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Kate Callaghan is an Irish author who writes adult fantasy, romantic suspense, and feel-good Christmas romance. She's the creator of the Hellish Fairytale series, blending dark magic and intrigue, as well as festive romcoms like The Naughty or Nice Clause. Whether she's spinning tales of dangerous love or cosy holiday magic, you'll find her in a Dublin café with an iced coffee, plotting her next twist.WWW.CALLAGHANWRITER.COM

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I Want Your Husband

By Kate Callaghan

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 Kate Callaghan
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4490-4801-3

Chapter One

"Here are your keys," she said, looking at me coolly. I was surprised to see how different she was from the others. They had been tall, with curly brown hair, nervous smiles, and expressions of sympathetic remorse-except for Kioko, of course. However, Elsa was petite with short blond hair-and not the slightest sign of remorse in her extravagantly blue eyes. She was very pretty-in that delicately brittle Scandinavian way. I pocketed my car keys clumsily, dropping my purse on the tiled foyer floor. As I knelt to pick it up, I heard her firm, high-pitched suggestion, "Let's find a seat in the bar!"

I followed her into a corner, where two enormous brown velvet chairs soon enveloped us. The Tokyo Prince Hotel bar was never full at this time of day. I looked around to see if there was anyone I knew, but even before the young Japanese waiter had reached us, Elsa spoke. "I want your husband," she announced. "Oh, a gin and tonic and a brandy dry", she added as she noticed the waiter hovering at the back of my chair. I admit to being somewhat surprised, not only by her direct approach, but also by her recognizing me immediately, handing me my car keys and knowing my drink. She had obviously done her research. How was I going to deal with this unexpectedly self-assured young woman?

Fortunately, I had time to think. The shape of a large Texan took form between us. "You ladies need margaritas!" he boomed, but my cool companion sat rigidly upright before declaring that he was interrupting private business. He stood for a moment with a hand on each of our chairs; then he shrugged his enormous shoulders and left.

Meanwhile, I had been thinking; I had always played the lead in school plays, so I too, would play it cool. "It's a deal," I announced with what I hoped was conviction. "You take Brendan and the children, and I return to England." There was no way that I would allow this to happen, but I hoped she would be taken in by my immediate response. I sat for a moment without breathing, which is what I always do when I'm nervous, but I watched her carefully and thought I noticed a fleeting flicker of panic cross her ridiculously Barbie-like features.

However, Elsa changed the subject. She explained why she was so enthusiastic about taking over Brendan O'Connor whom she saw as relaxed and romantic, a sharp contrast with her own husband, who was apparently, a work-absorbed bore. Having completed his business in Japan, he was returning to Norway at the end of the month. Her mother had already taken their two-year-old son to her home in Oslo.

The stranger Elsa described had been my husband for seven years. Our three children were all under six, but they never entered our discussion. It was rather like bidding at an auction-dispassionate and calculated. She put forward her assets with calm efficiency. She was only twenty-three while I was thirty; she came from a wealthy shipping family and did not need to work, and in any case, she suggested, O'Connor couldn't possibly be interested in me any more. "Look at all the mistresses he's had in the last seven years," she volunteered by way of evidence. I was amused by her use of the word "mistress." It seemed such an old-fashioned term to describe one-night-stands, and associations of a few weeks at the most. Henry V111th had mistresses-not Brendan O'Connor

I heard our voices rise, and noticed that the bar was now populated by business-suited men of various nationalities, including several familiar faces, but no one I really knew. We had been talking for two hours - or rather- I had been listening. I learned one or two interesting facts, like the names of past "mistresses", and that O'Connor didn't sleep with me now because of the trauma caused by watching our babies being born ... a fact which had obviously escaped my attention.

My mind was beginning to wander, and the nauseous feeling at the pit of my stomach had doubled. I knew that a migraine was about to strike. Elsa's shrill voice was saying something about having dinner and going to see a play. I knew I had to beat a hasty retreat. My mouth was fixed in an unconcerned pseudo smile, which was beginning to ache. If I stayed one minute longer, I would hurl my remaining half glass of brandy dry at her tiny pink mouth and accompany it with a load of abuse. I looked around for a sharp knife to plunge into her pearl-covered throat ... but I only saw chopsticks.

"No thanks," I managed, "I can't stay for dinner ... I must rush!" As she looked up, I struggled out of my brown velvet encasement, studied the clock above the bartender's head, gasped with exaggerated astonishment, and hurried out into the late Saturday afternoon twilight.

It took me a long time to find the ugly gray vehicle my husband and I shared, and as I drove out of the parking lot towards Tokyo Tower, the strain of the last two hours hit me. I felt limp and exhausted. Had I done the right thing? Would O'Connor leave me? Would he fall for the lure of power and wealth? Elsa could certainly help him; I could not. Perhaps I had been too understanding. I desperately wanted to turn the clock back to the carefree days in Hong Kong.

I thought about the early days of our marriage and the intense happiness we had both felt at the appearance of our three children. Here in Japan everything had changed. I had felt that if I made an effort to understand and tolerate his meandering, normality would eventually resume. I certainly did not expect this pale Viking creature to sweep him off his feet. What a naive fool I had been!

When I had first learned of the meeting she had arranged with me today, I had not felt unduly concerned. It had happened before, and I had behaved impeccably (I thought), and everything had ended amicably. I remembered playing hockey with Elaine, getting quite intoxicated with Pauline, and receiving a lavender-colored shawl from Kioko.

I suddenly realized that this was my third circulation of Tokyo. The freeway was built above many of the city's old houses, offering a spectacular view of the crowded buildings, the flat landscape, and the colorful lanterns of hidden temples. One sparkling spring day a taxi driver nearly crashed his car as he threw up his arms in excited reverence, "Fuji-san," he shouted, and we caught a clear glimpse of the famous mountain topped with snow - an unusual sighting from smoggy Tokyo.

Here was I ... Elizabeth Bryan O'Connor, mother of three, wife of one, teacher of many, a traitor to the feminist cause - on the edge of doom! I was thousands of miles from family, alone in an anti-female country-with no means of escape. I might manage to borrow enough money to return to Hong Kong on my own, but I would not be allowed to take the children. Anyway, they were devoted to their father. What had other women done in my situation? I remembered reading about a German woman who had thrown herself under the Bullet, Japan's fastest train. Maybe she was inspired by Anna Karinina. Then there was the Japanese woman, who, horrified by the thought of desertion, walked into the ocean with her two children, drowning herself and them.

I was becoming quite lugubrious at the thought. I knew, however, that my solution had to be different. I couldn't stand water, and the idea of blood sent shivers down my spine. I clutched the steering wheel tightly and looked down again at the flickering lights of Tokyo, colorful but unreal, like a television screen. There was Tokyo Tower again. Suddenly, I knew where...