The Millionaire Claims His Wife(17)

That was when she'd decided she was tired of playing the demure,  domesticated backup to Chase's Captain of Industry. He had his degrees  and his construction company; she could have something of her own, too.

An education. In things that would never interest him. He'd made that  accusation, once, when he'd come home from a trip and she'd paused only  long enough to acknowledge his presence before hurrying out the door to a  lecture on haiku.

"Dammit," he'd roared, "is that how you pick courses from the catalog,  Annie? Do you look the list over and say, hey, that's a good one! Maybe  my big dumb husband won't even know what the name of the course means."

"However did you know?" she'd said with a chilly smile, and then she'd  flounced out the door, but quickly, so that she wouldn't cry in front of  him or say, Chase, please, what's happened to us? I love you. Tell me  that you still love me.

It wasn't true, of course, about the courses. She took the ones that  sounded interesting: haiku because the description in the catalog  sounded so spare and elegant. The one on Jasper Johns because one of  Chase's clients had mentioned having a Johns collection, and the one on  batik-making because she'd seen a dress in the window of a shop and been  fascinated by the swirling colors.

She took the flower-arranging courses simply because there'd been a time  in their lives when they were broke and desperately in love, and Chase  had bought her a single red rose, because it was all he could afford,  and she'd cherished it more than the huge bouquets that came,  impersonally, by messenger once he'd struck it rich.

Oh, how much more wonderful that single rose had been!

He'd come home with it in his hand, years and years ago, along with wine  and two tickets to the Virgin Islands, and when he'd offered her the  rose he'd smiled shyly and said it was almost as beautiful as she was.

She could still remember how she'd gone into his arms.

"I'm sweaty, babe," he'd said huskily. "I need a shower."

And she'd said yes, he did, and she'd started to undress him, and a minute later they'd been naked, in the shower together.

Her skin tingled now, just remembering what it had been like, the long,  slow soaping of each other's bodies, the kissing and touching, the way  they'd ended up making love right there, under the spray, Chase's arms  hard around her, her legs tight around his waist, him saying her name  against her mouth, over and over, and she crying out as they came  together in explosive release.

Tears stung behind her lids. It was stupid, thinking about things like  that. Especially about sex, because that brought her straight to what  had finally ended their marriage.

She'd been taking a class in dried flower making and design. She'd done  some nice work, she knew that, but one night the instructor had asked  her to wait after she dismissed the class. Then she'd asked Annie's  permission to enter one of her flower arrangements in a juried show.

Annie had said yes. And she'd been so happy and excited that she'd  forgotten how long it had been since she and Chase had shared good news.  She'd jumped into her car, driven to Chase's office building, found the  front door unlocked and sailed down the hall, straight into his  office...                       
       
           



       

Annie shuddered.

She could still see them now, her husband and his secretary, the girl  with her arms around Chase's neck and his around her waist, their bodies  pressed together...

That was it. The marriage was over.

Chase had tried to explain, to worm out of the truth, but Annie wasn't  stupid. She'd endured enough pain, watching the man she loved slip  slowly but steadily away from her all those years.

And "loved" was the right word. That night, as Chase and his secretary  sprang guiltily apart, Annie knew that whatever she'd once felt for her  husband was gone. Deader than a daffodil that's been squashed by a  truck.

"Annie," Chase had said, "Annie, you have to listen."

"Yes, Mrs. Cooper," the young woman had pleaded, "you must listen!"

Listen? Why? There was nothing to talk about.

She'd felt suddenly very calm. The decision was out of her hands, thanks to Chase and the weeping girl.

"I want a divorce," she'd told him, and she'd even managed a cold smile  for the secretary. "He's all yours," she'd said, and then she'd turned  on her heel and marched out

Things had gone quickly, after that. Her sister, Laurel, had recommended  an attorney, although Laurel had done her best to convince Annie not to  act so hastily. But there was nothing hasty in Annie's decision. She  and Chase had been heading for this moment for years.

The divorce had been civilized. Chase's attorney was an old friend,  David Chambers, who kissed her cheek and treated her with courtesy  during their one face-to-face over a conference table. Chase wanted her  to have the condominium. Half their savings. Half of everything. Child  support, and generous alimony.

Annie said she didn't want the money. Her lawyer, and his, told her not  to be stupid. She had a child to support. They were right, she knew, so  she accepted everything except the alimony. As for the condo-it was  filled with ugly memories. She sold it as soon as she could, moved to  Stratham and began a new life. A career. She'd cut herself off from the  past, and damned successfully. She'd made friends. She'd dated. And now  she had Milton Hoffman, who wanted to marry her.

And then Chase had come along, spoiling everything with a stupid lie.

Annie chomped down on her lip.

Who was she kidding? Her life had started slipping off the tracks hours  before Chase had told that dumb lie and the truth was, she understood  that he'd done it not out of stupidity but out of love for their  daughter.

The lie hadn't put her on this collision course with disaster.

The dance had. That silly dance at the wedding.

Annie tried not to remember. The warmth of Chase's arms encircling her.  The beat of his heart against hers. The feel of his lips against her  hair, against her skin. The feeling that she bad come home, that she was  where she'd always belonged.

Oh God.

She took a long, shuddering breath.

Stop it, she told herself fiercely, and she put her head back, shut her eyes and willed herself to sleep.

* * *

A change of pitch in the jet's engines woke Chase hours later.

He yawned, tried to remember where he was-and went completely still.

Annie was asleep, with her head on his shoulder. She was tucked close  against him, her face against his neck, just the way she used to back in  the long-ago days when they'd cuddle up together on the sofa to watch  Sunday football.

"You watch," she'd say, "I don't mind. I'll read."

But after a little while, she'd sigh. The book would slip from her  hands. She'd put her head on his shoulder and sigh again, and he'd sit  there with her asleep beside him, unwilling to move or to give up these  sweet moments even if every muscle in his body ached.

A feeling of almost unbearable tenderness swept over him. She was  dreaming, too. Looking down, into her face, he could see the little  smile on her lips.

Was she dreaming about him?

"Annie?"

Annie sighed. "Mmm," she said.

"Babe, it's time to wake up."

She smiled and cuddled closer. "Mmm," she whispered, "Milton?"

Milton?

Milton Hoffman? That was the man in his wife's dream? That was why she was smiling and cuddling up so close to him?

Chase felt his heart turn to ice.

Hoffman. That poor excuse for a man. That effete jerk. That was who Annie wanted. That was the kind of man she'd always wanted.

Why hadn't he seen it before?

Milton Hoffman, Professor of English, Shakespearean Authority and  All-round Chrome Dome, never had mud on his wing tips. He never had to  leave the house before dawn and come home, dragging his tail, long after  dark. He never had to wonder if anybody noticed the shadow of dirt  under his fingernails because ol' Milton had never had dirt under his  fingernails, not in this lifetime.                       
       
           



       

Chase sat up straight. Annie's head bobbed; she made a little purring sound and nuzzled closer.

"Annie," he said coldly. "Wake up."

"Mom."

Annie sighed. She was at that point where you know you're dreaming, but  you're not quite ready to give up the dream. Not this dream. She was too  interested in seeing how it would end.

She had been sitting in a classroom, with Milton on his knees beside  her. He'd just proposed, and she was earnestly explaining why she had to  turn him down.

I like you very much, Milton, she said, and I respect you and admire you.

But he wasn't Chase. His kisses had never stirred her the way Chase's did. His touch didn't set her on fire.

"Annie? Wake up."

"Milton," she said, and then she opened her eyes and saw Chase glaring at her from two inches away.