Husband Replacement Therapy by Lette Kathy

Author:Lette, Kathy [Lette, Kathy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Womens Fiction/Chick Lit
ISBN: 9781760890148
Publisher: Penguin Random House Australia
Published: 2020-04-27T14:00:00+00:00

20

I am going to sleep with him, I told myself as I feigned fatigue, claimed a headache and waved my sisters ashore for a full day’s fun in Noumea. (My loving but competitive sisters fought over which one of them would stay to take care of me, which only amplified my guilt, but I finally fobbed them off. I know, I know, straight to jail, do not pass Go.)

I am going to sleep with him, I told myself as I shaved my armpits and legs and moisturised every inch of my flesh.

I am going to sleep with him, I told myself as I pfffted with one spray and pfffted with another.

I am going to sleep with him, I told myself as I put on my laciest, sexiest, most temptingly sheer peekaboo underwear, purchased from the onboard boutique.

I am going to sleep with him, I told myself as I drew the curtains in the cabin and swept the ornamental pillows off the bed.

I am going to sleep with him, I told myself as I checked my phone one last time to make sure there was still no communication from the absentee infidel, otherwise known as my soon-to-be-ex-husband.

I am going to sleep with him, I said, flicking on the ‘Do not disturb’ sign.

I am going to sleep with him, I told myself as I opened the door at his knock to find the ship’s doctor standing there, all tousle-haired and gimlet-eyed.

‘I can’t do it,’ were the first words out of my mouth after he’d crossed my bedroom threshold. ‘I’m too nervous.’

‘Oh, good. Me too.’ The doctor sighed with relief.

‘Don’t you like sex?’

‘Of course I like sex. It’s a pastime I rank just above breathing. It’s just that I don’t want to break up a marriage. Are you sure it’s over with your husband?’

‘Yes . . . No . . . I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing. This is ridiculous. I’m acting like a teenager, except with wrinkles instead of pimples.’

We stood in silence for an agonising minute.

‘Your sunburn looks a bit less hideous today,’ he finally said.

Insofar as I’m aware, no one had ever used a second-degree burn as a flirtatious manoeuvre before. If this were a rom-com, Brody would have placed his hands around my waist and drawn me so close I’d be able to inhale the musky spice of his skin, taste his warm breath on my face and feel the pulse of lust stir in him as he gnawed his way through my lingerie with his teeth. But we weren’t in a film. We were two strangers, one of whom was still married and sneaking around behind her sisters’ backs, and the other, well, a misanthropic, possibly psychopathic doctor who’d butchered a man in surgery and had lost his leg to a landmine or a crocodile or a crazed girlfriend.

But then he looked at me with those piercing eyes and that crooked smile, and there it was – the pang of lust. Pang is putting it mildly.

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