Wanted: A Good Wife & Great Sex (A Bargained Marriage) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  About the Author

  Siúil A Rún

  Friday, 17 December, 1915

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  About the Author

  Siúil A Rún

  Friday, 17 December, 1915

  WANTED: A GOOD WIFE & GREAT SEX

  SL Beabhar

  Copyright © 2017 Siobhan Beabhar

  All rights reserved.

  This book is dedicated to my family—both living and deceased. Thank you for allowing me to explore my talents.

  A special thank you to my friends and associates who inspire me every day.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Phoebe Marshall lifted the soiled tissue and blew her nose. The bugle-like sound muffled the laughter that penetrated the walls, and she could forget--for the moment--that her brother-in-law had moved his new girlfriend into her sister's home.

  To his credit, Paul had waited a good month after Andrea's burial to tell Phoebe that he'd fallen in love again. But he'd finished that announcement with a couple more revelations. It seemed his new girlfriend was three months pregnant, and Phoebe would need to move out, preferably sooner rather than later. They'd negotiated a period of three months, which Phoebe hoped was enough time to find a new job and a new place to live.

  With two weeks already gone, she had no plan in place. She hated making impulsive decisions about her future, and she hated knowing that Paul was already set to move on so quickly after Andrea's death.

  Knock. Knock.

  Phoebe sighed heavily and swung her gaze to the door. She wasn't particularly happy to have her solitude interrupted, even if she had been wallowing in misery. She stood up from her twin-sized bed and walked to the door. She'd barely placed her hand on the knob when the door swung open and Paul's lavender-haired, green-eyed girlfriend stuck her head inside.

  "Hey there, Phoebe." There was a broad grin on her heart-shaped face. She pushed the door wider and stepped into Phoebe's room. Only a few inches separated them, and the dense child seemed ignorant of the danger in front of her. She stood right there, with her fake lashes fluttering as she looked at Phoebe. "Do you mind if we talk a bit?"

  Phoebe did mind, but she didn't get a chance to object. Brandilyn breezed past her and sat down on her bed. Phoebe's eyes swiveled to follow her, and she abruptly closed her mouth as the petite girl made herself comfortable.

  "I just wanted to say that I realize how awkward things must be." Brandilyn spoke with a thick Texan accent, and she emphasized her words with exaggerated hand gestures. "You know, considering what's happened within these last few weeks."

  Everything about Brandilyn irritated Phoebe, and she couldn't help but wonder if Paul had intentionally gone out and found the exact opposite of her sister. Clasping her hands in front of her, Phoebe rocked on her heels and dropped her head forward. She stood stiffly, praying for the strength not to reach out and choke the girl. It wasn't Brandilyn's fault that Paul was an asshat.

  It was true Andrea had been ill for a long time. Five years ago, not long after marrying Paul, she'd been diagnosed with an aggressive form of multiple sclerosis. At first, she'd tried to overcome the loss of her energy and libido. But when Paul complained that he missed the sexual intimacy between them, she'd proposed an open marriage with the only requirement that he returned home every night.

  Two years after her diagnosis, Andrea woke up one day and discovered that she could no longer use her legs. The very next day, Paul called Phoebe, pleading for her to move in and take care of her sister. Even though it meant turning her life upside down, she agreed without hesitation. Over the period of three weeks, she'd resigned from her job, subleased her studio apartment, and ended her promising relationship with the guy who lived two units down. She'd sacrificed her blossoming happiness because Andrea needed her, and she didn't regret that decision one bit.

  She did regret not planning for life after Andrea. While serving as her sister's caregiver, her whole life had centered around Andrea's needs. She'd been her sister's nurse, personal assistant, chauffeur, chef, and companion. She hadn't minded doing it all and for so little money. After all, she was a certified nursing assistant and had previously worked in a skilled nursing facility.

  But now her sole client was dead, and Phoebe was facing the realization that she was all alone in the world. Their mother had overdosed on heroin when Phoebe was just five years old. With her dad long gone from the picture and both of her mother's parents dead, Phoebe would have landed in the foster care system if it hadn't been for Andrea. Her sister had only been nineteen when their mother died. They met, for the first time, outside a courthouse following a shelter care hearing.

  Phoebe could recall being terrified of the stranger standing before her. But then Andrea had knelt down, opened her arms, and told her, "We're sisters, and sisters always take care of each other." And that's exactly what Andrea had done. In turn, Phoebe had cared for Andrea during the last years of her life.

>   Brandilyn didn't seem to notice the dark emotions rolling through Phoebe. With her hands still flying, she continued her little speech, "I was just talkin' to Paul about the baby and how frightened I am. Being a first-time mother and all." Her hands froze in mid-swoosh as her gaze settled on a picture of Phoebe and Andrea sitting on Phoebe's nightstand. Without a by-your-leave, she reached out and placed the photograph facedown, and then continued, "And since you no longer have a job and all, I was just thinkin', maybe you'd like to stay a while and be our nanny."

  It was obvious to Phoebe, based on the benevolent look on Brandilyn's face, that the girl intended to be kind. But that awareness did nothing to stop rage from filling Phoebe. Just like Andrea had taught her, she swallowed the hateful words that formed on her tongue. Instead, she took several steadying breaths as she thought of a diplomatic answer.

  "Have you lost your fucking mind?"

  Brandilyn lurched backwards as if the words had struck her in the face. Her long, black lashes fluttered as she finally looked at Phoebe. From the darkening of her cheeks, it seemed she was realizing that her good intentions were not appreciated.

  "Beggin' your pardon?" Brandilyn asked, standing up from Phoebe's bed.

  Phoebe didn't answer right away. Instead, she dropped her gaze to the spot Brandilyn had just vacated. She reached past the girl and smoothed out the wrinkles she'd left behind. When Phoebe felt satisfied with her work, she reached over and picked up the photograph of her and Andrea.

  She held it in her hands as she turned to face Brandilyn. She made sure the image faced forward. "Look, I'm working really hard to remind myself that you're just an innocent party in this shit show. That it's really not your fault that my brother-in-law is a scumbag--"

  Brandilyn seemed to take exception to that. She covered her belly and stood straighter, as if preparing to fight for her baby-daddy's honor. "Excuse me?"

  This time, Phoebe waved her hands, dismissing Brandilyn's objection. She tucked the photograph under her arm, then placed her other hand on Brandilyn's shoulder. With a gentle yet firm grasp, Phoebe guided Brandilyn back to the bedroom door and pushed her into the hallway.

  "Have a good night," she said, shutting the door in Brandilyn's face. She held her breath until she heard the girl huff in outrage, then Phoebe turned to lean back against the door, waiting for her brother-in-law's likely response. She didn't have to wait long.

  Within a minute, there was an abrupt knock at her door. Once again placing the photograph in the center of her chest, she stepped away from the door, grabbed the doorknob, and opened the door wide.

  She struggled to hide a grin. Paul stood at her door with his already blotchy skin mottled from outrage. His nostrils flared as he pushed his thick glasses up his nose.

  "Brandilyn's upset. What did you say to her?" Daggers shot from his light gray eyes. His thick lips disappeared into a thin line as he waited for Phoebe's response. When she didn't speak, he puffed out his chest and said, "Well?"

  Phoebe poked her head out the door and looked down the hallway. Brandilyn stood far enough back to make Paul feel like he was in charge but close enough to hear what Phoebe said.

  Rolling her eyes, Phoebe pulled back and puckered her lips. With each exaggerated breath, her breasts pushed the photograph up and down. She knew Paul had noticed the photo, but he kept his eyes pinned on her face.

  Releasing a heavy sigh, she tossed the picture onto her bed. She then turned back to her brother-in-law and cocked her head. "Your girlfriend asked me--your wife's sister--if I'd like to work for you guys."

  Crossing his flabby arms over his thin chest, he arched a brow. "And?"

  Phoebe shrugged. "And?"

  "What else did you say?" His jaw tightened as he inclined his head in Brandilyn's direction. "She's upset."

  Squaring her shoulders, Phoebe shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Oh, right." She glanced down at her shirt, then pretended to pluck a strand of her black hair from its front. "I asked if she was out of her fucking mind." She then twisted her features, leaned towards Paul, and lowered her voice. "You know her better than I do. Do you think she's lost her fucking mind, or do you think she's just fucking dumb?"

  CHAPTER TWO

  Ashley Cooper ducked just in time to avoid the vase hurtling towards his head. When it crashed against the wall and exploded into hundreds of pieces, he cursed. That vase had sentimental value. He'd purchased it at a local thrift store during a green-tag special. Ugly and crudely made, the vase wasn't worth more than a dollar. But to him, it represented the brilliantly good time he'd had with the pretty, red-haired store clerk during her fifteen-minute break.

  Bending down to retrieve a shard, he tried to recall the clerk's name. Was it Heather? No, he didn't think so. Maybe Heaven?

  "Are you listening to a word I'm saying, Cooper?"

  As he continued to stare down at the broken pieces, he nodded. "I hear everything you're saying, Paulina." The moment he heard her shrill scream, he knew he'd fucked up. Ashley pulled his gaze from the floor and found Paulina storming across the room. His eyes widened as she launched forward, placing her palms against his chest and shoving him against the wall.

  "You asshole!" she yelled into his face.

  Standing this close to her, he noticed the acne scars she tried to hide beneath her foundation and concealer. He found it odd that he hadn't noticed before, considering how frequently he found himself pressed against her. But at this very moment, he did notice; the scars didn't detract from her beauty, but they reminded him that even aspiring models had their imperfections.

  "I've been thinking," he said.

  She tightened her grip on his shirt. Her full lips were twisted in a snarl, and her right eye twitched. He placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently. "How about I make us a nice cup of tea, and you can tell me how much I disappoint you. Again."

  It must have been the wrong thing to say, because Paulina suddenly released him. As if dazed, she raised a hand to her strawberry-blond hair, and she began scratching her scalp.

  His eyes darted from left to right. Paulina, with her hand still buried in her hair, spun on her heel and stormed out of the room. He released a sigh of relief before he realized where she was headed.

  "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." He ran after her, but he was too late. She had already entered his den and was standing at the glass case where he stored all his hockey trophies. He lifted placating hands in her direction. "Sweetie, we can work through this."

  Paulina froze. Then her head and neck began to twitch like a zombie on one of those network shows.

  "Paulina," he whispered, hoping not to startle her. He crept up behind her and grasped her upper arms. She was stiff as he placed his lips against the nape of her neck. He felt a slight softening in her stance. Emboldened, he then shifted his head so he could rest his chin against her shoulder. "How about we go grab some ice cream? You like ice cream, right?"

  Her head swiveled and she cut him with a piercing gaze. "I'm lactose intolerant, you fucker!" She sprung out of his arms, grabbing his desk lamp. To his horror, she pulled back her arm and launched the lamp into the glass case, causing it to shatter into pieces.

  "Why?" He knew he was whining, but he couldn't help himself. "You're being ridiculous."

  Paulina whipped around. Her violet eyes were narrowed to slits. "Ridiculous?" She pointed at the shattered case. "What's ridiculous is that you care more about those fucking medals than you ever did about me!"

  Ashley clucked his tongue. "That's not true."

  She slapped a palm against his chest and pushed him away. "When is my birthday?"

  He would have widened his eyes if she wasn't watching him so closely. Taking a deep breath, he propped a leg against his desk and sat down. He wiped all traces of panic from his face. "March 12th."

  "August 30th," she replied.

  "Well, shit."

  He watched as she shook with helpless rage and then squeezed her eyes shut, tears running down her chee
ks. Biting down on her lip, her nostrils flared as she sniffed loudly. After a few moments, she opened her eyes. He could see his emptiness reflected in those depths.

  He opened his mouth, then closed it with an audible click when he failed to think of the right words. He was usually good at explaining himself out of these situations. It typically involved him making promises that they both knew he would never keep. But watching her struggle to maintain her composure, he decided it was better to remain silent.

  Lest she decide to completely fuck up his stuff.

  "I'll get my things," she said, pivoting on her heel.

  He watched her storm out of the room and up the stairway to the master bedroom. Swinging his leg, he took a deep breath and listened to her slam dresser drawers and curse in Ukrainian. After another fifteen minutes, he heard the front door slam shut.

  Pushing away from his desk, he looked at the shattered case and sighed with relief. "Thank God, she only broke the glass." He reached through the gaping hole and adjusted a medal that had fallen eschew.

  When he finished, he left the case and walked out of his den. As he entered the hallway, he heard the faint buzzing of his vibrating phone. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then tightened his jaw before searching for his phone.

  He found it on the dining room table. Picking it up, he expected to see a call from Paulina. Instead, it was a call from his younger sister, Jacinda.

  Accepting the call, he placed it on speaker then plopped down into a dining room chair. "What's up, Jack?"

  There was a brief silence before he heard faint voices in the background, and he realized his sister was not alone.

  "I'm not bailing you out again," he said, tightening his grip on the phone.

  He heard her draw in a quivering breath. "I'm not in trouble, Ash." Only family called him Ashley or Ash. All his friends, girlfriends, and co-workers called him Cooper or Coop, for short.

  He tapped his thumb against the tabletop and waited for her to continue. After several moments passed with her sniffing and murmuring answers to someone else, he finally lost his patience.