Everything She Wants Read online

Everything She Wants

  by Josephine Kent

  Romance

  Copyright ©2012 by Josephine Kent

  This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Dedication

  My father knew when to 'Draw the Lines' on whether I would continue to dream hopelessly, or make my dream a reality. Ten years ago, he kicked me out of the nest and sent me off to survive. Though I have the heart of a free bird, I have never made a very good wild thing. And so, whenever I needed him most, he has helped me. My father believes in giving me 'Everything She Wants', by teaching me to work for everything I need. He is my rock. I am proud to say that my heritage is his work ethic. Daddy, this one's for you. Thank you for being the kind of man my mother could build a dream with.

  Chapter 1

  Six nights. Six nights in two weeks. They weren't weekend nights either. It wasn't as if he'd gone out with the boys and failed to keep track of the time; or that he was working on some big project and had worked through the night. It might have been easier if she'd lost him to his job or his masculinity. It might have been easier if she'd had him to lose in the first place, but it wasn't easy to wait in a dark room for him to come home at four in the morning smelling like a clean fresh spring and newly applied deodorant.

  The door to the bedroom opened. She lay in the dark, regulating her breathing to the even rhythm of sleep by sheer force of will. Something heavy tumbled to the ground, the dull thud followed by whispered curses so colorful she was surprised that the room didn't light up. A few more thuds, this time from his walk-in closet. She knew his routine now. He'd change into sweats. The ugly pair with the tight cuffs that she'd long ago decided were his specially designed version of 'repel-a-spouse.' Then, he'd go into the bathroom and ease the door closed before turning on the light, as if she wouldn't wake with goose bumps at the sound of him brushing his teeth and gargling. After that, his final steps were the same thing he'd been doing even on the nights he stayed at home with her. He'd ease out of the bedroom, turn on the living room television, and bunk on the sofa until it was time to get up at six o'clock for his morning run.

  Tonight, she was going to change his agenda, even if it meant that neither one of them got any sleep. She was nobody's doormat, and she'd be damned if she was going to be the only miserable person in this house.

  The lights in the bathroom went out. The door opened and his shadow passed across the wall, doubling like a dark phantom on the surface of the mirror before he made it to the slightly ajar door.

  "You don't have to sleep on the sofa," she said into the darkness.

  "Amy!" he hissed in surprise. "I'm sorry if I woke you. I needed to use the bathroom."

  "You don't have to sleep on the sofa, and you can turn on the TV if you like. I won't bother you tonight." She leaned up on one elbow and turned on the bedside lamp. Sure enough, he was wearing the repellants. "Just sleep in the bed." She didn’t look past the familiar, the parts that were just enough for her to recognize her husband. If she looked any deeper something inside her might break.

  "It's okay," he hemmed. "The sofa is more comfortable on my back than the bed." It was a bold-faced lie. The overstuffed sofa was two feet too short, and its back was so thick it covered most of the seat.

  "Orion," she said softly, reasonably. "Just lay down beside me and go to sleep. The bed's big enough for two, and I've taken the hint. I won't touch you." From the incredulous expression on his face, she knew she'd disarmed him with her promise.

  "Amy," he said hoarsely.

  She cut him off by sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "I see. You'd prefer to have the bed to yourself. I'll take the sofa then." Not giving him a chance to respond, she grabbed her pillow and started out of the room.

  "Amy, I didn't mean - "

  She didn't have to say anything. He lost his breath on his own as he caught a full glimpse of what she was wearing.

  "Goodnight, Orion."

  "What are you wearing?" he croaked.

  In the doorway, Amaryllis stopped to glance down at the soft pink, chiffon and lace nightgown. Considering that her husband had never touched her, she should have stopped wearing them at some point already during their year of marriage. But, pretty nightwear was as much a part of her character as the crimson waves of hair that had made her famous. As usual, one strap had fallen off her shoulder, so she reached and pulled it back up. Not usual was the peek-a-boo draping of the chiffon, and the suggestive knotting of the lace that hinted, but never quite revealed what was beneath the surface. Until that moment, Amy hadn't thought of the nightgown as being suggestive. It was just a pretty thing, ankle-length with multiple layers of fabric. She'd worn it before, but Orion had been avoiding their bed for so long it had become just another nightgown.

  "I'm wearing what I always wear to bed."

  Seeing the strangled expression on his face, Amy sighed and retraced her steps, stopping at the foot of the bed. The matching negligee was draped over the gray comforter. As she covered herself with it, she could not help but reflect on the day she'd bought the thick quilt.

  It was the first decorative item she'd ever chosen for her household. Normally, she hired a decorator to make the choices, but not wanting her new husband to come into an overly feminine home, Amy had purchased the pale gray comforter. She'd had the walls of their bedroom repainted from rose pink to ash white. She'd replaced all her filigreed white furniture with heavy mahogany pieces that followed almost austere lines. The only things she'd refused to discard were the white, lace-trimmed pillows and cushions, and the crystal chandelier hanging over the middle of the sitting area.

  I've made so many changes for him.

  She glared at the comforter. Hmm! Comforter indeed. It was more of a husband to her than the man she'd so foolishly bound herself to. Giving one final tug on the belt of the negligee, she schooled her features into that neutral, pleasant smile Orion seemed to prefer she wear. Showing emotions only made things worse. They made him even more distant, tense, and uncomfortable. Not that she cared how he felt anymore. She didn't care about anything but not messing up her home life. As a famous heiress, she had enough problems under the public eye with the paparazzi constantly armed and waiting for her to slip up.

  Head tilted just so, so she wouldn't have to look directly at him, Amy made her way past her husband.

  "Amy." He stopped her with a hand on her wrist. "Use the bed. I'm already used to the sofa."

  "No. You've been on that sofa for months now. Have a good night's rest." She gave him that neutral smile, patting his hand where it covered her wrist. "If I don't like the sofa, I've got nine other bedrooms to choose from."

  His eyes widened. "No. Don't sleep in another bed. This is where you belong."

  She dared to show a little bit of teeth when she smiled at him this time. "I bought it as a marriage bed, Orion. It was always meant to be shared by us as a couple." She saw his wince, heard his indrawn breath and the trembling in her own voice; and by sheer will forcibly calmed the mad pulses of blood pushing through her veins. "In the eleven months that we've been married, you've never slept there. I decided it could only be fair if I slept on the sofa sometimes so you can have a decent nights sleep every now and again."

  Orion's hand tightened on her wrist. He forced a smile of his own, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I'll share with you."

  "But you won't sleep comfortably."

  "Amy-"

  She tugged her hand away. "Look. You can have the bed three nights a week."

  "I beg your pardon?" he asked with feeling.

  "Goodnight, Orion."

  Chapter 2

  Six o'clock couldn't come
quickly enough. Orion would go for his hour-long run, returning just as their housekeeper Gloria arrived for work.

  Amy almost pounded the stuffing out of her pillow. It was impossible to find a comfortable spot on the sofa. She'd moved to the armchairs, but they were too delicate for a comfortable doze. The lounge in the sitting area of their bedroom suite was more comfortable, but Orion had never chosen to spend the night there. Instead, he'd slept on this punishing sofa every night over the duration of their marriage. If nothing else had convinced her of his feelings, or shortage thereof, his reluctance to even share a room with her in the name of comfort did.

  She'd loved him once. Enough that, though she'd seen small signs of his lack of interest in her before their wedding, she'd gone ahead and married him anyway. His reluctance to kiss her, she'd called bashfulness. His annoyance when she bought him gifts, she'd called pride. His insistence that they wait until they were married to consummate their relationship, she'd called gallantry.

  Now, reclining on the sofa, Amy recognized it all for what it was. Hate. For some reason, despite his hatred of her, Orion Ashley had married Amaryllis Brackenridge - and it wasn't because of her fortune. Beyond basic living expenses, he hadn't taken anything from her. In fact, though she was far wealthier than he, Orion had taken on the responsibility of maintaining the household using his own money. When he'd asked how much she would need for personal expenses, Amy had seen how he swallowed when she'd recounted her shopping bill alone. Using his version of that same pleasant expression - that she hated - to hide his dismay, he had promised her at least twenty thousand dollars a month and had fulfilled his word. Once he'd left that day, Amy had breathed a sigh of relief that she had been prudent enough not to recount her travel and entertainment expenses to him, and that he hadn't asked how much she spent annually.

  His workdays had become even longer over the following months; but, once he'd made his first ten million, Orion had increased the amount of her pin money by another ten thousand a month. It had taken him less than a year to go from a net worth of six to twelve million dollars. The media, and her father, assumed that Orion's wealth had expanded so dramatically because of her backing. No one but the four walls of their house knew that her husband barely spoke to her unless it was to ask if she needed a drink whenever they chanced to be out in public together.

  Amy turned over to pound her pillow once more, and promptly fell off the sofa. She hadn't slept a wink while he'd been out last night. Now she wouldn't get a wink before the sun came up and it was time for her to pretend she was the loving wife. Frustrated and resentful, she got up and tiptoed into the bedroom.

  "Amy?"

  She froze. "It's me. Go back to sleep."

  "You want the bed back?"

  She couldn't pinpoint his location in the darkened room, but could make a fair guess that he wasn't near the bed. "No. I just need the bathroom." As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, he shifted. She watched as he emerged from the alcove, drawing slowly closer. He had been sitting on the lounge. Wow, she snidely thought. All this time I thought he didn't know it was there. "I'll just be a minute, then I'll be out of your way."

  "Amy-"

  She ducked into the bathroom and began scraping through her makeup bag for Morpheus-in-a-pill. Earlier, because she'd wanted to get in a fight with him about being out all night, she'd decided not to take the sleeping pills. But, when she'd come face-to-face with Orion, Amy had chickened out. She'd picked an easier confrontation, but she still needed the pills if she was going to rest. In her state of mind, she doubted the prescribed 'two' pills would put her to sleep. She'd need some shut-eye before Gloria arrived. Three pills might send her into dead sleep for a while. She'd wake in two hours, and go about her day as usual. On the counter was a bottle of red wine - the remnants of her time spent soaking alone in a hot bath the night before. She knew better than to do it, but right at that moment, she needed all the help she could get to forget just how much her husband despised her. She needed to forget she was an untouched woman; a chaste wife.

  Unable to swallow more than one pill at a time, she poured herself a glass of wine and drank it down with the first pill.

  Then she followed that with another glass.

  And another.

  If she didn't flush the toilet, Orion would wonder why she had come into the bathroom. He might think she'd invaded his resting place in a foolish attempt to get his attention. He might think all sorts of things, but she didn't want him to think she had come in here for anything other than a quick pee. As long as she had breath in her body, he would never know that she needed to see a therapist regularly because of him. Amy flushed the toilet, washed her hands, and used the opportunity to rinse the bittersweet flavor of the wine from her mouth. Before opening the bathroom door, she turned out the light. If he'd gone to bed, she wouldn't disturb him. It was a straight flight of about twenty-five steps - and maybe a quick left if she miscalculated - from the bathroom to the doorway.

  She opened the door, intending to rush to the exit, and bumped headfirst into a wall.

  "Oomph!" Orion wheezed, his arms locking around her shoulders.

  Drawing back, Amy covered her face. She didn't know what hurt more, his chest or her nose.

  "You okay?" he asked, releasing her with one hand.

  From the chafing noise of fabric on flesh, she guessed that he was rubbing his chest. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm sorry. I didn't expect you to be standing there. If you're okay, I'm all done in here, so I'll get out of your way now." She darted around him, cursing the fact that she'd lost count of whether she'd taken three steps or five out of the bathroom.

  The bathroom light snapped on, and in the dim glow she could see her exit just under twenty feet away.

  "Amy, we need to talk."

  She froze. With her back turned to him, she asked, "About what? I said you can have the bed tonight."

  "About us."

  She knew what was coming, and something inside her began to wither. Inhaling deeply, Amy breathed life into that part of herself. She was not a woman who had married only to be divorced. She was too young to be a divorcee. She was too loving to be cast aside. If she had to spend the next fifty years being miserable in her marriage, she would. But, she would not be the one that was abandoned.

  "I don't want to know, Orion," she softly replied. "I don't want to know when it began; how long it has lasted, or if you think it will ever end. I don't want to know where you've been spending your time; with whom you've been spending your nights; or who made the first move. As long as you remain discreet, I won't care."

  Amy turned her head to the side, not quite trusting her full on expression, but wanting to look at him - even peripherally - when she said, "I don't care. But, what I do care about is being humiliated publicly. If you divorce me, the press is going to have a field day. And you owe me, Orion. You owe me for marrying me, for accepting my heart, when you knew you felt no love for me and never could. I was not designed for divorcement. You knew from the very beginning that I expected to marry for life. That my intention was to love you for life."

  Arms shaking, she raised her hands to her chest. "You should never have married me, but you did. You owe me for the lies, and for pretending. You owe me that much loyalty for keeping my mouth shut when I could have left you months ago with only an annulment. No one's going to believe an annulment now. And those who believe it, will laugh at me. I'll be the woman whose husband couldn't love her, much less bring himself to lust after her.

  "Do you remember what they called me, Orion?" Sadly, she shook her head. "Only four years ago, I was the ugly duckling. It's in their archives! They won't have to look too deep to remember I was the 'Brackenridge Beast'; that they actually recommended I have reconstructive surgery on my face. I have had enough humiliation to last me the next fifty years, and I will NOT go through that again." Trembling, she turned once more to fully face the door. With her back to him, she said, "Keep your secrets, Orion. And guard them well. Beca
use if any word about your nocturnal activities becomes public, I will break the bank to destroy you and her. So, go ahead and give your love to whoever she is. I'm content to keep your hate."

  She never looked at him, so she never saw the anguish and shame that washed over his face. She wouldn't have cared even if she had seen them. She had said her piece and left to find oblivion on the sofa.

  Chapter 3

  Two hours later, after waiting impatiently for a glimmer of light on the horizon, Orion left the bedroom suite to go on his morning jog. He spotted an arm extending past a chair and rounded it to look down on his wife. Amy had the sofa, the carpet, nine other bedrooms, another living room, and a study to choose from. But, she'd chosen to spend the night on the cold marble floor.

  If he had been a better man, he would have insisted she continue to sleep in the bed. But he'd been reluctant to cause a scene. He still needed her to remain calm until he had acquired thirty-three million dollars more in liquid assets. Thirty-three million dollars more and he could be a man in his own household. Thirty-three million dollars more and he could start his life over with nothing but the clothes on his back.

  Squatting beside her shoulder, he brushed a crimson curl from his wife's brow. She hadn't lied. From her birth until as recently as five years ago, the media had referred to Amy as a beast in hiding. And when she'd reemerged three years ago as the new face of fashion, the media had gone for her gullet. There was rampant speculation as to whether the beast had taken the advice of a columnist who had recommended that Amy's parents - both billionaires - spend their fortune on reconstructive surgery for their unfortunately faced daughter.

  Skeptics still believed she'd had surgery, but Orion knew better. As one of very few children invited to the Brackenridge home whenever Amy was in residence, he had been fortunate enough to know her as a child. She was sweet, and generous in her love. Amy had been so insulated by affection that she had never been made aware of what the public thought of her.