Debbie Macomber - The Manning Brides - Marriage of Inconvenience / Stand-In Wife

A surge of irritation flashed through her. She’d never been keen on Rich’s choice of girlfriends. She swore he could spot a bimbo a mile away.

He attracted them—and he attracted her .

That was a brand-new perception, a brand-new awareness.

Until he’d kissed her in the judge’s office, Jamie had never thought of Rich in a physical way. He’d always been attractive, too handsome for his own good. But what she’d experienced earlier that afternoon had nothing to do with his looks. Instead, it had a whole lot to do with sensuality.

Rich made her feel vulnerable. Exposed. Powerless. And yet … powerful, too. Everything, all the emotion, all the sensations, had come rushing toward her at once.

Afterward, he’d been so concerned. So understanding. Allaying her fears, answering her doubts. He’d dried her tears and made her laugh. He’d turned this into the most special day of her life.

What he’d said about how they’d each searched for someone to love was true. Jamie had wanted to be married for so many years. She’d hungered for that special relationship and all that went with it, only to be disappointed time after time.

Their dinner check arrived, and while Rich dealt with that, Jamie finished her wine. As she raised the glass to her lips, her gaze fell on the diamond ring on her left hand. It was a simple design, a small diamond set in the center of an antique gold rose. When Rich had first mentioned it, she hadn’t felt right about wearing it, but the fit was perfect, and now that it was on her finger she wished she didn’t have to take it off.

“I suppose I should drive you home.”

Jamie’s heart soared at the reluctance she heard in his voice. She wasn’t any more eager for this day to end than he was.

“I suppose,” she said with an equal lack of enthusiasm.

“You have to work tomorrow?”

Jamie nodded. “You?”

He nodded, too.

They stood, and Rich helped her on with her coat. His hands lingered on her shoulders, and he drew her back against him and breathed in deeply. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Jamie twisted around, and the restaurant noises that surrounded them—the laughter and conversation, the clinking of silverware on china—seemed to fade away.

“For marrying me,” he whispered. “For agreeing to bear my child.”

Jamie pulled the straight skirt over her hips and clipped it to the hanger. She hung it in her closet along with the jacket, then wandered into the kitchen as the teakettle whistled.

Sitting at the table in her full-length slip, she propped her nylon-covered feet on the opposite chair and cradled the mug of hot tea in both hands.

“I’m married,” she said aloud, testing the words.

They came back sounding hollow, as hollow as she felt. She hadn’t wanted Rich to leave—not so soon. It was barely ten. But when she’d offered him an excuse to stay, he’d turned her down.

So this was her wedding night. In her dreams she’d created a magical fantasy of champagne and romance. See-through nighties and wild, abandoned passion. If this was a traditional marriage, she’d have all that. Instead, she’d chosen something else. Something far less.

She should be happy. Excited. In love.

She was all those things—in a manner of speaking. Then why, she asked herself, did the aching loneliness weigh so heavily on her heart?

Rich bent the thick goose-down pillow in half and bunched it beneath his head. Rolling over, he glanced at the clock radio and sighed. Nearly one. The alarm was set for five-thirty and he had yet to fall asleep.

It wasn’t every day a man got married, he reminded himself. It wasn’t every man who spent his wedding night alone, either.

Rich had dropped Jamie off at her condo, and although she’d suggested he come in for coffee, he’d refused. He didn’t even know why he’d turned her down. Coffee had sounded good.

“Be honest,” Rich said aloud. It wasn’t the coffee that had enticed him, it was Jamie. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. But she was lovely. It seemed impossible to him that he’d missed it all these years. Was he blind?

He’d had beautiful. Pamela was beauty-queen gorgeous—and so empty inside, so lacking in values and morals, that he had to wonder what had attracted him in the first place. She’d appealed to his vanity, no doubt.

Rich rolled onto his back, tucked his hands beneath his head and stared up at the dark ceiling. It hadn’t felt right to leave Jamie. With real disappointment, he’d turned around and walked to his parked car. He’d paused halfway down the steps, resisting the urge to rush back and tell her he’d changed his mind, he’d take that coffee, after all.

Instead he’d returned to an apartment that had never seemed emptier and a bed that had never felt so cold.

The phone on Rich’s desk rang, and he automatically reached for it. “Engineering.” He didn’t take his eyes from the drawings he was reviewing.

“Hi,” came the soft feminine reply.

Rich straightened. “Jamie? You’re back from the doctor’s already?” He checked his watch and was surprised to discover it was nearly four.

“I just got back.”

“And?” He couldn’t keep the eagerness out of his voice. They’d already had one appointment to see Dr. Fullerton. Rich had gone in with Jamie for the initial visit. They’d sat next to each other in Dr. Fullerton’s private office and held hands while the gynecologist explained the procedure in detail.

“And,” Jamie said quietly, confidently, “we’re going to try for this month.”

“This month,” Rich repeated. “In case you didn’t know, I’ve always been fond of March. March is one of my favorite months.”

“Don’t get too excited. It … it might not take, it generally doesn’t with the first try.”

“April, then. April’s a good month. Another one of my all-time favorites.”

“It could easily be three or four months,” Jamie said with a laugh.

“June, July, August. Who can argue with summer?” Rich found himself smiling, too. He was calculating what month the baby would be due if Jamie got pregnant in March.

“December,” she said, apparently interpreting his silence. “How would you feel about a December baby?”

“Jubilant. How about you?”

“It could be January or February.” She sounded hesitant, as though she was afraid to put too much stock in everything going so smoothly.

“It’ll happen when it happens.”

“That was profound!” she said. “The doctor gave me a chart. Every morning, I’m supposed to take my temperature. It’ll be slightly elevated when I ovulate. As soon as that happens, I’m to contact his office.”

“I’m going with you.”

“Rich, that really isn’t necessary. It’s very sweet of you, but—”

“I thought you knew better than to argue with me.”

“I should,” she said with mock exasperation. “We’ve been married nearly a month and I don’t think I’ve won a single argument.”

“No wonder married life agrees with me.” He kept his voice low, wanting to be sure no one in the vicinity could overhear him. Only Jason knew he was married and he wanted to keep it that way as long as possible. “Call me in the morning,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “I want to keep my own chart.”

The following morning, Rich was in the shower when his phone rang. He turned off the faucet, grabbed a towel and raced across the bedroom.

“Hello!” he yelled into the receiver.

“Ninety-eight point six.”

He pulled open the drawer on his nightstand and searched blindly for a pen. Water was raining down from his hair, dripping onto the bed. “Got it.”