Книга - A Wife for One Year

A Wife for One Year
Brenda Harlen


Marriage AgreementBetween Daniel Garrett and Kenna ScottStay married one yearFool the familyNo sex!To claim his trust fund and launch a new career, Daniel needs to be married…and no one can tick all the "wifely" boxes like Kenna. And since she's his best friend, the celibacy part should be a piece of (wedding) cake! Or so Daniel thinks…until he hears the words that make him freeze: "You may kiss your bride." One official kiss has the former confirmed bachelor reeling…and one unplanned night with his virgin bride has him staggering. Will it be the end of an era for the two best friends, or will a surprise pregnancy make the two become three–for keeps?









He stared at the tiny scrap of lingerie in his hand …


… and pictured Kenna wearing nothing more than the soft lace—an image that was arousing and unnerving.

Daniel was intimately acquainted with women’s lingerie. He knew the difference between a G-string and a thong, appreciated the effect of a push-up bra.

He wouldn’t mind seeing what Kenna looked like in one … and then out of it.

“Stay out of my underwear drawer.”

He looked at Kenna and grinned. “I never gave much thought to getting into it … until a moment ago.”

“Well, stop. Just because I’m your wife doesn’t mean I’m going to get naked with you. You set the terms,” she reminded him. “A one-year marriage on paper only.”

Obviously not a well thought-out plan, he realized.

“What if I want to renegotiate?” he asked.

“Not going to happen.”

He took a step closer, deliberately invading her personal space. “You know I can’t resist a challenge.”

* * *

Those Engaging Garretts! The Carolina Cousins


A Wife for

One Year

Brenda Harlen






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


BRENDA HARLEN is a former family law attorney turned work-at-home mom and national bestselling author who has written more than twenty books for Mills & Boon. Her work has been validated by industry awards (including an RWA Golden Heart Award and the RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award) and by the fact that her kids think it’s cool that she’s “a real author.”

Brenda lives in southern Ontario with her husband and two sons. When she isn’t at the computer working on her next book, she can probably be found at the arena, watching a hockey game. Keep up to date with Brenda on Facebook, follow her on Twitter at @BrendaHarlen (http://www.twitter.com/BrendaHarlen), or send her an e-mail at brendaharlen@yahoo.com (mailto:brendaharlen@yahoo.com).


To my husband of twenty years:

Thanks for all of your love, support and encouragement over the past two decades—and especially for your patience and understanding when other (fictional!) men become the focus

of my attention as I work toward deadlines…


Contents

Cover (#ud624d3f0-9c82-53e0-b922-543c6435b099)

Introduction (#u25ecfa5f-c65e-5335-9f21-1e8d5ae02bfe)

Title Page (#ue62c806f-9bf4-52ac-b86e-b9d27780e3a4)

About the Author (#ud0d1fa08-f4e1-5b25-9fc3-48d1052fbc8b)

Dedication (#uf81674a7-59ff-51c3-8a85-16ce3b2184c7)

Prologue (#u1eee23ec-7f15-5518-ab9d-83191695b7dc)

Chapter One (#u8a0f5dc8-5ab9-5ba8-aef2-b7464d96323c)

Chapter Two (#u05639182-d058-5d75-a16f-72dbd6f8d385)

Chapter Three (#ufb0ad9d4-6570-5c5a-98a5-398f5a0cf8b6)

Chapter Four (#u5be795a5-6249-5808-a884-d6bc02d34995)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Prologue (#ulink_41be88a0-89fd-5967-b357-ce57a0e83ed2)

Life was all about trade-offs, Kenna Scott realized as she made her way through the corridors of Hillfield Academy, the private school she’d transferred to three weeks earlier. Her high marks had won her a scholarship to the prestigious school, but her secondhand uniform, scuffed shoes and ancient backpack still marked her as a “charity case” to her fellow students.

There was no hiding the fact that she was from the wrong part of town, where she lived in the erroneously named “Royal Towers”—a three-story apartment building with rusted balconies, cracked sidewalks and a landlord who sold dime bags in the back of the parking lot. Even working two jobs, it was the best her mother could provide for them, and putting food on the table for three kids without a penny from any of their good-for-nothing fathers wasn’t easy.

So Kenna didn’t expect anything to come easy for her, either, but it was harder than she’d thought it would be to ignore the snarky whispers and the disdainful glances of the other kids at Hillfield. Thankfully, they gave her a wide berth, as if her lower-class status might somehow be infectious.

All of them except Daniel Garrett.

At her other school, labs had been assigned alphabetically. But for some reason, Mr. Taylor liked to mix things up—test the randomness of chemistry, he explained. Basically he put names in a hat and pulled two out together, and those two would be lab partners for the duration of the semester. That was how she ended up with Daniel Garrett as her lab partner in junior year.

Which she didn’t really mind, because he wasn’t a complete goof-off like some of the other kids. Although he focused on the work they had to do, he was always asking her questions, about what books she liked to read or the kind of movies she liked to watch.

Finally, on the Friday of the third week of class and after the latest round of questioning, she asked, “What’s with the interrogation?”

“I’m trying to get to know you.”

“Just because we’re lab partners doesn’t mean we have to be friends.”

“It doesn’t have to keep us from being friends, either,” Daniel pointed out.

“And even if we were friends, it wouldn’t get you into my pants.”

“Excuse me?”

“You think I didn’t see you and your friends in the cafeteria, looking at me and snickering, probably making bets on how easy I am because I’m from South Ridge and here on a scholarship?”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, there was some talk,” he admitted. “Not because you’re a scholarship student from South Ridge but because you’re hot. And yeah, some of the guys bet that I couldn’t get you to go out with me, so I thought I’d give it a shot.”

She hadn’t expected him to admit it. And she hadn’t anticipated that a casual comment on her appearance would make her stomach feel all quivery inside. She’d often been told that she was beautiful—usually by male “friends” of her mother—and those remarks had always made her uncomfortable. As a result, she’d dressed to hide her feminine curves and downplay her appearance, but the uniform requirements at Hillfield didn’t allow her to cover up with baggy jeans or oversize sweaters.

But the matter-of-fact tone of Daniel’s statement didn’t make her uneasy, and the way he looked at her didn’t make her wary. So she summoned the courage to ask, “How much?”

“What?”

“How much was the wager?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “A hundred bucks.”

She didn’t react, wouldn’t let him see how much that kind of money would mean to her. Even half of it was a fortune to her, and these guys threw it around on a lame-ass bet without a second thought.

After a few minutes, she said, “We could split it.”

“What?”

She almost smiled at this proof she’d surprised him. “If you give me half and buy the pizza out of your fifty, I’ll let you win that bet.”

He seemed to consider her offer for a minute, then nodded and held out his hand. “Deal.”

She felt an unexpected jolt when her palm made contact with his, but she refused to acknowledge it. She wasn’t interested in any chemistry outside of this classroom.


Chapter One (#ulink_592287bd-54c0-5826-8611-96891508d2d6)

Ten years later

Kenna Scott owed Daniel Garrett more than she could ever possibly repay him.

Not that he would agree. The first time he’d ever bailed her out of a difficult situation, he’d told her, “Friends don’t keep score.” And while she hadn’t really kept score over the years, it was an undeniable truth that he’d come to her rescue more times than she wanted to admit. Now she was in the unique position of being able to help him.

Twenty-four hours earlier, she wouldn’t have imagined there was anything he could ask of her that she would refuse.

Twenty-four hours earlier, she wouldn’t have imagined he’d ask her to marry him.

As their taxi zipped through the streets of Las Vegas, her feelings were as much a blur as the scenery outside the window.

Was she really going to go through with this? Was she going to marry Daniel to help him gain access to the trust fund that was tied up until his thirtieth birthday or he was “lawfully married”?

And was a marriage under such circumstances considered lawful?

“You’re having second thoughts,” he guessed.

She looked at him—the man who had been one of her best friends for the past decade—and felt a little flutter of something she couldn’t, or maybe didn’t want to, define.

Daniel was the type of man who drew attention wherever he went. Not just because he was six-four with broad shoulders but because of the way he carried himself, with purpose and confidence. He was also undeniably handsome. He had thick dark hair that always seemed to be in need of a trim, deep blue eyes that could be intensely focused or sparkle with humor, a sexy mouth that was quick to smile and a square jaw that, even when unshaven, was somehow appealing rather than scruffy.

Aside from all of that, he was a Garrett, and with the name came a certain amount of power and prestige. But instead of working at the furniture business owned by his family, Daniel had chosen to pursue a career in the field of computer science and was presently a network security specialist.

In high school, he’d been the boy that all the girls wanted to be with. Now that he was a man, he was even more coveted. But just a few hours earlier, he’d put a ring on her finger, and her gaze shifted now to the stunning princess-cut diamond solitaire. She knew it would take some time to get used to the weight of the ring on her finger; she wasn’t sure she would ever become accustomed to its weight on her conscience.

“I just wish there was another way,” she admitted.

“For me or for you?”

“Both.”

“I told you I’ve got stocks and bonds worth at least two hundred thousand. I could cash some of those in to pay for your sister’s surgery.”

And he would do it for her, too—no strings attached. Because that was the kind of guy he was. And as much as she hated taking anything from anyone—even a loan from her best friend—she would do it for Becca.

Her fourteen-year-old sister had been in her boyfriend’s car when Todd lost control of the vehicle, which slid thirty feet down an embankment before crashing into a utility pole. The passenger side had taken the brunt of the impact, so while Todd had walked away from the scene, paramedics had to use the Jaws of Life to get Becca out of the mangled vehicle. She was rushed to hospital with three cracked ribs, a punctured lung and a tibial shaft fracture.

Three months later, it was discovered that the surgeon hadn’t properly aligned the broken fragments of the fracture, and now Becca walked with a limp. After several more doctors’ appointments and specialist consultations, it was agreed that another operation would be needed if she wanted to correct the problem. But because this surgery was considered elective, neither it nor the subsequent physiotherapy sessions would be covered by medical insurance.

A conservative estimate of the cost: eighty thousand dollars.

Just thinking about the enormity of the sum made Kenna’s stomach cramp. While she’d finally paid off her secondhand car, she’d barely begun to make a dent in her student loans and the doctor wanted a fifty percent deposit before he would even book the surgery.

She hadn’t had the first clue how she might scrounge up that kind of money, but she’d promised her sister she’d figure out a way. A lengthy conversation with their mother had garnered nothing but tears and regrets. Sue Ellen Duncan had always been good at both—it was handling her finances that proved to be a struggle. So when Daniel had stopped by to see Kenna later that night, she’d been desperate for a solution.

That was when he’d suggested they get married.

She’d stared at him blankly, waiting for the punch line, certain it had to be some kind of joke. He’d assured her that it was not. Kenna needed money for her sister’s surgery; he wanted access to his trust fund; a quick ceremony in Vegas would give them each what they desired.

They’d been friends for so long that she sometimes forgot about the drastic differences in their backgrounds and social status. Which was ironic, considering that it had been such an impediment to their friendship in the beginning.

Aside from the fact that Daniel’s family owned Garrett Furniture, his maternal grandfather, Jake Willson, had made a ton of money in real estate in the sixties. He’d spent as much of it as he could in his lifetime, left a substantial amount to his only child and put the rest into trust funds for his three grandsons.

Kenna’s initial response to Daniel’s proposal had been equal parts intrigue and revulsion. She liked the idea of earning the money, but the method he was suggesting made her wonder if she’d be selling herself, à la Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. He immediately assured her that he was looking for a temporary marriage in name only—just one year out of her life in exchange for one hundred thousand dollars.

Or $273.97 per day to wear his ring on her finger.

She’d finally said yes.

Now as the taxi pulled up in front of the Courtland Resort & Casino, Kenna tried not to gawk. She’d never been to Las Vegas. In fact, she’d never ventured any farther from her hometown of Charisma, North Carolina, than Daytona Beach, Florida, so she experienced a little bit of culture shock just looking around.

The opulence of the luxury hotel was unlike anything she’d ever seen. Glossy marble floors, life-size statues, spectacular waterfalls and exotic flowers. It was like a tropical paradise inside a hotel lobby that was probably bigger than any other hotel she’d ever stayed in.

Check-in was expedited, no doubt by Daniel’s platinum credit card, and although they each had only a small overnight bag, the desk clerk called for a bellman to assist with their luggage. The man, whose nameplate identified him as Alex, led them briskly down a wide corridor to a bank of elevators.

Each door of the elevator had an ornately scrolled C etched into the polished surface, and the doors opened without a sound. She stepped inside and noted there were specific buttons for Spa and Casino, but Alex pressed 7 and the elevator began its ascent. The ride was as smooth as it was quick, and then she was stepping out into a long hallway. The gold-and-cream decor continued here, from the patterned carpet beneath her feet and luxurious silk on the walls to the sconces that illuminated their path and the elaborately framed artwork along the way. The bellman slipped a key card into the slot of Room 722, and the lock released with a quiet click.

The first thing she noticed, with no small amount of relief, were the two queen-size beds that Alex informed her were custom luxury mattresses triple-sheeted with five-hundred-thread-count linens. The tablet on the bedside table controlled the lighting, the forty-inch flat-screen LCD TV, the iHome music system, programmable coffeemaker and draperies.

“Draperies?” Kenna echoed, not sure she’d heard him correctly.

In response to which he picked up the tablet and tapped the screen a few times, which caused the thick brocade curtains to slide across the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Wow.”

He smiled kindly. “Is this your first trip to Las Vegas, ma’am?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Then we hope it’s the first of many,” he said. “And if there’s anything at all we can do to make your stay more enjoyable, please don’t hesitate to let us know.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Alex opened the drapes again, and she moved closer to the window, taking in the view of the Strip. Even this early in the day, the streets were bustling with activity. She couldn’t wait to see it at night, lit up as it always was in the movies.

“The directory on the tablet has all the information you will require about the hotel—our three restaurants, spa services, shops and, of course, the casino.”

He opened another door to reveal an Italian marble bath with deep soaker tub, separate glass-enclosed shower, double sinks, exclusive designer toiletries and thick Egyptian cotton towels on heated bars.

Daniel pressed a folded bill into his hand.

“Thank you very much, sir,” Alex said, making his exit.

Kenna turned in a slow circle in the middle of the room, still trying to take it all in. “How long are we staying?”

Daniel chuckled at her obvious pleasure. “I only booked one night, but we can extend that, if you want.”

“I want.” She dropped onto the closest bed and let herself sink back into the mountain of pillows. Then she sighed. “Unfortunately, I have to work on Monday—and so do you.”

He shrugged. “I could finagle a few extra days...if it was for a honeymoon.”

She shook her head regretfully. “I can’t.”

He stretched out beside her, linked their fingers together. It was an easy, companionable gesture that nevertheless stirred something inside her. “You can’t take a few extra days...or you can’t marry me?”

“I can’t take even one extra day.” She squeezed his hand. “But I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t planning to go through with the wedding.”

She could almost see the tension leak out of his body. She knew his eagerness to tie the knot had nothing to do with love or happily-ever-after but was an indication of how much he wanted to accept Josh Slater’s business proposition. For a five-million-dollar investment, he could be his friend’s partner in the ownership of a professional stock car racing team under the banner of Garrett/Slater Racing.

“Are you sure?” he asked, giving her one last out.

She nodded. “Let’s do it.”

His brows lifted. “Do it?”

Belatedly she remembered that they were lying side by side on a queen-size bed, and she felt heat rise in her cheeks.

“Get married,” she clarified, ignoring the awareness that hummed through her veins.

“Now?”

“Isn’t that why we’re here?”

“Sure,” he agreed. “But we only got off the plane half an hour ago. I thought you might want to relax a little, maybe indulge in some of the hotel spa services.”

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to relax until this is done,” she admitted.

“The wedding or the year?”

She managed a smile. “The wedding,” she said, though she suspected the truth was both. The wedding was just a ceremony—a legal formality. Being married, presenting herself to their friends and families as Daniel Garrett’s wife for the next twelve months, was going to be the true test.

“Did you want to at least go shopping first?”

“Shopping?” She looked at him blankly.

“The bellman mentioned there were shops downstairs, and since we’re getting married, I thought you might want to wear something a little more weddinglike.”

She glanced down at her white capris and sleeveless blue top with the ruffled placket, but shook her head.

His brows lifted. “No dreams of walking down the aisle in a white dress?”

She didn’t let herself regret that she wasn’t going to have the wedding she’d dreamed about since she was a little girl, because this wasn’t a real wedding. “I don’t want to pretend this marriage is something it’s not.”

“That’s exactly what we’re going to have to do,” he reminded her gently.

“For everyone else,” she acknowledged. “But not between us.”

He shrugged. “Okay, then. Let’s find a chapel.”

He released her hand to pick up the tablet and found a link to a list of wedding venues—the number of which was astounding. And then there were countless ceremony options: traditional or themed, including disco, rock ’n’ roll, country and western, pirates, vampires and even zombies.

“Kenna?” he prompted.

“I’d have to say it’s a definite no with respect to pirates, vampires and zombies.”

“How about walking down the aisle with Elvis?”

She shook her head. “Is there anything a little more...normal?”

He scrolled through a few more pages. “How about ‘Traditional Elegance’?” He read from the description: “‘This package offers a ceremony in our traditional chapel, with wedding music, bride’s six-rose bouquet, groom’s matching boutonniere, ten ceremony photos on CD, complimentary limousine service for the bride and groom to the marriage license bureau, and a witness, if required.’”

“That sounds good.”

“Except that we were supposed to call at least forty-eight hours in advance to inquire about availability.”

“Call,” she suggested. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

He sent her a slow, heated look that had no doubt caused numerous women to tumble into his bed. Thankfully, a decade of watching him in action had immunized her to his charm and techniques. Mostly, anyway.

She smacked him in the arm. “Stop turning everything I say into a sexual innuendo.”

“Stop saying things that sound like sex,” he countered.

“You’re a guy—everything sounds like sex to you.”

“Probably true,” he acknowledged unapologetically.

She looked at him now, her expression serious. “I know you want to get married, but are you sure you want to marry me?”

“I don’t really want to get married,” he reminded her. “But since that’s what I have to do, I couldn’t imagine marrying anyone else.”

“A year is a long time to go without sex,” she pointed out. “Especially for a man with a hedonistic reputation.”

“My reputation is somewhat exaggerated.”

“Somewhat?”

“Maybe the real issue isn’t my reputation but that you don’t think you can hold out that long. Because if you’re suggesting an amendment to the terms of—”

“No,” she said quickly, deliberately ignoring the leap of her pulse in response to his provocative statement.

He just grinned.

“I’m suggesting an amendment to the time frame,” she clarified. “Six months should be long enough to convince people we tried to make our marriage work but realized we were better off as friends.”

“Maybe most people,” he acknowledged.

She knew he was excluding his parents from that list, and she knew he was right. After refusing his request for access to his trust fund only a couple of months earlier, David and Jane Garrett would definitely have suspicions about their son’s sudden nuptials. And while she appreciated that Daniel didn’t like deceiving his parents, she didn’t understand how dragging the deception out over twelve months rather than six made it more palatable to him.

“Call about the chapel,” she decided. “Let’s make sure today is day one of my three hundred and sixty-five as Mrs. Daniel Garrett.”

* * *

Daniel made the call.

Fifteen minutes later they were picked up by a limo that took them to the marriage license bureau, then returned them to the hotel for the ceremony.

When Kenna stepped inside the chapel, her breath actually caught in her throat.

Her groom halted beside her. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s...beautiful.”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I guess I just thought... I mean, this is an impromptu wedding in Vegas. I expected Elvis in a polyester suit and—”

“You nixed the Elvis idea,” he reminded her. “You wanted something more traditional.”

She nodded, because it was true. But she hadn’t expected something that would look and feel so much like a real church, with classic cathedral ceilings and antique stained glass, floral arrangements on marble columns and flickering candles everywhere.

The officiant started toward them. As he drew nearer, she noticed that he was wearing a clerical collar. Not an officiant, she realized, but a real minister, and his presence forced her to acknowledge the realness of the vows she was about to make.

He welcomed them, introduced himself as Gerald Laughton and inspected their marriage license. He’d just started to give them a brief rundown of the ceremony when a trim woman with neatly coiffed white hair and wearing an elegant rose-colored suit bustled in.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she breathlessly apologized. “I should have been here to greet you, but I got tied up waiting for a delivery from the florist.”

“We weren’t going to start without you,” the minister assured her. Then to Daniel and Kenna he said, “This is Vera Laughton, the chapel administrator, your witness and my wife of thirty-four years.”

After the introductions were completed, Vera took Kenna’s arm and steered her away from the men, toward the back of the chapel.

“We’ve got a schedule to keep,” she reminded them. “So let’s get this started.”

Vera handed Kenna a bouquet of flowers and signaled to a younger man with a camera around his neck. He punched a few buttons on the front panel of an intricate sound system and music began to fill the room.

Not Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” but Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major, Kenna realized. She’d always thought it was a much more elegant and beautiful song, as she’d remarked to Daniel when they’d attended his cousin Braden’s wedding several years earlier. Of course, Daniel wouldn’t have remembered that. And even if he had, she would guess that the music had been chosen by the hotel’s wedding coordinator or Vera—or maybe even the last bride who had walked down the aisle in this chapel.

But when Kenna drew in a deep breath and looked down at the hand-tied flowers in her hands, questions swirled in her mind. The website had indicated that the bride could choose between white or red roses, but she was holding a bouquet of soft pink gerberas—her favorite flowers.

In that moment, she knew that Daniel had done this. For her. He’d taken care of the little details to give her, if not the wedding of her dreams, at least one that she would remember fondly. And when she glanced up at the front of the chapel, where he was waiting more anxiously than patiently, she felt her heart swell.

When she’d first met him, back in high school, he’d been breathtakingly good-looking. At sixteen, he’d already been more than six feet tall and broad in the shoulders, but he’d added both muscle and maturity since then, and he was even more attractive now.

He rarely asked anything of her, and she knew he’d never wanted anything as much as he wanted Garrett/Slater Racing to become a reality. When she’d agreed to marry him, she’d thought she was doing it for Becca, but she realized now that she would have done it for him anyway. Because he wasn’t just her best friend, he was a good man, and even if she wasn’t in love with him, she did love him.

She started down the aisle toward him, and as her gaze met his, his lips curved. When she reached the front of the chapel, he took her hand and squeezed her icy fingers reassuringly. Or maybe he was holding on to her to make sure she didn’t bolt.

She didn’t look at him when he recited his vows, and she kept her gaze focused on his chin as she spoke her own. Because she wouldn’t—couldn’t—look him in the eye and say words that they both knew were a lie. Instead of “so long as we both shall live,” the minister should have asked them to promise “until the monies of the trust fund have been released.” It wouldn’t have sounded nearly as romantic, but at least it would have been honest.

Thankfully, the ceremony was concluded fairly quickly. Then came the words that made both of them freeze.

“You may kiss your bride.”

Her eyes lifted, and Kenna saw the knee-jerk panic she was feeling reflected in his. Obviously they’d both forgotten that after the exchange of promises and rings, there was supposed to be a ceremonial kiss.

He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug, then dipped his head and touched his mouth to hers.

The contact was so light and so quick, she might have doubted it had even happened except for the fact that her lips actually tingled.

The slight furrow between his brows made her wonder if he’d experienced the same unexpected reaction to the fleeting kiss. Then he touched his mouth to hers again, lingering just a little bit longer this time, just long enough to start her heart racing.

When he drew back, she slowly exhaled the breath she’d been holding and forced a smile as the photographer circled around them, snapping photos.

“All part of the package,” he reminded them.

Kenna’s lips remained curved, presenting the image of a blissful bride as she posed with her now-rich husband.

But nerves danced and tangled in her belly, warning that she wasn’t quite as immune to her groom as she wanted to be.


Chapter Two (#ulink_775f6e67-2989-50e3-b656-13dc78567549)

Daniel had made reservations for dinner after the ceremony at Prime—a signature Courtland Hotel restaurant that specialized in steak and seafood. The decor was simple but elegant: leather armchair seating around square tables set with pristine white cloths, gleaming silver and crystal stemware all subtly illuminated by candlestick lamps.

Before they’d even opened their menus, the hostess returned to their table with a slim glass vase to keep Kenna’s bouquet fresh. She was followed by the sommelier bearing a half bottle of champagne “compliments of the management” for the happy couple.

“To day one,” Daniel toasted.

Kenna lifted her glass to tap against his. “Only three hundred and sixty-four more to go.”

Maybe he should have been insulted that she was already so eager to end their marriage, except that he understood the circumstances of their union weren’t what either of them would have chosen. All things considered, however, he knew he was a lucky man to have married the woman who wasn’t just his best friend but one of the most beautiful women he’d ever known.

He looked at her now—at the pale blond hair that fell in gentle waves to her shoulders with a fringe of bangs above deep blue eyes. At the delicate shape of her face, the flawless complexion, and lips that were temptingly shaped and softer than he could have imagined. If he’d let himself imagine, which he definitely and absolutely had not until the minister had told him to kiss her. She was at least eight inches shorter than his six feet four inches, with a slender but undeniably feminine physique. And although she looked slight, he knew that she was strong and stubborn, genuine and loyal.

If he could choose to fall in love with anyone, he would choose Kenna. Instead, they’d chosen to follow the path of friendship, and falling in love now would force a detour from that path and ruin everything.

When the waiter came to their table, Daniel ordered the peppercorn steak with shrimp skewers, truffle mashed potatoes and steamed asparagus. Kenna selected the pan-fried sole with crispy fingerling potatoes and roasted cauliflower.

They chatted about inconsequential topics while they waited for their food, and while Kenna responded appropriately, she seemed more than a little distracted, and he couldn’t help wondering if she already regretted her decision.

“If you’re disappointed that Elvis didn’t perform the ceremony, we can probably catch him on stage somewhere,” he told her.

She smiled. “I’m not disappointed, and I thought the ceremony was lovely.”

“Just not what you’d envisioned for your wedding day?” he guessed.

“Truthfully, I’d given up thinking that I’d ever get married.”

“Why?” he asked, as the waiter approached with their meals.

“Too many frogs, not enough princes,” she said, after the server had gone again.

“What about that guy you were dating from school? The gym teacher? You never did tell me why you broke up with him.”

“While this marriage is a first for me, I’m pretty sure most husbands don’t bring up the topic of their wives’ ex-boyfriends on their wedding night.”

“But we’ve already established that this isn’t like most marriages,” he said, unwilling to let her dodge the topic. “So what happened?”

She picked up her fork and poked at her fish. “Do you really want to talk about my failed relationships?”

He was pretty sure that was a rhetorical question, but he found that he did. He’d been so grateful when she’d agreed to marry him that he hadn’t let himself question the fact that she was a beautiful, intelligent twenty-six-year-old woman who not only didn’t have a steady boyfriend but very rarely went out on dates.

“I’m just realizing that you’re probably as much of a commitment-phobe as I am,” he told her.

“I don’t know that any husband has ever spoken such romantic words to his wife.”

The dryness of her tone made him smile as he cut into his steak. “I thought you were unhappy about being with me because you were thinking about him.”

“Harrison and I broke up three months ago,” she told him.

“But you thought he was the one.” He popped a piece of sirloin into his mouth, chewed.

Kenna shook her head. “Not really. I wanted him to be the one, and then I realized that he wasn’t.”

“So you weren’t thinking about him?”

“No,” she said. “I was thinking—hoping that this marriage won’t jeopardize a decade of friendship.”

“It won’t,” he promised.

Yes, they were legally married, but that was just a piece of paper. And her new status as his wife aside, the woman sitting across from him was still the same woman he’d known for more than ten years, his best friend and most trusted confidante. There was no need for their altered marital status—or one little kiss—to change their relationship.

But they did have to do something about their living arrangements. “I’ll ask Nate if I can borrow his truck when we get back.”

She picked up her wine. “Why do you need his truck?”

“To move your stuff.”

She set down the glass without drinking. “I’m not moving into your place.”

He popped a shrimp into his mouth and wondered why she sounded genuinely startled by the idea. “My condo’s bigger than your apartment,” he said logically. “And I have two bedrooms.”

“I know, but...” Her protest trailed off.

“But?” he prompted.

She just shook her head. “Obviously I didn’t give the details of this arrangement enough thought,” she admitted.

“What did you think—that we’d continue to live as we have been?”

“Of course not,” she denied, but the color that filled her cheeks confirmed to him that was exactly what she’d thought.

“I agreed to separate bedrooms, not separate addresses,” he said.

“But you don’t have a bed in your second bedroom,” she pointed out.

“We’ll move my desk out and your bed in. If anyone asks why, we’ll explain that we wanted to have a guest room for your sister when she comes to visit.”

She considered this and finally, reluctantly, nodded. “But what if she really does want to come for a sleepover?”

“How often does she stay at your place?”

“Hardly ever,” she admitted, stabbing a piece of cauliflower with her fork.

“Then we’ll worry about that if and when it happens.”

She nodded, although not entirely happily, as she nibbled on the tender-crisp vegetable. “Your condo is almost a half-hour drive from South Ridge High School,” she pointed out. “I can be at work from my apartment in less than ten minutes.”

“So you’ll have to get up a little earlier in the morning,” he acknowledged.

“I’m more concerned about how long my car will last with the extra miles I’ll be putting on it every day.”

“We’ll get you a new one.”

She frowned. “You’re not buying me a new car.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

He lifted a forkful of mashed potatoes. “What kind of an answer is that?”

“A valid one,” she said stubbornly.

“Are you forgetting that I’m rich now?”

“I didn’t marry you for your money.”

“Actually, you did.”

She flushed. “Okay, I did. But only for a small part of it and only for Becca.”

“Because she needs the surgery,” he acknowledged. “Just like she needed new shoes when you took that fifty bucks off me back in high school.”

The color in her cheeks deepened. “She’s a kid from a single-parent family in the wrong part of town—I just want her to have a chance.”

“And she does,” he told her. “Because she has you in her corner.”

“And you,” Kenna said. “You were the one who found Dr. Rakem.”

“I just made some inquiries.” He opened the folder the waiter had left on the table, added a tip and signed the tab.

“And then checked his references and arranged the consult.”

He just shrugged, because it really hadn’t been the big deal she was making it out to be.

“I don’t know how to express how truly grateful I am,” Kenna said softly.

“Getting naked might work,” he said, because the mood had become entirely too serious and he wanted to see her smile.

Her lips did curve, even as she shook her head.

Then her gaze narrowed thoughtfully. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about our wedding night...”

His brows rose along with his interest.

“...and I decided it might be fun to strip—I mean, see the Strip.”

And that quickly, his hopes were dashed.

“You want to play tourist, don’t you?”

“Absolutely,” she agreed.

He pushed his chair away from the table and offered his hand. “Then let’s do it, Mrs. Garrett.”

* * *

Seeing Las Vegas through Kenna’s eyes was like seeing it for the first time all over again. She gaped at everything, from showgirls in glamorous costumes to working girls in almost nonexistent costumes; she paused to admire landmarks of famous hotels and the wares of unknown street artists; she sighed over a diamond bangle in the window display of Cartier but bought a rope-and-bead bracelet from a young boy’s folding table.

She seemed as wary of the casinos as she was fascinated by them. When he fed a fifty-dollar bill into a slot machine and told her to pull the handle, she shook her head and tucked her hands behind her back, as if she was afraid to touch it.

He thought he understood her reticence. She’d grown up in a home where money had always been in short supply, so to feed it into a machine for the thrill of watching the drums roll and the lights flash and possibly—although not likely—hearing the bells clang was completely foreign to her.

“The key to gambling—whether it’s slot machines or roulette wheels or card tables—is to never bet more than you can afford to lose.”

“But a lot of people forget that, don’t they?”

“Some get caught up in the excitement of the game,” he acknowledged. “They forget that they’re putting their money down for entertainment rather than an investment, and they get frustrated by their losses, certain their luck will change with the next hand, spin of the wheel or pull of the handle.” He took her hand from behind her back, unfurled her fingers and wrapped them around the knob. “I promise I won’t let you get carried away.”

She looked at him and nodded, her fear of the machine outweighed by her trust in him. That unfailing trust was the double-edged sword that had kept him from acting on his feelings for her for the past decade, because he would never forgive himself if he hurt her. He pushed those thoughts—and his wants—aside and, keeping his hand over hers, pulled down the lever.

She held her breath as the reels spun, slowed and finally settled.

“I got a lemon, cherries and a bunch of grapes—what does that mean?”

“It means you lost.”

“Oh.”

“To win a single-coin bet on this machine, you need three matching symbols on the center line.”

He prompted her to pull the lever again.

“Two oranges and a banana.”

This time, she started the machine spinning on her own.

Cherries. Banana. Banana, cherries, grapes, orange, lemon.

The machine spit out five coins.

Her eyes lit up, and her obvious joy speared straight into his heart.

“What happened?”

“The fruit salad—” he pointed to the third icon “—is like a wild card that pays out every time.”

“So I won.”

“If you consider five coins winning,” he said. “Actually, most slot machines don’t even use coins anymore—they just keep track of credits and give you a receipt when you want to cash out.”

“How much of your money am I losing every time I pull down this handle?” she asked him.

“Twenty-five cents.”

“Oh.” She smiled. “You can afford that.”

He got a kick out of watching her watch the machine. The pulse in her throat would speed up as the drums spun around, her hands would clench into fists. He found himself mesmerized by that pulse point, tempted to touch his lips to it, to savor the warmth of her skin and taste her excitement. How would she respond if he did? Would her breath catch? Would her heart race? Would she realize she wanted him as much as he wanted her?

The drums stopped spinning and the excited light in her eyes dimmed just a little when the symbols didn’t match.

She got a couple more payouts of five coins, but grew increasingly disheartened as his initial fifty dollar investment whittled down to forty, then thirty.

“You just keep pulling this handle until you run out of money?” she asked.

“Only if you want,” he told her. “Some people believe certain machines are lucky, and if one they’re playing doesn’t pay out within a few spins, they move on.”

“Maybe we should move on.”

“Other people worry that, as soon as they walk away from a machine, it will pay out big on the first spin to the next player.”

“Those are the ones who bet more than they can afford to lose,” she guessed.

“Sometimes,” he agreed.

She looked at the machine, considering.

“Three more spins,” she decided.

The first spin earned her five more coins, the second nothing.

“Last one,” she said, and pulled the handle.

Cherries. Cherries. Fruit salad.

The lights on top of the machine started to flash and bells and whistles sounded as the machine didn’t just spit but spewed coins into the tray.

“Ohmygod. I won.” She looked at him as if she wasn’t quite sure she believed it, and her radiant smile wrapped around his heart.

“You did,” he agreed.

Her eyes grew wide as the coins kept coming. “How much did I win?”

“$432.50.”

“On a twenty-five-cent bet?”

“On a twenty-five-cent bet,” he confirmed.

“Wow.” That beautiful smile spread even wider. “Is this what they call beginner’s luck?”

“Since the machine can’t know you’re a novice, I’d say it’s more like lady luck.”

“So the machine knows I’m a woman?”

He chuckled as he started to scoop the coins into a plastic bucket for her. “Touché.”

When he was done, she stared at the coins that filled not just one bucket but three.

“Do you want to try another machine?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, I just want to try the bed upstairs now.” Then, realizing that he might interpret her words as an invitation—and although he knew better, he really wished they were—she hastened to clarify. “I mean I’m tired and want to call it a night.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to give baccarat, poker or pai gow a go?”

“The only one of those I’ve even heard of is poker,” she told him. “And yes, I’m sure.”

He showed her where the cashier’s window was so she could trade in her coins. When she walked away again, she had $451.75 in her hand—her winnings plus the remainder of what he’d put into the machine—and a jubilant smile on her face.

In the elevator on the way back up to their room, she peeled a fifty-dollar bill from her stack of money and handed it to him.

He didn’t need the money, but he knew Kenna needed to not be indebted to him, so he took it from her and stuffed it into his pocket.

“I feel as if I’ve been on my feet all day,” Kenna said, kicking off her shoes inside the door.

“Or at least the past ten hours.” He couldn’t help but notice that she had sexy toes, perfectly shaped and painted with shiny pink polish.

“I think I’m going to soak in that enormous tub for a while before I crawl into bed,” she said.

He definitely didn’t want to think about her in the tub—or be anywhere in the vicinity while she was. “In that case, I think I’ll wander back down to the casino and see if I can lose some money at the blackjack tables.”

“It’s almost midnight,” she pointed out.

“It’s not even midnight and it’s Vegas,” he countered.

She shrugged. “Just as long as you don’t lose my hundred grand.”

“I won’t lose your hundred grand,” he promised.

But as he walked away, it occurred to him that they’d already thrown the dice and risked something much more valuable than money—the status quo.

* * *

Kenna was rummaging through her overnight bag for her pj’s when her cell phone chimed to indicate a text message. A quick glance at the screen revealed a brief note from Becca.



Can u take me to library 2morrow?



She could have texted back, but she decided to call her sister instead. She wanted to hear her voice, to remind herself of the primary reason that she’d become Mrs. Daniel Garrett.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries that warned Kenna her sister wasn’t in a pleasant mood, Becca repeated her request.

“So can you take me tomorrow or not?” the teen demanded.

“Why do you need to go to the library?” Kenna asked.

“Research for a history paper.”

“Don’t you do your research on the internet?”

“Miss Roberts wants us to cite at least three hard-copy sources.”

“What’s your topic?”

“Revolution and Nationalism.”

“That’s a pretty broad subject.”

“I’m supposed to pick one specific country as my focus,” Becca admitted. “But I want to see how much material is available before I decide.”

“When’s the paper due?”

“Wednesday.”

Kenna didn’t even bother to sigh.

There was nothing she could say that she hadn’t already said numerous times before, to no avail. Her sister was a smart kid who got decent grades without even trying, which frustrated Kenna because she had no doubt that Becca would be a straight-A student if she applied herself. Of course, every time she tried to talk to her about college, her sister brushed her off with a dismissive, “I’m not thinking about college yet.”

Kenna knew that if she didn’t start thinking about it, and seriously, it wouldn’t ever happen. But that was a topic—and a battle—for another day. All she said now was, “You might want to ask Mom to take you to the library in the morning so that you can get started on the paper, because I won’t be back until later in the afternoon.”

“Where are you?”

“Out of town.”

“That’s an uncharacteristically vague answer,” Becca noted.

“I’ll fill you in on the details later.” When she’d figured out how—and how much—to tell her sister.

“Oh.” Her sister sounded intrigued. “Did you run away for the weekend to have wild monkey sex with a stranger?”

She decided that outrageous question didn’t even warrant a response. “Can you ask Mom to take you to the library?” she prompted instead.

“Not likely.”

“Why not?”

“Sue Ellen’s got a new boyfriend,” Becca told her. “She hasn’t been home in three days.”

Kenna forced herself to blow out a deep, calming breath. “And you’re only telling me this now?”

“It’s no big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” she insisted. “You’re only fourteen—”

“Almost fifteen,” her sister interjected.

Which was still too young to be on her own for three days. And three nights.

“You know you can always come and live with me.” She made the offer automatically, as she’d done several times before. Only when the words were out of her mouth did she realize that living with her now meant living with her and Daniel—and his condo didn’t have enough bedrooms to make that work.

“I don’t need a babysitter—just a ride to the library.”

The dismissive response both relieved and frustrated Kenna. “I’ll let you know when I’m on my way, but it probably won’t be until about three o’clock.”

“That’s fine.”

“You could get started on your internet research before then,” she suggested.

“Sure,” Becca agreed, without much enthusiasm.

Kenna said goodbye to her sister and disconnected the call.

She hadn’t asked about the origin of Becca’s bad mood. That the teen had asked her sister instead of her boyfriend for a ride to the library was enough of an indication that the on-again, off-again relationship with Todd Denney was currently off. And Kenna wasn’t disappointed about that at all.

As she filled the oversize tub with bubbles, she acknowledged that she was hardly in a position to pass judgment on her sister’s relationship. When she was Becca’s age, she’d been completely and exclusively focused on her studies. That’s not to say she never felt stirrings of attraction, but whenever she did, she forced herself to ignore them. She was terrified that if she gave in to those feelings she’d end up like her mother and her older sister, both of whom had got pregnant before they’d graduated high school.

Sure she’d harbored the occasional crush—even, briefly, on the man who was now her husband—but she’d never experienced the extreme highs and lows of teenage love and had no idea how to relate to her sister’s angst. But not understanding didn’t stop her from worrying. Todd was older and more experienced, and Becca was so infatuated that Kenna worried her sister would do anything to hold on to him.

As she lowered herself into the steamy water, she couldn’t help but wonder if she wasn’t guilty of the same thing—if her decision to marry Daniel wasn’t just her way of holding on to him, at least for the next year. At the end of that time, they would end their marriage and go back to being just friends.

The concern for Kenna was what might happen between now and then—how living under the same roof and pretending to be a couple would change their relationship. Because it was inevitable that it would. They’d shared only one chaste kiss at the end of the ceremony, and already she was feeling things she didn’t want to feel.

It wasn’t the first time she’d experienced a tug of attraction in proximity to her best friend, but she was confident in her ability to ignore the unwelcome stirring of her body. It was the unexpected yearning of her heart that caused her more worry. When she was with Daniel, she felt the lure of something deeper, the longing for something more. But she’d never let herself even acknowledge those feelings because she knew they couldn’t lead anywhere. Not even if he was now her husband.

As she stepped out of the bath and reached for a towel, she considered the possibility that she’d only imagined that tingle. That she might be romanticizing her relationship with Daniel because he was now her husband. Maybe the truth was that she hadn’t felt anything at all but had manufactured a response because she wanted to feel something. Because she didn’t want a fake marriage—she wanted a real wedding, a real husband and a real wedding night.

Tears stung her eyes as she rubbed the thick, fluffy towel over her body and wondered if she would ever enjoy the touch of a man’s hands on her. But even more than the physical aspects of an intimate relationship, she longed to fall in love and be loved in return.

Since she was a little girl, she’d dreamed about the kind of family she’d never had. A man and a woman, married to one another, living together, sharing the joys and responsibilities of their children. She’d had other dreams, of course. To go to college, which she’d done, and to become a teacher, which she’d also done.

But after half a dozen failed relationships, she’d finally accepted that the falling-in-love-and-having-a-family thing wasn’t going to happen for her. So when Daniel suggested this marriage of convenience, she’d jumped at the opportunity, grateful at least for the illusion that she was in a normal relationship and could have a normal life.

But the fact that she was alone in a hotel room on her wedding night proved that it was nothing more than an illusion.


Chapter Three (#ulink_1e89156b-15bd-5679-bc42-b37ce991955f)

Daniel’s inaugural visit to Sin City had been with both of his brothers in celebration of his twenty-first birthday. Since then, he’d visited Las Vegas on several other occasions, usually with a group of buddies. He’d never brought a woman with him to Vegas, and he’d never imagined returning home with one as his wife.

But it was official now—he was married. And the band on his finger had been placed there by the woman who had been his best friend for the past ten years.

He shook his head. Even though it had been his idea, it was still hard to believe that Kenna was his wife.

He sat down at the blackjack table with a stack of chips, because he had nothing better to do. And how pathetic was that? It was his wedding night, his bride was in their room alone and he was playing cards.

Pathetic perhaps, but necessary. Because if he’d stayed upstairs with Kenna, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his hands off her. And he had no intention of crossing lines that had been firmly established more than ten years earlier just because one kiss had somehow stirred up wants and needs that he’d learned to ignore long ago.

As he pushed a chip toward the center of the table, the overhead lights glinted off the gold band on his third finger, making him pause.

“You’ll sleep on the couch for a couple of weeks if you’re gambling with the down payment for your house,” the man sitting immediately to Daniel’s left warned.

“What?”

“I saw you hesitate after you glanced at the ring,” he explained.

Daniel knew a serious card player was always looking for clues about the other players at his table. Since he’d never taken the games too seriously, he didn’t pay much attention.

“Name’s Cal,” the gray-haired man said, offering a hand. “But my friends call me Archie.”

As he shook the man’s proffered hand, he found himself thinking that the stranger looked somewhat familiar.

“Daniel Garrett,” he said. “And we haven’t even started to look for a house.”

“Newlyweds,” Archie surmised.

He nodded, unwilling to admit exactly how new. “Are you married?”

The old man shook his head. “No wife, just two exes.”

Daniel signaled the dealer to “hit.” He added a four of hearts to the jack of clubs and seven of diamonds, giving him twenty-one.

“Not a lot of players hit on seventeen,” Archie noted. “I’m not sure whether that demonstrates confidence or recklessness.”

“I’m not much of a gambler, but I figure playing it safe isn’t really gambling, is it?”

“That’s one perspective,” the other man agreed. “And I guess if you don’t care too much about winning, you can afford to lose.”

Daniel only nodded and placed his next bet.

Archie played steadily, giving nothing of his thoughts or feelings away. He gestured his request for a hit or stay wordlessly, and alternately relinquished his bets or pulled in his winnings with equanimity.

Daniel slid another chip into betting position on the baize and wondered what Kenna would say if she knew the table he was sitting at had a hundred-dollar minimum. It was the same amount he’d won from his friends back in high school, after he’d bribed her with half to go out with him.

The dealer busted at twenty-two, paid out to the winners, then wished them all luck as she moved on to another table.

A new dealer came in and took up position, and Daniel considered calling it a night. He’d won more than he’d lost but, more important, he’d spent enough time at the table that his wife should be tucked into bed and sleeping by now.

A cocktail waitress sidled up to the table and set a glass of amber-colored liquid beside Archie. He nodded in acknowledgment and handed her a green chip.

“Thank you, Mr. Archer.”

And Daniel suddenly realized why the man had looked familiar. “Calvin Archer—as in Archer Glass?”

“That’s me,” he confirmed.

Daniel decided to ante up. “You used to sponsor the number four-fourteen car.”

“You’re a racing fan,” Archie noted, lifting his glass to his lips.

“I’m from North Carolina,” Daniel said, as if that explained everything.

“Then you know about the scandal that forced Archer Glass to cut its ties with JB Racing.”

Daniel nodded.

“I did what I had to do for the integrity of my company but, damn, I miss it.” He shook his head.

“It gets into your blood, doesn’t it?” Daniel said. “The sights, the sounds, even the smells. There’s nothing like the excitement of race day at the track.”

“You’re right about that.” Archie finished his scotch.

“So why hasn’t anyone managed to draw you back into that excitement?” Daniel asked. “Because I know teams have tried.”

“And how do you know that?” Archie countered.

“I’ve been doing some research, looking for a sponsor for Garrett/Slater Racing.”

“Who?”

Daniel smiled. “Let me buy you a drink and answer that question.”

* * *

Kenna didn’t fall asleep easily.

Although the bed was undeniably comfortable, it wasn’t her bed. And although she was alone, she knew that Daniel would be coming back to the room at some point. When he did, she thought she’d finally be able to sleep. But in the quiet darkness of the night, she was acutely aware of his every movement.

She heard the zip of his duffel bag being opened, then his muffled footsteps on the carpet, the click of the bathroom door and the pulsing of water in the shower. And that was when her naughty side took over, picturing him naked and wet, rubbing soap over his body, the lather sliding over his taut skin as the warm spray washed it away.

She’d seen him shirtless a number of times and had a pretty good idea of the basics. But since she’d never actually seen him naked, she gave her imagination free rein to fill in as required. And as her mind fleshed out those intriguing details, she finally drifted off....

The ring of his cell phone woke her up the next morning. Daniel snatched it up quickly, probably so that it wouldn’t wake her, then he slipped out into the hall to have his conversation.

Kenna took advantage of his momentary absence to gather a change of clothes and take them into the bathroom. She dragged a brush through her hair, cleaned her teeth and quickly applied her basic makeup: eyeliner, mascara and lip gloss. Then she pulled on a pair of dark jeans and topped them with a pale pink T-shirt with lace overlay.

She was packing her toiletries into her bag when he came back into the room, pushing a room service cart.

“New job?”

He grinned. “I thought, if you were still asleep, you wouldn’t appreciate a waiter strolling into the room.”

“Good call.”

He lifted the lids on the plates. “We’ve got eggs, toast, bacon, sausage, pancakes, fruit, yogurt, muffins, fresh juice and coffee.”

“Oh.” She feigned disappointment. “No French toast?”

His gaze narrowed. “Put the eggs on the toast,” he suggested.

She smiled as she picked up a slice of bacon, bit into it. “So how much did you win?”

He poured two cups of coffee, pushed one across the table to her. “Sorry?”

“You were whistling when you came in last night, so I figured you must have won big.”

He winced as he scooped eggs onto his plate. “Did I wake you?”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t sleeping.”

“Actually, I probably lost about three hundred. But—” his smile came back in full force “—I might have a line on a sponsor.”

“Josh must be thrilled,” she said, because she knew he would have shared the news with his soon-to-be partner right away.

“Cautiously optimistic.” He added three sausage links and two pancakes to his plate. “We’ve had trouble finding a driver because we didn’t have a sponsor, but no one wants to sponsor a team that doesn’t have a committed driver.”

She spooned berries on top of her yogurt, then threw caution to the wind and snagged another slice of bacon. “So who is this sponsor?”

“Potential sponsor,” he clarified.

She rolled her eyes as she sat down across from him. “Who is this potential sponsor?”

“Archer Glass.”

“Randy Britton’s old sponsor?”

“I’m impressed.”

“Because I actually paid attention when you made me watch racing with you?”

He grinned. “Yeah.”

“So when will you know if this potential sponsor is going to become an actual sponsor?”

“Hopefully soon.” He got up to refill his coffee. “By the way, I had a message from Dr. Rakem this morning. He wants to do Becca’s surgery on Thursday.”

The abrupt shift in topic didn’t surprise her half as much as the statement. “This Thursday?”

He nodded. “He had a cancellation so he offered to fit Becca in.”

“But she hasn’t even had her pre-op appointment—”

“Four o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”

“I can’t believe it.” Even as her eyes filled with tears, she pushed away from the table and threw her arms around him. “Thank you.”

“This is why we got married,” he echoed her words.

She impulsively moved to kiss his cheek, except that he shifted his head at the same moment and her lips landed closer to the corner of his mouth than his cheek. Not on his mouth, but close enough that she felt that tingle again, from her lips all the way to the deepest part of herself.

She pulled back quickly, but his eyes held hers for a long moment, and she knew without a doubt that this time he’d felt the tingle, too.

But she didn’t know what, if anything, either of them should do about it.

* * *

As Daniel and Kenna waited for their flight to board, he sensed her growing nervousness. He knew she was worried about sharing the news of their impromptu wedding with their families—probably his even more than her own.

Because of their long and enduring friendship, his brothers already thought of her as a sister and his parents treated her like a daughter, but the news of their elopement would undoubtedly raise eyebrows. She was worried that no one would believe that a decade of friendship had turned into something else, and he couldn’t ignore her concerns. But he trusted that they could make this work, because they had that foundation of friendship, laid more than ten years before...

She wanted him to split the money and buy pizza out of his half?

He didn’t know if he was insulted or impressed by her suggestion. But he wanted to spend time with her away from school even more than he wanted to win the bet, so he accepted her terms.

She suggested Mossimo’s—a pizza place in her neighborhood—and he agreed because he knew she felt out of place with his usual crowd. He had no doubt that his friends would accept her, if only she would give them a chance, but he sensed it was going to take some time and patience to knock the chip off her shoulder.

They shared a medium pizza with pepperoni and hot peppers on his half, mushrooms and green peppers on hers, and a couple of sodas. When the pizza was delivered to their table, she slid a slice onto her plate, then picked off every single mushroom before she bit into it. He’d started on his fourth slice while she was carefully removing toppings from her second.

“Why did you order mushrooms if you don’t like mushrooms?” he finally asked.

“Because I’m going to take the other two slices home for my sister, and she does like mushrooms.”

“How old’s your sister?”

“Four.”

“And how old are you?”

“I’ll be sixteen in December.”

“That’s quite an age gap,” he noted.

She nodded. “My mother says Becca is a lesson in what happens when you stop being careful.”

He had no idea what to say to that, so he backtracked. “I guess if you’re not even sixteen yet, you don’t have your license.”

She shook her head.

“I’ll be seventeen in January,” he told her, though she hadn’t asked.

“Did you get the car for your sixteenth birthday?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I wanted an SVT Cobra Coupe, but my dad said I would only get one of those when I could afford to buy it myself.”

She lifted her brows, and he knew without her having to say it that she expected—as a lot of people did—because his family was wealthy, he’d get whatever he wanted.

“My father has some pretty strong ideas about making sure his kids know—” he made quotation marks in the air with his fingers “—the value of a dollar.”

“I bet even the car you’re driving now cost more than a few dollars.”

He nodded his agreement. “And it gets me where I want to go, so I can’t really complain.”

“I have to take three different buses to get to and from school,” she admitted.

“That sucks.”

“By the time I make all the necessary transfers, the trip adds almost an hour to the start and end of each day.” She shrugged. “On the other hand, it beats the alternative.”

“Walking?” he guessed.

To his surprise, she smiled as she shook her head. She really had a pretty smile. “Still being at South Ridge and feeling like I’m going nowhere.”

When the waitress came to check on them, he asked for a box for her leftover pizza. She brought the box along with the bill, and he put some money on the table for payment, then counted out fifty dollars more and tucked them under the edge of the take-out box for Kenna.

Her eyes were riveted on the money, but she made no move to touch it.

“It’s yours,” he reminded her. “We had a deal.”

She finally reached for the bills and tucked them into the front pocket of her backpack.

“I’m not usually so mercenary,” she said, “but my sister needs new shoes.”

He’d never known anyone like her. She was honest and genuine and completely unapologetic. Yeah, she had a bit of a chip on her shoulder, but from the little glimpses that she’d given him of her life over the past few weeks, he thought she’d probably earned it.

“So...do you think we could do this again sometime?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Why not?”

“I’ll admit that I no longer think you’re a complete ass just because your family has boatloads of money, but the fact remains that we don’t run in the same circles.”

“Actually, if you want to get technical, it’s yachtfuls of money.”

Her lips tipped up, just a little, at the corners. “Which is too bad, because I almost think I could like you.”

Then she pushed back her chair, and he immediately rose to his feet and offered her a hand. She seemed surprised by the gesture, but she put her hand in his, and he felt an unexpected warmth spread through him in response to the contact.

“I want to say ‘hi’ to someone in the kitchen before I head home,” she told him.

“I can give you a ride.”

She shook her head. “Thanks, but I don’t live far.”

“Are you sure?”

“I know where I live,” she promised him, her blue eyes sparkling with humor.

He’d never known anyone else who had the ability to make him feel like an idiot with so little effort. But she wasn’t ever mean about it and, truthfully, he kind of liked that she challenged him. Most of the girls he knew just nodded in agreement with everything he said. Kenna had her own thoughts and opinions, and she wasn’t afraid to share them.

“I meant—are you sure you don’t want a ride?” he clarified.

“I’m sure.”

“Okay,” he agreed, albeit reluctantly.

“Thanks again for the pizza,” she said, and turned toward the back of the restaurant.

“Thanks for letting me win the bet.”

It had been a long time after before he realized that he’d won a lot more than a hundred-dollar bet that day.

He only hoped he hadn’t jeopardized everything by putting a ring on her finger.

* * *

When they landed at the Raleigh-Durham Airport Sunday afternoon, there was a text message on Kenna’s phone from her sister.



@ library with Todd



Kenna sighed and simply replied ok.

It wasn’t okay—not by a long shot, but she knew that expressing her disapproval of the relationship would only succeed in fueling her little sister’s affection for him.

Besides, she had bigger things to worry about right now. Like Sunday night dinner at the home of her new in-laws.

David and Jane Garrett had bought a modest farmhouse set on ten acres of property when they were newlyweds. Over the years and as their family had grown, they’d renovated and added on so that the current dwelling bore little resemblance to the original structure. The first time Kenna had ever seen it, she’d loved it.

The two-story house was big but not particularly grandiose. Certainly no one seeing it from the street would think that it belonged to one of the wealthiest families in Charisma. But any time David complained that the floors were creaky and suggested they should move to a modern home in a newer neighborhood, Jane shot him down. “Each one of our boys took their first steps in this creaky old house, and I’m not selling those memories.”

Kenna had a lot of happy memories of times spent in that house, too. Studying for numerous exams with Daniel at the butcher-block table; nibbling on warm chocolate chip cookies right out of the oven; playing flag football with his brothers and his cousins in the backyard; sitting on the porch swing with her head on Daniel’s shoulder, trying not to cry the night before he left for college.

Because she’d spent so much time there over the years, no one was surprised when she showed up with Daniel Sunday afternoon. He’d wanted to get there early, so they could tell his parents about their marriage before everyone else arrived. Everyone else being his oldest brother, Andrew, Andrew’s daughter, Maura, his girlfriend, Rachel, and middle brother Nathan.

But when they got to the farm, they discovered that Andrew and Rachel had beaten them there, eager to share the news of their engagement. Daniel sent Kenna a look, to which she responded with a subtle shake of her head, discreetly slipping her rings off her finger and into her pocket.

She knew they had to tell David and Jane about their marriage, but she didn’t want to steal the spotlight from Andrew and Rachel. Or maybe she was worried that having the light focused on Daniel and herself would reveal that they weren’t head over heels in love as his brother and fiancée obviously were.

Nate showed up just as dinner was being put on the table, so the story of Andrew and Rachel’s engagement was told again—in great detail by seven-year-old Maura—as platters and bowls of food were passed around.

No one made roast beef with all the trimmings like Daniel’s mom, and it was usually one of Kenna’s favorite meals. But today, as she listened to the discussion about potential dates and venues for Andrew and Rachel’s wedding, she found herself moving more food around her plate than she put in her mouth.

Everyone was thrilled about the engagement. Of course, Andrew and Rachel had been dating since February—not a long time, really, but long enough to be sure that this was what they wanted. As Kenna watched their interactions, she couldn’t help but see that there was a connection between them, so real it was almost tangible.

Beneath the table, Daniel gave her hand a questioning squeeze. She knew he was eager to share their news, because it was a prerequisite to accessing his trust fund, but the timing just seemed wrong to her. Or maybe, seeing the secretive looks and warm glances that passed between Andrew and Rachel, it was the marriage that seemed wrong.

Thankfully, with so many people around the table, there was rarely a lull in the conversation. There was discussion about Thomas Garrett’s impending retirement and Nate’s expected move to the CFO’s office when he was gone; Andrew asked Kenna if she was looking forward to the end of the school year and her summer vacation, which prompted Maura to regale them with her plans to play soccer and take ballet classes and go to horseback riding camp; and then Jane happened to mention that she needed to go shopping for a new dress for Lukas and Julie’s wedding.

Lukas Garrett was one of Daniel’s cousins who lived in Pinehurst, New York; Julie Marlowe was his fiancée, originally from Springfield, Massachusetts. Long before they’d decided to get married themselves, Daniel had asked Kenna to attend with him because he hated going to weddings on his own.

“When is the wedding?” David asked.

His wife rolled her eyes. “June twenty-first. Don’t worry, I put the date in the calendar on your phone.”

“That seems fast,” Andrew noted. “They only met seven months ago.”

Nate shook his head. “The Garrett men are dropping like flies. I think maybe I should lie low until this epidemic passes.”

“Stop it,” his mother admonished. “You should be so lucky to fall in love and share your life with someone one day.”

“I’d say that Daniel and I are the lucky ones,” Nate countered.

“Don’t drag me into this,” Daniel protested.

“Birds of a feather,” his brother said. “With no intention of having our wings clipped.”

“Do you feel as if your wings have been clipped?” Rachel asked Andrew.

“Only by choice,” her fiancé assured her.

“And that’s great for you,” Nate said. “But it’s not my choice.”

“Never say never,” Daniel cautioned.

“Whose side are you on here?”

“I’m not taking sides—I have nothing against marriage.”

“Since when?” Nate demanded.

Under the table, Daniel gave her hand another squeeze. “Since Kenna and I got married.”


Chapter Four (#ulink_cae12b17-378b-52d2-a198-0f8ab1e2c35f)

“Well, that was a disaster,” Kenna commented, as they drove away from his parents’ house toward her apartment.

“Actually, I thought it went pretty well,” Daniel told her.

“Your mother cried.”

“Not because we got married, but because we went to Las Vegas and didn’t tell anyone.”

She didn’t look entirely convinced, but she let it go. “And now she wants to plan a big reception, so that we can celebrate with all of our family and friends.”

“My mother does love to throw a party.” And he kind of liked the idea of making a public statement about their marriage, letting the world know that Kenna was now his wife.

“You have to talk her out of it.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t play the blushing bride in front of two hundred people,” she told him. “Especially the single female contingent who will want to gouge my eyes out for taking you off the market.”

“She won’t invite two hundred people,” he said, choosing to ignore the latter part of her statement.

Kenna just looked at him.

“Okay, she’ll probably invite two hundred people,” he acknowledged. “But so what? Did you really think we’d be able to keep the news of our wedding a secret?”

“No, I just didn’t want anyone to make a big deal out of it.” Those words were barely out of her mouth before her expression brightened. “Andrew and Rachel’s wedding, on the other hand, should be a very big deal.”

He’d always been impressed by the quickness of her mind and had to chuckle now. “Would you really throw my brother and his fiancée under the bus to save yourself?”

“It’s not throwing them under the bus if they want to be there,” Kenna pointed out. “Rachel wants the fancy wedding with all the trimmings—and Andrew wants to give her whatever she wants.”

“He was in a bad place for a long time after Nina died,” Daniel remembered. “It’s good to see him so happy again.”

She nodded, because she’d been there through that difficult period after his eldest brother had lost his wife, and she’d shared his worry.

“Don’t you want that for yourself?” she asked him now. “To get married because you’re in love?”

“I’m already married,” he reminded her.

“And what if you meet someone now?”

“Huh?”

“What if you walk into a coffee shop tomorrow and bump into the woman you were meant to spend the rest of your life with?”

“If it hasn’t happened in the past twenty-seven years, I don’t think it’s going to happen tomorrow or any other time in the next twelve months.”

“But it could,” she insisted.

“If we were really meant to be together, I’d just explain to her that we have to wait until my divorce is final to fall madly in love.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“Yes, I am,” he agreed. Because the scenario she was proposing was ridiculous—because there really was no one he could imagine wanting to be with more than he wanted to be with Kenna.

“It could happen,” she insisted.

“It’s just as likely that you might meet someone,” he told her.

“Yeah, because guys are always lining up to go out with high school science teachers. I practically trip over them trying to get to my classroom.”

“I believe it,” he told her. “Not because you’re a high school science teacher, but because you’re smart, fun, kind, loyal, generous and beautiful.”

“If I ever decide to join luvmatch-dot-com, you’re writing my profile.”

“But mostly—” he looked at her and grinned “—because you look really good in a skirt.”

* * *

After dinner, Daniel had not only convinced Nathan to let him borrow his truck, he’d somehow cajoled his brother into helping him move some of the bigger items that Kenna wanted from her apartment. So while they were taking apart her bed, she boxed up her clothes and personal items and took them over to his condo.

She’d just started unpacking when there was a knock on the door. Although she hadn’t expected they would be so close behind her, Kenna didn’t consider that it might be anyone other than her new husband and his brother—until she opened the door and discovered her mother-in-law standing on the other side.

“Mrs. Garrett, hi.”

“Can I come in?”

She stepped away from the door. “Of course.”

“This is for you,” Jane said, offering a vase overflowing with colorful blooms.

“It’s gorgeous,” Kenna said. “Rachel’s work?”

Daniel’s mother nodded. “One of the benefits of having a florist as a future daughter-in-law is that I didn’t have to wait until business hours tomorrow to offer an apology.”

Kenna took the arrangement into the dining room and set it in the middle of the table. “But why are you apologizing?”

“Because I know I seemed less than thrilled about the announcement of your marriage.”

“There’s no need to apologize—I know the news was a surprise.”

“But not an unpleasant one,” Jane assured her. “I always suspected that Daniel never fell in love with any of the girls he dated because of his feelings for you—not that he was ever willing to acknowledge those feelings, but I could see that they were there.”

Her claim confirmed Daniel’s suspicion that his mother wanted to believe their marriage was real. But Kenna didn’t know whether that was because she’d been married for forty years and believed in happy endings, or because it was preferable to suspecting that her youngest son had ulterior motives for his marriage.

“So you can understand why I was beginning to wonder if he’d ever meet that special someone...and why I’m so glad that someone was you.”

Jane took both of Kenna’s hands and held them, her gaze steady and sincere.

“I know I should welcome you to the family, but you’ve been part of our family for ten years already. So instead I’m going to tell you both David and I are overjoyed that your membership in our family is now official.”

Kenna’s throat tightened as Jane released her hands and drew her into her embrace.

Daniel’s parents had never been anything but warm and welcoming, and she’d loved them from the start. And Jane’s words would have meant so much to her if she and Daniel had married for all the right reasons; if the vows they’d exchanged had been more than a means to an end. Instead, his mother’s genuine warmth and acceptance made her want to cry.

“And if you have no objection,” Jane continued as she released her, “I really would like to host a reception to celebrate your wedding.”

Kenna had a whole boatload of objections, but none that she could admit to Daniel’s mother without raising red flags.

“Of course, your mother might already be planning something,” Jane realized. “But I’d be happy to coordinate with her.”

“Actually, we haven’t told my mother yet,” Kenna said. “But I don’t think that’s a concern, anyway.”

“Good, because I don’t want to step on any toes, but I know there are so many friends and family who would appreciate the opportunity to give you their best wishes.”

“My only suggestion would be to wait until after Andrew and Rachel’s wedding.”

“But they just got engaged—they haven’t even set a date yet,” Jane protested.

“Andrew doesn’t want to wait too long,” Kenna reminded her of the discussion that had gone on at the dinner table. “But Rachel wants a big wedding with all the bells and whistles, and that’s going to take a lot of planning.”

Apparently Daniel was right—when it came to self-preservation, she would absolutely throw his brother and future sister-in-law under the bus.

Jane sighed. “You’re right. And with Rachel’s parents living out of state, she might appreciate some help.”

“She’ll be thrilled,” Kenna said, confident that it was true.

“Then we’ll plan a reception for you and Daniel next summer—to celebrate your first anniversary,” Jane decided, apparently willing to postpone but not relinquish that plan.

“Sounds good,” Kenna said, and sent up a silent prayer that her temporary mother-in-law would someday forgive her for the lie.

Because by next summer, Kenna and Daniel’s marriage would be over.

* * *

As Daniel stepped out of the shower Monday morning, he was confident in his ability to adjust to life as a married man. Granted it was only day three, but so far their legal status as husband and wife hadn’t changed much of anything between Kenna and him. They each had their own lives, and he expected that they would continue to live those lives. True, they were now living under the same roof, but so long as he remembered this was a marriage in name only and ignored the hum of attraction, the proximity shouldn’t cause any real problems.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out of the bathroom, breathing in the heady scent of freshly brewed coffee. Okay, that was a change, but having someone else start the coffee in the morning was an adjustment he didn’t mind making. And if she wanted to cook breakfast, he wouldn’t object to that, either.

Maybe it was because his mind was preoccupied with thoughts of bacon and eggs, or maybe it was because he hadn’t yet had his morning hit of caffeine, but whatever the reason, he forgot that living with his wife had required making space for her things until he reached into the top drawer of his dresser for a pair of boxers and found his hand enveloped in soft, frothy lace.

His eyes opened wide to stare at the tiny scrap of pale shimmery blue fabric—and he felt a subtle but distinctive stirring of interest low in his belly.

The rational part of his brain wanted him to drop the garment back into the drawer and pretend he’d never seen it. The depraved part was suddenly trying to paint a picture of Kenna wearing nothing more than the panties in his hand—a mental image that was both incredibly arousing and distinctly unnerving.

Kenna’s status as his wife was temporary and in name only. Much more important was the fact that she was his friend, which meant that he definitely should not be thinking about her in her underwear.

They weren’t sharing a bed—they weren’t even sharing a bedroom. But in order to maintain the illusion that theirs was a normal marriage, they’d decided that Kenna’s clothes would hang beside his in the closet and he’d empty out a couple of drawers in his bureau for her use. For a brief moment this morning, he’d forgotten that.

He pulled the drawer open farther to return the undergarment to its proper place, and discovered a riot of color and texture. There were pastels and brights, smooth satins and delicate laces, polka dots and animal prints, many of them decorated with little bows or sparkly beads.

He’d never given much thought to what Kenna wore beneath her clothes. Her status as his best friend forced him to steer away from thoughts in that direction. He couldn’t deny there’d been some curiosity—because yeah, he was a guy and it was unnatural not to wonder—but he’d never let his mind wander too far down that forbidden path. His mind was definitely wandering now...and that subtle stirring wasn’t so subtle anymore.

He had a close and intimate acquaintance with women’s lingerie. He could unfasten a front clasp as easily as he could back hooks; he knew the difference between a G-string and a thong; he appreciated that push-up bras enhanced a woman’s attributes and despised padded bras for false advertising.

He found himself examining a bra of purple satin overlaid with black lace, thinking that the deep color would provide a stark contrast to her pale skin, and the scallop-edged cups would entice a man to discover what was inside. He definitely wouldn’t mind seeing what she looked like in it...and then out of it.

“There’s French toast in the...” Kenna’s words trailed off when she spotted the bra in his hand. “What are you doing?”

“Trying not to think about how you’d look in this,” he admitted.

Color stained her cheeks as she snatched the bra out of his hand, stuffed it back in the drawer and pushed it firmly shut. “Stay out of my underwear.”

He grinned. “I never gave much thought to getting into them...until about three minutes ago.”

“Well, stop thinking about it,” she advised. “Just because I’m your wife doesn’t mean I’m going to get naked with you.”

“A crazy idea,” he agreed.

Her lips twitched in response to his dry tone. “Almost as crazy as the two of us getting married.”

“But we did that anyway,” he pointed out.

“You set out the terms,” she reminded him. “A one-year marriage on paper only.”

He had set out the terms—desperately and impulsively. And he would have offered her anything, agreed to anything, because getting her to that chapel in Vegas had been a prerequisite to the release of his trust fund. But agreeing to twelve months of marriage on paper only when he’d already been celibate for more than six had not been a well-thought-out plan.

Especially now that he’d seen his wife’s underwear.

“What if I want to renegotiate?” he asked.

Kenna shook her head. “Not going to happen.”

He took a step closer, deliberately invading her personal space. “You know me well enough to know that I can’t resist a challenge.”

She held up a hand, no doubt to push him away, but her palm hovered in the air, as if reluctant to touch his bare skin. Her gaze dropped to the towel slung around his waist, and her breath hitched.

Clearly his wife wasn’t as unaffected as she wanted him to believe. He caught her wrist and pressed her palm against his chest, so she could feel his heart pounding against his ribs.

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, drawing his attention to the tempting curve of her mouth. And he was tempted. Since the brief kiss they’d shared in that Las Vegas chapel, he’d spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about the lushness of her mouth, wanting to sink into the softness, savor her sweet flavor.

One simple kiss had blown the boundaries of his relationship with Kenna to smithereens, and he didn’t know how to reestablish them. Or even if he wanted to.

“Aren’t you the least bit curious about how it might be between us?”

“No,” she said, though her inability to meet his gaze made him suspect it was a lie. “I’d prefer to maintain my unique status as one of only a handful of women in Charisma who haven’t slept with you.”





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