The 200% Wife by Jennifer Greene

Author:Jennifer Greene
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781459273597
Publisher: Harlequin Treasury
Published: 2012-01-09T15:28:29.112000+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Once they left Gar’s lodge, starvation was the first problem.that needed solving. Abby admitted to taking charge, but somehow a simple dinner plan had accidentally become a little…decadent.

Heaven knew, she was striving to obliterate the workaholic side of her character and become a lazy, laid-back hedonist. Until now, this worthwhile goal had been a total failure. She was trying. But mastering laziness refused to come easily. She didn’t do “idle” well. Shaking loose the wholesome, responsible—boring—side of her personality had been backbreakingly hard work.

Tonight, though, she was tasting her first heady flavor of success. Her gaze wandered around the bath-room. Two vanilla candles flickered from the shelf of the square malachite tub. A few feet away, a fat peach, candle reflected a teardrop flame in the long vanity mirror. Whirlpool jets thrummed a rolling surge of hot water. The piped-in stereo played Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in D barely loud enough to hear, but still music to bring out the winsome romantic in the most hopeless cynic. Steam whispered around the semidark room, clinging to the rich emerald-green malachite, dancing around the candlelight, carrying the scents of peach and vanilla into the shadows.

The white cartons of Chinese lining the tub shelf seemed a tad out of place. Eating dinner in the bathtub, in fact, had initially chafed against all of Abby’s New England puritan nerves. It was disgraceful. It was sinful. It was silly.

But it was working, Abby mused dryly. She’d only been joking when she brought up the idea to Gar. The thing was, when they finally caught up with each other around eight, she’d caught the strain lines around his eyes, the tense muscles in his shoulders. He was more revved up than an overheated engine. She’d lived a workaholic’s hours too many years not to recognize the symptoms—he’d had a good workday, just too long. Maybe he was whipped, but it wasn’t that easy to turn off the power switch.

Gar had outright laughed when she suggested the whimsical idea of eating Chinese in the bathtub. He hadn’t taken the outlandish idea any more seriously than she meant it, but he’d started relaxing with that laughter…which was exactly what he needed to do. And it wasn’t half as hard as she expected to jettison her New England puritan nerves and follow through, when the rewards for misbehaving were right in front of her eyes.

He was naked now. He’d staked out one corner of the tub, she had another, and beneath the concealing bubbly water, their toes touched. Both of them had knees raised—knees were hardly substitutes for tables, but they successfully balanced cartons of Chinese and chopsticks pretty well. Glasses of white wine glowed in the candelight. His skin looked as burnished as a pirate’s. Water droplets riveled over the smooth hard slope of his shoulders, droplets that sneaked into his wiry chest hair and hid there.

Her gaze had a nasty tendency to stray toward his body. Not a good idea, when looking at him inspired a hopeless hormonal reaction, and just then she didn’t want to be distracted.

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