The Notorious Mrs. Wright. Fay Robinson
He figured this would be his only chance. Susan Wright didn’t appear to be giving in. But her next comment surprised him.
“Is there a Mrs. Lewis?” she asked, charmingly biting her bottom lip. “I don’t go out with married men.”
Whit smiled. Damn, she was attractive! Spending the afternoon with her wouldn’t be a hardship at all, even if it was part of the job.
“The only Mrs. Lewis in my life has been happily married to my father for the past forty-five years,” he told her honestly.
“Promise?”
“Promise. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
He felt the slightest tinge of remorse about that last part. If it turned out she wasn’t Emma, she’d never know that some of what he’d told her today was a lie. But if she was Emma, she’d find out the truth soon enough. Like her, he was a fraud.
CHAPTER THREE
EMMA FLEW UP THE STAIRS to change out of her slacks and into something more casual. Her heart pounded. Nervousness churned inside her stomach.
Like a football player who’d just scored a touch-down, she did a little bowlegged dance in front of the full-length mirror in her dressing room, then laughed out loud at her own craziness. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so light hearted, so excited about anything.
Dating hadn’t been part of her life. She couldn’t even remember a time lately when she’d been affected by a man, had felt a raw, physical awareness of one as she did with Whitaker Lewis. Even being in the same room with him had made her restless and achy, reminded her that she hadn’t had sex in…well, too long.
Nothing could come of this afternoon, but she wanted to go through with it nonetheless. For once, although it was only for a few hours, she longed to be a normal woman and pretend she really was “beautiful” like he’d said. Only one other man had ever called her that, and he’d been a liar.
She was lonely. Admitting it was easy. What harm was there in spending a few hours with someone to erase that loneliness temporarily, even if he was a stranger? None that she could see.
Feeling comfortable with him—that wasn’t so easy. Behind the protection of a disguise she could be sexy with men and say whatever was on her mind. Not so when she was herself, especially when she was attracted to someone.
She sucked in a breath and fortified her resolve.
“You can do this,” she told her image in the mirror.
Now, if she could only believe it.
Hastily she shed her dressy slacks and blouse. She pulled on a pair of white shorts and slipped into a matching top and tennis shoes. Her cell phone went into her pocket in case the restaurant needed to get in touch with her.
Excitement made her want to squeal like a teenager, but thirty-eight-year-old women didn’t squeal, especially thirty-eight-year-old women pretending to be forty-five.
Oh, God, would her age matter to him? When she was twenty and about to give birth to an illegitimate child, borrowing the identity of her twenty-seven-year-old friend had seemed practical. She’d wanted to appear more mature. The ruse had helped keep Tom safe. But now she hated that people thought she was older.
She pushed away her silly insecurities. Whitaker Lewis was taking her on a boat ride, nothing more. Worrying about what he might or might not think of her was ridiculous.
He waited in her office. When Emma walked in, he repeated how glad he was that she’d decided to come. He also took a covert look at her legs and appeared to like what he saw. Her opinion of him went up another two hundred percent.
“Ready, Mr. Lewis?”
“Only if you call me Whit.”
“All right…Whit.” The nickname fit him. “I’m Susan.”
The marina was half a block away, just past the bridge to the island. The boat held about fifty people on two decks. Whit gave her the choice of where to sit, so she chose a table on the upper deck, where they could see better. Once on the water, there’d be a breeze to keep them cool.
Rumblings of thunder told her they could expect the usual afternoon shower, but for now the clouds were to the west and not over them.
The chairs quickly filled with parents and children. The engine started, the boat backed out of the slip and they were on their way.
“Have you taken this trip before?” he asked her.
“No, and I really have been wanting to. I don’t know much firsthand about the city, only what I’ve read or been told.”
“Where did you move from?”
“Mmm…Nevada.”
“Is that where you were born?”
Emma hesitated. Years of hiding out had made her wary of strangers, but the wariness was as much habit as necessity. She had no reason to worry about Patrick finding her now. He’d died years ago. And thankfully, he’d never discovered she’d had a child.
Legal ramifications existed, of course, if anyone realized she wasn’t Susan, but in eighteen years no one had come looking for the dead friend whose identity Emma had borrowed. And from what Susan had told her, no one had cared enough to look for her.
Like Emma, Susan had run away from an impossible situation at home. But unlike Emma, she’d been unable to resist the lure of drugs and prostitution. She’d died of an overdose.
Emma’s foremost concern was Tom. She wasn’t sure what he might do if he learned she’d taken over someone’s life. He must also never learn about his father. He’d never forgive her for the lies.
“I’m sorry,” Whit said in the extending silence. “Am I being too nosy? I’d like to get to know you better, but I don’t want to pry into your private life.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m not used to anyone being interested enough to ask, is all.”
“I find that hard to believe. You’re very attractive.”
“Thank you.”
She liked the way he was looking at her, as if he wanted to gobble her up, but it also made her very, very nervous. How to handle being gobbled wasn’t within her area of expertise.
He was a toucher, too, and that heightened her sexual awareness of him, and her awareness of her own body. Climbing the steps, he’d put a steadying grip on her elbow. Crossing the busy street, he’d held her hand. She’d never known that elbows and hands could be erogenous zones.
Each contact had sent an electrical current racing through her nervous system. Right now that current pulsed between her legs.
Lord! She tried to redirect her focus away from what his nearness was doing to her, but the pull—female to male—overpowered logical thought.
What had he asked? Oh, about her birthplace.
“I’m, uh, from Virginia originally, but I’ve lived different places over the years.”
“And how did you wind up in Saint Augustine?”
“Abby’s responsible for that. We worked together as waitresses a few years ago in a horrible place. The management was crooked. The food was awful. Only two good things came out of that job—becoming friends with Abby and hearing her talk about her hometown. I fell in love with the city sight unseen.”
“So you moved here?”
“Not right away. The opportunity to own my own place only came open for me last year. I wanted to locate somewhere with a moderate climate and thriving tourist trade, but I also wanted a safe, family-oriented community for my son, and preferably something near the ocean, since he loves the water. So, I thought…here’s your chance to live in the town