The Playboy’s Unexpected Bride

by Sandra Marton

  “Probably.”

  “Probably? Didn’t your mother—?”

  “She took care of herself,” he said, shrugging as if it hadn’t mattered when it damned well had. “I took care of me.”

  “And your sister,” Ana said softly. “Kathryn was lucky to have you in her life.”

  “She was my sister,” he said simply. “My responsibility.”

  “And you are a man who takes responsibility to heart.”

  How had this conversation grown so serious? This wasn’t a night for that. It was a night for being alone with Ana. For realizing how important she had become to him. For wanting—for wanting—

  “Ana.”

  What he was thinking must have been right there, in the way he spoke her name, the way he looked at her. Color rushed into her face. Carefully, she put down her chopsticks.

  “It is late,” she said, rushing the words together. “Mrs. Hollowell will probably be coming down in a little—”

  “She’s not here. She took Jenny home with her.”

  Ana stared at him. “Why?”

  “Because this is our wedding night.”

  “No.” Her voice was a whisper. “It isn’t.”

  “It is, Ana. No matter the circumstances. I thought it would be easier this way, not having someone else here in the morning.”

  He was right. Lincoln, the ever-responsible man. She forced a smile.

  “Thank you.”

  “What are you thanking me for, Ana?” His voice roughened. “That you won’t have to pass an early-morning inspection? Or that you won’t have to make love with me?”

  Ana felt her heartbeat quicken. Get up right now, a voice inside her ordered. Get up and walk out of this room!

  “Because what I want, more than anything in the world,” he said, “is to make love with you.”

  “No. You should not say—”

  “I should. I’ve told enough lies lately. Tonight, at least, I’m going to speak the truth.”

  She sat very still, feeling his gaze on her skin like a silken caress. She knew he wanted her. She knew it the way every woman knows when a man wants her.

  And she wanted him.

  “Ana? There’s a drop of sweet-and-sour sauce on your mouth.”

  All she had to do was pick up her napkin and touch it to her lips. But she was an adult. Independent. Capable of making her own decisions.

  “Where?” she whispered, and saw the heat flare in his eyes.

  “I’ll show you.”

  He leaned forward and covered her mouth with his. It was a long, sweet kiss; his lips were cool, the abrasion of his end-of-day beard against her skin sent a tingle of electricity down her spine.

  “Did you get it all?” she said against his mouth.

  “Not yet. There’s more…”

  So much more, Ana thought, and then, somehow, her lips were clinging to his. Parting beneath his. His tongue was in her mouth and she…

  She was on fire.

  “Lincoln. Please. Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss—”

  The bedroom was too far away. He knew he’d never make it that far. He, the man who prided himself on his self-control, could never seem to manage it when it came to this woman.

  Instead, he drew her down against the soft pillows. Kissed her, drank in her sweet moans and whispers as he undid the sash of her robe. It fell open around her, an ivory chrysalis exposing his Ana to his eyes.

  She was exquisite.

  Small, rounded breasts tipped with deep rose. A slender waist that blossomed into a woman’s hips. Long, elegant legs. And at the junction of her thighs a cluster of pale gold curls that seemed to beg for his caress.

  Her skin was flushed with color; she was trembling, as if she’d never been with a man. Selfishly, even though he knew better, he wished it were true.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

  Gently, he cupped her breasts, watched her face as he swept his thumbs over her nipples. She moaned and he bent to her and kissed her throat, the slope of her breasts, the delicious crests. She made a little sound in her throat and he felt a wave of hot, raw need sweep through him. He wanted her now, wanted to bury himself inside her, but she deserved more from this night and he was determined to give it to her.

  He kissed her breasts again. Drew the sweetness of her nipples into his mouth. Kissed her navel, her belly. Kissed the delicate whorl of gold. Parted the petals of that most beautiful of flowers…

  And touched her.

  Ana screamed and came apart in his arms.

  He drew her close, held her, rocked her until she calmed. A fierce sense of fulfillment swept through him, knowing he had done this for her. For his wife.

  “Lincoln?”

  Her voice shook. He kissed her, pulled off his sweats and came back to her again, covering her with his body as she sighed his name. Slow down, he warned himself, but her cries were the aphrodisiac men had sought through all eternity.

  “Ana,” he said, “look at me.”

  Her lashes lifted. Her eyes met his.

  “Yes,” she said, and he let his swollen sex brush against hers. God, he thought, surely he was going to die from such pleasure…

  Sweet heaven! He didn’t have a condom.

  He jerked back. Felt his erection starting to fade with the shock. But Ana reached between their bodies and closed her hand around him.

  “Ana,” he said, trying to hold on to sanity. “Ana, sweetheart…”

  She tilted her hips. “Please, Lincoln,” she whispered, and the world blurred as he surged forward and thrust deep into his bride’s feminine heart…

  And tore through the fragile barrier of her virginity.

  * * *

  They lay entwined, his arm around her, her head on his shoulder, her leg over his.

  Linc’s heartbeat slowed. The room came back into focus and so did his brain. God, what had he done? He had shredded his no-sex promise to Ana. He had taken her virginity. And as if that weren’t enough, he had committed the ultimate sin.

  He’d made love to her without a condom.

  The room was cool, the air chill against his sweat-slick skin. Ana had to feel it, too. Carefully, never letting her go, he reached for her discarded robe and drew it over them.

  “Sweetheart.” He rose on his elbow, just enough so he could see her profile, half hidden by strands of golden hair. Where to start? he thought, gently thumbing it aside.

  She sighed. “You want to know why I didn’t tell you I was a virgin.”

  “No. Yes. That, too. Damnit, why didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know.” She looked up at him and smiled. “Maybe because it was none of your business.”

  “Of course it was my business,” he said, even though he knew she was right. They’d never intended to become lovers; why should she have told him anything so personal?

  “Besides, even if I’d wanted to, when was the right time? Would you have had me say, ‘Lincoln, this moo shoo pork is delicious and, oh, by the way, I am a virgin’?”

  A deep laugh rumbled in his chest. “Okay. Maybe not like that, exactly, but…” Gently, he brushed his mouth over hers. “How come you didn’t slug me when I said maybe you’d come from your lover that night we met in Rio?”

  “Mmm. I should have.” She smiled. “But I took pity on you. I knew you were furious because I’d violated your security system.”

  “Mostly I was furious at myself for losing control and kissing you.” His tone grew husky. “If you knew how many times I thought about that kiss after I got back to New York…”

  “I’ll bet you thought about your security system, too. ‘How could that woman have defeated it?’” she said, in almost perfect imitation of his low growl.

  Lincoln grinned and nipped lightly at her throat. “Are you going to tell me?”

  “It’s very complicated, Lincoln. I sat down at a computer, worked up some algorithms…” She grinned at the look on his face. “I memorized the code when Papa set it. You think I’d let
a hotshot Norte Americano keep me from getting outside for a nightly run without bodyguards?”

  “A run?” His voice rose. “Alone, in those hills? For God’s sake, Ana! Anything could have happened to you.”

  “But nothing did.” Her voice softened. “In fact, Lincoln, I don’t think anything at all ever happened to me in my entire life until now. This was—it was wonderful.”

  “Yes,” he said gruffly. “It was. But—” He tried to say it lightly. “But I broke rules one and four.”

  “No sex,” she said softly.

  He nodded. “Can you forgive me, sweetheart? I swear, I didn’t plan—”

  “It was my choice, too. That’s why I came to New York, remember? To live my own life, not anyone else’s.”

  But she was part of his life now, Linc thought. Except she wasn’t. When this marriage ended, she would go her own way. It was what she wanted. What he wanted, too.

  Wasn’t it?

  “Lincoln? What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. I just—just—” He took a deep breath. “Ana. I didn’t use a condom.”

  She nodded. “I know.”

  “I’m healthy, sweetheart, but I could have made you—”

  “This is my safe time of the month, Lincoln.”

  “Yeah, but just so you know, should anything happen—”

  “I’m an adult. I take responsibility for myself.”

  There it was again, another arrogant little statement about independence. He admired her for it, but would it be wrong if she leaned on him, just a little? If she needed him, just a little? If she—if she felt something for him besides desire?

  “Ana.” He drew her tightly against him. “Ana—”

  She silenced him with a kiss, not wanting to hear how grateful he was that she’d married him for Jenny’s sake, because, if he did, she knew she would not be able to let the lie pass. She would have to tell him the truth. That she loved Jenny, yes, but that what she’d done was for him.

  She had fallen in love with her temporary husband, even though loving him would surely break her heart.

  CHAPTER TEN

  LIFE was wonderful.

  Jenny was a delight. Surely a baby like no other. Bright. Sweet. Absolutely adorable.

  And Lincoln…Lincoln was everything a woman could want. Generous. Attentive. Tender. Intelligent. Charming and gorgeous and sexy and passionate.

  Sometimes, lying in his arms at night, Ana would imagine what life would be like if their marriage were real. She didn’t want to think that way; it hurt too much to know it would not happen. But her thoughts drifted to how it would feel to be with her husband forever, and her throat would constrict.

  Maybe she made some little sound, maybe Lincoln could sense something, because, inevitably, he’d turn her toward him.

  “Sweetheart?” he would whisper. “What are you thinking?”

  “Nothing,” she would say, and thank God for the darkness of the bedroom that kept him from seeing how close she was to tears.

  Sooner or later all this would end. Lincoln would come home and tell her that their deception had worked, that Jenny was his, that their marriage had run its course.

  That was how she’d thought it would go. In the end, it was not like that at all. He didn’t come right out and tell her. Instead, he just began to change.

  He came home late. Meetings, he said. Last minute stuff.

  He left early. Breakfast appointments, he told her. Unavoidable.

  But the surest indication of what was happening came at night. He began letting her go to bed alone. The press of work. Reports to read, plans to make…

  “You understand, don’t you, Ana?”

  Yes, she said, yes, of course.

  When he finally came to bed, she pretended to be asleep. Sometimes, he’d climb in beside her so carefully she knew he was determined not to wake her, and she’d want to sit up and tell him not to worry, that she would not let him make love to her even if he tried.

  A lie, because every once in a while he’d suddenly roll toward her, wake her with his kisses, take her in his arms and love her with a passion that bordered on frenzy. She’d seen a movie once about a soldier leaving for war. He’d made love to his wife that way. It was how he’d said goodbye.

  Life was not a movie, but it wasn’t a fairy tale, either. There would be no happy ending here.

  Then came the morning—this morning—when she knew it was time to admit the marriage was over. She’d awakened to find Lincoln at the window, fully dressed, staring out at the park.

  “Lincoln?” she’d said, sitting up, drawing the duvet to her chin because, for the very first time, she hadn’t wanted to face him naked.

  Slowly, he’d turned toward her. What she’d seen in his face had made her breath catch. “We have to talk.”

  Not yet, she’d thought. Oh, please, not yet…

  “Now, if you like. Or this evening, Ana. Whichever you prefer.”

  She’d known she needed to compose herself. Weeping in front of him would be too humiliating. So she’d lied. She’d said she’d gotten her period during the night. Her back ached. She had cramps. Talking tonight would be best.

  Lincoln had breathed what could only have been a sigh of relief. Why wouldn’t he? It was almost four weeks since they’d made love without a condom. Her responsible husband would have stood by her if she were pregnant…

  But that wasn’t what he wanted.

  It wasn’t what she’d wanted, either. Amazing how what you wanted could change.

  He’d nodded. Asked if he could get her some tea. Responsible to the end, she’d thought, and stretched her lips into a smile.

  “Don’t worry about me,” she’d said brightly, and she’d held the smile until he left the room without kissing her, without a backward glance, without anything to show that, for a little bit of time, they’d been lovers.

  It was only then that she’d let herself weep.

  Now, sitting on a bench in Central Park, sitting near the statue of Alice in Wonderland, by the model boat pond with Jenny asleep in her stroller, a bright autumn sun beating down from a cerulean blue sky, Ana wondered how she would get through tonight’s conversation.

  She would, though. Lincoln had married her for Jenny; she had married him for love. That wasn’t his fault, it was hers, and she would never let him know that she—

  “Miss Marques?”

  Startled, she looked up and saw Lincoln’s attorney standing beside the stroller.

  “May I join you?” he said, even as he sat down beside her.

  She knew, instinctively, this was no accidental meeting.

  “What are you doing here, Mr. Hamilton?”

  “I stopped by Lincoln’s place. Lincoln’s housekeeper said I might find you here.”

  Lincoln’s place. Lincoln’s housekeeper. And he’d addressed her as Miss Marques. Nothing like reminding the hired help who and what they were.

  “I wanted to speak with you privately, Miss Marques. I hope you don’t—”

  “You’ve come to tell me Jenny’s custody has been settled.”

  She spoke the words through wooden lips, knowing, as she’d known for days, they had to be true.

  Hamilton raised his eyebrows. “Well, that’s a relief. I thought there might be a problem.”

  Ana’s throat tightened. “What do you mean?”

  “The ruling came through more than a week ago. I

  suggested to Lincoln that the three of us meet right away, but—well, I gather he thought he’d have some difficulty sharing the news with you.”

  A week? Lincoln had known for all that time but he had not told her. Had he been silent out of pity? Or had Lincoln, the ever-responsible man, been waiting to find out if she were pregnant?

  “So, on his behalf, as his attorney and his friend…”

  “Please. You do not have to say anything more.” Ana rose to her feet. “Lincoln and I had an agreement and now there is no longer a need for it.”

  “I’
m glad you’re taking this so well, Miss Marques.” Hamilton stood up, too. “We can set an appointment for our meeting. Or…” He held out an envelope. “Or we can deal with the remaining legality right now.”

  She took the envelope and stared at it. “What is this?”

  “Your check.”

  “My what?”

  “I know you insisted on crossing out that clause in the contract but Lincoln feels you’ve earned yourself a generous—Miss Marques?”

  Ana stood, released the brake on Jenny’s stroller and began pushing it toward the park exit, her pace quickening as she heard the traffic on Fifth Avenue.

  “Miss Marques,” Hamilton called, but she saw no reason to answer. She saw no reason to do anything but take Jenny home, kiss her goodbye and get out of Lincoln’s life as swiftly as possible.

  To think he’d imagined he had to buy his freedom from her…

  Tears blurred her eyes. She blinked them back and kept going.

  “What do you mean, she’s gone?”

  Mrs. Hollowell stared at her employer. His voice was low and dangerous, his face white, his eyes bright and hard as emeralds.

  “Just that, sir. Ana is—”

  “You did nothing to stop her?”

  “Me? How could I have stopped her, Mr. Aldridge?”

  “How in hell do I know? You were here, not—” Linc stopped and drew a deep breath. He had to get control of himself, fast.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Let’s start over. Ana’s gone. She packed her things and left?”

  “Yes.”

  “No note?”

  “No, sir.”

  “No forwarding address?”

  “No, sir. I told you. She told me to take care of Jenny. Then she called a taxi and—”

  “Nobody just calls a taxi and disappears.” So much for control. Linc ran his hand through his hair, then started over. “What brought it on? Did she say?”

  “Only that she should have left a long time ago.” Mrs. Hollowell bit her lip. “She was crying, sir. And when she kissed Jenny goodbye… Oh, it was awful.”

  Awful, and his fault. If he hadn’t been afraid she’d turn him down, if he’d taken his wife in his arms anytime during the whole miserable week and said, Ana, the court has given Jenny to me, but I don’t give a damn how badly you want your independence, I love you and I’m not going to let you leave me, at least he’d have had a chance.