Operation V-Day Read online

  The sound of the garage door opening snagged her attention. She took one last look at herself, considered running back to her bedroom and changing clothes, and then decided to just see how he reacted.

  "Valerie!" Jett called out as he walked through the small maze of hallways leading from the garage to the main part of the house. "Valerie."

  "In the kitchen," she replied, her voice choked on nerves. "I'm in the kitchen."

  "I wasn't sure you'd really be here," he said, sounding both relieved and irritated at the same time. He set his briefcase down on the nearest counter before looking across the large room. When he spotted her standing next to the opposite all of cabinets, he gaped in shock. For a second. And then he snapped, "What the hell are you wearing?"

  I should have run to change clothes! She almost admitted her idiocy, but she noted the way his nostrils flared, the way he appeared to breathe a little heavier. And there was no mistaking the flash of desire in his eyes before he quenched that flame by sheer determination. He was clearly still mad at her, but she'd gotten the response she'd hoped for: he wanted her. He recognized and liked the fantasy.

  Bolstered by that small victory, she held out the sides of her mini schoolgirl skirt and did a little model's spin for him. "I thought this might go along with what you have planned tonight. Naughty schoolgirl. Naughty wife, at least in your point of view."

  A vein pulsed in one side of his chiseled face. He was definitely fighting the playful secret fantasy idea, forcing himself to focus on his anger. "What you did was way, way past naughty wife, Valerie Anne Hart."

  "I wasn't the only one in the wrong," she stated quietly, remembering her own hurt when he hadn't tried to come after her and bring her back here. Not that she would have come back easily. He'd seriously mad her angry.

  "You were the one who ran away. While I was out of town, I might add." He nodded at her. "Like a naughty girl who didn't get her own way."

  She was about to protest that she hadn't run away, but, clearly from his viewpoint she had. Tension had been building between them for almost a year for so many reasons. They'd said some very hurtful things because they'd both been so frustrated. All those he wanted/she wanted kinds of issues that neither seemed willing to compromise on at that point. So she'd left to give them both a breather. He'd seen her action as desertion. This was all old stuff that needed to be dealt with at some point, but not now. Baby steps. They needed to take a lot of baby steps to get their relationship back to where it was meant to be.

  "Well, I'm back. And I'm prepared to accept the consequences of my actions." But it's damn hard standing here waiting to find out what they are. She released the edges of the skirt and held her breath.

  "Let's take this to the study, a fitting place of punishment for a naughty schoolgirl...wife." He moved toward her and gave a curt nod. "Do you need some encouragement to get moving?"

  "No." Valerie scurried ahead of him out of the kitchen and down the long hallway toward the dark room filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves of books collected by his family for generations. The middle of the space held an enormous two-sided desk with twin leather chairs. On rare occasions they'd both worked on computers at the desk. On more occasions she'd been brought here for some kind of punishment. So she was well aware of the implements he kept in the narrow closet next to the fireplace. She hadn't wanted to think about what he might use tonight, but now she feared her little outfit was the cue for some of the more unpleasant choices.

  "You could just spank me," she suggested as she stopped barely inside the room, knowing that wouldn't be his choice at all.

  The stern expression he gave as he headed straight to the closet said it all. "Another time." Tonight was about punishment, real punishment for a serious wrong she had done him. It was also about his attempt to maintain a rigid, safe-for-him distance between them, which meant no touching.

  She shifted anxiously from foot to foot as she waited. When he turned back to face her, he held both an antique razor strop and an English cane. Her heart sank. Not good. Stupid idea to wear this schoolgirl outfit!

  "I won't be using both. Just one. Your choice." He held them up like prizes to choose from.

  "You know I don't like choosing what you'll punish me with," she whined, watching his expression turn disapproving. Well, she didn't.

  "Oh fine! That nasty devil," she said pointing to the cane. She hated it, but he never gave her as many strikes with it as he would lashes with the strop.

  He put the strop away and motioned toward the end of the desk. "Take the position."

  She'd have liked a hug first, but that never happened. So she drew on her determination to make him proud of her and walked to where he'd ordered. She bent to rest her forearms on the desk, and then stretched her arms out to grip both edges instead. The bite would be fierce and this way she would stay in position better. No extra strokes for her tonight, no sir.

  Jett moved behind her and tossed the short pleated skirt onto her back. He sucked in a breath as she surprised him again by wearing a thong, something he'd never seen her wear before. He reached out and ran a finger up and down the narrow strip of lace. "Nice, very nice," his tone was husky, intrigued.

  Obviously annoyed with the distraction, he quickly shifted to the side and held the cane against her clenched buttocks. "Don't tense up."

  When she managed to relax her bottom just enough, he raised the cane and she squeezed her eyes shut. Don't cry out! Don't cry out! Don't cry out!

  Thwack!

  "Ohhhhh Jett!" So much for not crying out.

  Thwack! Thwack! "Ten should be enough tonight."

  Her nails were digging into the desk sides. "Ten!" she yelped at another biting strike. "It's been a while. How about five? Five would deliver your message."

  "Twelve it is." Three more strikes landed as she danced on her toes and bucked into the desk.

  No more protesting or attempting to negotiate for her. She should have known better, anyway. She concentrated on staying in position, on keeping her crying out to a minimum. It'll be over soon! It'll be over soon! God, let it be over soon!

  By the time he finally stopped her brain was fuzzy with pain; her throat clogged with tears. She couldn't move, didn't want to move. She knew from experience that the least amount of movement now would be horrible.

  "You can get up now," Jett said gently.

  "I'd rather just stay here for a while." She snifled. "Possibly until tomorrow."

  He set the cane next to her on the desk and carefully helped her up. She bit her lip to keep from crying out again as the fabric of her skirt skimmed over her throbbing bottom. Then he held her to him for just a minute, awkwardly, as if he really wanted to but was afraid to.

  There was no "afraid to" on her part. She settled down, comforted at being in his strong arms again after far too long a time.

  All too soon he released her and turned her toward the doorway. "To bed with you, naughty girl." He didn't sound angry any longer, but the hurt lingered in his voice.

  Even though, as was part of their ritual, she was being sent to bed after having been punished, she felt content. Rituals were good. She understood them. Besides, she was exhausted...and sore. She looked forward to stretching out on her stomach, naked, and letting her bottom recover. She needed the privacy now.

  He followed her into the hallway, but when she headed the opposite way from where he expected her to go, he said, "You're being sent to bed, Valerie."

  She glanced back at him, wiping at tears on her cheeks. "I'm sleeping in the guest suite, for now."

  A frown creased his brow, and then he nodded approval. "Good. That's good." He turned back to the study without another word.

  "It's not good," she whispered as she walked away, wincing with each step she took. "And it's not for long."

  Before she turned the corner in the hallway, she heard him call after her, "By the way, save that outfit."

  Chapter Two

  "Mr. Hart, there is a deliveryman on line
two, wanting to speak with either you or Mrs. Hart. He said something about he arrived earlier than scheduled at your house. You didn't mention anything about expecting a delivery," Abigail stated bluntly, sounding annoyed at not being kept fully informed. But she'd been annoyed with him ever since Valerie had shown up at the office a week ago. She hadn't understood why he'd allowed his wife back in his life then, or since.

  He rubbed his forehead, at the headache which seemed to have taken up permanent residence. "I'll take care of it, Ms. Jenkins." On another day he would have referred to her less formally, as Abigail. Now, though, he chose to make it clear that he was tired of her prissy attitude. He was also extremely tired of her thinking that any of his personal life was her business. If she wasn't such a damn good receptionist...

  "Certainly, Sir," she huffed and disconnected.

  Women. His life appeared to be filled with aggravating women at the moment. He took a second to regain his composure. He had no idea what this delivery business was about. Obviously it had something to do with Valerie. In truth, he didn't know why she remained at his house, except maybe just to aggravate him.

  "Jett Hart speaking."

  "We have a bunch of exercise equipment to deliver," a young-sounding man said. "We had a cancellation, so we're at your house sooner than we expected to be. Can't seem to reach your missus on the cell number she gave us."

  "Exercise equipment?" He belonged to a gentleman's gym, not that he went more than once or twice a year. And he'd never known Valerie to do anything closer to physical exercise than speed-shopping through a mall. "Are you sure you have the right address? The correct Mr. Hart?"

  "Look, if you can't be here in ten or fifteen minutes..."

  Jett frowned, looked at the files spread out before him, and knew his schedule for the day was packed beyond full. "I don't have time for--"

  "Never mind," the man interrupted. "Your missus just called on my partner's cell phone. She's on her way here." The line went dead and Jett should have felt relieved, but he didn't. He just felt more confused. What was Valerie up to now?

  He sat back in his chair; his concentration destroyed. Valerie, or thoughts of her, seemed to be playing horrible havoc with his world lately. He liked organization, schedules. The opposite was true of his wife. There'd been many times in their short marriage where they'd discussed her tendency toward leading a chaotic life, her total misunderstanding of the concept of schedules--especially his. Valerie was a free spirit with no focus. He'd loved her--probably still did--but they simply didn't fit together. She knew it; he knew it. So why was she still here? So why hadn't he insisted that she leave again?

  Sighing, puzzled at his lack of taking a firm step in this matter, he thought about that bunch of yet-unopened boxes--as far as he knew, anyway--delivered to his house several days ago. They took up half the space in the third garage area, even shoving his large collection of golf bags and other sport paraphernalia to the side. When he'd questioned her about them, she'd been vague about their contents. Now that he thought about it, he realized he hadn't actually inquired about them since that first day. There were always too many other more important things for him to be thinking about. He'd been so busy with work lately that he hadn't even given all that much notice to Valerie being back in the house. Of course, he didn't drag home until nearly midnight every night and he left before she managed to get up in the morning. Their existence seemed to be much the same as it had been before their final argument, before she packed up and left.

  His mind turned to that schoolgirl outfit she'd worn the first night she'd been back. Now that had been a completely new twist to their life, to their often boring existence previously. He found himself smiling, thinking yet again about how she'd suddenly decided to attempt to fulfill one of the fantasies he'd finally remembered having told her about a long time ago. She'd looked ridiculously adorable in that short pleated skirt with the prim white blouse. How many times had he toyed with such a fantasy over the years? Well, none of those fantasies had come close to the saucy reality of his wife acting the part. He'd even gone so far as to cane his naughty schoolgirl wife, which she'd more than deserved. Surreal. All of it had been so surreal.

  He shifted in his chair, feeling the need to adjust a new tightness in his undershorts. That had been happening a lot, in the few minutes when he wasn't concentrating on one case or another, in the moments when he dared to think about Valerie. The wife he didn't know what to do with.

  "Abigail," he punched the intercom button to her desk. "Call and change my first two appointments this afternoon until evening meetings, or squeeze them in somehow tomorrow. I'll be leaving the office for a few hours."

  "But--"

  "I'm leaving. Handle it."

  There was no point in sitting here trying to concentrate on this work and those meetings. His mind would be thirty miles away, focused on his home and what was happening there. He needed to go see what the deal was with this exercise equipment. He also needed to remind Valerie that she didn't have complete freedom to blindly spend money anymore. He hadn't emptied their joint account, but most of the funds had been shifted so that only he could get to them. She'd walked out on him and her ability to spend, spend, spend, something she'd been much too good at in the past. They'd had numerous unpleasant discussions about her financial irresponsibility. He must have forgotten about some credit cards in both their names. Well, he'd be asking for them back. Until he decided to even consider making this a real marriage again, she was going to have her reins pulled in. It wasn't that he couldn't afford her purchases, but that wasn't the point.

  "Thank you soooo much," Valerie said with a smile, as well as handing the delivery men a hundred dollar bill. They had balked for about a second when she'd asked them to help her move the awful animal heads and ugly, dark furniture from what had once been Jett's father's room of disgusting safari trip trophies. They'd helped her get them out of her house, out of her sight, and out to the far side of the garage...to the side where Jett parked his Lexus. He could deal with the junk. He'd probably deal with her, too. Whatever.

  They'd no sooner driven away and she'd started to close the garage door when she heard it opening again. Jett. She stood warily in the short hallway to her new exercise room. He must have left the office right after getting the call from the deliverymen, which they'd told her about. No doubt he'd raced home to read her the riot act for wasteful spending, again. He could be such a penny pincher at times, at least on certain things...mainly anything she wanted to buy. His stupid golf clubs, golf cart, and a ton of other sports equipment in the garage easily cost far more than these few pieces of equipment. He wouldn't care about that, though. Oh, no, that would not be the point. And he was big, huge even, on making points.

  She marched to the room she planned to continue redoing the way she wanted it no matter what he said, and no matter the consequences to her.

  "Good Lord, Valerie!" Jett gasped, stopping in the doorway as she turned to face him. "What were you thinking? These must have cost a fortune!"

  For a second she attempted to control her temper, and then she remembered how much he'd been avoiding her. "I've barely seen you in passing for a week now. You don't even make a small attempt to be home at a decent time so we can, if nothing else, at least eat together. You don't call me during the day--even once--because you're so damn busy."

  His face turned dark as a thundercloud. She ignored him and charged on. "You get a phone call about some tiny changes here and you're home like a shot. It's not as if I'm destroying the place!"

  He swept the room with an outstretched hand. "A tiny change? You've completely gutted the trophy room, without my approval, I might add. And you've spent a lot of money without discussing it with me." He narrowed his eyes. "We've talked about your wasteful spending before. Many times. Haven't we?"

  Valerie watched That look shift onto his handsome face and her stomach clenched. But she wasn't having any of that this time. She held out a hand to stop him as he start
ed toward her. "Don't even think about it, Buster!" Okay, Buster was pushing some buttons that shouldn't be pushed.

  "Valerie," he warned, although he did stop, surprised at the firmness in her tone.

  Her spandex-covered buttocks could almost feel the slap of his hand on them, but she stood her ground. "Yes, I've removed those horrible animal heads and all that poor taste in furniture from this room. Need I remind you that you told me long ago that you never liked any of it? You never shared your father's love for big game hunting. You've steered clear of this room for as long as I've known you."

  "Maybe--"

  "You did. So I decided to put the room to better use."

  The thundercloud that had started to lighten on his face returned full force. "By filling it with expensive exercise equipment that you'll never use? How is this different from when you bought--"

  Childish as it was, she stomped one tennis-shoe clad foot on the carpet. "I suppose you intend to bring up every foolish spending choice I've ever made." She didn't like the way he clenched and unclenched his large right hand, like it just ached to connect with the bare flesh of her poor bottom. Foot stomping was a definite no-no, but it had been a reaction. Stupid reaction. "Okay, I'm sorry about that. But not about buying this equipment, which I will use!"

  "You speed walk when you shop. That's as much exercise as you ever do." He glared at the recumbent bike, at the Bowflex TreadClimber, at the NordicTrack treadmill, and at the NordicTrack FreeMotion machine. "Return them. Tomorrow." He pinned her with a stern look. "And I want my credit cards back, any that have both of our names on them."

  She leaned lovingly against the treadmill. "I'm not returning them. And because you're being so pissy about it, you can't use any of my equipment." That sounded so "they're my toys and you can't play with them" that she wondered where her mind had gone.