Cullen's Bride Read Free Page A

wildness in him. His hair had tumbled to his shoulders in a thick, black mane, and as he’d swung one long denim-clad leg over the bike, his unzipped jacket had parted, revealing a broad, naked chest He’d moved with a powerful grace that had riveted her young gaze as he ignored the garage owner, Sal Tremaine’s, halfuearted offer to pump the gas, filling the bike himself before prowling inside to pay.
    She’d seen bikers from a distance before, but she’d never seen such a darkly, insolently beautiful male. She’d stood on the sidewalk with her eyes wide and her mouth dry, suddenly feeling the gulf between childhood and maturity, and unable to tear her fascinated gaze from him.
    Ethan and Cole had walked out of the supermarket, talking and laughing, until they had noticed the biker.
    â€œCullen Logan,” Ethan had said, jerking his head in the direction of the garage just as Cullen had mounted the bike and kicked it into pulsing, growling life.
    The flat of Cole’s hand had connected with the small of Rachel’s back as he began herding her toward the car. “Yeah,” he’d muttered. “With any luck, he’s on his way out of town.”
    Shock had washed through Rachel then, too, because she’d heard her brothers talking about Cullen Logan before, and she knew he was eighteen, the same age as Ethan.
    Even then, she’d realised that Cullen Logan hadn’t looked like a teenager.
    There had been a hard, seasoned quality to him, an edge of danger you would have to be plain stupid to miss. A shiver had eased down her spine, thrumming in time with the roar of the big bike as it accelerated out of town in a shimmering heat haze.
    If Cullen Logan had been eighteen then, he’d been eighteen going on thirty. Not counting last night, Rachel hadn’t seen Cullen since. His property abutted the eastern corner of Sinclair land, but for years now the Logan holding had been leased out to whoever had the money and the inclination to eke a living out of the several thousand acres of rough hill country that had reportedly been one of the reasons Chllen’s violent, womanising father, Ian Logan, had given up farming in favour of drinking.
    Rachel gulped at her too strong coffee, her mind struggling to absorb the two conflicting images of Cullen Logan; the bad-to-the-bone outlaw, and the cool, sternly controlled man.
    â€œOkay, shoot,” Cole said impatiently. “What happened last night?”
    She lifted one brow at the outright demand in Cole’s voice. “I was accosted, but the boy didn’t touch me. He didn’t get the chance. Cullen Logan arrived before anything much could happen.”
    Cole let out a breath and came to stand in front of her He took the coffee out of her hands and placed it on the bench, then awkwardly pulled her close for a hug. “And in your first week back, too,” he said softly.
    â€œIt’s all right, Cole,” she protested, returning the hug briefly, grateful for his gesture, but knowing that if she gave in to the urge to tell him that the attack had shattered her idyllic image of Riverbend and she was still struggling to regain her perspective, she would only confirm what he already thought; that she should have stayed in her tidy apartment in Auckland, kept her old job, and given herself time to get over her failed marriage.
    Firmly, she pushed free and retrieved her coffee. As far as she was concerned, all discussion about her reasons for wanting to live in the hometown she’d never really had a chance to belong to since she was seven was closed. The abrupt end to her marriage had left her feeling like she’d been the victim of a hit-and-run. When she’d been able to think beyond getting through each day and had taken stock of how unsatisfactory her life had become, she’d instinctively grasped at the idea of moving back to Riverbend. The thought of returning to live here permanently had