somewhat distasteful memory.
You can’t have it both ways. You can’t have passion and fire, and still
have a stable, functional relationship.

Besides, not all the sex between her and Keith was that bad. For the most part it had a nice, pleasant feel.
And predictable
, the challenging voice piped up again.

“Lord, what is wrong with you, Lena?” she snapped aloud to herself. “You are in a mood tonight. You
like
predictable.”

Even as she insisted it, she felt the rebellious seeds of denial shouting out in protest.

Keith was the only sexual partner she’d ever had, and sometimes she wondered if that was such a good thing. It hadn’t started out the best. They’d begun dating during their senior Homecoming in high school, and she’d lost her virginity to him on their prom night not even six months later.

They hadn’t planned to have sex, had thought it better to wait, so there had never been the anticipation of making it a special occasion, perhaps even renting a hotel room or something.

Nope, nothing so grand for her. She—the good girl who had every intention of holding out until marriage—had been deflowered in the back seat of a Toyota in the parking lot at Sears. With Megadeth playing on the CD player and the torn plastic backseat as a makeshift bed, what could have been more romantic?

Lena’s head whipped to the right, and she gazed in dismay as she passed Dave’s Deli. Damn, she’d intended to stop there. She debated turning around, but then her gaze landed on those familiar golden arches.

Lifting her chin in defiance, she sped the car up. Screw being healthy.

When she returned a half hour later, Keith sat at the kitchen table going over some files. He didn’t even glance up.

“I’m sorry if I upset you,” he murmured.

Lena, feeling full and greased up from her fast food binge, gave a sweet smile and shrugged as she slipped onto the chair near him. “It’s all right. I was a little grumpy from the lack of food.”

“Well, I’m glad you got something.” He looked up and tapped her nose with his pen. “And you’re such a health nut. Just like me. You’ll be a size six in no time.”

She was not
even
about to go there. “Did anybody call for me today?”

“I don’t think so. Wait, no, Stephanie called.”

“Steph?” Lena clapped her hands together and lurched to her feet. “She promised to take me to lunch before the wedding plans got too serious.”

Keith’s lips twisted. “Ah, yes. Lunch with the trust fund baby.” Lena ignored the familiar jab at Stephanie’s rather large inheritance, grabbed the phone and dialed her best friend’s cell number.

“Talk to me.”

Lena laughed. “Good Lord, where have you been? You haven’t called in at least three weeks.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, that’s
my
job. You know I’ve been working on that film in the Caribbean.”

Lena collapsed onto the plush couch and pulled off her shoes, curling her feet underneath her bottom. “Okay, maybe I did, and I was so insanely jealous that I blocked it out.”

The laughter on the other end rang through familiar and sweet. “Yeah, be jealous of me and my lifestyle as a struggling actress. No time off, and only offers for sleazy B movies. What an absolutely thrilling life. Which is why I’m coming to take you to lunch in two days.”

“Two days? You’ll be back by then?”

“I got back to Seattle last night. I’m exhausted.” Stephanie’s tone supported her statement. “But I’ll take tomorrow to rest, and then on Saturday I’ll drive down and we can go.”