Page 39 of The Work Wife

“We’re going to spend the rest of our lives together,” Jamie mumbled. “I like him better than Duane.”

That was good to hear, but he’d already guessed as much.

“Who’s Duane?” Mr. Witmer asked.

“We should get her back to bed,” Wes suggested before her subconscious incriminated them.

“You’ve never seen this before?” Her father stared at him.

“No.”

“Hmm,” was all he said. “Jamie, go back to bed.”

“Okay.” Jamie turned around and walked back to their room, crawling into the middle of the bed from his side.

“Jamie? Can you move over? Jamie?” A low chuckle came from the direction of the door. When Wes looked up her father was gone. Wes poked and pushed, but she made a disgruntled sound and took up more of the bed.

Giving up, he went out to the sofa, curling up under an orange and brown afghan. He couldn’t believe he was spending his wedding night cramped up on a curmudgeonly man’s sofa, but life was full of twists and turns. He fell straight to sleep.

He was shaken awake by his wife. Sunshine seared his retinas as he winced up at her.

“What the hell?” he muttered as she said the same thing.

“Why are you sleeping out here?”

“Because, Hoggy McHogster, there was no place for me to sleep in the bed once you decided to go on a tour of the estate and then fall into bed taking up the entire thing.”

“Oh, shit.” She covered her mouth. “I was sleepwalking.”

“Yeah. It’s rather amusing; unless you’re worried your new wife is going to spill secrets to her father about your marriage.”

“What did I say?” she whispered, looking over her shoulder.

“You said I was the sexiest man in the world.”

“I did not.”

She didn’t even believe it for a second. Maybe he’d overreached. “You didn’t say anything incriminating. But maybe you could stay in bed—on your side—tonight.”

“I can’t help it.”

“The least you could do is make me a mayo sandwich if you’re going to be walking around.” He nudged her arm so she knew he was joking.

She smiled up at him and pointed toward the kitchen. “I’ll go start breakfast. How’s that?”

“Thanks, wife.” He bent and gave her a peck on the top of her head.

His casual show of affection turned out to be a good thing.

“Cool it,” her father said as he came in the front door carrying a newspaper. “I don’t want to see you pawing up my daughter.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“You don’t have to call him sir. Call him Dad.” Jamie hugged her father.

“Don’t call me Dad,” the man said over Jamie’s head.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir. I’m going to shower.”