Wife For A Week Part 9

He was taking her where she'd never been. He was evoking in her sensations she'd never, ever felt. She felt like a comet, careening out of control, a meteorite burning itself up.

It wasn't until Hank's fingers touched the waistband of her pajama bottoms that the fear grew to mammoth proportions, overwhelming the incredible desire and excitement.

"Hank..." Her voice was a bare whisper, almost inaudible against their frantic breathing, their gasps of desire. "Hank... I lied," she finally blurted.

He stopped moving, seemed to stop breathing for a long, infinite moment. "What?"

Angela drew a gulp of air. "I lied... when I told you I've had lovers before. It wasn't true. I've never had a lover...never."

"You mean you're a....you haven't..." He rolled off her and onto his back. For a moment neither of them said anything as they waited for blood to cool, for heartbeats to slow.

Angela pulled her top together and fastened the b.u.t.tons, her fingers trembling with residual desire. She waited for him to speak, unsure what more to say.

On one hand, she was grateful that they'd stopped before actually making love. On the other hand, she was left with an ache of hollow need, a need she knew instinctively only one man would have been able to fill... Hank.

She loved him. What had begun as a harmless crush so long ago, had somehow blossomed in the last week into real, and abiding love. The realization struck her like a thousand-pound weight attaching to her heart.

"Angela... I'm sorry." He finally spoke, and his words spiraled down inside her, adding additional weight to her overburdened heart. "I don't know what to say..."

"Please. Don't say anything," she replied, tears burning at her eyes. "It's my fault as much as it is yours. I should never have let things get so out of control. Let's just say that we both almost made a grave mistake and leave it at that." She heard his sigh and recognized it as a huge sigh of relief.

"Okay," he replied after another long moment of silence. "I'm sure it's just a matter of these crazy circ.u.mstances," he said, as if needing a logical explanation for their near lovemaking. "I mean... we've pretended we're married, we've been sharing the same bed..."

"I'm sure you're right," she replied, wanting him to stop with the excuses and hoping he didn't hear the stinging heartache in her voice.

They lay side by side, neither speaking for several long moments. The moonlight peeked in the window, illuminating the room in a silvery glow.

She knew if she turned over and looked at him she'd be able to see his features. She'd be able to see the face, all the features that made up the man she loved.

"Good night," he finally said, then turned away from her.

"Good night," Angela whispered. She turned her back to him, tears seeping from beneath her eyelids.

Her love for him ached inside her, not just a physical need, but a need much bigger, much more profound.

She loved him and knew not in a million years, would he ever love her back. Men like Hank Riverton didn't fall in love with women like Angela Samuels, and women like Angela Samuels were fools if they allowed themselves to fall in love with men like Hank Riverton.

She'd felt beautiful for those brief moments in his arms, but reality stared at her each morning in the mirror. Reality was in her father's words of long ago.

Fool, a tiny voice yelled at her. How could you have let this happen? She stared at the wall, trying to think of the defining moment when a simple, harmless crush had turned to something deeper, when he'd managed to become more than her boss, more than a friend.

It was impossible to identify any singular moment. Love had come from laughter, through respect, despite differences. Love had climbed around barriers, embraced similarities and grown into something too big for her to avoid or ignore.

She wasn't sure when Hank finally fell asleep. He tossed and turned for at least an hour, then finally grew silent, his breathing pattern letting her know he'd found the peace of slumber.

When she thought he was finally soundly sleeping, she turned back over and found herself looking at the face of the man she loved.

In the past week she'd grown intimately familiar with his face. Her fingers held the sensory memory of touching the tiny wrinkles that radiated out from his eyes, the slight hollow of his cheeks, the soft curve of his mouth. Her head was filled with a million memories of his features... laughing, thoughtful, shamefaced and tender.

She rolled over on her back and touched her stomach. How she wished she was carrying his child, his little Hank Jr. or Ashley. How wonderful it must be to carry a seed of love that blossomed into a baby.

With a deep sigh, she turned, once again turning away from Hank. She stared at the wall until dawn light cast shadows and the sound of morning drifted through the window. She made sure that she didn't fall asleep, that her traitorous body didn't get an opportunity to end up in his arms.

Twice in his sleep, he reached for her and twice she evaded him by moving aside, gently pushing him back. It would have been easy to allow a sleepy embrace to occur, but Angela knew it would only make her heartbreak deeper than it already was.

She pretended to be sleeping when she felt Hank stir and knew he had awakened. Despite the fact that her back was to him, she felt him looking at her, felt the warmth of his gaze on her back. After a long moment, he got out of bed and disappeared into the bathroom.

Angela rolled over on her back and rubbed her gritty eyes. She'd shed few tears throughout the night, although she felt as if a million rested just behind her eyelids, ready to burst free at any given moment. But she refused to release them here, with him lying in the bed next to her.

She tried to tell herself he wasn't worth crying over, that he was opinionated, selfish, conceited... all the things she wouldn't want in a man. But, she knew better. Yes, he was firm in his beliefs. But, she knew he wasn't selfish, knew he wasn't conceited. He was self-confident, secure in the man he was, but had the wonderful ability to laugh at himself.

Rubbing her eyes once again, she knew what she had to do, knew there was no alternative. She waited until they ate breakfast and said their goodbyes to the other couples and to Brody and Barbara.

She waited until they had driven several hours. They small-talked, then stopped and had lunch. Finally, when they were only miles from Great Falls she decided the time was right and there was no way to get around it.

"Hank," she began, hoping he couldn't see the emotion that crowded her heart shining from her eyes.

He cast her a quick smile. "Yeah?"

The smile pierced through her, making her ache even more, but strengthening her resolve for what she was about to do.

She drew a deep breath. "I'm officially giving you my two-week notice," she said. "I'm quitting my job as your secretary."

Hank stomped on the brakes, causing the car behind them to honk several short, angry, blaring beeps. "What?" Surely he'd heard her wrong. She couldn't have said what he thought she'd said.

"I'm quitting my job. I'm giving you two weeks' notice," she repeated.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, trying to focus on driving and staring at her at the same time. He finally decided he couldn't do both. With a wrench of the steering wheel, he pulled to the side of the highway and squealed to a halt.

For a long moment he stared at her, willing her to take the words back, but she faced him down, a touch of defiance in her golden gaze. "Jeez, Angela. What brought this on?" He swept a hand through his hair and leaned back against the seat, shocked to distraction.

"Nothing brought this on," she protested. "It's something I've been thinking about for some time."

"Is this about last night?" He saw the flames of color that instantly lit her cheeks. "It is, isn't it?" He hit the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. "Dammit, I told you I was sorry, that it shouldn't have happened."

He rubbed his temple, where a headache had begun to pound. It was his fault. They had almost made a horrid mistake last night and it had been all his fault.

He'd intended to give her a sweet chaste kiss of thanks, but the moment his lips had touched hers, chaste had gone out of his head.

"This has nothing to do with last night," she replied. "How egotistical of you to a.s.sume that it has anything to do with last night." The words shot out of her, crisp and curt.

"Then what?" Again he raked a hand through his hair and eyed her frantically. She couldn't be serious. Maybe she had a warped sense of humor that she'd never displayed before this moment in time.

She sighed and stared out the window for a long moment, then looked back at him. "Hank, I'm tired of working for you. I'm tired of ordering your sandwiches, of picking up your dry cleaning. I'm tired of buying your father his birthday present and fetching flowers for your woman of the moment. When you hired me, you didn't tell me I'd be a combination mother/secretary/wife. When you hired me you said you'd be training me in the field of advertising."

"It will be different when we get back," Hank said, desperation filling his stomach, crushing his chest. He had to change her mind. He had to. "I told you we'd make changes when we got back, and we will." He couldn't imagine the office without her. She was the glue that held the office together. "Angela, I swear it will be different. I'll get somebody else to do those things, I'll hire you an a.s.sistant, so you have more time to work on accounts."

"I don't believe you," she said flatly.

"What do you mean, you don't believe me?" he asked incredulously. "Why should you not believe me?"

Her eyes widened with utter disbelief. "You just spent a week lying to people about my relationship to you. I've had seven days to see what a good liar you are."

"That was different I'm not lying now," Hank protested, a rising panic making his voice louder than he'd intended.

"Well, I don't want to work for you anymore," she yelled back, matching him tone for tone.

Hank drew a deep breath of air, trying to calm himself down, fighting against the absolute panic that coursed through him. He could tell by the look on her face that, at least for the moment, she was adamant. He also knew there was no point in arguing with her... at least not here and now.

"The only way I'll accept your resignation is if you type it up and present it properly in my office on Monday morning," he finally said.

"Fine," she replied. She turned her gaze out the side window.

Hank looked at her for a long moment, searching his mind for ways to change hers. Angela quit? Impossible. She was the best d.a.m.ned secretary he'd ever had. He wasn't about to let her slip away so easily. He put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb and back into traffic.

Within minutes they had reached Angela's home. He parked in the driveway and shut off the engine. He turned in the seat to face her. "Angela, please reconsider what you're doing." She shook her head, her resolution evident in the tightness of her features. "You have the rest of the day. All I'm asking is that you think about it."

She nodded curtly. "Okay, I'll think about it. But, I'm not going to change my mind."

Hank sighed, stunned at the idea of working without her. She didn't wait for him to say anything further. She got out of the car and opened the back door and grabbed her suitcase.

Hank quickly left the car and took the heavy bag from her. "I swear things will be different, if you'll just give me a chance," he said as he walked with her to the front door. He set her suitcase down on the porch and gazed at her pleadingly.

"Hank, don't make this more difficult than it already is," she said softly.

"If it's difficult, then it must be wrong," he exclaimed. "Angela, I need you. You keep the office running smoothly, you keep things sane."

"Goodbye, Hank," she said as she grabbed her suitcase and opened the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He stood on the porch long after she'd disappeared and closed the door behind her. He fought the impulse to beat down the door, climb through a window and confront her again. He'd give her a raise, shorten her hours... whatever it took, he had to figure out a way to keep her.

He got back into his car, but instead of heading to his apartment, he drove to his father's house. A year ago, when his father Harris had remarried, he'd also retired and bought a modest two-bedroom home with enough backyard for a huge garden.

After parking in his father's driveway, instead of going to the front door, Hank walked around the side, to the back of the house where he knew he'd probably find his dad and his stepmother. Iris.

Sure enough, Iris sat at an umbrella table sipping a gla.s.s of iced tea, and Hank's father stood amid the high tomato plants, plucking ripened vegetables and putting them in a basket. It was an idyllic scene and for some reason it irritated Hank.

"What a pleasant surprise," Iris greeted him. "Harris, look who's here."

Harris Riverton looked up and his features wreathed with a smile. "Hey, son." With quick, determined strides, Harris approached. Setting his basket on the table, he patted Hank on the back. "We tried to get in touch with you Thursday night to see if you wanted to meet for dinner."

"I've been out of town all week on business," Hank replied. His dad gestured him into an empty seat at the table. He sat, unsure exactly what had prompted this spontaneous visit.

"How about some iced tea?" Iris asked.

Hank nodded. "That sounds great," he agreed.

As Iris left to go into the house, Hank turned his attention to his father. Harris Riverton had always been a distinguished-looking man, with silvered temples and the trim fit of a man half his age.

At the moment, clad in a pair of worn jeans and a crisply ironed short-sleeved dress shirt, he still looked distinguished, but he also looked relaxed... happier than Hank had ever seen. Happiness... Hank had never felt more unhappy in his life than he did at the moment.

"You look good, Dad. I swear you're getting younger every day."

"Contentment, it's like the fountain of youth," Harris said.

"I wouldn't know about that," Hank replied with a sigh.

"Problems?"

Hank nodded, but said no more as Iris reappeared. Harris smiled at his wife as she handed them each their drinks, then turned his attention back to Hank. "What's up, son?"

"Is there a problem, Hank?" Iris asked. She and his father exchanged glances.

Hank released a small burst of laughter. "The way you two are looking at each other, I feel like I'm about ten years old and just got caught with a stack of naughty magazines."

Iris and Harris smiled at one another, and Hank's irritation returned full force. When they looked at each other and smiled, it was the same kind of gesture that Trent had, the one that said they were lucky, that they'd found something special and wonderful in each other.

"Hank, I wasn't around when you were growing up, but I can bet you were never the kind of boy that needed naughty magazines," Iris said with a small blush.

Hank grinned, the grin slowly fading. "My secretary is going to hand me her two-week notice tomorrow, and I don't know what rm going to do," he said.

"You'll hire another one," Harris replied.

"It's not that simple," Hank protested. "Angela is something special."

"Then it might take you a couple tries before you hire one as good as her," Harris replied.

Hank frowned. "No...you're missing the point. Angela is truly special. She makes me laugh and she stimulates my mind. She keeps me on my toes and makes me be a better person. There's no way I can live without her in my life."

Iris eyed Hank with a small smile. "I thought we were talking about a secretary."

"We are...I am," Hank replied.

Iris's smile grew wider. "You didn't tell us you were in love with Angela."

"In love? That's ridiculous," Hank scoffed.

"Sounds like love to me," Harris replied.

Hank's heart thudded loudly as he thought of the words he'd just spoken. Angela. A picture of her face superimposed itself in his mind... the golden light of her eyes, the beauty of her smile, her infectious laughter.

He thought of her quick mind, her gentle smile, how she'd looked when she'd spoken of her love for her brother, the emptiness she'd expressed when she'd spoken of her father.

Hank loved her.

The realization hit him hard in the gut. Somehow, someway, in the past week, he'd fallen in love with his secretary. He stared at Iris, then at his father, stunned by the revelation of his heart.

Iris laughed. "You look like a deer caught in a truck's headlights."