Secretly Married. Allison Leigh

pressed her palm against the buttons of her suit jacket, cursing the way her stomach rocked. Right. Twenty-one months. She could have even more accurately calculated the last time they’d seen each other down to days but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

      The night temperature seemed to have risen. Which was ridiculous. It had to be her. Becoming hot under the collar. Literally. If only she’d thought to wear a blouse, a camisole, something more substantial than a bra beneath her jacket. She could have removed the jacket, then, in deference to the heat. She’d checked the weather before making the trip to California and thought she’d been prepared for the warmer climate. So much for that notion.

      “Why don’t I get you some punch,” Sara suggested suddenly. Too perceptively. “You and Sam can find a quiet place to talk.” She smiled, doing a better job of it than Delaney had. “Take care of your business.”

      They were all adults. It didn’t bother Delaney at all that it apparently took urging from Sara before Sam would be cooperative.

      Right.

      She exhaled and surreptitiously tugged at the front of her jacket in hopes of getting some air. “Punch would be nice,” she lied. If she tried to swallow anything but water, she wasn’t sure she could be responsible for the consequences.

      Sam lifted a sardonic brow when Delaney hesitated as Sara moved away. “Well?”

      She followed.

      The woman—taller than Delaney by several inches—seemed to have far less difficulty making her way through the crowd. Or maybe people just naturally got out of Sara’s way in the same manner they did for Sam.

      Delaney watched the pair of them from the corner of her eyes. Sam and Sara. A striking couple. Both tall and raven-haired. They could have been brother and sister, only, Delaney knew Sam had no sister named Sara. Janie, yes. But not Sara.

      Not that she’d ever met Janie, or his brother, Leo.

      Not that she ever would.

      The envelope crinkled as her fingers tightened. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Sam closed his hand around her elbow.

      “Little jumpy, Delaney?”

      He used to call her Laney. She carefully moved her arm away from his touch. “It’s been a long day,” she said smoothly. It was the gospel truth. An incredibly long day. But it was worth it to have Alonso taken care of. She’d worked long and hard to make sure of it.

      “Delaney.” Sam watched her much too closely. “You all right?”

      He’d recovered from his surprise. Now she couldn’t read his expression to save her soul. A regrettably familiar position.

      She lifted an eyebrow and brushed a strand of hair away from her face again. “Right as rain, Sam.” But her voice was clipped despite herself and she deliberately looked around. Sara had made it to the row of tables near the house, laden with food and refreshments. But Sam and Delaney were still amidst the dancers and had finally begun to draw attention. “Is it serious between you two?” She cringed at that. Don’t ask the question if you’re not prepared to listen to the answer.

      “Does it bother you to think it might be?”

      “Is it still impossible for you to give a straight answer?”

      “What do you think?”

      “I think you’re as annoying now as you ever were,” she said evenly. She turned on her heel, grateful to keep her balance with her sinking heels. She should have just given him the ring, whether it embarrassed him or not, and gone on her way. Or, better yet, she should have left it with Annie and Logan Drake. They could have delivered it. He would hardly have refused that type of personal delivery.

      There were just too many “should haves” where Sam was concerned.

      She realized Sam hadn’t moved, and turned around to look, only to find him looking right back at her, his head cocked to one side. Studying? Judging?

      Then he suddenly turned his head and Delaney followed suit, looking over to the house.

      Alonso slouched against the wall near the high, double-wide door, his hands shoved in the pockets of the new baggy jeans she’d given him. His stance was casual, but Delaney knew it was feigned.

      Even though Delaney had prepared herself for this, too, she still felt herself bracing. Still felt defiance coursing through her, joining the rock ’n’ roll beat inside her stomach.

      Sam looked back at her.

      Oh, yes. Definitely judging.

      Her grip tightened on the envelope as Sam headed toward her, his steps unhurried. He stopped just in front of her. “Should have known this would have something to do with him,” he said, angling his head so she could hear his low voice. “Some things never change.”

      Her throat went tight. “Some people never change, either.” He wasn’t expressionless, she realized. An angry muscle flexed in his tight jaw.

      “When are you going to learn your lesson where he’s concerned? Hasn’t he cost you enough?”

      You mean when he cost me you? She wanted to voice the question. Better sense prevented her. “He has a name, Sam. Alonso. And he’s cost me nothing of value.” Her voice was flat. Hopefully it disguised the pain.

      He tilted his head again, considering. “Been practicing your target shooting, I see.”

      “Alonso has been accepted as a resident at Castillo House. You might as well get used to seeing him on the island.”

      “In my jail cell, maybe.”

      Every nerve inside her tightened. The work Logan Drake and his wife, Annie, had accomplished in the past year at Castillo House with homeless and troubled youth had drawn attention from Delaney and her colleagues—enough attention that she’d swallowed the fact the program was located on Sam’s turf and approached them about Alonso.

      And Castillo House was Alonso’s last chance to avoid jail time. The judge was out of patience where the boy’s probation was concerned.

      “Not without cause, Samson. Even you don’t stoop that low, do you?”

      Despite the music, the chatter, the revelry all around them, the silence between the two of them lengthened, thickened. “Crediting me with some integrity?” he finally asked. “There’s a change.”

      She exhaled slowly, reining in a wealth of frustration and other emotions she didn’t even want to put a name to. “Here.” She pushed the envelope that contained the delicate wedding ring at him. “I don’t know why you marked the envelope ‘return to sender’ in the first place. What kind of game you’re—”

      “It was never a game with you. A game would have been fun. Enjoyable.”

      The sentiment was nothing she hadn’t already known.

      It still hurt.

      “Then I’d think you’d be heartily glad to have this back.” She wriggled the envelope, wishing he’d just take the thing.

      “What’s got you so anxious all of a sudden?”

      She raised her eyebrows. “Sudden? I’ve tried sending this to you more than once!” She’d even tried a courier, to no avail.

      “Maybe you should’ve taken the hint.”

      “What hint? That you want no reminders of our time together? I’m sure you don’t. But the ring is—”

      “Yours,” he said flatly. “Even if you are doing something official now.”

      She blinked at that. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      His head lowered another inch toward her and she steeled herself not to shift away. “Why now, Delaney?”

      There was a burning deep