The Borrowed Bride Read Free Page B

antler ottoman has got to go.”
    “It’s my favorite piece of furniture.”
    She sat back down on the sofa. “So now I know why you’re here. Why am I here?”
    He paused. “A picture’s worth a thousand words?” he offered.
    “Fine. I came. I saw. I’m impressed. Now take me back to the city.”
    “I can’t exactly do that,” he said in a soft, slow voice.
    “What do you mean?”
    “We have a lot to talk about. I need time.”
    She shot up again. “I don’t have time. I’m getting married exactly one week from today. I have to meet with a caterer. A florist. A dressmaker. Photographer, videographer—” She counted them off on her fingers and turned on him in frustration. The pale skirt floatedaround her slim legs, and for a moment, she looked as exotic as a gypsy dancer. “Sorry, Dan. I just didn’t schedule in being abducted by an ex-boyfriend.”
    He’d had no idea she was so bitter. This was going to be harder than he had thought. A lot harder.
    “In other words,” he said, “you want me to say what I have to say and then get the hell out of your life.”
    She blew out an exasperated breath. “That’s putting it a little bluntly.” Then she looked defiant. “I don’t have time to play games with you.”
    He crossed the room in two strides and clamped his hands around her upper arms. She felt delicate and breakable. He used to marvel at her softness, her femininity, the way it contrasted with his own hard edges and roughness. But when she flinched at his touch, he grew angry.
    “Is that what you think this is, lady? A game?”
    “Tell me different.” She glared up at him.
    “I brought you here because you ran away, and I was fool enough to let you go. Well, not this time.”
    “What?”
    He stared into her eyes, seeing his reflection in their depths and, in his mind, seeing the dreams and desires that used to consume them both, feeling the ache of an unfulfilled promise.
    “I can’t let you go, Isabel. I can’t let you just walk out of my life again. You’re making a big mistake, marrying that guy, and I can prove it.”
    “How?” she challenged, lifting her chin.
    “Like this.” He lowered his mouth to hers and cupped his hand around the back of her head. This was not how he had treated her aboard the ferry. He was not teasing her or, in some mean-spirited way, trying to assert hismasculine power over her. This was a kiss designed to bring back the wildness and passion they had once shared. To remind her—remind them both—of all they had lost and all they could be once again if they tried.
    She held herself rigid. At first, she made a resentful sound in the back of her throat. He softened his mouth on hers and skimmed his thumb down her temple to her jaw, lightly caressing. A small sigh gusted from her, and her clenched fists, which she had put up between them, relaxed. Her palms flattened lightly against his chest.
    Ah, he remembered this, the thin, keen edge of desire he felt only with her, and the way she swayed and fit against him. Her mouth was soft, and the taste of her—one that had lingered for years after she left—was as familiar and welcome as the springtime.
    His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she opened for him, almost shyly, her trembling hands over his heart.
    Finally, when it was all he could do to keep from making love to her right then and there, he lifted his mouth from hers. She looked up at him, and he down at her, at the sheen of moistness on her lips.
    The sheen of tears in her eyes.
    “Isabel?” His voice was low and rough.
    “I can’t believe you’d do something so cruel.”
    He dropped his arms to his sides. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
    She drew an unsteady breath. “You’re just trying to manipulate me. To make me feel unfaithful to Anthony.”
    “What about being faithful to yourself?” He pivoted away, furious at her, furious at himself for wanting her. “I guess you never learned that, did you?”
    She caught