Wife for the Weekend Read online

  Hold on. Maybe she needed money, and their accidental marriage—with a 20K prize attached—was a blessing in disguise for her.

  “Which I’ll split down the middle with you,” Dexter was quick to add, hoping that would sweeten the deal. “You’ve obviously earned it.” When she opened her mouth, probably to protest, he held up a hand. “Think of it as an early divorce settlement. I’ll have my lawyer write it up.”

  Seconds ticked by as her mouth hung open.

  For the first time since he’d known her, Juliet Bloom was speechless.

  “I…” she finally uttered. “I mean, I could definitely use it, but—no, no, I can’t.”

  “No rash decisions. Besides, talking about money is vulgar. We won’t discuss it again after you give me your bank information, or I can just write you a check. If you don’t want to keep it, give it to charity, but it’s yours, okay?”

  She nibbled another nail, one stained with blue paint. “If I agree, it’s not only because of the money. Vince is one of my best friends and I definitely don’t want to screw up his wedding. That’d be awful.”

  While a glob of guilt and last night’s Vegas Sunrise crawled inside his gut, he waited for her to agree, or to tell him to sit and spin. He wasn’t sure which answer he was dreading the most.

  “I hate lies of any kind, Dexter. Lies ruin lives, no matter how justified.”

  He almost had her. He just had to reel in slowly. “Don’t think of it as lying. We’re…postponing an unpleasant truth. After a month or so, we’ll be divorced and the whole thing will be over. No one will care by then.”

  “Your family will. They’re good people. I’ve always liked them. You say they’re happy for us now, but what about when we break up? Roxy’s a huge romantic—she’ll be devastated. So will your mother.”

  She had a point. “I’ll tell them I cheated on you,” he replied logically. “With my rep, they’ll believe that, and they won’t blame you.” He shrugged, even though the idea left a very bad taste in his mouth. In the abstract, maybe once he’d seemed like a guy who’d cheat. Dexter had done a lot of things, but never that.

  “They’ll be pissed at me for a while,” he added, “but I can handle that. We just have to get through the weekend.”

  Jules was still chewing that nail. “I’m actually staying in Hershey longer than the weekend,” she said after a moment. “I’ve got legal things to take care of with my grandmother’s estate.”

  Dexter remembered her saying something about that last night, or this morning. He was still having a hard time putting events in chronological order—the few events he could actually remember. Most of last night was a big blank.

  “That’s fine,” he said. “On Sunday, I go back to Manhattan and you’ll stay in Hershey. My family will assume you left with me.”

  “But I don’t live in New York.”

  “No one knows that.”

  “Vince does.”

  He shook his head. “Vince will be on his honeymoon. After the wedding, no one will notice you.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “You’re a real charmer, Elliott, ya know that?”

  He paused his smart-ass reply, registering her hurt/annoyed expression. “Sorry. I meant, since you and my family don’t exactly run in the same social circles.” He thought of the billowy skirt and fringy shirt she’d worn last night—definitely not found in his mother’s country club clique.

  “I should tell you…” But she didn’t finish. Instead, she shifted and tugged a strand of hair.

  “What should you tell me?”

  Her eyes widened but quickly glanced away, like she’d been caught having evil thoughts. “Um…that I’m…a terrible liar. I turn hyper red-faced and get hiccup attacks and—”

  “I’ll do all the talking,” he said. “Since neither of us seems to remember anything, we might never know whose fault it is that we’re in this mess.”

  Although Dexter knew it sure the hell hadn’t been him. Nothing would’ve possessed him to ask any woman to marry him. Not even his inebriated subconscious would pick someone as hippie-dippy and flat-out noisy as Jules.

  So the question was, if he wasn’t the instigator, why did he go along with it? A riddle like that could drive him loco, and he was too hungover to get philosophical.

  “I guess that’s true,” Jules said. “Okay, for the sake of Vince’s wedding, I can pretend.”

  Before either of them could say another word, his phone beeped. He grabbed it and read the new message. “They booked us a direct flight to Harrisburg. We have an hour to get to the airport. Did you get the same message? Check your phone.”

  “I don’t have one.”

  Of course you don’t, Flower Power.

  “I have a cell,” she corrected, “but not a smartphone. No internet. It’s probably dead, anyway. I never use it.”

  Dexter didn’t have the brain energy to probe into that. “I’m sure we’re on the same flight, but I’ll make a call.” He stood to begin searching the room for his clothes. “We’d better get going.”

  “Um, okay.” Still on the bed wrapped in a sheet, Jules was biting her lip and glancing around, as if contemplating what to do next.

  If he were the gentleman his mother raised him to be, he’d offer to leave the room or at least turn around. But he didn’t. Instead, he was a hungover scoundrel and stood in the middle of their hotel bedroom in nothing but his shorts.

  “Do you mind?” she finally said.

  “Not at all.” He smirked.

  She huffed, blew the hair out of her face, and snapped, “Fine.” Keeping the sheet tightly wrapped around her like a mummy, she scooted to the end of the bed and stood.

  Okay, maybe there was an interesting body under all those long, loose-fitting clothes. At least that was what the fitted sheet showed. Or didn’t show. Suddenly, he felt a bit overheated, as if his body was reacting to a memory his brain didn’t know.

  Pretending to look for his clothes, he turned around and scanned the room. What he focused on did nothing to lower his body temperature.

  “I suppose this belongs to you?” With one finger, Dexter hooked the strap of a black bra that was hanging over the lampshade and held it up. “Not my size.”

  Jules huffed angrily, shuffled over, and grabbed it. The way her cheeks glowed like two red apples made him chuckle.

  “Easy. I wasn’t going to try it on.”

  “It’s new,” she said, hiding it behind her back.

  “It’s nice. Want me to help you track down the rest?”

  “No, I want you to stand right there and not move while I find my clothes.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?” he said, still laughing. Then he was a gentleman and turned around. It probably wasn’t fair that he could see her reflection in the window. But it wasn’t like she dropped the sheet and started swinging from the bedposts. She shuffled around the room, long hair falling over her face, while she picked up items of clothing that had apparently been torn off, then thrown into corners. By him? Her?

  By the time he’d stopped imagining that, she’d disappeared into the bathroom.

  After staring at the closed door, he found his white button-down wadded in a ball behind the armchair. It was wrinkled beyond hope, four buttons missing, and the left sleeve had a major rip.

  What the hell happened last night?

  Chapter Three

  Without time to shower and scrub her body clean of ickiness and blocked-up chakras, Jules used the entire bottle of hotel mouthwash and brushed her teeth with a finger. Though nothing took away the “morning after” eck factor.

  Fully clothed, she took a second to stare down her reflection. Since it was a little late to go into a full-on self-lecture about the obvious dangers of drinking too much, she simply pointed at the mirror and scowled like a schoolmarm.

  “Are you decent?” she asked, opening the bathroom door a crack.

  “Depends who you ask.”

  She closed her eyes and blew out a long, c
leansing breath, taking time to breathe back in slowly. How did she get involved with a man-whore like Dexter? “Are you clothed?”

  “Yes.”

  Dexter was dressed all the way down to the gray power tie hanging loose around his neck. He sat on the end of the bed tying his shoes. When he glanced up, he stopped. And stared.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she said, feeling the need to cover up.

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’ve seen me naked.”

  “I have.” He rubbed his jaw and sat back. “Even if I can’t remember.”

  The reply shouldn’t have made her stomach experience a microscopic flutter. Besides his good looks—which she was already immune to—Dexter Elliott had nothing that appealed to her.

  “Just keep on not remembering. I might be small and a pacifist, but I’m not afraid to use my fists.” She glanced around the room.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Somewhere to sit.”

  Wordlessly, he patted the spot on the bed next to him.

  “No.”

  “If I have cooties, you’ve already got them.”

  Why bother arguing the point? Instead, she sat beside him and picked up her sandals, which he must’ve moved at the end of the bed. After all, why would her shoes be in place when the rest of their clothes had been strewn around the room like they’d been caught in a sex tornado?

  “Thanks.” Without having to look his way, she felt the weight of his eyes as she wrapped the laces around her ankles. “Dexter. Stop.”

  “What am I doing?”

  When she finally glanced at him, sure enough, his man-whore eyes were glued on her. If he was supposed to be about one night then bye-bye, why was he looking at her like…he wanted more?

  “Hey, stud. If we go by this plan of yours for the weekend, you can’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  Ugh, he was exasperating. “You can’t flirt or leer or give me your playboy eyes or look at me or—”

  “Might be difficult to pretend we’re married if I can’t look at you.”

  She exhaled and tied the last lace in a double knot. “You know what I mean. Stop.”

  At last, his heavy gaze was replaced by a smirk. She could handle Dexter’s smirks. “Fine. Whatever.” He stood and offered his hand. “We have a plane to catch.”

  For a second, she stared at his hand, feeling stubborn and defiant. Maybe, though, the offering was an olive branch, symbolically starting over.

  So she took his effing hand. His grip was strong and warm, more calloused than she’d expect from someone who came from piles of money and worked in an office.

  Speaking of money… The shock of how much he’d won in a sibling bet hadn’t worn off. Neither had Dexter’s offer to give her half. She really shouldn’t. She really, really shouldn’t. But with Grams’s cottage needing renovations, and with Jules barely scraping by as a now-unemployed massage therapist and starving artist, ten grand was a lifesaver.

  Plus—and she couldn’t help feeling loads of guilt over it—suddenly being married was an even huger lifesaver. Legally.

  “Do you know what happened to our carry-ons?” she asked, picking up her purse that was looped over the doorknob.

  “Still in the car from last night,” Dexter said. “Apparently, we couldn’t be bothered. Carl’s waiting outside.”

  “Right. Okay.” Jules nodded and tried not to feel nauseous. Good thing she had a complete change of clothes in her bag, and more in her suitcase. But who knew when she’d see that again? Hopefully she’d get a chance to change before the flight, otherwise she’d be queen of commando city for the next seven hours.

  Peering in his direction, Dexter’s eyes suddenly dashed away from her, like he’d been reading her mind and knew last night’s underwear was stashed in her purse.

  Man-whore, she muttered internally. If she didn’t have to see Grams’s lawyer, she wouldn’t bother going to Hershey now, despite the wedding—he’d understand if she bailed. She was a bailer, after all. Vince knew that better than anyone. Which meant Dexter probably knew, too. Freaking Elliotts.

  Dexter ushered her into the limo at the curb and chose not to sit in the furthermost corner. She needed a few quiet moments cleansing her aura and not getting stressed out about a man so buttoned up, he probably never left the house without a perfect side part in his hair or walked barefoot.

  And she was married to him.

  Om shant shant shant…

  As the car zoomed down the freeway, she stared out at the traffic, slowly rotating her neck from side to side. Muscles she didn’t know existed were strained and sore. If she’d had time, she would’ve gone into the spa and had Alexandra or Emory work on her. Trading off massages was one of the perks that came with her day job. Ex-job.

  The restrictions of a nine-to-five made it impossible for her to love-love her job, but it paid the bills. Someday… she told herself time and time again like a mantra, someday soon my art will totally support me and I’ll live the way I’ve always dreamed, the way Grams dreamed for me.

  At the thought, her heart squeezed and dropped, and a sob sat in her chest. Two months, and she still missed Grams like crazy. It was a wonderful blessing that she’d left Jules the lake cottage, but Jules would rather her grandmother be alive than to inherit a house—even one she loved.

  More than anything, Jules hoped this return to Hershey would break her free from the artistic block since Grams’s passing. After all, what kind of a painter was she if she wasn’t painting?

  It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. She just…couldn’t.

  Her heartbeats remained slow and heavy when they got to the airport, checked in, cleared security. It felt like she was coming out of a daze when she blinked and found herself sitting in first class next to Dexter. Had he paid for her upgrade or had it been included because of their canceled flight? She was about to ask, but he wore earbuds and was tapping on a laptop.

  Like so many other people, workaholic Dexter was glued to technology. Whatever, she didn’t want to have a conversation with him, anyway. Who cared if he paid for her upgrade? Because of what he’d obviously talked her into last night, he owed her way more than a plane ticket, or ten thousand dollars. Right?

  She glanced at the simple gold band on her finger, then slammed her eyes shut. Her brain ached as she strained to remember. Okay, maybe in this condition, she couldn’t blame him 100 percent, but she was sure it wasn’t her fault, no matter how fortunate the monetary and legal outcome.

  At least the seats in first class were comfortable. When she heard a sound, she opened her eyes. A tall Bloody Mary sat on her tray table. Dexter had one, too, with three extra celery sticks and no olives.

  “Hair of the dog that bit you,” he said, clinking his glass against hers, earbuds still in place. When he winced at his first sip, it made her smile. She relished his flappable moments. It reminded her that he was human.

  Then she took her own sip and felt like wincing, then dying. Whatever they’d drunk last night was the most potent thing she’d ever consumed.

  After draining half the glass, she passed it off to the flight attendant, closed her eyes, folded her arms, and tried to sleep. Every time she moved, her thumb brushed against that ring.

  …

  Despite his head being in a fog, Dexter got a lot of work done. Damn good thing—the meeting with the investors from Three Jacker Media was only six days away. For months, he’d been prepping for this, balancing the demands of his day job with this new venture. Finally, it was within reach.

  Not that he hadn’t enjoyed working at Elliott Technology; he was great at his job as VP of product management. Nor was he ungrateful for everything his father had done for him, but surely Dad didn’t begrudge his own son for wanting to go out on his own. If he could get this one last investor, the dream might become reality.

  He gave himself a mental fist bump, then closed his eyes, fingers still on the keyboard out of habit. Now, if he
could also manage to catch a few winks before landing—

  A snuffled snore at his side startled him awake. Jules was curled in a ball. Her legs pulled in, bare feet on the seat, arms encircling them, while resting a cheek on one knee. How could she possibly be comfortable? In fact, how could she possibly bend into a position like that? Was the woman a contortionist?

  Huh. He couldn’t help feeling a little cheated that he couldn’t remember a damn thing that happened in that hotel room. What if she’d done contortionist tricks on him?

  She snored again, sucked at her bottom lip, and pulled in her chin, causing a curtain of that mermaid hair to fall over her face. It was thick like a heavy blanket. Could she breathe through it? Without thinking, Dexter swept her hair to one side of her face. A few strands caught on the corner of her mouth, so he ran a finger across her cheek, pulling those strands away. She shifted and made a soft noise. Not a snore, more like a sigh of contentment. On autopilot, he brushed her cheek, then dragged a thumb beneath her bottom lip.

  Her eyelids fluttered. Dexter blinked out of a daydream and jerked his hand away. Her green eyes slowly opened and looked at him, closed again, then another sigh, like she’d been expecting to see him there…pleased, even.

  “Mmmm, that was nice,” she whispered dreamily. “Really, really…” Before she could finish, her eyelids sprang open. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing.”

  She released her knees, and her bare feet hit the floor. Wearing a confused expression, she looked to the side, up at the ceiling, then down at her lap.

  “We’re on a plane,” he said reassuringly. For all he knew, she had a fear of flying and was gearing for a meltdown. “On the way to Hershey for Vince’s wedding, remember?”

  “Of course I remember, but…” She broke off and blinked rapidly, rubbing a fist over one eye. “I guess I was…dreaming.”

  “Must’ve been one hell of a dream.”

  “Yeah, it…” With noticeable hesitation, she lifted her chin and met his eyes. “It was.”