Madeleine Wakes (A Wife-Watching Romance): Book One of the Madeleine Trilogy Read online

  She tilted her hips and gave him a “ha-ha” look heavy on the irony.

  “A bunch of guys are coming down from Head Office today,” she said, pulling a bright scarlet dress from the closet now, laying it up against her front to see how the color worked against her pale complexion. As it happened, it worked very well indeed. “It’s a big thing apparently.”

  She stepped into this one, pulling it up her long, freshly shaved legs. Hugo’s eyebrows seemed to rise in sync.

  “And you guys have these big meetings in dinner dress?”

  She smiled, turning as she pulled the flashy strapless garment up over her bare breasts, to see the thing from various angles as she now reached behind to zip it up.

  “They’re taking us out to dinner after work,” she said. “Some restaurant uptown.”

  Hugo nodded, one hand subtly slipping between his thighs as he watched his pretty wife tugging the dress this way and that, apparently unhappy with its fit despite the fact that it seemed like a second skin, running all the way down to just above her knee.

  Still no bra. The red dress, at least, appeared padded enough around the bust to mask the pinpoints of her nipples, mostly. If he wasn’t so secure in his relationship, he might get a little jealous. As it was, he actually felt proud of her, almost happy that other guys would steal glances at her and be taken aback at her beauty. Such a contrast to how she looked before their move to NYC.

  “You’ll certainly take their minds off any dinner conversation in that,” he said, meaning to complement her, but instantly fearing she’d take it the wrong way as soon as the words came out of his mouth.

  “Too much?”

  He could only shrug at that, though his response to the dress was carefully designed only to echo her own apparent feelings for the thing, not actively change her mind. It was always dangerous to offer his opinion on her outfits. If he was too positive, she assumed he was just trying to make her feel good about herself in a husbandly duty kind of way. If he was too negative he might upset her.

  And God, what did he know about dresses? They all looked great on her, and it was nothing much to do with how they were cut, how they fit, what color they were—and everything to do with the confidence in which she presented them.

  It was far safer, he found, to try to work out how she felt about a particular outfit, then lend her confidence in her choice.

  “Thought so,” she said. Well, the color was a little intense, a touch showy. Perfect for the Oscars.

  Gazing in the mirror, Madeleine teased her hair a little, this way and that, as though it might change the perception of her dress. But then down came the zip, revealing those spectacular breasts once again, and the scarlet number was quietly replaced back inside the closet.

  Next up, a more simple little black dress, though it had some elegant-looking purple here and there, emphasizing a cross shape in black that ran over her bust to flatter her shape—as though it needed flattering. Once again skin-tight in a silky kind of material, it reached an inch or two further above the knee, while the neckline plunged to show off her cleavage.

  She looked delicious, of course, but it was just about professional enough to be almost appropriate for a business dinner.

  “That the one?” he asked her.

  She nodded, not even really seeking his opinion. It was the dress she’d probably decided on all along.

  “You look pretty incredible in it.”

  A smile, though only half-meant, as she removed the dress to re-hand ready for the evening. She’d never been entirely happy in a dress, even these days it seemed.

  “Thanks, sweetie,” she said quietly, as though his opinion had been in any way constructive.

  Finally, she was retrieving a matching black bra from her dresser, reminding him of her apparent intent to go without when she changed for dinner, fanning the flames in his stomach that he realized were mild jealousy after all. She peeled pantyhose up over each shapely leg, making herself look even more devastating to a lust-fueled husband, before adding a pale gray skirt.

  Her concerns about wearing a dress seemed incongruous since she’d been wearing such sexy little skirts recently.

  The tickle of jealousy inside him almost amused him. It was merely a physical thing, he knew—he’d never had anything but one hundred percent trust in Madeleine—yet his body and its primordial instincts were attempting to sew the seeds of doubt, making the silent allegation that she was going out there to seduce someone from Head Office.

  Seeing her dress quietly for work, the strange feelings inside him actually made him reassess Madeleine’s expression. He suddenly caught the slight sense that he’d done wrong, he hadn’t quite passed her test, if that’s what this whole thing had been. Maybe he was being paranoid, but she looked slightly—very slightly—annoyed as an appealing pale lilac blouse went on.

  Was he supposed to make some kind of comment disapproving of the shortness of her dresses, their skin-tight nature, the plunging necklines—the lack of a bra?

  Was he supposed to come across as the jealous husband? But he’d wanted to portray confidence in her, support. Encouraging her sense of independence, the little risks she might feel she was taking in dressing a little more provocatively than she might have in the past.

  Underneath it all, he’d just been a little too dazzled to notice any negative ramifications of her dressing in such a way for a dinner.

  Quietly, Hugo sighed.

  But now the moment was gone, her tone of voice suggesting she was already moving on: “Oh, hey, I’ll probably be pretty late home tonight.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  And she was heading out to make her way ludicrously early to the store—no doubt to fix things up before the Big Bosses from Head Office arrived—leaving Hugo regretting his curious inability to communicate with her in the way he wanted.

  Honey, you look unbelievably gorgeous. I can’t believe the guys from Head Office won’t be hitting on you like crazy tonight—but what can I say, I trust you implicitly.

  *

  She was late home that night, but then he never minded when she was late home. Sometimes when she came home after he’d gone to bed she’d wake him, but often he’d simply wake in the morning to find her sleeping peacefully, as though nothing had happened at all the previous night, perhaps a mysterious smile on her face hinting at some mischief or other.

  This time, however, he was awake when she returned. Insomnia wasn’t something with which he was regularly afflicted, but on this occasion his head was a little too full thanks to a major project at work—and perhaps, also, his belief that he’d committed a faux pas by not offering any mildly jealous comments about his wife’s outfit for her business dinner.

  The cogs whirring inside his head made him toss and turn and avoid any hint of sleep. Shortly past 2 am, Madeleine still hadn’t come home. Hugo was about to get up himself to admit defeat in his battle for sleep, maybe head out to the living room couch to watch something on the DVR.

  Then he heard the apartment door, and the unmistakable voice of his beloved. Who was she talking to?

  He stayed put, figuring she was on the phone. He even pretended he was asleep, thinking he might perhaps pounce on her when she eventually came to bed, give her a surprise before teasing her about how exceedingly late she’d stayed out this time—and wearing that hot dress of hers. Who knew, if she was inebriated enough and in the right mood, maybe something might happen between them.

  While he waited there in the darkness, though, Madeleine did not come to bed.

  Her phone conversation continued, on and on. A few moments more, and she appeared at the bedroom door, still talking as she peered around it, apparently to check that her husband was asleep.

  What was she up to?

  “No, it’s not like that,” he heard her whisper.

  His ears pricked up, and confusion reigned as he tried to untangle what she might be saying to him—before realizing she was holding a cell phone up to her ear, a
nd not speaking to him at all. He played dead, not wanting to interrupt her call, curious about who she was talking to, what she was talking about while she believed her husband was asleep.

  “Don’t!” she hissed. “I’m getting all flushed!”

  Hugo felt a jolt of surprise scorch his insides. What was she talking about? He did his best to lie still, to avoid reacting, to make her believe he was fast asleep.

  Was that the sound of Lucy’s voice from Madeleine’s phone? Lucy, her best friend and their Maid of Honor. It was a little late for gossiping on the phone, surely.

  “Hey, it’s not my fault,” Madeleine said. He could only hear one side of the conversation. “What am I supposed to do if the bookstore’s stuffed with hot guys? Refuse to serve them?”

  Hugo felt his heart skip a beat.

  Hey, what-what?

  Stuffed with hot guys? What was his wife talking about?

  “Lucy!” Madeleine gasped into the phone, doing a poor job if she was attempting to avoid waking her husband.

  Hugo kept his eyes shut tight and his ears poised to detect any further clue as to what his wife’s conversation was about. With the light behind her, highlighting those sensual curves of hers, and his earlier thoughts about perhaps seducing her when she eventually came to bed, Hugo was naturally a little aroused at her appearance at the door. But his curiosity about her phone conversation now took precedence.

  Madeleine stepped back from the bedroom door, apparently satisfied that Hugo was fast asleep, but he could still hear her loud and clear.

  “Well what was I supposed to do?” she said. “I can’t ignore him just because he’s hot.”

  Hugo caught his breath.

  So there was a particular guy she’d been flirting with?

  As she withdrew into the living room, Hugo found himself slipping silently out of bed, moving like a sniper to the edge of the doorway—and then beyond, to the hallway and that familiar position where he’d violated her privacy before. The darkness aided him this time: she’d switched off the table lamps in the living room this time.

  He felt his heart pounding inside his chest, his breathing becoming increasingly labored as he lurked there, craving more insight. He didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, but this was so unexpected. Madeleine had never shown the slightest enthusiasm for flirting with other guys before—not while they’d been together.

  “I know.”

  She was gazing out of the window, one hand fumbling with the horizontal slats on the blind as she continued her conversation with her best friend. Lines of light filtering in from the street rippled over her body to accentuate the alluring curves of her topography.

  “Well he doesn’t need to know that.”

  As understanding a husband as he wanted to be, Hugo couldn’t do anything to avoid the sharp pangs of jealousy in his chest. She was talking about another guy, she was inferring that this was all to be kept hush-hush.

  Maybe he was just misinterpreting it. There had to be a completely harmless reality behind whatever it was she was talking about. Still, there were danger signals. Strangely, as he watched her other hand begin to fiddle with one of the buttons on her shirt, Hugo couldn’t help but feel the tickle of arousal.

  That was confusing.

  She was so extravagant in her beauty, standing there in that short dress, her smooth, shapely legs on show, so much thigh exposed it felt like a whisper of a breeze could reveal her shapely derriere to him.

  How could it possibly be hot to think of her flirting with another guy at the bookstore? Or having dinner with co-workers and the Guys From Head Office dressed in something a calendar model might wear tacked to a teenage boy’s wall? Wasn’t a husband supposed to fly into a jealous rage?

  Madeleine hissed into the phone: “Of course it’s not.”

  Arousing or not, at the same time the fact she was discussing some other guy filled his chest with dread. She wouldn’t do anything—would she?

  God, he should never have neglected her, never have simply left her to it. He should have gone out to meet her new friends. She probably thought he didn’t care about her any more, now he had this new job in a big PR firm.

  Hovering by the corner just by the kitchen, Hugo was beginning to find it difficult to breathe—or at least breathe without alerting his wife to his wakeful presence. He was terrified even to suspect she might cheat on him, that she’d want to do anything behind his back, that he would lose her. So why was he so stiff down there inside his boxer shorts?

  “He’s not even my type,” Madeleine said. “And there’s no way I’m his.”

  She couldn’t stop smiling, her face all aglow as though she were standing in front of her high school locker gossiping with a BFF about her latest crush.

  Hugo tried to force himself to keep calm. So his wife had a crush on some guy. What was so bad about that? Everybody has fantasies. So why did he feel warmth spreading through his chest as he stood there watching her? It wasn’t just because she’d slipped a hand over her breast, cupping it, squeezing it gently as she spoke into the phone.

  “Oh God, don’t. I don’t need to do that.”

  He watched transfixed as she quietly coaxed her breast, her fingers moving under the thin material of her dress. Somehow, it felt good to him that Madeleine was getting back in touch with her sexuality, even if it was another guy who inspired it for now. And as for flirting with him, whoever he was—well, she she deserved a little attention, some recognition that she was a beautiful woman, that she could turn any man’s head. She couldn’t take any of her husband’s complements seriously these days, after all—he was obliged to say flattering things.

  “My therapist said a little light flirting is good for my confidence,” she said. “She didn’t say I should go further than that.”

  Hugo felt something click inside his head. The logic fell into place—why she was now feeling so much more confident in life, why her sexual desires had re-awakened alongside it, and maybe also why after so many setbacks, she really seemed to be heading for recovery.

  Well, if a more flirtatious Madeleine was better armed to fight her condition, he had to support the whole idea.

  “Hugo thinks she’s a bit of a quack, but it’s really making a difference.”

  He smiled at that, feeling a warmth inside merely at featuring in his wife’s thoughts.

  Then his smile evaporated.

  “Hey, we have a sex life!”

  Hugo managed to avoid gasping.

  “He’s just stressed at work. We just moved to a new city, right? He’s in a completely new job.”

  So their lack of sex was an issue for her. There was something oddly comforting about knowing that, that maybe she wanted to do something about it too. But why hadn’t she mentioned anything?

  “Who knows? Maybe he doesn’t find me attractive anymore. But I don’t want to put any pressure on him right now. Not after what we’ve been through.”

  The cold fingers of despair were clutching at his heart again—was this lack of intimacy between them pushing her to flirt with other guys? Was he losing her? He felt he ought to go straight out there and drag her back into the bedroom, to prove himself. Assert himself. But if he did that, she’d know he’d been overhearing her private conversation.

  “You should come down—you’ll love it here, I swear.”

  Madeleine’s hand had slipped back out of her dress, but now Hugo watched as it slid slowly down her stomach—then dipped between her thighs.

  “At the very least, you’ll love the guys down here. New York has plenty of hunky men, Luce.”

  She was touching herself.

  Hugo felt his prick twitch. Remembering the last time he’d seen her touching herself—now it seemed very clear to him that she had, very probably, been thinking about other guys when she’d been doing it. Maybe even a specific other guy.

  Why was it hot to think that she was? Was there something wrong with him?

  “I promise I won’t,” Madeleine was
saying to her friend, and Hugo couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Her phone call hadn’t even ended yet.

  He could see her battling to maintain a calm voice on the phone, while tending to her burning desire. The way she awkwardly clutched the phone between her ear and shoulder, murmuring affirmative noises to suggest she was listening to Lucy, made him certain her conscious mind was moving elsewhere. She pulled up her dress, revealing that wonderfully curvaceous behind, and her little pair of black lace panties.

  She really needed her friend to hang up.

  Hugo felt himself short of breath again. His manhood thickening further, tingling as he watched, responding to the irresistible sight of his wife left standing there in full view of their neighbors, her dress hiked up and her hand in her panties.

  And then she said something that made Hugo’s heart almost seize up.

  “Hey, he’s home. I see him. Gotta go.”

  Four

  All he could do in that moment was watch.

  She brushed her long blonde tresses out of her face, and gazed out of the windows, resting a knee on the cushion in front, leaning forward to peer through the blind at the apartment across the street. She was so graceful, one delicate hand gliding over her body as the other kept apart two of the horizontal slats in the blinds. Every movement was so gradual, as though someone had filmed her and then slowed down the movie.

  What was she looking at—who was she looking at?

  Was it really the guy she’d been flirting with in the bookstore? Did he live across the street?

  Hugo wanted to tear himself away from the doorway, go to the window and see for himself who she was watching. But at the same time he didn’t want to miss the sight of his wife if she was going to repeat the last window display he’d witnessed. He just wanted to take in her beauty like some kind of art connoisseur.

  All that time she’d spent sitting on that window seat before getting her new job, reading and staring out at the apartments opposite. Had she been watching someone in particular? Building up a crush? At the time, Hugo had been happy she had so many windows to look at while he was at work, but he now realized he had no idea who lived over there, what she might have been watching day in, day out.