A Proper Wife

Ryan scraped his hand through his hair as he went from room to empty room. All through the taxi ride home from The Watering Hole, he’d felt a tingling sense of anticipation at the thought of coming through that doorway and seeing Devon.

Now, anticipation was rapidly giving way to disappointment as it struck him that he was alone in the house.

Devon wasn’t here.

Perhaps he should have called her, told her he’d changed his plans and would be home.

But he never called her, never told her whether he’d be home or not. He was either there or he wasn’t; that was how it had been from the start. He had not just wanted that, he had demanded it.

Besides, what would he have told her? That he was coming home because he’d made an ass of himself with Frank? That he’d gotten pissed off at the things Frank had said about her when they were the very same things he, himself, had said and thought?

His footsteps echoed hollowly as he trotted up the marble steps to the second floor. He took a quick look into the library, into the music room and the game room.

They were all empty, as he’d known they would be.

Beyond, the stairs that led to Devon’s rooms disappeared into the shadows. Ryan moved toward them. His hand closed around the banister; he tilted back his head and looked up at her closed door.

Was she up there? That was where she spent most of her time, when he was home; he could sometimes hear the sound of music drifting down from the CD player in her room. He knew her tastes by now: she favored Gershwin or Rachmaninoff. He smiled, thinking that until Devon had come along, he’d never thought anything written before the sixties was worth listening to and yet now...

But there was no music coming from her rooms tonight. For all he knew, she might be out. It was early, the night was soft and the sidewalk cafés were open. She might have gone for a walk or to meet a friend—to meet whoever it was she sometimes laughed with on the telephone.

Ryan blew out his breath. What was the matter with him tonight? So what if Frank had made a few cracks about Devon? So what if he’d come tearing home with some crazy idea that she’d smile when she saw him, smile and... and—

And what? Ryan snorted in self-disgust. She was probably as happy as he was that only a week remained until they could agree that there was no point in even considering the renewal of their contract.

What he’d told Frank was damned well the truth, he thought as he headed down the stairs again. It had been a long, rough week. What he needed right now was some heavy-duty relaxation to ease the kinks out of his muscles—and out of his head.

Ryan tossed his jacket and tie aside. A half hour on the Nautilus, he told himself as he undid the buttons on his shirt. Hell, an hour on the black monster and then a workout in the lap pool would fix him up fine.

He opened the door that led down to the gym and frowned. Had he left the lights on down here this morning? he wondered as he trotted down the steps. And what was that noise? He must have left the mechanism for the pool on, too.

He pushed open the door to the gym and his breath caught in his throat.

Wisps of hazy steam rose like fog from the heated water of the pool. And rising out of that mist, like a water nymph stepping out of some timeless legend, he saw Devon.

Ryan’s gaze flew over her. Water beaded on her creamy skin, winking like diamonds in the light. Her hair, streaming down her back, was like a cascade of white-gold. Her body, encased in a simple white bathing suit, was barely hidden from his eyes. The water had turned the fabric translucent; there was no mistaking the firm thrust of her breasts or the crowning buds of her nipples and there was the faintest hint of a shadow at the juncture of her thighs.

And yet it was her face that captured him and made his heart begin to race. What held him transfixed was not the shock that widened her eyes or the stunned parting of her lips; it was the look of sheer joy that swept across her beautiful features in that one, unguarded instant when she saw him standing in the doorway.

“Ryan.” Devon’s voice was husky. “Wha...what are you

doing here?”

He had to work his throat before he could speak. “I—I canceled my plans for tonight,” he said. “I wanted to... to see you.”

Devon licked her lips nervously. “I—I wouldn’t have used the pool if...if I’d known that you were... Look, just let me towel off and change, and—”

“No.”

“Ryan, please—”

The words died in her throat as he started slowly toward her. Her legs felt as if they had gone boneless. And she was trembling.

He was so beautiful, so magnificently male. His shirt was open almost to the waist, revealing a tanned, hard-muscled chest covered with a swirl of black hair. His eyes—his eyes were darker than she had ever seen them, and glowing with fire.

He stopped when he was inches away. “Devon,” he said huskily.

“Don’t,” she whispered, “please, don’t...”