Brenda Harlen - A Wife for One Year

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—”