Claiming His Bride. Vivienne Wallington

word, would he?”

      As her breath caught, he leaned forward in his chair, his coffee mug cradled in his hands. He’d changed into faded blue jeans and a black polo shirt, which made him look marginally less tough than his black leather gear, while just as disturbingly masculine. But what he was saying was even more disturbing. She didn’t want to talk about passion!

      “You must realize what an escape you’ve had, Suzie. Tristan Guthrie would have bored you to death. He’s far too weak and wishy-washy for a passionate—” he paused as Suzie’s eyes flew to his, sparking with hot blue fire. “—sorry…for an independent, strong-minded woman like you,” he amended.

      “Is that why you checked up on him?” she snapped. “Because you thought he wasn’t right for me and you hoped you’d find some embarrassing skeleton in his closet?”

      He didn’t deny it. “He struck me as too smooth, too smug, too picture-perfect. He didn’t ring true. I decided to dig around a bit and find out more about him.”

      “You must have dug really hard…and deep…and low.” Her eyes told him just how low she thought him, for thinking of delving into her fiancé’s past in the first place—rightly or wrongly. Who did he think he was? Her keeper?

      “I did. I checked records, spoke to people and finally found one of his fellow university students from ten years ago who mentioned this foreign woman he was with for a while. I delved a bit deeper and picked up rumors of overseas students marrying secretly to stay in the country. I thought it was worth following up. I examined marriage records, and bingo! Tristan Guthrie, large as life. But there was no record of any divorce.”

      He settled back in his armchair with a satisfied smirk. Then, as if the whole sordid scandal was now explained, dealt with and behind them, he commented easily, “I’m glad to see you looking yourself again, Suzie. The curls, the natural face. You don’t need all that artifice and makeup. You’re beautiful without it. And I must say you look very fetching in my track-suit.”

      Did she realize, he wondered, that it was the same tracksuit he’d been wearing when she’d knocked him off his bike on the day they first met? Not just off his bike—she’d knocked him off his entire axis. Through a whirl of stars, he’d found himself drowning in the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, eyes full of anxiety and compassion—for him. And when she’d opened her mouth to speak, his bedazzled gaze had settled on full, lush lips that had begged to be kissed—only he’d been in no position to kiss them, with blood pouring from his nose and a throbbing pain in his head.

      Once she’d helped him inside, mopped him up and made him feel half-human again, she’d gone back to work—but not before he’d asked if he could call on her later to thank her properly. He still remembered the way she’d blushed and nodded.

      Yeah, he’d been smitten all right. And not just by her looks. Young and innocent as she’d been, she’d possessed a maturity and a toughness beyond her years. He’d sensed hidden depths and hidden pain, yet her natural humor, her cheeky wit, kept bubbling to the surface.

      Everything about her fascinated him. She was a heady mixture of mystery, allure, vulnerability, ambition and an awesome inner strength that he suspected had something to do with her home life, which he’d gathered had been pretty rough. She’d never liked to talk about it, though she’d dropped the occasional hint now and then—usually at times when she flounced out of his life, comparing him with her no-good father.

      He and Suzie had had more breakups in the months they’d been seeing each other than he could remember. And just as many reunions—until she’d walked out on him for good, without a proper explanation.

      And now here she was, back in his life again. Married to him, while it lasted. Whether it did or not could be up to him.

      “Mm…very fetching,” he repeated, unable to take his eyes off her.

      Suzie shivered under the hot sweep of his gaze. “Oh, sure.” She gave a snort, but she could feel her cheeks heating, her skin prickling under the gray fabric. “It’s about a mile too big and I’ve had to roll up the sleeves and the legs several times and they’re still too long. But at least I’m dry.”

      “You look gorgeous. And naturally beautiful.” Suzie, baby, you’d look good in a sack, he thought, and found himself wondering what she’d look like in nothing at all. He quenched a sharp stab of desire and made an effort to steady his voice. “You’ll be much happier being yourself again, Suzie, not some untouchable ice maiden.”

      Untouchable? Suzie’s heart jumped. What had made him say that? Did he know? She bowed her head over her hot coffee. Don’t be silly, how could he possibly know?

      “I left my wedding dress on your bathroom floor,” she mumbled. Anything to switch the subject! “You might as well throw it out. It’s ruined now.”

      “Well, it’s served its purpose. And knowing you fashion designers, you’ll want a new up-to-the-minute model if and when you ever decide to get married again…for keeps.” His dark eyes caught hers for a challenging second.

      “At this precise moment, I can’t imagine wanting to be permanently married to anyone, ever,” she said fiercely, with a shudder.

      Mack repressed a sigh. So, after all his efforts to save her from Tristan Guthrie and win her back, she still didn’t want to be married to him. At least not beyond tonight. But things could change. “Oh, you’ll want to be married one day, Suzie. You’re a woman who believes in marriage and happily-ever-afters. And children. And it will happen. When you find the right man.” When you realize you’ve already found him.

      Suzie couldn’t look at him, afraid of what she might see in his eyes. Or afraid of what her own might reveal. “Please, Mack, I don’t want—” She stopped, taking a quick sharp breath. “What are you doing?”

      “Just checking if your hair’s dry.” His hands were at her nape, his fingers threading through her curls. It was the lamest excuse she’d ever heard, but she didn’t immediately jerk away, a strange languor sweeping over her, her skin tingling under his touch. Tristan had never run his fingers through her hair.

      “Don’t,” she whispered huskily, but she still couldn’t seem to move, or twist her head round to shake him off.

      “He wasn’t the man for you, Suzie. Trust me.”

      That made her jerk back away from him. “Trust you?” she breathed. “You’d be the last man I’d ever trust!”

      She gulped in a rallying breath. He was waiting for her to crack, to admit that his presence disturbed her. Waiting for her to throw herself back into his arms and confess how she’d missed him and how badly she wanted him back in her life, regardless of his faults and failings.

      Well, you’ll be waiting, she vowed hotly. She’d had a lifetime of pain and disillusionment to harden her heart against irresponsible charmers like Mack Chaney and her father. She’d watched her mother being worn down, day after day, and had sworn she’d never end up like her.

      Mack looked pained. “I saved you from marrying a potential bigamist, didn’t I?”

      She scowled. “I suppose you expect me to be grateful to you.” Her voice trembled. “Well, all right, I’m glad you found out in time. B-but you had no right to interfere in my life. You should have asked someone else to check up on Tristan.” Anyone else!

      “I thought I had the right as a friend, Suzie. Friends look out for each other.”

      “A friend?” Her eyes seared his. “We haven’t been friends, or even spoken to each other, since—” She stopped, shaking her head. Since the night he’d come round to her place boasting of his big win at the casino, thinking she’d be happy about his stroke of good fortune and congratulate him.

      “Since the day of your father’s funeral,” Mack finished for her, reminding her that he’d turned up unexpectedly on that somber occasion, a few months after their abrupt parting.

      Suzie