Wedding Captives. Cassie Miles

felt herself responding involuntarily, wanting to smile back at him. For an instant, she was tempted to open her arms wide and invite him to come closer. But no! Common sense prevailed. “Don’t even think about it, Spence.”

      “I’ve got a few conditions of my own,” he said.

      “So long as we don’t squabble and you—”

      “Number one—we stay in the present and not dwell on the past.”

      She gave him a look. “I don’t know what you mean.”

      “Yes, you do. I can see the wheels turning in that sweet, stubborn little head of yours, dredging up every unhappy memory, every accusation we ever threw at each other, every—”

      “All right,” she cut him off. “We’ll stick to the present.” Did he think that somehow altered her conditions?

      “And not dwell in the past. That’s the important part, Thea.”

      Grudgingly, she nodded. “Fair enough.”

      “Number two—we both keep our minds open.”

      Thea said, “I’ve never been close-minded. How could you even accuse me of—”

      “Number three…”

      He obliterated the distance between them in a single step. His unexpected approach threw her off-balance. The surrounding walls seemed to shrink tightly around her. She felt trapped as much by the intensity of her suppressed emotions as by him—but there should be no mistake. She was trapped in his arms.

      When his hands glided around her shoulders, she should have pushed him away. Hadn’t he listened to a word she’d been saying?

      She didn’t want him.

      He revolted her.

      But none of that, clearly, was true, because her arms went around him as if he hadn’t been gone all these years. Her fingers reveled in the feel of his hard muscles beneath the soft cotton of his turtleneck.

      A part of her smirked. What was she doing? This was insanity. She’d forgotten all about her missing friend, and the conditions she had set out were being trampled. But her head tilted back and her objections died in her throat, vanishing into the thin musty air as she met his dazzling gaze. She realized that all she really wanted was the feel of Spence Cannon’s shoulders beneath her fingers.

      She wanted the taste of his lips against hers.

      Reading her mind from long experience, Spence complied. The hard pressure of his mouth satisfied a longing she’d fought to deny and then to ignore when her denial mechanisms failed her.

      Her heartbeat quickened. An all-consuming passion exploded in the very core of her being, heightening numbed sensation to a tantalizing, trembling, voracious desire.

      More.

      She wanted more. She wanted a hundred more kisses. She wanted to touch his body, his bare-naked flesh. And more than that! She yearned for his caresses, the feel of his hands on her breasts, her thighs, she wanted his lips, the touch of his tongue to the dimples in the small of her back.

      In a distant corner of her mind, the part that smirked, Thea knew she was dangerously close to making a big mistake, opening herself to all sorts of emotional pain. Sex with Spence, desire, had never been an issue, never a problem—except that it was so good, so desperately good that it had overwhelmed real problems for too long.

      Against the aching thrill of his hand caressing her breast beneath her parka and the heat of his breath on her neck, she knew she had to stop him. Had to stifle her own sensual impulses before they destroyed her. There was a reason she’d asked him not to touch her. When he touched her, she lost track of the fact that he didn’t respect her at all, or at least he hadn’t—and his behavior in every other way had proved it, if only she’d been looking.

      With the shred of willpower left her, she tore herself away from him.

      He didn’t force her to stay in his embrace. Nor had he forced the kiss. Thea had had ample time to object, and she hadn’t warned him away. She’d asked him not to touch her, but when he came near enough, she’d allowed it. Craved it. And she really couldn’t blame him for her own lapse in good judgment. He had offered, and she had wantonly and unwisely accepted.

      In a ragged voice, she vowed, “That can’t happen again.”

      “Thea—”

      But his impassioned plea, whatever he had been going to say, was interrupted from the top of the narrow staircase by a shout. It was Travis, calling his sister’s name. “Jenny! What’s the hap, woman? Where are you?”

      Thea spun away from Spence and flew up through the stairwell on shaky legs. There was no handrail and she braced herself against the rough stones and crumbling mortar.

      Standing at the door leading to the third floor, Thea gathered her composure, taking steady breaths to calm the ridiculous fluttering in her chest. She tore off her parka, hoping to ease the intense heat that flushed her body.

      The third-floor landing was lit by wall sconces and a high chandelier. In contrast to the dank gloom of the servant’s staircase, the decor was bright and clean with white-on-beige wallpaper above polished wood wainscoting. An octagonal Persian-style rug covered the wood floor. Travis—in his red and yellow ski clothes—looked too modern and out-of-place.

      “Jenny’s not here,” he said gesturing to the three wide-open doors as if Thea were responsible. “I looked everywhere.”

      Thea headed toward the center doors as Spence came up behind her. “Is this the bridal suite?”

      “Don’t you believe me? Didn’t I just say, she’s not here? Didn’t I just—”

      “Travis, calm down, okay? This is a very large castle.” She felt like she was talking to one of her obstreperous students. She was struck, somehow, in this lighting, by Travis’s unruly platinum-hued hair, and the fact that his brows were so dark by comparison. He’d bleached his hair, bowing to some ultra-hip image of himself as king-of-the-world ski racer. Hip probably wasn’t even the right word. But he was still Jenny’s baby brother, and he was probably very upset not to have found her. “Jenny’s here somewhere, Travis. She’s got to be. Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll find her.”

      “But this was the only room where the lights were on,” he said.

      “That’s true,” Thea said. “But someone also had to turn on the outside lights when we approached.”

      “Not necessarily.” Spence said. “The lights could be on a timer. More likely, they’re motion sensitive.”

      She cut Spence a look. The thought had occurred to her as well, but to keep Travis under wraps she’d been trying to take a positive outlook on the situation. But maybe more than to reassure Travis, she needed to quiet her own forebodings.

      Didn’t she have enough worries after that earth-shaking kiss on the staircase?

      “Let’s take another look around. Maybe Jenny left a note or a trail of bread crumbs or something.”

      “Yeah, maybe she and Rosemont are getting it—”

      “Maybe,” Thea cut him off, “Jenny and Rosemont are off watching a movie in some fantastic entertainment room with a sound system so wonderful that they haven’t heard us troop in.”

      “Freaky Pollyanna,” Travis muttered, but the suggestion of something that cool looked like it might occupy his nearly vacant head for a while.

      Thea opened the doors to the bridal suite. It was everything Lawrence had promised and more—a fantasy in pinks, reds and ripe purples that would almost certainly mortify the puritanical sensibilities of Reverend Joshua Handy. Thea’s gaze came to rest on a life-sized incandescent marble sculpture of lovers so entwined it looked as if they had come straight out of the pages of the Kama Sutra.

      Several