Wife for Hire - By Janet Evanovich Page 0,11

given her a ring. Now he was giving her a warning.

His hands took possession of the small of her back, crushing her closer, and his mouth moved over hers with a hard restlessness. He had a flash of self-directed censure. How would he ever step back from this? The answer was clear. He had no intention of stepping back.

Maggie sagged against the wall when he finally released her. Her fingers were tightly curled around his shirt material, her mouth ready to be kissed again, her eyes were heavy lidded.

She and Hank stared at each other for a long moment, trying to tidy up their emotions. She realized her fingers were still gripping his shirt and made an effort to straighten them. “Why did you kiss me?”

“Why?” Because it was all he’d been able to think about since the first moment he saw her. Unfortunately he couldn’t tell her that. She’d think he’d hired her for all the wrong reasons—and she’d be right.

“Because I wanted you to feel married.” At least it wasn’t a total lie.

“Oh.”

“Do you feel married?”

“Not exactly.”

His hand curled around her neck. “Maybe we should take this a step farther.”

She pushed him away. “No! No more kisses.

We’re getting wrinkled.”

“Later?”

“No. Not later. Not ever. This is a business arrangement. Kissing and fondling aren’t part of the deal.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “We could renegotiate the contract. I could pick up your medical coverage, contribute to your retirement fund—”

“No!”

“Okay, I’ll throw in all the apples you can eat, and I’ll increase your salary by ten bucks a week. That’s my last offer.”

“Ten dollars? You think my kissing is only worth ten dollars a week?”

He grinned down at her. “What do you usually get?”

She had a brief desire to kick him in the shins, but restrained herself.

“Very funny. We’ll see how hard you’re laughing when your parents get here.”

Ten minutes later they were all settled in the living room and no one was laughing, especially not Hank.

“We’ve already been married,” he said. “I don’t want another wedding.”

“It would be a reaffirmation of your vows,” his mother said.

She was a large-boned woman with short-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. Her makeup was tasteful, her clothes tailored and impeccable, her shoes were sensible. Maggie instantly liked her. She was a no-nonsense, upfront person. If she had been a weaker woman, she probably would have been driven to drink by her maverick son. As it was, she looked like she had survived nicely. She was clearly relieved to have Hank married, but obviously disappointed that he hadn’t had a more formal ceremony.

“And afterward we could have a party for you at the house. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Hank slouched in the rose wing chair. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to reaffirm my vows. They’re still fresh in my mind. And Maggie here isn’t much for parties. She’s just a little homebody, aren’t you, cupcake?”

Maggie felt her mouth drop open. Cupcake? “That’s me. Just a little homebody,” she said.

Harry Mallone looked at his new daughter-in-law. “Hank tells me you’re a writer.”

Harry Mallone was about as different from his son as any two men could be, Maggie thought. The elder Mallone was a solid man, thickening with age. His shirt was starched and freshly ironed, his striped tie perfectly knotted, his wing tips were polished. His posture was straight, clearly that of a man used to exercising authority. He was precise. He was consistent. He was cautious.

On the other hand, Maggie doubted Hank owned a tie. And caution wasn’t exactly Hank’s middle name. Clearly there was affection between the two men, but it was also just as obvious that they drove each other crazy.

Maggie nodded. “Two years ago my great-aunt Kitty Toone died and left me her diary. She wanted someone to use it as the basis for a book, and I suppose she thought I was the logical person, since I was an English teacher.”

“How lovely,” Helen Mallone said.

Maggie moved forward in her seat. “It’s a wonderful story. My Aunt Kitty was a fascinating woman. I’ve been doing some additional research, and I have a detailed outline drawn up. Now all I have to do is write the book.”

The very thought of it sent a thrill of excitement racing through her. It was accompanied by sheer terror. She hadn’t any idea if she could pull it off.

“What sort of book will this be?” Helen wanted to know. “Will it be a romance? Will it be a sort of cookbook? I once knew a woman who wrote recipes