Husband Sit (Husband #1) Read online

  Jasmine jumped back up onto the lounge and I patted her in long, slow strokes while I forced myself to calculate the fact that on that salary I could have Brittany home by Christmas. I might even be able to pretend those twelve weeks were remote house sits, to hide it from my girlfriends. I had no boyfriend or family apart from Brittany, so there was no one watching where I was living or when. I wasn’t accountable to anyone, and that meant I had freedom, with a good chance of covering my tracks.

  The pieces were falling into place, and when I realized it wasn’t a totally impossible idea, giddy excitement swept up inside me, replacing the hopelessness that had crushed me all morning. I could almost feel my heart lift, and in that moment, it didn’t actually matter whether anyone would hire me. I had something to try—a window out of the cavern of despair I’d fallen into: imagining cheeky Bratt-girl, hollow-eyed with despair in some Bangkok prison, or Missy Lou giving me that disapproving glance she’d perfected. For the very last time.

  The fact that it would be a form of prostitution seemed less important to my weirdly-wired brain than the idea of sleeping with a married man. That would require me to go against my Catholic upbringing and my girlfriends’ good opinion of me. But beyond that, could I actually do the job—assuming there was such a position available? I was presentable, and certainly no threat to a rich wife. Would they pay me to sleep with their husbands while they were away? It might be temporarily embarrassing, being intimate with a stranger, but surely no worse than the awkwardness of a one-night stand. And when the job was over, I’d leave and never see them again.

  The longer I sat there, the more I was sure I could do it. I’d even have free time while the husband was at work to do secretarial assignments. Morals were a niggling problem, but when I considered the angles, I realized I wouldn’t be cheating on anyone. In fact, I’d be strengthening marriages by keeping straying husbands from leaving their wives.

  Or at least that’s what I told myself. The most compelling piece of justification, however, was simple necessity. I wanted to rescue Brittany. I didn’t want to ask Missy Lou for the money. So I simply had to try.

  Between feeding and grooming Jasmine and typing up assignments I’d received through the secretarial portal, I created an ad which I quietly placed in the personal column of a national newspaper, along with a fake name and email address. Much to my astonishment, responses came immediately: five in the first day, and then two or three every day after. I couldn’t believe the number of women who would respond to:

  HUSBAND SITTER FOR HIRE: Does your man stray? Are you scared to leave him alone for fear he’ll replace you? Hire me to keep him home at night so you can enjoy a well-earned break. Reliable and Healthy. Reasonable rates.

  Most of the women sounded eager to let someone else take a turn in their marital bed, so long as they could control the situation. That shouldn’t have shocked me, but it did. The married people I knew would never stand for infidelity. I sure as hell wouldn’t. But I tried not to judge. That wouldn’t help me find peace with the situation.

  So I kept on with the selection process, sending a photo of myself in response to each query. After I’d sent that, half my prospective clients failed to respond. At first, I wondered why. Maybe I was too attractive and they thought their husbands wouldn’t be happy with them afterwards. Or maybe they thought the photo was phony. After all, I am attractive in dark-eyed, sexy-hair kind of way, courtesy of my mother’s Italian heritage. They must have wondered why I didn’t have a man of my own, but that was the eternal question. Why can’t attractive women find decent, non-boring men for hot sex and a happily ever after?

  Anyway…I didn’t waste mental space on the ones who fell off my radar, because A. I was in a hurry, and B. more enquiries were coming in. I just concentrated on the solid leads, sending out a second bikini photo which I assumed they’d show to their husbands. Within a few days, I’d lined up three interviews in nearby Surfers Paradise. Then I splurged on hair and nails so I’d turn up pampered and pretty on my prospective clients’ doorsteps.

  But not too pretty.

  I made sure the floral dress I wore showed off my figure, but it wasn’t low cut and it fell below the knees. I deliberately wore flat shoes and pulled my shoulder-length dark brown hair into a ponytail, aiming for ‘clean’ and ‘wholesome’ rather than tousled and sexy, because I knew it was the wife I had to impress.

  The first house was in the ritzy suburb of Sanctuary Cove, and I’d allocated half an hour for a brief interview to get an initial impression of whether I thought I could have sex with the man, before it went further. After a last pat with Jasmine, I set off feeling empowered by my Super Sister solution, but as soon as I arrived and turned off the ignition, anxiety slithered back in.

  I glanced over at the house: possible site of my future moral downfall. It was a large Mediterranean bungalow landscaped with clumps of palm trees. A bridge over a water feature led visitors to the oversized front door, and next to that sat a double garage which probably housed expensive cars.

  My Ford sedan was working class, like me.

  I knew I didn’t belong here with rich successful people, but I motivated myself by pulling out my phone and looking at the selfie Brittany had sent me that morning. The antibiotics had done their work and her face had good color in it, but she looked weird with no eye-makeup. The Brat I knew wore thick kohl pencil. These eyes were red-rimmed from crying over her uneven boobs which the doctors had told her should settle down when the swelling eased. If they didn’t, we’d get them looked at when she arrived back in Australia. For the moment, I just wanted her healthy and home.

  Step one in that program was getting a husband sitting job. So I really needed to go into the house and meet Finn and Katinka. Prospective clients. I didn’t have to say yes if I didn’t like them. I just had to meet them.

  I’d be fine.

  Still, it was hard work forcing myself to get out of the car. And then I only managed to get onto their manicured footpath before I faltered to a stop because nobody knew where I was. My heartbeat suddenly slowed, thudding against my ribs. I hadn’t told anyone what I was doing. My three girlfriends would have organized an intervention if they’d known! So I was right not to tell them. But I should have organized someone as back up. What if the people inside were crazies? I mean… who replied to ads like that?

  I stared at the house, thinking I should just go. My palms were sweating and I was clearly in no frame of mind for meeting people anyway. I’d be a gibbering mess. But in that moment the front door opened and a mature blonde—presumably Katinka—grinned across at me. “Maree!” She called my fake name in some European accent. “Come in, darling.” She waved in big elaborate gestures that made sunlight sparkle on her masses of gold jewelry, and her friendliness was enough to encourage my reluctant legs to obey.

  She was at least ten years older than me but groomed to within an inch of her life, and simply gorgeous from her glowing tan and long, platinum blond hair to her perfectly manicured nails and dazzling teeth. Her white silk suit was probably designer, and my dress had come from a department store sale, so as I came to a stop in front of her I couldn’t help thinking I’m no threat to this woman. And she knew it. She grabbed my arm and pulled me inside as if I was her new best friend.

  “Darling, I am Katinka. Come and meet my husband Finn.” She strolled me down the long marble hallway, glancing at me through lowered lashes, checking me out quite openly. I was pleased then to have picked a modest outfit. Yet for all my fears, she seemed to like me straight away, and by the time I’d reached the kitchen, I knew the name of her favorite jewelry shop in town, the color of her car detailer’s eyes, and the fact that she preferred espresso to cappuccino. Katinka had already made up her mind that I was working for her by the time she pulled me to a halt in front of her husband.

  And oh my stars…

  Finn wasn’t at all what I would have expected from meeting Katinka. Walking down her Italian marble hallway, I’d expecte
d a fat, gold-clad mogul, but as he stood to meet me, I felt my breath stutter in my chest. He was gorgeous—tall and lean with shoulder length honey-blond dreadlocks and sexy eyes that were smiling right into mine. I was so relieved that he wasn’t ugly, I felt myself trembling in reaction. There and then, I made a mental note to ask for a photo of the husband in future. I’d been an idiot flying blind, and that, if nothing else, showed me how half-baked this whole idea was.

  “Finnie, my darling,” she said in her adorable accent. “This is Maree, your new movie buddy.”

  He laughed at that and I felt my tensed shoulders begin to relax. “Welcome to our home,” he said and shook my hand. “You look too young to be thirty-five.” His long fingers enveloped mine, and for some reason I couldn’t let go. Was I trying to anchor myself? His touch felt safe, and I was reluctant to lose it. On the other side of the equation, I was noticing that his hand was large and warm, and for a crazy second I imagined it sliding up my arm and into my hair as he pulled me forward for a kiss. I was so crazy-nervous, my lips even parted for a second before I had myself under control again.

  Then I let him go awkwardly and focused on the conversation so I wouldn’t look like a complete twit in the first five minutes: too young to be thirty-five. Okay, I’d heard that a lot. Vegetarian, non-smokers usually did look younger, so I shrugged and said, “Lack of vices.” I wanted to say he looked lucky to be thirty, whereas Katinka was a well preserved forty—at least.

  “Oh really?” He raised an ironic eyebrow and I suddenly realized he’d take my comment about vices as a joke. I was, after all, advertising myself as an adulteress, and charging an outrageous weekly rate—which I told myself was appropriate for a live-in sexual surrogate.

  Not that I had any experience.

  Or talent.

  Luckily Finn didn’t know that yet, but he was gazing at me speculatively with those amazing eyes which looked green from two paces out, and I really didn’t have a clever response. My palms had stopped sweating and were tingling now, as though remembering his touch.

  I did nothing about the awkward silence until Katinka steered me onto the lounge opposite Finn. She insisted on wine instead of coffee, and proceeded to entertain us both with anecdotes about the local wives who were lining up to get their hair cut by the new hunky hairdresser. Finn laughed at her jokes and, watching him, I realized he had beautiful teeth—I’ve always had a thing for teeth—and with his limbs all stretched out, a seriously sexy bod.

  All I could think was You’re going to pay me to have sex with this man? I was there for a deathly-serious purpose, but the saying ‘Have your cake and eat it too’ seemed entirely appropriate. I was so dazzled by my own hormones and Finn’s deliciousness, I suddenly didn’t want to meet the other husbands. I wanted to live in this house and fuck this man. He was that scrumptious, and if I wasn’t careful I’d start dribbling like Princess Jasmine did when she got into a patting trance.

  In fact, I was surreptitiously wiping my mouth when Katinka interrupted herself to make a quick call to her sister, and just as suddenly as I’d relaxed, I was left alone with Finn. I had questions I’d planned to ask him, and things to ask them both, but Katinka’s orchestration of the meeting had thrown me completely off my stride. My nerves came tumbling back and all I could stammer was, “Wow. She’s quite a woman. I’m not sure why she needs me.”

  That gave him an opening to admit he’d cheated on her—and for me to see how I felt about that—because maybe he wouldn’t be so attractive if he was bragging about his conquests. Instead, he smiled in a sexy self-deprecating way that made me want to fuck him even more, and said, “She’s totally neurotic, but I love her. Please say you’ll take the job and make her happy.” I was about to say Yes please, when he added, “No way am I having sex with anyone but her. I just can’t convince her. So if this set-up makes her happy…”

  He shrugged, and gazed at me as if I’d understand completely.

  Instead, I blinked at him, even more thrown than I had been when Katinka had left the room. This new development was the last thing I’d expected. Stupidly, I’d thought any man would be happy to fuck me, so Finn’s blatant rejection was an axe-blow to my feminine pride. How did I expect to do this job if men didn’t find me attractive? I could feel my stomach swirling low and sick, and was so embarrassed I didn’t stop to think. If I had, I might have realized this wasn’t about me. It was clearly about him and his conscience. Instead, I blurted, “You don’t want to have sex with me?”

  “No, I don’t,” he replied, categorically, and I felt my face go hot. Just as suddenly as I’d wanted to take the job, I now wanted to leave. ASAP. Every insecurity I’d ever had about myself as a desirable woman came crashing back. I was clearly nothing more than the ‘stupid whore’ the nuns had always told us we were in danger of becoming.

  In that moment, I was so overwhelmed by the shock of his rejection, I didn’t even realize he was saying I could stay and not fuck him. So I snapped, “Thanks for wasting my time,” and stood to leave.

  He bounded out of his chair and grabbed my arm, saying, “Wait, Maree!”

  But hearing the fake name I’d created only made me feel worse. I’d been kidding myself that I could handle this in a businesslike manner, and in that moment I felt like a tramp, thanks to him. I glared at him and tried to pull away but he held on, and something hot licked the space between us. His fingers tightened and his eyes widened, as if he’d just realized something about me, something that shocked him.

  I wanted to hate him—sanctimonious bastard—but all I could think about was how sexy it felt to be restrained by a man I wanted to fuck. My breaths got shallow, and something about the intensity of his gaze made my skin prickle and my head feel light. Up close, I could feel his warm breath on my face and I couldn’t help glancing at his lips, wondering for an illicit second what they’d feel like sliding across mine.

  Then I remembered that the attraction was one-sided. He didn’t want me, so I lowered my voice into what I hoped was cold disdain and snarled, “Let. Me. Go.”

  Unfortunately, Katinka chose that moment to return. She took one look at Finn’s hand on my arm and my cranky frown, and her own expression clouded over. “What’s going on?” she asked. Reasonable enough question.

  “I was leaving.” I snatched up my handbag with my untouched questionnaire and stormed for the door.

  She trailed me there, alternating between questions and pleading that I reconsider, but I couldn’t get out of her house quickly enough. Unfortunately for me, my hands were trembling so much I fumbled my keys and they dropped out of my hand and bounced off the decking trail and into the goldfish pond below it. I watched them hit a lily pad before disappearing into the murky depths.

  Just like that I was trapped, and whether it was the emotional build-up of getting there, the wine she’d fed me, or mortification at being so blatantly rejected by a hot man, I did what any overwrought female does. I put my hands up to my face and burst into tears. The next thing I felt was Katinka’s arms around me as she crooned to me in Russian which was vaguely soothing. Then she pulled me back into the shade of the entryway where we sat side-by-side on a padded bench seat, her stroking my hair while I blubbed on about being a bad girl who nothing nice was ever going to happen for.

  When I finally had myself under control, I glanced out at the street, wondering if I should ring the auto club, and in that moment I realized Katinka had stopped crooning and was now nuzzling at my neck.

  I went still, blinking, wondering what the hell else could happen to me that day, then I felt her fingers slide up my cheek and turn my head toward her. Suddenly I was looking into her face at close range, and her breath smelt like peppermint. Her eyes were beautifully made up, and her teeth were so dazzling white, they must have been capped.

  “I want him to be with other woman,” she said, “because I am not faithful wife.” Her English was slipping.

  “Oh.” I hadn’t expected that.

  “I have l
overs,” she said, “but he pretends that I do not. I feel guilty.”

  “So would I,” I said, because that was true, although I wasn’t sure why she had to tell me so close inside my personal space. Was she worried he’d overhear us? I was still wondering about that when she leant in and kissed me, and for some odd reason, despite all that had gone before, that took me completely by surprise.

  I think I gasped against her lips, then she was brushing hers against mine and the peppermint taste was strong. I could feel the wetness of her lips, then her tongue came into my mouth and I was still so shocked I wasn’t registering that this was weird. In fact, it was totally, completely and absolutely so far outside what I’d expected to happen that day, it went beyond freaking me out. I just froze.

  She kissed me softly, not even as if she were coaxing me, but as if it was some bizarre apology. Then it was over and she was pulling back to look into my eyes. “I want you to fuck my husband,” she said. “Please tell me you’ll stay.”

  I shook my head. “I have to go,” but I didn’t. I sat there, not because I had no keys or even because I’d just had my first-ever girl kiss, and my legs were wobbly. I stayed because I remembered Brittany. The money. I forced myself to ask, “What if he won’t do it. Will you pay me anyway?”

  She nodded.

  “Are you sure?” Dear God, could it be that easy?

  “I pay either way. But I want you to try and seduce him. I don’t want to be the only one guilty.”

  I stared into her eyes, realizing I didn’t need to walk away from this. It was a house sit with a husband in residence. I didn’t need to have sex if he didn’t want it. But…Katinka had just given me permission to do the nastiest thing I’d ever imagined—seduce another woman’s husband.

  I already had the hots for Finn. Not to mention the heat that had jumped between us when he’d touched me. Sure, I was cranky with him for rejecting me, but that only fed a perverse determination to prove he couldn’t resist me. So I gazed back into her eyes and said, “All right I will.”