A Wife for One Year. Brenda Harlen
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.
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