The Other Man (West Coast Hotwifing) (19 page)

He snorted softly, then sighed, a heavy sound. “I suppose you could call it that. But where I came from, a playground fight could end in grievous bodily harm.”

She wasn’t sure what that meant. It had to be an exaggeration. “Like a broken nose?”

“Like a knife wound or a gunshot.”

Her blood chilled.

“I was in a gang when I was a kid back in New York,” he said after long, quiet moments. There wasn’t a trace of New York in his accent. He was standard Californian.

She looked at him in the moonlight through the window. He was staring at the ceiling. She never should have asked.

“I’m sorry, you don’t need to—”

He ignored her words. “I’m not a good person. I never have been. I thought I was so tough and invincible, and I got my girlfriend killed. That’s what kind of eighteen-year-old kid I was, and that’s what kind of man I am. You deserve to know that.”

She smoothed a hand across his chest. “That’s not true. You’re a good man.” She meant it with all her heart. Keith called him cocky, but to her, Spence was fun-loving and sweet, making her laugh, making her feel sexy and desirable. He made everything about her and what she needed.

But he wouldn’t be soothed, and he grabbed her hand to hold her still. “Look at me.”

She tipped her head back to meet his gaze. His eyes were as deep as the bottom of the sea. “I am
not
good,” he said harshly. “She wanted me to get out, and I was so big and tough, I refused. Until she died in a drive-by shooting from a bullet that was meant for me.”

His gaze killed her, the ache in it, the bleakness, but she had no words to make it better. She didn’t know exactly how she’d brought them from fantastic sex to planning a weekend to delving into his dark places.

She put her hand to his lips. “Shh. It’s all right. I know it wasn’t your fault.”

“You don’t know anything,” he answered softly, then he curled his arm tighter around her. “I’m not good. And I want a weekend with you. Sea Ranch, Tahoe, Paso Robles, Napa, anywhere, I don’t care. I want it. Just the two of us.”

Like that weekend in Florida. “I want it, too. Ask him.” Keith would want pictures or a phone call right in the middle of things, a video, too. But she was sure he’d say yes. He thought it was all a game. That’s what it should have been. Except that she wasn’t playing anymore. Being with Spence was more real to her than anything else. Spence made her feel alive.

* * * * *

She didn’t get what he was saying. He’d tried telling her he wasn’t a good man. He didn’t deserve her, but he didn’t care. He was going to take as much of her as he could get.

He sat out on the dark patio, the night cooling after the hot summer day. His fingers itched to hold a cigarette, though he hadn’t smoked since the day Fiona died. He’d made her a promise that he would change. And he’d changed everything, all the things she’d wanted him to quit, his guys, smoking, getting drunk, the drugs. He’d gotten out, just the way she’d dreamed. He’d gone to college, become Spencer Benedict, Vice President, some day to be CEO or chairman of the board of a Fortune 500 company. But he should have changed all those things the day before she died, not the day after. If he had, maybe she’d still be alive. Maybe they would still be together. Maybe they wouldn’t. He didn’t take responsibility for her death. He took responsibility for having her in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He’d never let another woman close enough to get burned. He’d hidden who he was,
what
he was.

Until Zoe. He’d never told another living soul about Fiona. But he’d told Zoe. He’d wanted her to know what she was getting herself into. He’d been alone a long, long time, and he didn’t want to be alone anymore. He wanted her. But there was a price she’d have to pay.

He stretched his legs out on the patio, crossed his ankles, and drank his lager slowly.

He wasn’t thinking divorce. He thought only in terms of being with her whenever he could. He wanted to treat her like a lady, make her feel special. He imagined it almost as if he would be allowing her to go home to Keith rather than Keith allowing her to go out with him.

Time. That’s what he wanted. A good man wouldn’t ask for more. He wasn’t good, so he would take more, though he’d do it politely,
asking
Keith for the weekend, donning a civil veneer. But Keith wouldn’t be able to say no. Spence wouldn’t let him.

Chapter Seventeen

“Thanks for agreeing to meet me.” Spence had to admit it felt strange to be sitting across the table from a man whose wife he was sleeping with.

Keith smiled pleasantly enough. “I was curious when you called yesterday morning.” He wore a business suit, the jacket unbuttoned, with a red-and-black silk tie. Spence had never asked Zoe what her husband did for a living, but it was certainly on the professional end.

For a Tuesday, the lunch crowd was fairly heavy. He’d chosen a seafood restaurant just off Highway 101 on Embarcadero. The food was good, the atmosphere a cut above. The only drawback was the possibility that someone from West Coast might be lunching there. It wasn’t as if he was meeting Zoe. Though he’d like that. Lunch at a classy place, white tablecloths, crusty French bread, and lots of longing looks, surreptitious touching, but nothing serious. Yeah, maybe good old Keith would go for that, too.

They exchanged pleasantries about the state of the economy, what Spence did at West Coast, and the business interaction he would have with Bay Metals. The waiter had taken their orders and brought their drinks. Keith had a glass of chardonnay. Spence stuck with water.

“And your line of work?” Spence asked. It was only polite to discuss the other man’s profession as well. And this was a very polite conversation.

“I’m in private banking, the trust division.” Keith sipped his wine. “Making a bank the trustee of a large estate takes out the family element and minimizes the squabbling.”

Sounded great, but Spence didn’t think he’d like a bank telling him whether he could tap into his own money. Then again, he didn’t have a family to deal with. He’d been an only child, and his parents had been gone a long time. They’d never had more than just enough money to make rent and buy groceries. Spence attended college on student loans, part-time jobs, and hard work.

“Sounds interesting,” he said.

“Trust law can be extremely complex. In addition to taxation rules.”

Their starters arrived. Keith ordered the clam chowder, and Spence had gone with a salad. The waiter ground fresh pepper on top until Spence held up his hand.

They were alone again amid a buzz of low level conversation.

“So,” Keith said after a spoon of chowder. “Let’s get to the point. What’s this”—he waved a hand over the table, encompassing Spence—“all about?”

“Your wife’s a very charming woman,” Spence began.

Keith arched a brow. “Those weren’t exactly the words you used on that particular night.”

He’d used so many, Spence couldn’t remember.

“She’s a hot little number, isn’t she,” Keith went on.

The wording rubbed Spence the wrong way. Not the sentiment of a man in love with his wife. But then
this
man didn’t mind giving his wife away one night a week. “I’ve never met another woman quite like her.”

Keith laughed softly. “You think we’re crazy. A little sick maybe.”

“I’m not judgmental.” The salad was good, the dressing tangy, but he found he wasn’t hungry. “Your”—he searched for an appropriate word—“lifestyle is unusual. But it works for the two of you.” He got to the lunch’s point. “I’d like to take Zoe on a weekend trip.”

Keith continued spooning soup. Then he asked, “Where?”

“Sea Ranch. It’s on the Mendocino coast.” He thought of long walks along the cliffs, glasses of wine in the hot tub, and sex under the stars with the sound of waves crashing.

“One night or two?” Keith scraped the bottom of his bowl.

“A Friday and Saturday night.”

Keith carefully laid his spoon in the soup cup so it didn’t clatter. “What do I get out of it?”

“You tell us what you want.” Spence was willing to do photos, phone calls, a video, though it would be an intrusion into what he’d planned, to make a weekend just about the two of them.

“I’d like to come with you.”

Spence couldn’t help it, he snorted. “That isn’t quite what I had in mind.”

Keith leaned in, dropped his voice, his brown eyes suddenly dark. “Yes, but she’s my wife, so what
I
have in mind is what counts.”

Well, this was a different Keith. He had more of the lion in him than Spence had imagined. “You let your wife play while she’s on business trips. This is no different.”

“She doesn’t spend a whole weekend fucking her playmates on business trips.”

“She spent the weekend fucking me. And you loved hearing all about it.”

Keith sat back, studying Spence for a long moment, then his nostrils flared, and he leaned forward, his voice quiet but deadly. “Fucking you for a couple of hours in the evening isn’t spending the weekend with you.”

Spence realized his mistake. Zoe obviously hadn’t told Keith everything they’d done that weekend. She’d let her husband think she’d gone house-hunting on her own. maybe even driven to St. Augustine by herself.

His momentary silence said it all. Keith blinked, then his eyes narrowed. Spence went for the save. “All we really want is your permission—”

Keith suddenly slammed his hand on the table, the crockery jumping, heads turning. “Fuck you,” he said succinctly. “You do not have my permission.” He threw his napkin on the table, rose, and left, his dress shoes beating a hard rhythm on the wood flooring.

Shit. He’d thought he had the upper hand. He’d thought good old Keith actually wanted him to be top dog. He’d been wrong. He hadn’t understood anything at all.

* * * * *

Fuck. He was such an idiot. Keith pulled over into a post office parking lot. His chest was tight. He couldn’t breathe. Anxiety. One of his clients was threatening a lawsuit because the family hadn’t known about a huge estate tax liability due upon the matriarch’s passing since she hadn’t been an American citizen. The family claimed they’d never been told; if they had, they’d have done the naturalization papers for the old lady before she died. Of course, there was legalese in the contract saying that the private bank wasn’t responsible for this or that or, well, just about anything that went wrong. But, no matter how you cut it, a lawsuit cost the bank money. And it was his watch. The buck stops here, as they say.

He never talked about his work with Zoe despite the fact that she’d worked for him all those years ago. He didn’t bring problems home. He always listened to her, but he wanted their house to be a safe haven for her. Not a place where she had to deal with his bitching and moaning.

Look what she’d done in return. A weekend. Like they were lovers, not just fuck buddies. She’d lied about Florida, too. They hadn’t just fucked; they’d spent the whole weekend together. He was a fool. He’d played right into her scheme. She got
him
to suggest seeing the other man here. She’d gotten him to buy into everything.

Shit, shit, shit. He pounded the steering wheel, only stopping when he noticed a woman give him a look across the parking lot.

Keith sagged back against the seat and closed his eyes, but he saw Zoe’s face as Spencer Benedict was fucking her. He heard her words, the sound of her voice. He saw her licking the man’s come off her palm, then putting her hand to his lips. And sharing that kiss. It was so fucking intimate. The more he watched the damn video, the more his gut roiled. But no, even then, he kept telling himself it was just sex. She loved him. This was just their kinky game.

But she’d faked her orgasms with him the last two times she’d come home. She’d fucking faked it. Sunday night, he hadn’t even tried touching her.

He should have known this would happen at some point. When he’d stopped being able to satisfy her in bed, when he sent her off on her business trips and told her to fuck other guys, he should have known it would come to this. Eventually, she would find a man she connected with. She would start to feel emotion. It was inevitable. He’d been lying to himself.

He’d been so intent on fulfilling his fantasies that he hadn’t even realized he was losing his wife. He wasn’t the husband anymore. He wasn’t the man she loved. Now
he
was the other man.

* * * * *

Spence had left her three messages, but Zoe had been in meetings most of the day and didn’t talk to him until close to four.

He’d said things hadn’t gone well during the lunch with Keith.

Zoe felt sick to her stomach as she drove home. What had they done? Keith and her. Spence wasn’t really a part of it. It was what she and Keith had done to each other.

Didn’t you tell him about St. Augustine?

Spence’s words had been almost accusing. She hadn’t really lied, but nor had she told Keith that she’d spent every waking moment with Spence from Friday on while they were in Florida.

Keith’s car was already in the garage. She rolled in, then closed the door behind her, feeling almost claustrophobic inside the small car trapped in the garage. Trapped.

She didn’t know why she was afraid. Liar. She knew. She was afraid Keith could look inside her and see the things she felt. The emotion she was never supposed to feel for Spence.
It’s just size,
she’d said. But it all boiled down to disloyalty and how badly she’d wanted that weekend away with Spence. A whole weekend to pretend she wasn’t married.

Get out of the car and face your husband.

Maybe Keith wouldn’t recognize all the feelings she wasn’t supposed to have. Maybe she could bluff her way through the omission about St. Augustine and that night at the B&B.

She grabbed her purse and the empty plastic container she’d brought her lunch in. Once inside, she waited for Keith to call out,
Hey honey, what’s for dinner.

There was only an unnerving silence. His home office was empty, the living room silent, the TV screen blank.