On The Dotted Line (24 page)

The
lunch hour had to be ending. At any time his office would be deluged with more
people, more work, but maybe he had time for a little indulgence. “Let me take
care of you and then tonight you can return the favor.” Feeling his wife orgasm
against his hand would be enough to get him through the rest of the day.

She
shook her head. “No, both of us.”

He
kissed her. “There’s no time, no room.”

“There’s
always time.” She got up, let her dress drop to the floor

“Willow.”
He stood and took her all in, his hand automatically going to his belt buckle.

“We
can make room.” With a slight smile on her face, the same one he used when he
knew he made the right financial choice and bested someone else, she moved her
basket to the floor, propped herself up on his desk and spread her legs. “It’s
easy.”

At
the sight of her practically splayed across his antique desk he ripped his
pants open. “I want you.”

“Then
you better take me.” She reached out for him.

Not
bothering to think and going simply with his own wants, he let his boxer briefs
drop, took hold of her hips and entered her.

Warm
and ready, her body accepted him with no resistance.

“Jeez.”
In an attempt to calm down, he held her tight and took a breath. After spending
the afternoon thinking about her and then watching her, he would go over the
edge too fast.

She
put her hand on the back of his head. “You better hurry.”

“Oh,
man.” With her permission, he let loose and thrust into her.

“Take
out your stress on me.” She wrapped her legs around his hips.

“Willow.”
He shut his eyes and drove into her, fast, strong strokes designed to rush him
to his own end and it worked. His entire being focused on the pleasure the two
of them created together. There was something to be said for making love to the
same woman, getting to know her, being able to do anything including a quickie
in his office. It was one of the many definitions of a wife, and the thought
only served to stoke his arousal. He never wanted a woman as much.

“That’s
right.” Her voice hitched. “Come on.”

“I
need you to.” Though his body tensed preparing for the ultimate release, he snuck
his hand between them to give her the extra required to catch up to him. Making
love to her wouldn’t be the same if they both didn’t obtain satisfaction. They
had to get there together.

“Ah.”
She dug her nails into the thin fabric of his dress shirt. “I’m there.”

He
waited to hear those words, but even more glorious was the way her body
undulated around him. The ripples of her orgasm reverberated through him giving
him the last push to completely let go. His climax hit him hard, wracking him with
multiple surges of unbelievable ecstasy. “Oh, God!” He grabbed her, a needed
and welcome support as his knees buckled from exertion and euphoria. “Oh my
God.” He lowered his face to her shoulder, grazing his lips against the salty
sweetness of her bare skin.

“You
needed this.” She combed her fingers though his hair and chuckled.

“I
need you.” He closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath. The words left his
mouth with barely a thought, but damn if that wasn’t exactly how he felt.

“I
know you need me.” She leaned back.

His
strength returning, he caught the meaning of her words. The awkward moment gave
him the perfect lead into the question he had before she ever arrived here. “Do
you need me?”

She
let her hands drop to the desk. “We need each other.”

He
lifted his head and stared into her face. “More than the obvious?”

“Is
it?” Her lips twitched threatening to smile.

The
woman was definitely turning into an executive’s wife, answering a question
with a question was an old trick used by the best. He moved in to kiss her.

A
knock at the door interrupted them.

He
froze and Willow giggled. What did he do with a wife naked on his desk, him
with his pants around his ankles, and both of them in complete disarray?

The
door handle jiggled. “Randolph.” A familiar female voice called to him.

He
turned to her. “That’s one of the analysts.”

“Answer
her.” The smile she fought, took over her whole face.

“Don’t
come in! Give us a minute.” He pulled up his pants and attempted to put himself
back together.

“Well
I suppose this afternoon we won’t have time for a second round.” Willow got off
the desk and slipped back into her dress.

He
stopped his unsuccessful attempt to rid his clothes of wrinkles and watched her
wrap her body back up.

She
glanced over her shoulder at him. “Well at least I found one thing that makes
you stop and take a breath.”

“It’s
you.”

“Are
you working late tonight?” She cleaned up her basket, found his tie and wrapped
it around his neck, holding both ends.

He
used her tactic and shrugged.

“How
about I go back to the house for a bit and then return with dinner and a change
of clothes?”

He
used the spare suit he once kept in the office the day after they got married
and he never replaced it. “That would be amazing.” Only a wife could pick up on
what he needed.

“Okay,
I’ll be back.” She picked up her handbag and her basket.

“You
don’t have to rush.” He caught her arm and gave her a light kiss. “But hurry.”

Her
cheeks betrayed her with a blush. She walked across the office and opened the
door. The shadow of the analyst darkened the exit.

“Give
Mr. Van Ayers a few minutes, will you?” She peeked back inside and winked.

He
waved even though she was only a few yards away. She changed, but she was still
Willow.

“How’s
your neck?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Never
better.” He watched his wife leave and he didn’t want to see her go. Yes,
things had changed.

* * * *

One
thing about the mansion, dare she call it her home, was that Willow never
walked into an empty room. The staff always offered a comforting presence and a
smile. However, in the middle of the day with the men working, Lillian off at one
of her events and Nan still at the shop, everything seemed unusually quiet and
she didn’t realize until that moment how vibrant her life had become.

She
tiptoed up the stairs, but she may as well have floated. What she wished for at
Christmas might turn into reality. The man who tormented her, then married her,
seemed to want her. Once she did as she believed, and let it go and opened her
mind, he came to her. Yes, maybe they met and married in an unconventional way,
but she was never known for following any convention.

Her
instinct told her Caroline and Judge and Lillian and Mr. Van Ayers met the same
way. Unsure if the strange ritual was some bizarre tradition or something else,
the method no doubt worked for at least two generations.

After
making her way into their suite, she put her bag down with a pat, and went to
the closet. Her side was merely a fraction of Randolph’s but she got a nice
boost when Caroline gave her the vintage clothing Lillian squealed over. In
truth, the pieces were gorgeous and amazing and they fit her. After struggling
to merge her style and Randolph’s life, she found her answer and loved the new
look. Lillian clapped every time someone doled out a compliment on her clothes.

She
slipped out of her dress into her robe and turned to her husband’s overstuffed
side of the closet. Shirts, suits, pants, everything in copious quantities, all
perfectly hung and color coordinated. The man even had an entire separate
section for ties, little racks that pulled out from the wall revealed multicolored
and textured ties, her favorite part of his normal uniform. She ran her hand
along the shirts wondering what she should choose.

Until
Randolph she dated only briefly, a few men here and there, and she never lived
with one. How on earth would she dress him? She sat down on the floor and
scanned his shoes sorted by color and type, touched the sneakers she never saw
him wear, and smiled at the dozens of dress shoes.

At
spying a pair of what she would dub rock star boots, complete with buckles and
zippers, a laugh escaped her throat. He practically hid the pair at the end of
the row where they were almost camouflaged by some long hanging garments, like
robes one would wear for a graduation.

What
would Randolph do if she brought these to the office? She leaned way over,
practically lying on the floor and picked one boot up. By the wear on the soles
he never wore them, but she wondered if he secretly wanted to, maybe like he
wanted to create his art. She wished he would take her on one of his secret
creations.

A
slight blue glow caught her eye when she went to replace the boot. With a shake
of her head she scooted over on the thick carpet, moved the clothes aside and unveiled
a small, simple safe with the door ajar. The glow she observed came from a
light on the combination keypad. Though she never owned anything worth enough
to put in a safe, the fact her husband had one didn’t alarm her. Everything about
him seemed to have a value attached.

Every
molecule in her body told her not to peek, but almost beyond her control she
inched over, opened the door a bit more and looked inside.

Papers.
A few file folders inside, holding more of Randolph’s precious papers.

She
exhaled and went to leave the safe as she found it, taking one last snoop
before returning the door to its almost locked position, but she spotted her
name written on one of the tabs.

For
at least two minutes she wrestled with the idea of spying. Four times she reached
in the safe to touch the folder and four times she recoiled. Her struggle told
her the answer, but still, on the fifth time, she reached in and grabbed the
stack of papers. “He’s my husband.” She said her justification aloud to make
sure the universe heard her.

Without
leaving room for her to turn back, she opened the folder and exhaled. Her birth
certificate and mother’s death certificate lay on top of the stack. She smiled.
Randolph must have put them away for safe keeping along with their marriage
contract. She touched the stationery. Their wedding almost seemed to have happened
to someone else while their marriage was most definitely grounded in reality. She
crossed her legs and took her time turning through the rest of the pages.

Behind
her contract were several more stapled documents.

As
she read the next paper, her chest tightened. The document was the one
outlining Randolph’s marriage circumstances. Though a tiny part of her always
wondered if everything he said was true, outlined in front of her were his
tasks, everything he needed to complete to earn his spot in the family. Everything
except marrying her.

No
doubt her husband was incredible. Most people couldn’t accomplish half of what
Randolph had done in thirty-three years in their entire lifetimes. She pressed
her palm to the paper, praying his father realized who he had for a son.

She
turned to the next page and held her breath. As she suspected the page dealt
with his marriage, but was scratched out with a thick black pen and a note to
see the revised contract.

Revised?

Her
throat dried out, but she continued on and went to the next document, not a
contract, but a formal letter from Randolph to his father.

She
skimmed past the salutations and other business conventions and focused in on
the main paragraph.

Regarding
the marriage duration, it should be noted that any marriage I undertake will be
under duress. While I have no desire to ever be married, I will comply with
your demands but only for one year. At the end of said year, the marriage will
be dissolved and that will complete our contract in total. I further request it
be noted that I find this convention a cross between some medieval torture and
an arranged marriage, the practice antiquated and unnecessary even for a Van
Ayers. Know that no matter what the circumstance is of my forced nuptials, it
will be ended as fast as I can have the papers signed.

Though
her hand shook and her eyes burned from tears she would not allow to fall, she
took a quick glance at the last page. Sure enough, the final contract with
Randolph’s end date was clearly noted and contained the required signatures to
make everything legal. While Randolph might be in constant competition with his
father, there was no doubt as to the winner. Randolph the third could
manipulate everything, including changing one of his sacred contracts to suit
his needs. Certainly he made the year easy for himself by manipulating her to
fall in love with him.

Her
heart stopped at her own admission, and rather than swelling, it shriveled,
sank into her non-feeling stomach where the organ could suffer in a pool of
acid. With robotic movements, she managed to return the papers to the safe,
stood and put on some of her old clothes.