The Millionaire Claims His Wife(29)

Boy, it was really coming down. People always said it rained hard in the  Pacific northwest, but the night she'd been there, the rain had been as  soft as a lover's caress.

Annie frowned. What nonsense! She hadn't wasted a minute thinking about  that awful night, and now it had popped into her head, wrapped in a bit  of purple prose that would make any levelheaded female retch.

It was the rain that had done it. And spending the day with Laurel. What  was the matter with the two of them? Were the Bennett sisters doomed to  go through life behaving like idiots?

No way. Laurel would pull herself together, the same as she'd always  done. As for her... Annie straightened her shoulders. She was not going  to think about that night, or Chase. Why would she? She wasn't a  masochist, and only a masochist would want to remember making a fool of  herself, because that was what she'd done on that island.

Falling for her ex's lying, sexy charm, tumbling into his arms, inviting  him into her bed and making it embarrassingly clear that she'd enjoyed  having him there...so clear that he'd figured she'd be only too happy to  offer a repeat performance.

Chase had phoned with that in mind several times since.

She'd talked with him the first time, because she knew they'd had to  agree on what to tell Dawn when she and Nick returned from Hawaii.

"What do you want to tell her?" Chase had asked, neatly dumping the problem into her lap.

"The truth," Annie had answered, "that you lied and I was dumb enough to  go along with it-but that would probably be a mistake. So why don't we  settle for something simple. Like, we spent the weekend together and it  just didn't work out."

"We didn't spend the weekend together," Chase had said. "It was only one night. But it doesn't have to end there."

Apparently behaving like an idiot once didn't keep you from behaving  like one all over again. Annie's heart had done those silly flip-flops  that she hated and she'd waited, barely breathing, for him to say he  loved her.

But he hadn't.

"I know you don't want to get involved again," he'd said in the same,  reasonable tone a TV pitchman might have used selling used cars, "but  you have to admit, that night was-it was memorable."

"Memorable," Annie had repeated calmly.

"Yes. And I'd like to see you again."

She could still remember how she'd felt, the pain and the rage twisting  inside her so she hadn't been sure which she wanted to do first, cry her  eyes out or kill him.

"I'll just bet you would," she'd said, with dignity, and then she'd hung  up the phone, poured herself a double sherry and toasted the brilliance  she'd shown on having removed Mr. Chase Cooper from her life five long  years ago.                       
       
           



       

At least he'd been up-front about what he wanted. And talkative,  especially compared to the silent act he'd put on that morning on the  island. He hadn't said more than half a dozen words to her, after the  guy had come to fetch them with the motorboat.

Not that she'd given him the chance to say much of anything. She'd done  something foolish by sleeping with Chase but she wasn't stupid: that  remark about what a wonderful night it had been wasn't anything but code  for "Thanks for the roll in the hay, babe," and she knew it. The quick  brush-off had almost broken her heart, but she'd sooner have died than  let Chase know it. So she'd put on what she'd figured was a look of  morning-after sophistication, as if one-night stands were part of her  life, and ignored him until they reached the airport, where she'd smiled  brightly, shaken his hand and said it had been a delightful evening and  she hoped his meeting with Mr. Tanaka went well.

Then she'd marched off, bought herself a ticket back to Connecticut, and  done her weeping alone in the back of a nearly empty jet throughout the  long flight home.

Sex, that was all Chase had wanted. But that was okay. Sex was all she'd  wanted from him, too. She understood that now. Five years was a long  time for a healthy woman to go without a man. And, she thought coldly,  Chase was good in bed. It was just too bad that even in this era of  female liberation, she'd had to delude herself into thinking she loved  him before she could sleep with him.

Well, it wouldn't happen again, despite his eager hopes for a repeat  performance. Let him wrestle between the sheets with his fiancée-not  that being engaged had stopped him that night. Why would it? Fidelity  wasn't his strong suit. He'd certainly proved that, five and a half  years ago.

"Sex-crazed idiot," Annie muttered, just as the door swung open and an elderly gentleman shuffled in.

"I beg your pardon," he said, while water dripped from his bushy white eyebrows.

Annie's face turned bright pink. "Not you," she said hastily. "I didn't mean... I was talking about..."

Oh, what was the use. She took a deep breath, yanked open the door and plunged out into the deluge.

* * *

The train to Stratham was half an hour late, thanks to the weather, and a  good thing, too, because it took her twice as long as it should have to  get to Penn Station.

She snagged a seat, even though the train was crowded, but her luck ran  out after that. The guy who sat down next to her was portly enough to  overflow his seat and part of hers, too. And he was in a chatty mood. He  started with the weather, went on to the current political scene  without stopping for breath. He was coming up fast on the problems of  raising teenagers in today's troubled world when Annie made a grab for  somebody's discarded newspaper, mumbled "Excuse me," and buried her nose  in what turned out to be the business section.

It was rude, perhaps, but she just didn't feel like small talk with a  stranger. Her visit with Laurel had upset her, on more than one level.  She and Laurel and Susie, Laurel's neighbor, had sat around the kitchen  table, drinking coffee and talking, and of the three, only Susie had a  husband who'd lived up to his marriage vows.

Annie stared blindly at the newspaper. What was it with men? And with  women, for that matter? Didn't they learn? How much grief did it take  before you finally figured out that men were just no...

Her breath caught.

Was that a photo of Chase? It certainly was. It was Chase, all right,  smiling at the camera and looking pleased with himself and with the  world, and why shouldn't he? Standing right beside him, looking gorgeous  and as perfect as a paper doll, was Janet Pendleton.

Annie's eyes filled with tears, although she couldn't imagine why. Chase certainly didn't mean anything to her.

"Damn you," she said, in a quavering whisper.

The man beside her stiffened.

"Were you speaking to me, madam?"

She looked up. The guy was looking at her as if she'd just escaped from the asylum.

Annie blinked back her tears.

"You're a man, aren't you?" she said.

Then she crumpled the newspaper, dumped it on the floor, rose from her seat and made her way through the train, to the door.

* * *

It was raining in Stratham, too.

Well, why not? The perfect ending to a perfect day, Annie thought  grimly, as she made her way through the parking lot to her car. It  didn't even pay to run, not when she was wet through and through. What  could another soaking possibly matter?

By the time she pulled into her driveway, she was shivering, sniffing,  and as close to feeling sorry for herself as she'd ever come. A hot  shower and getting into her old terry-cloth robe and a pair of slippers  helped. Supper seemed like a good idea, too, but banging open cabinet  doors and peering into the fridge didn't spur any creative juices.  Finally she gave up, took a diet meal from the freezer and popped it  into the microwave.                       
       
           



       

She was just putting it on the kitchen counter when the doorbell rang.

Annie looked at the clock. It was after seven. Who'd be dropping by at  this hour? Unless it was Dawn. A smile lit her face. Dawn and Nick lived  only half an hour away and sometimes they dropped in for a quick visit.  Everything was fine on that front, thank goodness. Dawn had returned  from her honeymoon glowing with happiness, and she'd taken the news that  her parents' supposed reconciliation had failed in her stride.

"I'm so sorry. Mom," she'd said, hugging Annie, "but at least you guys tried."

But the visitor at the door wasn't Dawn. It was Deborah Kent, standing  in the rain, clutching an enormous box from Angie's Pizza Palace.

"Well?" Deb demanded. "Do I get asked in, or do I have to sit in my car  and pig out on all ninety billion calories of an Angie's Deluxe without  any help?"

Annie's bleak mood lifted a little. "What kind of friend would I be if I  let you suffer such a fate?" she said, taking the box from Deb's hands.  "Come on in."