The Borrowed Bride

It didn’t take Dan long to find her. Within minutes, he joined her on the open-air deck. “Here.” He pushed a paper cup of café latte into her hand. “Skim milk, one sugar packet, right?”

She took the cup and sank to a bolted-down bench. “I hope you know you’ve ruined the afternoon for me.”

He sat beside her, resting his lanky wrists on his knees. A dark fire smoldered in his eyes, and she sensed a tension about him, a coiled heat that disturbed and fascinated her. “Couldn’t be helped. Besides, it’s better than ruining the rest of your life.”

She almost choked on a mouthful of hot coffee. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He reached forward and caught a drop of latte with a napkin before it stained her India-print skirt. “You can’t marry him, Isabel.” His voice, with the unforgettable low rumble of masculine passion that had filled the airwaves for two years, was harsh. “You can’t marry Anthony Cossa.”

“Since when do I need your permission?” she retorted. The breeze plucked at her hair. Her permed curls were now a deep chestnut color, thanks to an expensive salon job. She pushed a thick lock behind her ear and glared at him. “How did you find me, anyway?”

He sent her a hard-edged grin. “Through Anthony.”

“Oh, God.” She set down her cup and folded her arms across her middle. “What did you do to Anthony?”

Dan stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankles. He leaned his head back against the wall. The movement and pose were graceful, vaguely feline, subtly dangerous. “I don’t remember you being this suspicious.”

“I’m generally suspicious of men who kidnap me from my own wedding shower.”

“Fair enough. I had business with Anthony. And what do I see when I get to his office? Your smiling face in a silver frame on his desk.”

She tried to picture it. Dan, all in rebel black, with his long hair and earring, facing Anthony, immaculate and trying hard to look laid-back in his Banana Republic chinos.

“He’s a good guy, Isabel,” Dan said expansively. “He’s real proud to be marrying a gorgeous, successful woman.”

“He’s no slouch in the looks and success departments,” she argued. “Maybe I’m real proud to be marrying him.”

“Maybe,” Dan said, jamming a thumb into his belt and drumming his fingers on his jeans.

Isabel jerked her attention from the insinuating pose and glared out at the Sound.

“That’s what I thought at first,” Dan went on. “I was going to blow the whole thing off, wish you a happy life with your upright, square-jawed bachelor-of-the-month, and bow out.”

“I wish you had.” She took a gulp of coffee. She probably shouldn’t ingest caffeine. Being with Dan made her jumpy enough. “Why didn’t you?”

“There are things I’ve always wondered about, Isabel.” He sat forward, gripping the edge of the bench. It was there again, the pulsing rhythm in his voice, the mesmerizing glitter in his dark eyes. “Five years ago, you walked out on me and never looked back.”

I couldn’t look back, Dan. If I had, I would have gone running into your arms.

She gave up on the latte and rose from the bench to drop her cup into a waste barrel. “What do you want from me?”

“Just a little of your time.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How much?”

He sent her the same lazily sexual smile that had cast a spell on her five years earlier. She had been twenty-one, a terrible driver, and while backing out of a parking space in front of an ominous-looking nightclub, she had knocked over a large black motorcycle.

Terrified but determined to do the honorable thing, she went into the club to find the owner of the bike.

He was performing that evening, playing to a small, grungy but clearly appreciative crowd. The lead singer of a local band, he strummed a wild, primeval tune on a battered Stratocaster guitar. To Isabel, he looked like eternal hell and damnation in the flesh. He was gorgeous. She was spellbound.

He forgave her for the damages, took her out for a latte that had stretched into an all-night conversation, and stole her heart.

She backed warily away from the memory, for it was still as dark and seductive as that moonlit night had been.

“How much time, Dan?” she asked again, telling herself she was older, wiser, immune to his devilish smile.

“That depends,” he said, “on how long it takes for you to realize you’re marrying Anthony for all the wrong reasons.”

“Oh, please.” She turned away and gripped the rail of the ferry. “I’m a big girl now. And I’m not stupid. I don’t want you back in my life.”

The boat was nearing the downtown pier. Good. The minute they got to the terminal, she would call Anthony at his office. The situation was bound to be awkward. Best to explain this to him before Connie got started.

A flash of electric awareness came over her. She felt Dan behind her, although he wasn’t touching her. Despite her anger, a vital tension tugged at her.

“Turn around, Isabel,” he whispered in her ear. “Look me in the eye when you say you don’t want me.”

Her entire body felt slow and hot, as if she were swimming through warm honey. She forced herself to turn to him, pressing the small of her back against the iron rail.

He clamped one hand on the bar on each side of her so that she was trapped. She looked at him, really looked at him, and her throat went dry.

He had hardly changed at all. Still the same magnificent face that made women stop and stare. Same velvet-brown eyes with gold glinting in their depths. Same lean, unyielding body, filled with a hard strength that made his tender touch all the more astonishing. Same perfectly shaped lips…

His mouth was very close. She could feel his heat, could feel the clamor and clash of panic and desire inside her.

“You were saying?” he whispered. His lips hovered over hers, and she felt a fleeting reminder of the wildness that had once gripped her whenever he was near. “Isabel?” His intimate gaze wandered over her throat now, no doubt seeing her racing pulse.

“I was saying,” she forced out, “that I don’t…”

“Don’t what?” His thumbs brushed at her wrists, lightly, gently.

“…want you…” she tried to continue.

“Go on,” he whispered. His tongue came out and subtly moistened his lower lip.

“…in my life again.”

His hands stayed on the railing. Yet he moved closer, his hard thighs brushing hers, searing her through the wispy fabric of her skirt. She felt every nerve ending jolt to life. By the time he grinned insolently and pushed back from the railing, she was dazed and furious, and the ferry was unloading.

“Just checking,” he said.

“You bastard,” she whispered.

A pair of women with straw shopping bags passed by, sending Isabel looks of rueful envy.

Dan stepped back, smiling his I’m-a-rebel smile.

“I need to make a phone call,” Isabel said. “And then I’m taking the next ferry back to Bainbridge.”