Wife by Wednesday (6 page)

He crossed to the table and sat.

Working quietly, Samantha handed him a cup before she sprinkled a little sugar in her coffee.

As the first sip met her lips, she sunk into her chair with a sigh. The sound was throaty and brought another wave of awareness over his skin. He needed to get the hell out of Vegas or all bets for not bedding his wife were off.

Not realizing her effect on him, Samantha lifted her legs and sat them on the opposite chair. The robe gapped open revealing a flash of thigh.

Blake’s body responded with a vengeance. His hardened length pushed to painful levels, forcing him to shift in his chair to avoid Samantha’s notice.

“How did you sleep?” she asked, not bothering to cover her alabaster skin.

“Okay,” he lied, trying hard to divert his eyes from her thighs.

“Really? I toss and turned. I’m more keyed up about this marriage than I thought I would be.”

How difficult would it be to tell her he felt the same? But then, that would sound as if he wasn’t in control. Blake had to have an iron fist on everything in his life, including his marriage.

“I’m sure you’ll get used to it. Especially after I leave for
London
.”

She reached forward and removed a piece of toast from the plate. “When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” She sounded surprised.

“I’ll take you back to LA, introduce you to my staff and Carter, and then prepare to go.”

She nibbled on her bread. “Won’t that look suspicious, you leaving so soon after our marriage?”

“It might, so we’ll have to make things look good. Daily phone calls, something that proves we’re talking to each other. My father’s lawyers are merciless. They hired private eyes on behalf of my father when I was in college to report back about my transgressions.”

“Isn’t that extreme?”

“My father offered kickbacks, lucrative kickbacks for every offence they found. I doubt anything has changed since his death.” Because Blake didn’t want to dive into more family history quite yet, he asked, “Do you have a passport?”

“Not since I was twenty and the Feds took it. There shouldn’t be a problem with me obtaining one. In any event, it will be a good excuse as to why I’m not with you.” She was smiling now, waking up as she finished her first cup of coffee. He didn’t think his switch of subjects went unnoticed, but she kept any questions she had to herself. “I’ll start the paperwork on Monday.”

“Sounds good.”

“I was thinking, last night when I couldn’t sleep, if I should change my name or not. A lot of women keep their names even after they marry. It might be easier.” She sat forward and dished up some scrambled eggs.

He didn’t like the sound of that, and would question why later. “If we had married for love and not for convenience, would you have taken my name?”

“But we didn’t.”

“But what if we had?”

She glanced down at the family ring he’d placed on her finger the day before. “Yes, I probably would have.”

He finished his coffee with a smug sense of satisfaction. “Then you change your name. I don’t want anyone questioning anything. We’ll have enough obstacles to overcome with you and I living the majority of this year on different continents.”

She looked like she wanted to argue, but sighed instead. “You’re probably right.”

“I’m going to set up an account for you before I leave, and give you the keys to my house here.” The thought of her walking around his house in a fuzzy white robe brought a smile to his face.

“That isn’t necessary.”

“I disagree,” he said, dishing up his own eggs, sausage, and toast. “I wouldn’t leave a wife without resources.”

“Fine, but I won’t use them. I don’t need your money, at least not now that you’ve taken care of
Jordan
, and I have my own place.” She chewed her food slowly before swallowing.

“I still owe you your twenty percent. Use the account, Samantha. My wife wouldn’t go without and I won’t have people saying I’m not taking care of you.”

She dropped her hand to the table. “I won’t ruin your image, Blake.”

“You will if you’re driving an old car and skimping on personal items. I’m not suggesting you buy a yacht, just don’t shop at the big box stores.” He pictured the media catching her in WalMart and cringed.

“You realize how snobby that sounds, right?’

“I don’t care. My girlfriends shopped at designer stores, my wife won’t be taking dresses off the sale rack.” Blake noticed her jaw tighten and prepared himself for an argument.

“Is there something wrong with how I dress?”

Oh, boy… he was walking in a minefield without a lead jacket. “I didn’t say that.”

“Oh, yes you did.”

He stopped eating. “You know I’m right about this.”

Her lips twitched but she didn’t deny him. “Fine.”

“Good.”
I won
. Lord, when was the last time he’d argued with a woman about not wanting to spend his money? He found a smile on his lips.

“What’s so funny?”

Her eyes were sparkling with unreleased fury. They were drop-dead gorgeous.

“I think we just had our first marital spat.”

Her shoulders slumped and folded in with laughter. “I guess we did.”

“And I won,” he pointed out.

Samantha fixed him with a heated stare. “Don’t expect that to continue.”

No, he mused. He wasn’t delusional enough to think he’d win every time. However, winning the first placed a certain amount of whip cream on top of his marital pie.

Twenty-six hours after they said
I do
, the media found Samantha and Blake as they disembarked from Blake’s jet. Thank God she had the foresight to bring large framed sunglasses to hide the stress in her eyes. The media hadn’t changed since her father’s arrest. They blocked their way, snapped pictures, and asked questions.

Blake kept a possessive arm around her waist as he ushered her from the airport. With any luck, someone in
Hollywood
would fall off the wagon and remove the spotlight by the end of the weekend; otherwise, she’d be dealing with the paparazzi alone. Blake called out little things as they passed, words like,
the love of my life
and
she knocked my socks off
. He sounded so sincere. If she wasn’t in on his ploy, even she would have believed him. At one point, Blake dipped his lips to her ear and whispered, “It will be worse in
Europe
so take hold of your inner snob and smile.”

She laughed and leaned against him to make her way around a car door. The photo snapped at that moment made it on all major television channels and three tabloids magazines.

Blake’s friend Carter turned out to be a surprise. His blond hair and surfer good looks were opposite of her husband. He was smart, pragmatic, and had a killer sense of humor. He’d given Sam his cell phone number and encouraged her to use it if she needed anything while Blake was out of town.

As mapped out, Blake gave Samantha access to his home that sat above
Malibu
with beautiful ocean views. The estate was huge. Ten thousand square feet on ten acres. His staff included a cook, a maid, and a crew to care for the grounds. Neil, Blake’s driver, watched over the staff and lived in a guest cottage. The size of the man would intimidate a football team. Blake made it clear that he doubled as a bodyguard.

Once Samantha found herself back in her rented townhome, and she’d wished her husband a safe flight, she fell into thought. Blake’s assessment and execution of taking a wife had been an extremely smart move. Even a strong woman like herself turned her head at the wealth of her husband. She twisted the ring on her finger and admired it. “I don’t even want to know what you cost,” she murmured to her hand. She’d have to return it in fifty-four weeks, but she’d enjoy it until then.

The door to her townhome slammed after she heard Eliza yell, “No comment.”

“Holy shit, how long are we going to have to put up with that?” More friend than employee, Eliza swung her purse off her arm and tossed it on the coffee table.

“They’ll go away in a day or two.”

“You sound so sure.”

“Been there, done that. Our divorce will bring out even more media.”

Eliza tossed a paper on the table. It opened to the now familiar photograph of Sam and Blake laughing. “You two are very convincing.”

Samantha smiled. Despite her desire for the media to disappear, she liked the pictures they’d taken. After all, they were her wedding photos. “We don’t look half bad together.”

“Half bad? You guys look happy as larks.”

“Do larks look happy?” Sam teased.

“I’ve no idea. I’m sorry I didn’t meet him when he dropped you off.” Eliza flopped onto the couch and tossed her long legs up on the coffee table.

“He didn’t, actually, his driver did.”

“Driver?” Eliza had the most amazing chocolate brown eyes that shot up with her question.

“He’s rich. Why on earth would he drive himself?” Samantha laughed and rolled her eyes, doing her best snob impersonation.

“Well, La-T-Da. Excuse me.” But her friend was laughing.

The business phone rang and Eliza jumped from the couch to answer it. “
Alliance
.”

Samantha lent half an ear while Eliza listened to the person on the line.

Even with him towering over her vertically challenged frame, the picture of her and Blake wasn’t that bad.

“We don’t have any comments at this time,” Eliza was saying. “No, we’re not an escort service… Again, no comment.” With a frustrated sigh, she hung up.

“I should have seen that coming.” The media would tear up her business if given a chance.

“We should probably have a standard statement to give them.”

“Good idea. I’ll draft something and run it past Blake.”

The phone rang again with another reporter asking questions. Within a half an hour, Sam and Eliza gave up and unplugged the business line. With any luck, the hype would blow over soon. The publicity could bring in new clients, so long as Samantha could maintain their anonymity. With every entertainment press sitting on her doorstep, that couldn’t happen so she’d have to put off new customers for a while.

“This is crazy,” Eliza said as she flicked the shades from the living room closed. A few paparazzi had camped out on the street and managed to swing their lenses around every time either one of them popped open the blinds.

“I’ll make us some dinner. You don’t mind staying tonight, do you?” Eliza had lived in the spare room up until she moved in with her current boyfriend six months prior.

“Is that your way of asking me to stay?”

“Hell yeah, I don’t want to be alone with them outside. They’ll just follow you home anyway,” Sam told her.

“Fine, but I get to pick the movie. Tell me you have wine.”

“Don’t I always?” Samantha turned off the lights on her porch and fastened the deadbolt on the front door. The two of them dressed down into sweats and comfortable t-shirts and settled in front of the television with slices of cheap pizza and a nice bottle of Merlot.

“I have a feeling we won’t be doing this much more,” Eliza said between bites.

“Why’s that?” Sam was writing a few notes in her notebook, trying to work a press release.

“You’re a married woman.”

“So?” They both knew it was in name only. Right now Blake was probably asleep in the bedroom on his private plane and not giving her a second thought.

“You’re married to a duke, Sam. Do you have any idea how huge that is?”

“It’s just a title. Like Sir or Doctor. Only Blake didn’t have to work to obtain it.”

“He inherited the title automatically when his father died, right?” Eliza had shifted her feet under her butt and placed a bowl of popcorn between them on the couch.

Samantha nodded.

“But he needed to get married to inherit the estate?”

“In most cases the title and the estate go together to the first male born to the duke and duchess. But Blake’s father was a class-A jerk. He stipulated in his will that his estate was to be divided up… dissolved to all intents and purposes if Blake didn’t settled down by his thirty-sixth birthday. One cousin would get a portion of the estate, a small allowance to Blake’s mother and sister, and the rest to charity.”

“That’s cold. The dad didn’t make it so his own wife could stay in the home she’d made hers for years?”

“I guess not.”

Eliza sat forward. “What an ass.”

“Blake told me that a title without the estate is like a king without a country. The royalty thing boggles my mind.”

Samantha’s cell phone buzzed beside her. Blake’s name popped up on the screen. A wave of excitement rode up her back. “Hey,” she answered.

“I wanted to reach you before you went to bed.” He sounded tired and the background noise made it difficult to hear him.