Wife for a Week(23)

She smiled at that and he had the uncomfortable feeling that she’d anticipated each and every one of his defences.

‘I promise it won’t happen again,’ she said, and it was all he could do to keep his jaw from hitting the ground. ‘That’s what you want to hear, isn’t it?’

Well, yes. It was just that he wasn’t expecting to hear it quite so readily. Where was the dismay? The protest at having to give up such incredible lovemaking? The businessman in him was relieved. The lover was insulted. The lover, he thought darkly, was the one who’d got him into this mess in the first place. ‘I think we need a new rule,’ he said firmly. ‘No more sex.’ And then as she sat upright, slid on over to the edge of the bed and winced as she did so, ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Tender,’ she confessed, blushing to the roots of her hair. ‘I don’t think I’m going to have any problem complying with your new rule.’

Great. Just Great. Now he had guilt. This, he remembered grimly, was one of the reasons he’d never taken a virgin to his bed. He didn’t know what to do. How to help. ‘Maybe you should take it easy today, postpone your sightseeing trip. I’m sure Jasmine wouldn’t mind.’

‘I’d mind,’ said Hallie. ‘I want to see the galleries.’

So much for trying to get her to rest. What was it with women and shopping? Which reminded him. He sifted through his computer case for his spare cash; found it at the very bottom of the case, beneath the computer. ‘Here,’ he said, holding it out towards her. ‘Take it. You might see something you want to buy at the shops today.’

Hallie stared at the thick wad of money, stared at him. ‘I thought we agreed you’d pay me at the end of the week.’

Nick nodded. ‘And I will. This is just shopping money.’

‘Shopping money.’ She said it slowly, looking at the money as if it were poison. Looking at him as if he were a snake. ‘Keep it,’ she said, with a bite in her voice that was new to him.

‘Look, you’re going to the galleries,’ he said, thoroughly baffled by her reaction. ‘I’m assuming that whatever they sell there won’t come cheap and, if I know Jasmine, she’ll consider your outing a failure unless you find something you can’t resist. I certainly don’t expect you to use your own money for that kind of thing. Put it in your handbag just in case.’

‘No!’ She sounded fierce, looked fragile. ‘I know you’re paying me to pretend to be your wife, and I know I let you buy me clothes for the trip, but you can keep your shopping money. I won’t take it.’

‘Why not?’ The way he saw it, it was all part of the same deal.

She looked away. ‘Because it’d make me feel like even more of a whore,’ she said finally.

Nick blinked. Then he scowled. ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Okay, so his timing could have been better. He shouldn’t have offered her money so soon after sex. But she’d seemed just fine about the sex, he thought morosely. Not to mention the ceasing of it. They’d finished that discussion, hadn’t they? And moved on. ‘This money’s got nothing to do with the sex!’ he snapped. ‘Don’t you dare think I’m trying to pay you for sex!’

She looked slightly mollified. A little uncertain. But her chin was high. ‘I’m still not taking it.’

Then they were at an impasse. Because Nick was equally determined that she would. ‘What if I commissioned you to buy me a gallery piece while you were out shopping today?’ he said. ‘What if I secured your professional services as an antiquities expert, so to speak? Would that be acceptable?’

‘I’m listening,’ she said warily.

‘Buy me something.’ He tossed the money down on the bed beside her.

‘With this much money I could probably buy you Hong Kong Harbour,’ she said in a small voice, staring down at the notes scattered across the bedspread. ‘What do you want?’

‘You’re the expert. You choose.’

‘Yes, but a buyer usually has some idea what their client is after.’

Buyer and client now, were they? He should have been pleased that she was going to take the money. He should have been happy she’d finally come to her senses and recognized it as a necessary part of the charade rather than some kind of postcoital pay-off, but he didn’t feel pleased. He felt…hollow. ‘Buy me a vase,’ he said. It was the first thing that came to mind.

‘Fine. A vase it is.’

He watched her shove the notes into a zippered section of her handbag, smile a bright false smile and head for the door. Something was bothering him. Something big.