A Wife for One Year. Brenda Harlen

gorgeous,” Kenna said. “Rachel’s work?”

      Daniel’s mother nodded. “One of the benefits of having a florist as a future daughter-in-law is that I didn’t have to wait until business hours tomorrow to offer an apology.”

      Kenna took the arrangement into the dining room and set it in the middle of the table. “But why are you apologizing?”

      “Because I know I seemed less than thrilled about the announcement of your marriage.”

      “There’s no need to apologize—I know the news was a surprise.”

      “But not an unpleasant one,” Jane assured her. “I always suspected that Daniel never fell in love with any of the girls he dated because of his feelings for you—not that he was ever willing to acknowledge those feelings, but I could see that they were there.”

      Her claim confirmed Daniel’s suspicion that his mother wanted to believe their marriage was real. But Kenna didn’t know whether that was because she’d been married for forty years and believed in happy endings, or because it was preferable to suspecting that her youngest son had ulterior motives for his marriage.

      “So you can understand why I was beginning to wonder if he’d ever meet that special someone...and why I’m so glad that someone was you.”

      Jane took both of Kenna’s hands and held them, her gaze steady and sincere.

      “I know I should welcome you to the family, but you’ve been part of our family for ten years already. So instead I’m going to tell you both David and I are overjoyed that your membership in our family is now official.”

      Kenna’s throat tightened as Jane released her hands and drew her into her embrace.

      Daniel’s parents had never been anything but warm and welcoming, and she’d loved them from the start. And Jane’s words would have meant so much to her if she and Daniel had married for all the right reasons; if the vows they’d exchanged had been more than a means to an end. Instead, his mother’s genuine warmth and acceptance made her want to cry.

      “And if you have no objection,” Jane continued as she released her, “I really would like to host a reception to celebrate your wedding.”

      Kenna had a whole boatload of objections, but none that she could admit to Daniel’s mother without raising red flags.

      “Of course, your mother might already be planning something,” Jane realized. “But I’d be happy to coordinate with her.”

      “Actually, we haven’t told my mother yet,” Kenna said. “But I don’t think that’s a concern, anyway.”

      “Good, because I don’t want to step on any toes, but I know there are so many friends and family who would appreciate the opportunity to give you their best wishes.”

      “My only suggestion would be to wait until after Andrew and Rachel’s wedding.”

      “But they just got engaged—they haven’t even set a date yet,” Jane protested.

      “Andrew doesn’t want to wait too long,” Kenna reminded her of the discussion that had gone on at the dinner table. “But Rachel wants a big wedding with all the bells and whistles, and that’s going to take a lot of planning.”

      Apparently Daniel was right—when it came to self-preservation, she would absolutely throw his brother and future sister-in-law under the bus.

      Jane sighed. “You’re right. And with Rachel’s parents living out of state, she might appreciate some help.”

      “She’ll be thrilled,” Kenna said, confident that it was true.

      “Then we’ll plan a reception for you and Daniel next summer—to celebrate your first anniversary,” Jane decided, apparently willing to postpone but not relinquish that plan.

      “Sounds good,” Kenna said, and sent up a silent prayer that her temporary mother-in-law would someday forgive her for the lie.

      Because by next summer, Kenna and Daniel’s marriage would be over.

      * * *

      As Daniel stepped out of the shower Monday morning, he was confident in his ability to adjust to life as a married man. Granted it was only day three, but so far their legal status as husband and wife hadn’t changed much of anything between Kenna and him. They each had their own lives, and he expected that they would continue to live those lives. True, they were now living under the same roof, but so long as he remembered this was a marriage in name only and ignored the hum of attraction, the proximity shouldn’t cause any real problems.

      He wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out of the bathroom, breathing in the heady scent of freshly brewed coffee. Okay, that was a change, but having someone else start the coffee in the morning was an adjustment he didn’t mind making. And if she wanted to cook breakfast, he wouldn’t object to that, either.

      Maybe it was because his mind was preoccupied with thoughts of bacon and eggs, or maybe it was because he hadn’t yet had his morning hit of caffeine, but whatever the reason, he forgot that living with his wife had required making space for her things until he reached into the top drawer of his dresser for a pair of boxers and found his hand enveloped in soft, frothy lace.

      His eyes opened wide to stare at the tiny scrap of pale shimmery blue fabric—and he felt a subtle but distinctive stirring of interest low in his belly.

      The rational part of his brain wanted him to drop the garment back into the drawer and pretend he’d never seen it. The depraved part was suddenly trying to paint a picture of Kenna wearing nothing more than the panties in his hand—a mental image that was both incredibly arousing and distinctly unnerving.

      Kenna’s status as his wife was temporary and in name only. Much more important was the fact that she was his friend, which meant that he definitely should not be thinking about her in her underwear.

      They weren’t sharing a bed—they weren’t even sharing a bedroom. But in order to maintain the illusion that theirs was a normal marriage, they’d decided that Kenna’s clothes would hang beside his in the closet and he’d empty out a couple of drawers in his bureau for her use. For a brief moment this morning, he’d forgotten that.

      He pulled the drawer open farther to return the undergarment to its proper place, and discovered a riot of color and texture. There were pastels and brights, smooth satins and delicate laces, polka dots and animal prints, many of them decorated with little bows or sparkly beads.

      He’d never given much thought to what Kenna wore beneath her clothes. Her status as his best friend forced him to steer away from thoughts in that direction. He couldn’t deny there’d been some curiosity—because yeah, he was a guy and it was unnatural not to wonder—but he’d never let his mind wander too far down that forbidden path. His mind was definitely wandering now...and that subtle stirring wasn’t so subtle anymore.

      He had a close and intimate acquaintance with women’s lingerie. He could unfasten a front clasp as easily as he could back hooks; he knew the difference between a G-string and a thong; he appreciated that push-up bras enhanced a woman’s attributes and despised padded bras for false advertising.

      He found himself examining a bra of purple satin overlaid with black lace, thinking that the deep color would provide a stark contrast to her pale skin, and the scallop-edged cups would entice a man to discover what was inside. He definitely wouldn’t mind seeing what she looked like in it...and then out of it.

      “There’s French toast in the...” Kenna’s words trailed off when she spotted the bra in his hand. “What are you doing?”

      “Trying not to think about how you’d look in this,” he admitted.

      Color stained her cheeks as she snatched the bra out of his hand, stuffed it back in the drawer and pushed it firmly shut. “Stay out of my underwear.”

      He grinned. “I never gave much thought to getting into