A Proper Wife

Devon’s cheeks went scarlet and she came quickly to her feet.

“I have to go, Mother,” she lied. “I think I hear Ryan at the door now.”

“That’s it, isn’t it? It’s a sexual problem. Devon, you cannot behave like a prude if you want to keep a virile male like Ryan happy. Lose your inhibitions. Rent some videos. Buy some sexy

lingerie. Men love black silk and garters and high-heeled shoes.”

“Goodbye, Mother,” Devon said hurriedly. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

Her face was flaming as she hung up the phone.

Terrific. Just terrific. Marital advice from a world-class expert with some sex education thrown in free.

Why hadn’t she ever told Bettina the truth, that she and Ryan didn’t sleep together?

Because Bettina would have laughed in her face, that was why. She’d have called Devon every kind of fool for not sharing the bed of a man as handsome and sexy as Ryan Kincaid.

But he was more than handsome, more than sexy. He had a wonderful sense of humor. Devon had stumbled across him joking with the housekeeper one morning, Mrs. Cruz’s lilting voice rising in laughter along with his as they teased each other in what was obviously a time-honored routine.

“Your ’usband,” Mrs. Cruz had said with a girlish giggle that made her seem twenty years younger and forty pounds lighter, “he is some fine man, no?”

It was an opinion Mrs. Cruz seemed to share with the cleaning lady and the proprietor of every shop in the neighborhood.

According to all of them, Ryan was wonderful. His grandfather thought so, too; Devon could see the pride and love in James’s eyes whenever he looked at Ryan, and who could blame him? When he was with the old man, Ryan was loving and warm and caring.

He was that way with everyone, except for her. And that was fine. It was just fine. Let the rest of the world be fooled; she knew the truth. She knew that Ryan was—that he was...

“What shall I do?” Devon whispered in despair, burying her face in her hands.

After a moment she wiped her eyes and got slowly to her feet. Another week, that was all she had to get through, and then this charade would be over. Seven days of living in Ryan’s house, and then she would never have to see him again...

...never have to pretend his homecoming didn’t thrill her, especially on the few nights he came home in time for them to dine together, or to mask her pain when he didn’t, when the hours ticked away and there was no key in the lock and no footsteps on the stairs.

How many nights had she lain awake, listening for the sound of those footsteps? Wondering what she would do if they came up that last flight of steps, to her door?

Devon jumped to her feet. What was the matter with her tonight? She felt as if she were going crazy. She had to do something or she would go crazy.

A walk. A walk would burn off energy.

But it was Friday. The sidewalks would be crowded with couples going out for the evening. Their hands and arms would be linked, they’d be smiling at each other with their hearts on their sleeves.

All right, then. She’d go down to Ryan’s gym, turn on the motor in the lap pool. It was one of the few things in the house she felt no guilt in using. In fact, she’d come to love the force of the water and the silken power of it against her skin—but she’d made it a point to only use the pool during the day, when there was no danger of Ryan finding her in it.

He’d been very polite and specific, telling her she was free to make full use of all the facilities in the place, but somehow the thought of having him see her in a bathing suit, however modest, was disturbing.

That was why she’d never used the pool at night.

But surely she’d be safe, using it now. It was barely seven o’clock; Ryan would surely not be home much before midnight. He never was, on Fridays. Devon always found herself lying in the dark, listening for his key in the lock, wondering where he’d been and who he’d been with.

Before she could think any more stupid thoughts, Devon went to her room, changed into a simple white maillot, then made her way down to the lap pool.

Ryan unlocked the front door and dropped his keys on the hall table.

“Devon?”

His voice echoed through the silence of the foyer.

“Devon? Are you here?”