Secretly Married. Allison Leigh

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      Secretly Married

      Allison Leigh

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      ALLISON LEIGH

      started early by writing a Halloween play that her grade-school class performed. Since then, though her tastes have changed, her love for reading has not. And her writing appetite simply grows more voracious by the day.

      She has been a finalist for a RITA^® Award and a Holt Medallion. But the true highlights of her day as a writer are when she receives word from a reader that they laughed, cried or lost a night of sleep while reading one of her books.

      Born in Southern California, Allison has lived in several different cities in four different states. She has been, at one time or another, a cosmetologist, a computer programmer and a secretary. She has recently begun writing full-time after spending nearly a decade as an administrative assistant for a busy neighborhood church. She currently makes her home in Arizona with her family. She loves to hear from her readers, who can write to her at P.O. Box 40772, Mesa, AZ 85274-0772, or visit her Web site at www.allisonleigh.com.

      For my family.

      Contents

      Prologue

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Epilogue

      Prologue

      The Moonlight Chapel of Love.

      Delaney Townsend slid off her blazer and folded it over her arm. Even at two in the morning, the air in Vegas was hot. But it wasn’t the heat that disturbed her, particularly. It was the entire situation in which she found herself.

      “Something wrong?” The man standing with her grazed her bare arm with a long finger.

      Despite herself, despite the heat, despite…everything…she shivered from the contact. She glanced up at Samson Vega if for no other reason than the sight of him was far more reassuring than the sight of the Moonlight Chapel of Love.

      If she repeated the chapel’s name often enough in her head, would some of the shock recede?

      “It’s…blinking,” she finally said.

      The corner of Sam’s mouth kicked up, and her stomach clutched in the odd little way it had done since the very first time she’d seen that half smile of his.

      If only she’d been stronger against that disarming appeal, they wouldn’t be standing in front of a merrily blinking wedding chapel at two in the morning.

      “It is pretty bright,” he allowed blandly.

      Understatement. She felt a bubble of laughter rising inside her. Or maybe it was hysteria. “There’s a line of people waiting.”

      He nodded, though his gaze was on her rather than the couples waiting outside the shiny white-and-gold double doors. She’d long ago given up the idea that his manner of focusing on a person was because of his profession. It wasn’t cop. It was simply him. Undiluted.

      And it was lethal to a woman’s common sense.

      “Well.” Delaney’s voice was faint. It had a tendency to get that way when he looked at her like that. As if he couldn’t wait to feast.

      On her.

      His lips curved slowly. Sam tucked his hand around her arm, his thumb dragging in a slow circle over the inside of her elbow. “Line isn’t going to get any shorter.”

      The truth of which was proved by an impossibly young boy and girl who climbed from the rear of an ungodly long limousine that stopped at the curb. They ran—arms entangled, laughter spilling—across the brief grassy area to take a place at the end of the line.

      She barely had a chance to realize that she, at the grand old age of thirty-four, felt old at the sight of their youthful enthusiasm when the shining double doors opened wide and a couple stepped from inside the chapel. Silly smiles lit their faces, and even from this distance she could see the gold bands on their fingers.

      “They look like they belong on the top of a wedding cake.” She hadn’t realized people would dress in full wedding regalia to visit a place like…this.

      “Is that what you wanted? The whole wedding getup?”

      She realized she was watching the emerging couple with the sort of morbid fascination usually reserved for vehicular accidents. “No.”

      Sam chuckled softly, his head angling toward her. “Don’t sound so horrified. We could still do this back home, you know. You wouldn’t even have to dress up like a Barbie-gone-berserk in ruffles and lace. If you want your mother or your dad—”

      “No.” She was acting like a ninny. There was no other word for it. She’d agreed to marry him, and they both wanted to do it now, so it was ridiculous to act as if she was rethinking the decision. “The last thing we need is to have my mother and my father cooped together even for the ten-minute duration of a ceremony. We’d all live to regret it.”

      “Do you regret this?”

      Delaney’s breath caught a little. “You do believe in being direct, don’t you.”

      His right eyebrow rose a fraction. “You ought to know.” His tone was low. Intimate. “Usually makes things easier in the long run.”

      And she usually agreed. But logic wasn’t ruling her these days; it had been shoved aside in favor of the madness created by letting him into her life during a weak moment.

      She watched the departing cake-topper couple for a moment. He wanted to marry her. In all the time she’d known Sam, she’d never known him to prevaricate.

      The direct approach.

      Her stomach swam.

      “Hey.” He turned her to face him, nudging a thumb under her chin. “I know how to warm up cold feet.”

      “That’s what got us here.” Her voice was tart, but Delaney still found herself leaning into him.

      “Don’t hear me complaining.” His mouth covered hers in a slow brush, and she felt the curve of that kicked-up corner. “So, are you ready?” She felt his words on her lips, too. Then his hand slid behind her neck. Something so simple. The touch of a man’s warm palm, the gentle press of long, blunt-tipped fingers, the soft heat of masculine lips.

      Only it wasn’t simple at all. Because she’d shared kisses before with perfectly attractive, interesting men. None of them had made her knees weak. Until this man, who’d been complicating her life from the moment they’d met two years ago. First professionally. Then personally.

      Her better sense knew that marrying him was akin to jumping from the frying pan into the fire. But then he lifted his head, his deep brown eyes focused only on her…her…and her heartbeat skittered. She stopped listening to common sense and followed her heart.

      “Yes,” she whispered back. “I’m ready.”

      Sam’s