Yesterday's Bride. Alison Kelly

disrupt his ordered life.

      She was beautiful. So extraordinarily, hauntingly beautiful that even after all this time he’d often wake hard with wanting her, hungry for the feel of her exquisitely sculptured body writhing in sweat beneath his. The shorter cut of her tawny hair in no way detracted from her beauty, only enhanced the long, graceful curve of her neck, making the visual progression down to her high, firm breasts all the more exciting. The short skirt she wore hugged her hips and displayed legs most men only dreamed of having wrapped around them. He wasn’t immune to that dream, but the knowledge that for him it had once been reality empowered it with nightmare-like side-effects.

      Though her heart pounded and her hormones were running amok in a rush of sensuality, Taylor forced herself not to squirm under Craig’s slow scrutiny of her body. It wasn’t easy, for even without touching her he had the power to make her ache with want. No one but him had ever possessed her body, yet she knew with certainty no one but him would ever be able to satisfy it. His hands and mouth had introduced her to pleasures she’d never imagined possible and it was difficult for her to remain focused on the purpose of her visit when she’d been deprived of such pleasures for half a decade. Heat pooled in the pit of her stomach; raw desire began building within her.

      When he finally brought his eyes level with her face, the urge to go to him almost overpowered her. Only one thing held her immobile. The knowledge that passion didn’t equate with trust. It was trust she wanted to see illuminate the bottomless depths of Craig’s dark brown eyes.

      She managed to hold his gaze for nearly a minute before eventually lowering her lashes. It was a minuscule victory, but a victory none the less. Once she’d have succumbed to his visual seduction within seconds. This time she’d met it with impunity—well, outward impunity at least.

      Perhaps seeing those identical eyes in her daughter had increased her resistance, for there was no doubt Melanie was a carbon copy of her father. They shared the same almost-black hair, the same deep-set eyes and wide brow, and the same neat, flat ears. Fortunately for Melanie, though, her beautifully delicate nose had been spared being pushed slightly off-centre in a rugby brawl and a cricket bat hadn’t left a scar two inches below her left eye!

      Fury welled in Craig at the sight of her half smirk. ‘What’s so funny, Taylor?’ he demanded, angry at being her source of amusement.

      ‘I was thinking how lucky Melanie is that your nose is the result of a rugby game and not hereditary. She’s the image of you, Craig,’ she said softly. ‘I didn’t even get a look in.’

      Shocked as he was by her admission, he wondered if he hadn’t imagined the sadness tinging the words. So, his daughter looked like him. Funny he’d never given any thought at all to what the child might look like. Now it seemed he would be finding out firsthand.

      ‘What’s she like?’ he asked.

      ‘That’s something you’ll have to find out yourself. I’m biased. I think she’s wonderful.’

      This time her smile was full-strength pride and happiness, and having been starved of it for five years, Craig was unprepared for its potency. It put his pulse speed up and all but knocked the breath from his lungs. Strange how something as simple as a smile could practically bring a grown man to his knees, but then Taylor’s had always had that effect on him. From the first time he’d seen her, he realized her happiness ensured his happiness....

      Why then was he standing here contemplating meeting the person who had stolen that happiness?

      About to refuse the lunch invitation, he glimpsed a flash of fear in the clear emerald eyes that studied him. What was it she feared? The past or the future? Herself or him?

      ‘What do you want me to do, Taylor?’ he asked.

      ‘Me? I...’

      Caught off guard by his question, she paused and took a slow breath, the rise and fall of her breasts taunting him. Gripping the sides of his chair, Craig forced his face to remain impassive.

      ‘I want the decision to be entirely yours, just as lunch was Melanie’s. What I don’t want, Craig, is for her to be hurt.’ There was a wealth of warning in her voice.

      ‘And what,’ he asked coolly, ‘do you think would hurt her the most? My refusal or my acceptance?’

      ‘Your bitterness.’ There’d been no hesitation in her answer.

      Amazement froze every muscle in Craig the instant he saw the child. Looking into the tiny face was like looking at a childhood photograph of himself-identical colouring and identical brown eyes.

      The notion that this child was his own flesh and blood created alternate waves of terror and masculine pride within him. He had the urge to embrace her, but feared the consequences of doing so. Such an action was bound to be fraught with emotional danger although whether for him or the kid, he wasn’t sure.

      Though physically Melanie looked nothing like Taylor, Craig experienced the same sensation of uncertainty under her thorough visual inspection as he had when Taylor had looked him over from the other side of the yard twelve years ago. There was interest but no indication of whether the observer was pleased or disappointed by what they found. She had Taylor’s style and panache, too, he decided, taking in the miniature hiking boots, khaki shirt and shorts, and the baseball cap worn backwards atop her long, straight hair.

      The child darted a quick, uncertain look at her mother, before bringing her brown eyes back to him. Uncomfortable with the ongoing silence, Craig cleared his throat. ‘Hello, Melanie.’ He wasn’t surprised to hear his voice lacked some of its usual confidence.

      ‘Hello.’

      The response was soft but not hesitant as she boldly stepped to within two feet of him and tilted her head back. She was small—barely reaching his mid-thigh.

      ‘How tall are you?’ she inquired.

      Stunned to discover the kid had obviously been sizing him up, too, he was slow to reply. The delay earned him an impatient look.

      ‘Don’t you know?’

      ‘Sure I do! I’m...six foot four.’

      The child nodded and continued to silently appraise him. Craig looked to Taylor for some indication as to what was expected of him now and was nonplussed to see the shimmer of tears in her eyes. It had a heart-wrenching and sobering effect. He glanced back at the little girl.

      ‘So,’ he said, ‘you want me to have lunch with you, huh?’ She nodded solemnly in response, but her steady gaze hinted she was expecting more input from him. ‘Right then...well, er, do you like Italian food?’

      ‘Do you?’ she countered.

      ‘Well...yes. Yes, I do.’

      ‘I don’t.’ She gave a theatrical shudder. ‘I hate Italian food.’

      ‘I thought all kids liked pizza.’ Craig was basing his assumption on the fact there were always kids in pizza commercials.

      ‘Pizza isn’t Italian. Pizza is normal food.’

      ‘Normal food...’ he echoed. ‘I see...’ He didn’t and looked towards Taylor for verbal backup, but her eyes remained focused only on her daughter. He was obviously on his own. ‘Well, I guess we could have pizza for lunch if—’

      ‘No,’ the pint-size female vetoed the idea. ‘I don’t feel like pizza. Know what kids really like?’

      He shook his head. ‘Believe me, I wouldn’t have a clue about—’

      A childish giggle cut him off. ‘What’s your favourite food in the whole world?’

      Again she caught him mentally off stride. ‘My favourite food in the whole world?’ He paused, trying to recall if he had one. ‘I guess it’d have to be grilled barramundi.’

      ‘Oh.’ If the child’s tone hadn’t told him he’d again come up with the wrong answer, her stance would have. Her arms were