The Playboy’s Unexpected Bride

by Sandra Marton

  What in hell was he doing? he asked himself, and stepped back.

  “Goodnight,” he said, as calmly if he hadn’t just kissed her, as if he weren’t aching to lift her in his arms and carry her to his bed.

  Ana fled. He couldn’t blame her. He’d run, too—except it was too late.

  * * *

  He’d asked Mrs. Hollowell to take care of Jenny for the day.

  Ana waited until the housekeeper left for the park. Then she handed Lincoln a piece of paper. At first, he thought it was a shopping list.

  Then he looked more closely.

  1. No sex

  2. Do you have a chaise longue in your dressing room? If not, please order one. It is where I will sleep.

  3. Signs of affection should be brief and occur only if someone is observing us.

  4. No sex.

  He looked up. She was standing with arms folded and lips compressed. He told himself not to laugh.

  “You have one item listed twice.”

  “I thought it a very important item.”

  He nodded. His soon-to-be-wife was definitely an interesting woman.

  “Well?”

  Linc handed the paper to her. “No problem.”

  “Including the chaise longue?”

  “Including the whatever-it’s-called.”

  “Thank you. I thought you might be opposed to some of my requests. I am happy to see that you are not.”

  “They’re fine.”

  Kissing her last night had been a momentary lapse in judgment. A man shared his home with a gorgeous female, he was bound to react. It wouldn’t happen again. As for the chaise thing—he’d call Macy’s and order one right after they went to City Hall to apply for a license. Or after they went to Charles’s office and signed the pre-nup.

  Somewhere in there he’d take care of it.

  * * *

  The pre-nup was as thick as a dictionary. Linc, who’d been dealing with his lawyer long enough to trust him, signed it after a cursory look.

  Not Ana. “I would prefer to read it through,” she said. It took her an hour.

  Charles tapped a pencil against a pad of yellow legal paper, watched the clock, watched a couple of pigeons on the ledge outside the window, watched the people in the office across the street.

  Linc watched Ana.

  She frowned, chewed on her lip, made notes. She was wearing one of her dress-for-success suits and she’d pulled her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck, but strands had escaped and fallen against her cheek.

  She pushed them back impatiently.

  Linc thought about doing it slowly. Very slowly, so he could bend down and breathe into her ear, touch the tip of his tongue to it.

  He shot from his chair. Ana and Charles both looked up. “Just stretching my legs,” he said brightly. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  He went out of the office, paced the corridor, counted to a hundred, then headed back.

  Ana saw him and scowled.

  “What?”

  “This clause about payment…I told you, I want nothing for my part in this.”

  “Yeah, and I told you that you deserved something.”

  “This money is out of the question. I do not need it. I will not take it.”

  “Independence is expensive, Ana. You want to be on your own when this is over, you’ll want that check.”

  “I will not accept money, Lincoln!”

  “Fine. Scratch out the clause and initial it. That’s the way. Here, I’ll initial it, too. Okay. Now, just sign the damned contract.”

  She glared at him. Then she scrawled her name on the document and stood up. “I will wait outside,” she said, and marched out without a backward glance at Lincoln or Charles.

  Linc waited until she’d closed the door. Then he took an envelope from his pocket and put it on the desk.

  “What’s this?” Charles said.

  “A check, made out to Ana.”

  “But she said—”

  “I know what she said, but I’m not going to let her do all this for me without compensation. Put it away until this thing is over. I’ll give it to her then.”

  His lawyer nodded. “An excellent idea.”

  “Yeah,” Linc said—except the truth was, nothing about this idea felt the least bit excellent.

  * * *

  They made a quick stop at Tiffany’s for a plain gold band, then hurried to City Hall, where Linc produced his birth certificate and Ana produced her passport.

  Linc took out his wallet. Ana took out hers.

  “I will pay half the fee,” she said.

  He decided not to argue. Her accent had grown so thick that soon he’d need an interpreter to understand her.

  The clerk issued their license. In twenty-four hours, he said, they could marry.

  Back home, Jenny grinned and held out her arms. They played with her for a while. Ana said she would take over, but the housekeeper tut-tutted.

  “Don’t be silly, dear! Tomorrow’s your wedding day. You go and relax with Mr. Aldridge and leave the baby to me.”

  But once they were alone Ana said she was exhausted. “It has been a very long day, Lincoln. I think—I think I will go to my room.”

  Linc tried to see past his fiancée’s wooden smile. Was she angry at what he’d forced her into, or was she terrified?

  Suddenly, he had to know.

  “Ana. Listen to me. I promise, you’ll be fine—”

  Her eyes flashed. “What do you know of how I will be?”

  He thought about pulling her into his arms. Showing her that he knew, that he would never hurt her…

  His mouth thinned. Did she think this was any easier for him? Because it wasn’t. Why would he want to get married, even if the marriage was a lie? Why would he want to marry a woman who didn’t want to marry him?

  “What I know,” he said coldly, “is that you’ve agreed to perform a role in a charade and I expect you to do it well.”

  “Do not worry, Lincoln. I will be the best actress the world has ever seen.”

  “Just remember that,” he said, and even though he hated the way her mouth trembled, he stood his ground in silence as she ran up the stairs.

  * * *

  Late the next afternoon, they stood before a clerk at Centre Street. Two minutes later they were husband and wife.

  “You may kiss the bride,” the clerk said, smothering a yawn.

  Linc knew there was no need for what Ana had labeled a “sign of affection.” Nobody was, to use her word, observing them, except the clerk and a stranger pressed into duty as a witness. Still, they were in a public place. The pretense might as well begin now.

  He turned Ana to him.

  Brides were supposed to glow but her face was the color of milk. And when he tilted it to his, he saw the glitter of tears in her eyes.

  His heart constricted.

  “Ana,” he said softly, “I’m sorry. For what I said last night, for today…”

  She shook her head. “Never mind. We’re doing this for Jenny. It’s all right.”

  It wasn’t all right at all, and he knew it. He kissed her. Kissed her tenderly. Until she melted against him and he tasted the salt of her tears on her soft mouth.

  My wife, he thought. My wife.

  And then the clerk said, politely, that there were others waiting and it was going on closing time. Linc put his hand in the small of Ana’s back as they left the building and felt her trembling. He slid his arm around her waist. She stiffened, but then she leaned into him the way she would have done if the ceremony binding them together had been real.

  * * *

  He had arranged for Mrs. Hollowell to stay overnight to care for Jenny.

  Ana had objected, until he’d pointed out that his housekeeper would be the one person who’d be in a position to comment on their marriage, if that became necessary.

  Mrs. Hollowell had said of course she’d stay, but wouldn’t it be better if she took the baby home for the night? She had gr
andchildren so she had all the things Jenny might need. He’d thanked her and said that wouldn’t be necessary.

  Now, watching Ana, he knew he’d made a big mistake.

  Mrs. Hollowell had set out champagne and caviar. Ana didn’t notice. She’d filled the sitting room with vases of white roses and freesia, which was more than he’d thought to do, but Ana didn’t notice that, either.

  The housekeeper was giving her worried looks. Ana was supposed to be a happy bride. Instead, she looked like a woman who’d lost her best friend. Who knew what she might say or do? What if she blurted out the truth about their marriage?

  He had to do something, he thought, and gently gathered Ana into his arms.

  “You must be exhausted, sweetheart,” he said, smiling, hoping she’d get the message and smile in return. “Why don’t you go upstairs? Take a long bath, even a nap. I’ll be up after a while.”

  She not only got the message, she all but sighed with relief. “I will do that, Lincoln. Thank you for thinking of it.”

  He waited until she’d left the room, then he turned to Mrs. Hollowell.

  “My wife’s been under a lot of stress,” he said. “She’s worn out.”

  “Yessir,” his housekeeper said evenly. “You haven’t given her time to breathe.”

  A day of firsts. He’d never been married before and his polite housekeeper had never before commented on his personal life.

  “That offer you made,” he said, “to take Jenny for the night… Is it still good? Ana and I need some quiet time together.”

  That won him a smile. “Two minutes to get the baby ready, Mr. Aldridge, and we’ll be on our way.”

  “I’ll phone for my car. And Mrs. Hollowell?” Linc smiled. “Thank you.”

  * * *

  He gave Ana an hour.

  Then he knocked on his bedroom door. Their door, he reminded himself, and felt the tension in his gut.

  Ana opened it. She’d worn one of those dress-for-success suits for the wedding and she was still wearing it now. She was also wearing an expression that could best be described as halfway between disbelief and anger.

  “Someone moved all my things!”

  “Well, yeah. Mrs. Hollowell. She suggested it and—”

  “You should have asked me.”

  “We went through all this, remember? You’re my wife. You sleep with me.”

  “I have no intention of sleeping with you.”

  “A figure of speech,” he said, holding up his hand.

  “And what,” she hissed, “is this?”

  Bewildered, he started to look around. Ana muttered something, grabbed his lapel, hauled him into the room and shut the door.

  “Do you want Mrs. Hollowell to hear us, Lincoln?”

  Maybe this wasn’t the time to tell her Mrs. Hollowell was gone.

  “What’s the problem?”

  Ana swept her hand around the room. “What do you see?”

  “Uh—”

  “Dresser. Chest. Tables. Chairs. Bench. Lamps,” she said, answering her own question. “Now come into the dressing room. What do you see?”

  Linc cleared his throat. “Clothes?”

  Ana folded her arms and glared at him. “Do you see anything even resembling a chaise longue?”

  “A chaise…?” Damn! “I forgot. In the rush, I just… I’ll order it tomorrow.”

  “And where, pray tell, am I to sleep tonight?”

  He looked at her, at the beautiful eyes flashing with anger, at the defiance, the courage, the spirit his Ana radiated…

  “Here. It’s a big bed. You take one side, I’ll take the other.”

  She glared at him for what seemed a very long time. Then she narrowed her eyes.

  “Touch me,” she said through her teeth, “and you are a dead man.”

  He believed it.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ANA lay wrapped in her robe, all but clinging to the edge of the bed, as far from Lincoln as she could manage.

  The clock read 2:22 a.m. She had not slept at all.

  Lincoln, on the other hand, had gone into the bathroom, come out in a pair of sweats, climbed into the bed, put his head on the pillow and drifted off to happy dreamland.

  This sham wedding was upsetting only to her. He’d gone through it without hesitation, saying “I do” and “Yes” and kissing her at the end of the ceremony as if their reasons for marrying were the same as everyone else’s.

  He wasn’t supposed to have kissed her.

  That was part of the deal. No touching. No kissing. A separate bed for her. He’d agreed to it all and now she knew just how much that meant. He’d touched. He’d kissed. Now they were sharing a bed.

  Ana swallowed hard.

  Maybe the real question was why she’d melted into that kiss? Leaned into his embrace? Why she’d wanted to weep when she saw the champagne, the caviar, the flowers that it had taken Lincoln’s housekeeper to arrange?

  She wasn’t a bride. Not a real one. She was a woman playing a role opposite a man who thought marriage was an unnatural act. But so what? She thought the same thing.

  There it was again, that ridiculous sting of unwanted tears. Ana blinked them back and looked across the endless expanse of bed. Lincoln still hadn’t stirred. For all she knew, in a little while he might even start to snore.

  Such a romantic wedding night.

  She sat up, eased from the bed and the room. She thought about stopping at the nursery to check on Jenny, but Mrs. Hollowell was sleeping there and the last thing she wanted to do was rouse the housekeeper. Instead, she made her way downstairs and onto the terrace.

  The late summer night was warm. Below, a lone taxi prowled south along Fifth Avenue. Across the street, the trees stood like silent sentinels in the darkness.

  This time, when Ana’s eyes filled with tears, she let them come.

  What a fool she’d been to marry Lincoln. Hadn’t she realized this would not work? That to live this kind of lie would be—?

  “Ana?”

  She spun around. Lincoln was standing in the doorway. Her heart did a stutter-step. He was so beautiful. So masculine. He was her husband—and she could still remember the taste of his mouth, the scent of his skin…

  “Lincoln. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “You didn’t.” He stepped outside and leaned his elbows on the railing beside her. “I wasn’t sleeping. I just figured it was simpler to let you think I was.” He sighed. “And I know exactly what you were thinking just now.”

  She felt the rush of color in her cheeks. “You do?”

  “You were thinking, what in hell did we do?”

  “Oh.” The breath whooshed from her lungs.

  “Me, too. I thought it would be so simple. Get married, pretend everything’s great. But it’s turning out to be complicated.” He turned around and leaned back against the railing. “Well, we’ll just have to uncomplicate it.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know,” he said gruffly. “And, frankly, I’m not up to figuring it out at this hour. The only thing I’m sure of right now is that we never had supper.”

  She looked at him. “Didn’t we?”

  He grinned. “No. Not even that caviar. You were too busy chewing me out for forgetting to order the bed.”

  “About that…” Ana hesitated. “I shouldn’t have been so angry. With everything you had on your mind—”

  “I should have remembered. I’ll take care of it tomorrow, I promise.” He touched the tip of his index finger to her nose. “Right now, it’s the middle of the night.”

  “I know. I’m just not very sleepy, that’s all.”

  “What you are is hungry.”

  She would have said he was wrong but her belly gave an unladylike growl of affirmation.

  “See?” he said, laughing. “So, let’s have something to eat, okay?”

  He held out his hand. Slowly, she took it.

  “I suppose I could find something in the refrigerator and make sandwiches.”r />
  “Forget that. We’ll do take-out.”

  “At three in the morning?”

  “This is New York, sweetheart. The city that never sleeps.” He turned on the kitchen lights, drew a stool from the counter and watched as she scooted onto it.

  “And bachelors know all about take-out. Mrs. Hollowell only started cooking for me after Jenny came along.” He opened drawers, cupboards, poked through shelves and finally fanned a dozen menus on the counter in front of her. “Pick one.”

  “You decide. I’ll be happy with whatever you choose, Lincoln.”

  Lin-cone. There it was again, that softness in her voice, that way she made something as simple as his name seem to shimmer. There was that smile, too. He’d wondered if he’d ever see it again after the fiasco about the unordered bed, the fiasco of the entire day. He’d moved too fast, hadn’t taken the time to ease her fears or maybe even make her see how good this could be, being together for whatever time they had.

  Hell.

  Linc grabbed for a menu, then for the phone.

  “Chang’s Kitchen,” a voice sang in his ear. “What would you like?”

  Ana, Linc thought, and the realization stunned him.

  * * *

  He built a fire and they ate seated on oversized silk pillows before the hearth. He set out heavy white napery and Baccarat flutes that he filled with the chilled champagne.

  Ana laughed when she saw how much food he’d ordered. Moo shu pork, orange chicken, shrimp in black bean sauce and half a dozen other things sent their fragrance wafting into the air as he opened the white takeout boxes and arranged them in a circle.

  “No plates?”

  “No plates. No forks. Just chopsticks. Trust me,” he said solemnly. “It tastes better this way.”

  She smiled and dug in. He waited a while, watching as she transferred small bits of food to her mouth. Once or twice she licked the chopsticks. Damn if it didn’t make his belly clench.

  “What?” she said, laughing. “Are you going to criticize my chopstick technique? I’ll have you know my very first nanny was born in China. Well, Taiwan. She had me using sticks before I was five.”

  “A nanny, huh?”

  Ana lifted a shrimp to her mouth. “A long succession of them. Nice, mostly, but I think it must be nicer to be raised by your mother.”