Some Wives Do...Whatever it Takes

Some Wives Do Whatever it Takes

By Remi Wild

Copyright 2017 Remi Wild

Published at Smashwords by Ravenna Young

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. All characters are products of the author’s twisted imagination and not based on any real person. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This eBook contains adult content and is not suitable for people under the age of 18.

Table of Contents

Title Page

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

Other Titles by Remi Wild

Connect with Remi Wild

Chapter One

The stifling heat in the OR is more than the team can bear. My scrubs stick to my body, and it literally feels as though I peed my pants. The air conditioner has been on the fritz since we cut into the current patient, and it didn’t take long for the Mobile, Alabama sun to turn our OR theatre into a stuffy, sterile oven.

Trying to keep my focus, so we can get out of here, I think happier thoughts. I’m excited for my lunch date with Eric, and the thought of an ice-cold glass of sweet tea gives me something to look forward to.

The surgery has run long, and since I’m drenched in sweat, I need to shower—I’ll be pushing it, but I’m hoping to make our date.

Staring at the clock, I count the seconds as Dr. Lamberti snips the last of the suture and steps away. The crew are sweating buckets, so when several audible sighs fill the air, I can’t help but giggle.

Good game, Dr. Leopold Lamberti says as he exits the theatre. Several nurses stare after him. Like the rest of us, his scrubs and gown have become a second skin, snuggly highlighting his muscular torso and delicious ass. They’re drooling behind their masks, guaranteed.

Ah, Leo—tall, dark, scrumptious Leo. That thick deep Italian accent, that’s adopted a noticeable Southern twang, could peel the panties from every woman in the vicinity. Leo is masculine perfection. His status as an orthopedic surgeon is like the fine satin bow on a pristine package containing the world’s most eligible bachelor and the ultimate dream man.

Not that I’m looking. Sure, I check Leo out on occasion, but Eric and I have been happily married for three years. I wouldn’t give him up for the world, he is my world.

Besides, I’ve had Leo. The sex, as epic as his lack of commitment and panty-chasing ways, just wasn’t enough. It lacked magic, connection, intimacy—which was not Leo’s forte, but neither was monogamy.

I’m a monogamous soul—one man for me, and that man is the love of my life, Eric.

I race to the locker room, hop into a change room, and struggle out of my scrubs. Wrapped in a towel, I scoot towards the showers as I glance at my cell, worried I won’t make lunch. I promised to meet Eric at the office for noon, but I’m going to be more than a few minutes late. It’s no big deal since the restaurant is a short distance from his office.

I send him a text, running a smidge late.

My body crashes into something hard, my hands fly up to steady myself, and land flat on sweaty, ripped, olive flesh. Stunned by my handsy move, I look up and into the luscious, chocolate eyes of the very doctor, all the nurses whisper about. He blinks with surprise, his dark, doe lashes flitting in such a way that all thought momentarily disappears from my swoony head.

The phone, sandwiched between my palm and his chest, beeps with an incoming text. I try to wrap my fingers around it, but it slips from my grasp and crashes to the floor. I barely notice—the hot sticky flesh against my palms forbids it. I hear a locker door slam, it’s enough to snap me back to reality. My hands pull back, gripping the towel tight against my body.

Stupid co-ed locker rooms.

Thank God, I didn’t drop my towel.

"My apologies, Rebecca," Leopold says, followed by a deep throaty chuckle as his eyes take in every inch of my exposed flesh.

Swallowing hard, I will myself not to blush. He shouldn’t fluster me, but he does, but not in the want to shag him sort of way—more like the he’s so unbelievably gorgeous that it takes my breath away sort of way. I am only human and although I am married, I am most definitely not blind.

He’s got me flustered, and the bastard knows it.

Dammit…my phone!

Dragging my eyes away from his, I search the floor for my phone, but he reaches down to grab it.

I’m so sorry, Becs. And there it is—his pet name for me—the one that still makes me swoon, but only because his accent is so friggin sexy. Looks like your phone is trashed…I’ll have a replacement for you, first thing tomorrow. His expression softens, and I can tell he feels bad.

You don’t have to, Leo. I have a spare at home. His eyes narrow and his gaze intensifies, daring me to defy his offer to replace my phone. As if distracted, his eyes change direction, roaming, mentally stripping the towel from my body. My fingers white-knuckle the towel, and I straighten, determined to end this awkward encounter. "Excuse me, perv. I need to hurry if I’m going to make lunch with Eric."

Ah, yes. How is Eric? Has he made Junior Partner, yet? His dry tone dictates his disdain for my husband, a disdain that’s been festering since college, since I ditched his cheating ass for his roommate and best friend, Eric.

Of course, he made Junior Partner—we stayed up all night celebrating. I toss him a naughty grin. Ten points for me.

He raises an eyebrow, like he’ll play my game, and offers up his own little dig. "Well, I suppose it was inevitable being that it is his father’s firm." He smiles huge, proud of himself, and hoping I’ll retaliate.

Jerk.

No way am I going to bite.

Tilting my head, a smirk contorts my lips. "Leo, I’d love to chat about the love of my life, because I’m so sure you actually care, but I really have to get moving."

Of course, he says, making a sweeping motion with his hand as he steps aside. Enjoy your date, Nurse Brown.

I rush past him, lock myself in the shower stall, and turn the water to cold. I swear, I just heard him chuckle. Leaning against the door, I tip my head back, close my eyes, and take several deep calming breaths.

I shouldn’t have told Leo that Eric made partner. It’s none of his damn business. I shouldn’t even be talking to him. I promised Eric.

Why, after all this time, does Leo still rattle me? It’s stupid, really. I’m so in love with Eric that I can’t see straight, but Leo just knows all the right things to say to either leave me in awe or completely piss me off. The worst part is that he’s well aware of his effect on me.

It’s those damn sexy eyes. Who am I kidding? It’s the whole package, but mostly, it’s our complicated history. He was my first love, but Eric is my last, my soulmate. Deep down, I am thankful for my time with Leo because it gave me Eric.

My head nods against the door as a content smile curves my lips—I am exactly where I need to be. Well, I won’t be if I don’t hurry.

After rinsing the sweat of the morning away, I race to pull myself together and am more than presentable for lunch at Carina’s Place, our favorite restaurant. My golden-brown mane is combed and oiled to combat the humidity and my face is made up to perfection—I look awesome in my fuchsia sundress. Still giddy from our celebratory sex-fest the night before, I can hardly wait to see my husband. He really does know how to rock my world.

***

The Whitley, Brown, and Markham building reminds me of Wall Street. Located downtown, the trendy, retro building is home to several professional firms that occupy its twenty floors with Whitley, Brown, and Markham taking the top six. Had I been just a few minutes earlier, I wouldn’t be stuck moving against the mass exodus of employees rushing off to lunch. Finally, I make it through, greet security, and then jump in the elevator, while trying to refrain from doing the pee-pee-dance. By the time the elevator hits the fourteenth floor, I am practically delirious, racing to the bathroom and into a stall.

Hello, a woman’s voice says.

Startled, I cock my head. Is she talking to me? My mouth opens as if to reply but snaps shut as she continues to speak.

Yeah, I have to cancel our lunch plans. She must be on her phone. Whoever she is, she sounds excited, and I can’t help but eavesdrop. I’m sort of committed. I know it’s short notice, but he cancelled lunch with the wife to meet with me. I can’t wait to be alone with him.

My skin starts to tingle. Is she talking about having an affair with someone?

My mind searches the faces of the men at the firm—which one of them is being unfaithful? Blood rushes to my face, and I want to punch the whore in the stall next to me, but I don’t. The nosy me wants to know more, so I tilt my head towards her voice.

Whatever. I don’t care if he’s married…By the time I’m finished, the wife won’t even be a consideration...I know, right...I gotta run, I’m meeting him now…I’ll call you later. I hear the mystery woman say goodbye and flush the toilet. Straining to look under the stall, I admire her six-inch, designer, black patent heels.

Who is she?

Her voice isn’t familiar, but I don’t know all the lawyers, and there are several paralegals and assistants, not to mention the accounting department. I scramble to finish and exit the stall, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, but she already washed up and has left the bathroom.

Heels click down the hall, so I poke my head out the door and see her sashaying, on a mission, towards the elevator. She’s a predator, dressed to kill in six-inch, fuck-me pumps and a perfectly tailored, grey power-suit. Long, shiny, chestnut curls bounce along her back, and her legs don’t seem to quit. Her hair is perfection, her figure’s curvy yet toned—the guy she’s after is going to have to be one dedicated husband to pass her up.

So, this is stupid. I have a lunch date, and I’m wasting time pondering some homewrecker’s phone call. After washing up, I speed-walk to Eric’s assistant, Sharon, to announce my arrival.

As I approach, smiling a greeting, Sharon clears her throat and tosses me an awkward frown. Rebecca, so nice to see you…You just missed Eric. He went to lunch.

Darn. I was supposed to meet him here. I sent him a text but had an accident with my phone—it’s dead.

He has a lunch meeting at Carina’s Place. It was last minute, but I believe he sent you a text to cancel—you must have broken your phone before you got it—sorry you came all this way. She reaches up to adjusts her bifocals and shifts uncomfortably in her chair. My face loses color, and I sway. The only words I heard were that he sent a text to cancel lunch with me, the wife.

A meeting? I croak the words as I turn to leave, feebly waiving at Sharon.

Oh.

My.

God!

Eric’s the guy!

He has to be.

What do I do?

My mind races with different scenarios, all of them catastrophic. My stomach churns with nausea while the mystery woman’s words auto-play in my mind. I shake my head, trying to force