A Bride for the Runaway Groom. Scarlet Wilson

vase shattered into a million pieces. The guy’s eyes shot open and in one movement he was on his feet—fists raised and swaying.

      He blinked for a few seconds—big, bright blue eyes with a darker rim that didn’t look the least bit predatory, but a whole lot shell-shocked—then dropped his fists and clutched his head.

      ‘Violet, what on earth are you doing? Are you crazy?’ He groaned and swayed again, one of his hands reaching out to grab the wall—leaving a bloodstained mark on the expensive wallpaper.

      She couldn’t breathe. Her heart was thudding against her chest and her stomach was doing crazy flip-flops. ‘What do you mean, Violet? I’m not Violet.’

      This just wasn’t possible. Okay, Violet was her identical twin. They didn’t usually look so similar, but a few years stateside and not seeing each other on a daily basis meant she’d shown up with an identical hairstyle to her sister.

      This clown actually thought he was in bed with her sister? What kind of a fool did that?

      He was still shaking his head. It was almost as if his vision hadn’t quite come into focus. ‘But of course you’re Violet,’ he said.

      ‘No. I’m not. And stop dripping blood on the carpet!’

      They both stared down at the probably priceless carpet that had two large blood drips, and the remnants of the vase at his feet and across the bed.

      He grabbed his shirt from the chair next to the bed and pressed it to his head. It was the first time she’d even noticed his clothes—discarded in the same manner as her yellow and white bridesmaid dress.

      His eyes seemed to come into focus and he stepped forward, reaching one hand out to her shoulder. He squinted. ‘Darn it. You’re not Violet, are you? You haven’t got her mole on your shoulder.’

      His finger came into contact with her skin and she jumped back. One part of her knew that this ‘intruder’ wasn’t any danger to her. But another part of her was still mad about being mistaken for her twin and being felt up by her twin’s boyfriend. How on earth could this be explained? This guy was obviously another one of Violet’s losers.

      Violet burst through the door. ‘What’s going on? Rose, are you okay?’ Her eyes darted from one to the other. The guy, in his wrinkled boxer shorts and shirt pressed to his forehead, and Rose, in her bridesmaid underwear. The broken vase seemed to completely pass her by.

      She wrinkled her nose in disgust and shook her head. ‘Will? My sister? Oh, tell me you didn’t?’

      They didn’t sound like words of jealousy—just words of pure exasperation.

      She threw her hands in the air and spun around, muttering under her breath. ‘Runaway groom my sister and I’ll kill you.’

      Rose was feeling decidedly exposed. The only thing she could find to hold in front of herself was her crumpled bridesmaid dress.

      Whoever he was, he obviously wasn’t Violet’s boyfriend—not with that kind of reaction. But did that make things better or worse? She’d still been groped by an absolute stranger.

      He wobbled again and sagged down into the chair strewn with his clothes, arching one eyebrow at her. ‘So, crazy twin. Do you assault every man you meet?’

      ‘Only every man who climbs into my bed uninvited and cops a feel!’

      ‘Well, lucky them.’ He sounded oh, so unimpressed. Then he frowned. ‘Did I touch you? I’m sorry. I was sleeping. I didn’t even realise I’d done that.’

      The blood was starting to soak through his shirt. She cringed. Maybe the vase had been a bit over the top. And at least she’d got some kind of apology.

      She stepped forward and took the shirt from his hand. ‘Here, let me.’ She pressed down firmly on his forehead.

      ‘Youch! Take it easy.’

      She shook her head. ‘The forehead’s a very vascular area. It bleeds easily and needs a bit of pressure to get the bleeding to stop.’

      ‘How on earth would you know that?’

      ‘Friends with children who seem to bang their foreheads against every piece of furniture I own.’

      He gave her half a smile. It was the first time she really noticed how handsome he was. There were no flabby abs here. Just a whole load of nicely defined muscles. With those killer blue eyes and thick dark hair he was probably quite a hit with the ladies.

      A prickle flooded over her skin. In the cold light of day this guy seemed vaguely familiar.

      ‘How do you know Violet?’ she asked.

      He winced as she pressed a little harder. ‘She’s my best friend.’

      Rose sucked in a deep breath. Things were starting to fall into place for her. Because she’d been working in New York she hadn’t met Violet’s best friend for the last few years. But she had heard a lot about him.

      She pulled her hand back from his forehead. Now she understood what Violet had said. ‘You’re the Runaway Groom?’ She was so shocked she dropped her dress.

      A single dark red drop of blood snaked down his forehead as he looked at her in disgust.

      ‘I hate that nickname.’

      The Runaway Groom. No wonder he looked vaguely familiar. He’d been on the front page of just about every newspaper in the world. Self-made millionaire Will Carter had been famously engaged three—or was it four?—times. He’d even made it down the aisle once before turning on his heel and bolting.

      The press should hate him. But they didn’t. They loved him and ate it up every time he fell in love and got engaged again. Because Will was handsome. Will was charming. And Will was sitting semi-naked in front of her.

      She was trying so hard not to look at the abs and the scattering of dark hair that seemed to lead the eye in one direction.

      She gave herself a mental shake just as a heavy drop of blood slid past his eye and down the side of his face. She leaned over to catch it with the shirt, just as he lifted his hand to try and brush it away.

      The contact of their skin sent a tingle straight up her arm, making her heart rate do a strange pitter-patter. All the little hairs on her arms stood on end and she automatically sucked in her stomach.

      ‘Look, I’m sorry about your head. But I woke up and there was a strange man in bed with me—then you touched me and I was frightened.’ And she hated saying those words out loud but since she’d caused bodily harm to her sister’s best friend it seemed warranted. She raised her eyebrows. ‘You’re lucky it was only a vase.’

      His gaze was still on her. ‘So you’re Rose?’ It wasn’t really a question—more an observation and it was obvious from his expression that a million thoughts were currently spinning through his brain. What on earth had Violet told him about her?

      He looked at the fragments beneath his feet and gave a half-smile. A cute little dimple appeared in one cheek. ‘Oh, you’re definitely not going to be Seb’s favourite sister-in-law. At a rough guess that’s over two hundred years old.’

      A sick feeling passed over her. Defence was her automatic position. ‘Who puts a two-hundred-year-old vase in a guest bedroom? He must be out of his mind.’

      He shrugged. ‘Your sister obviously doesn’t think so. She just married him.’

      Daisy, Rose’s youngest sister, was still floating happily along on cloud two hundred and nine. And Seb seemed a really sweet guy. Just as well since she’d told her sisters just before the wedding that two were about to become three. The first baby in the family for more than twenty years. Rose couldn’t wait to meet her niece or nephew, and she was doing her best to ignore the vaguest flicker of jealousy she’d felt when Daisy had told her.

      She frowned. How much did a two-hundred-year-old vase