Breaking The Rules. Jamie Denton

those little-girl illusions she no doubt harbored. When it came to marriage, role models had been in short supply for him. From the few guys he’d known in the navy who’d walked down the aisle, he’d learned that marriage and the navy didn’t mix. As a SEAL, he hadn’t spent much time in one place and had wisely chosen not to tie himself down. Even with the lack of role models in his life, he knew wedded bliss wouldn’t be a reality unless he came home more than a couple of days every month or two.

      When he didn’t provide a response, Carly looked to Benny and Joe for insight. Both men remained silent, contemplating their beers. “That’s what I thought,” she said after a few moments.

      Benny turned and gave her a wide grin. “You know what you need?”

      Carly let out a hefty sigh, crossed her arms on the bar and rested her cheek on her satin-covered forearms. “Sure. A job, a place to live and some serious direction in my life.”

      Benny shook his head. “Uh-uh. You need to have some fun and just forget about everything else for a while.”

      “Great idea,” Joe added.

      She lifted her head to look at Benny. “How long is a while?”

      Benny shrugged. “I dunno. Tonight. A week. A month.”

      Joe slapped his hand on the bar. “How about a year?”

      She straightened, her eyes filling with interest. Dangerous interest, in Cooper’s opinion.

      “You’re suggesting I just run away from my problems?”

      Cooper scooped her empty glass off the bar. “Isn’t that why you’re here?” he asked.

      She turned her head, her gaze colliding with his. “That wasn’t very nice.”

      He shrugged. “I just call ’em as I see ’em, Princess.”

      Her chin lifted a notch and a defiant light sparked in her gaze, highlighting her irises with tiny flecks of gold. Why that made his gut tighten even more, he couldn’t be sure, but he sure as hell liked the way she looked at him. She might be an emotional wreck, but he suspected there was too much fire and spunk behind the teary-eyed bride routine for her bout of alcohol-enriched depression to last for very long.

      And damn if he didn’t like fire and spunk.

      A lot.

      She made a noise that bordered on a snort, then turned her attention back to her bodyguards. That chin of hers inched upward another defiant notch, too. “What kind of fun?” she asked, determination lacing her sweet voice.

      The big guy shrugged. “Wanna shoot some pool?”

      She glanced over her shoulder to the pool tables. “I don’t know how to play.”

      “It’s okay,” Joe said, standing. “We’ll teach you.”

      She shrugged and slid off the bar stool. “Okay. But only until the tow truck driver shows up. Then I have to leave.”

      And go where? Cooper almost asked, but stopped himself in time. He didn’t care. He didn’t want to care, but there was something about her that spiked his interest, regardless of what a distraction like her could cost him.

      “Let’s make it interesting,” Joe suggested, leading her away from the bar. “Let’s play for drinks. Winner buys.”

      Lyrical laughter drifted to Cooper as he kept a watchful eye on the bride while pulling a beer from the cooler. For the next hour or two, other than an occasional glance in her direction, he didn’t have time to worry about Carly. She was safe with Benny and Joe. It was Saturday night, and thankfully the bar was somewhat busy for a change. With his waitress off because of a sick kid, he was on his own, and he didn’t have time to baby-sit a hot number in white, even if his gaze kept straying toward her more times than he cared to admit.

      By midnight, the bride had disappeared without a word, and he tried to tell himself what he felt wasn’t even remotely close to disappointment, but gratitude. The last thing he needed was to get tangled up with a woman when he had more important things to worry about. Like finding a way to hang on to The Wilde Side until his uncle came to his senses again.

      By the time he ushered the last customer from the bar, Coop was beat. He emptied the till and started cleaning up rather than putting it off until the next day. Sunday was the only day of the week the bar opened later in the afternoon, and he looked forward to a few extra hours to himself.

      As he mopped the floors, his mind drifted to the platinum blonde with the lush body. While he finished cleaning up the men’s room, he wondered if perhaps he should’ve asked her two self-appointed bodyguards where she’d gone.

      She was none of his business, he thought grumpily, flipping off the light. He shoved the mop into the metal bucket and wheeled it across the hall to the ladies’ room. It wasn’t as if he’d ever see her again. Or even that he cared.

      Then why couldn’t he stop thinking about her, wondering if she was all right?

      Because he was genetically predisposed. How could he stop thinking about her when his DNA forbade it? He couldn’t, and gave a heartfelt thanks to his guardian angel for taking the Princess out of the equation.

      He pushed open the door to the ladies’ room. Miles of dirty white satin spilled from beneath the door of the last stall, tangled around a delicately shaped foot.

      Cooper swore colorfully. So much for someone upstairs looking out for him.

      “Party’s over, Princess,” he called out as he crossed the asphalt tiles to the last stall.

      She didn’t respond.

      He pounded on the metal door. “You all right?”

      No answer.

      Great. Just what he didn’t need. He let out a rough sigh followed by a few more curses and tried the door, but she’d locked it. This wasn’t the first time some drunk had passed out in one of his bathrooms. But she wasn’t some drunk, he reminded himself. She was a runaway bride who’d had too much to drink after an emotionally exhausting day, and no doubt on an empty stomach.

      He had two choices, and neither option thrilled him. If he called Chicago’s finest and let them deal with her, they’d toss her delectable backside behind bars. Having spent a few nights of his own in the drunk tank after carousing with his buddies on shore leave, the thought of her spending the night in one left him with a bad taste in his mouth. The other option left him with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

      He had no other option, he thought, at least none that would allow him to continue to live in peace with his conscience.

      Crouching, he peered under the door. She was sound asleep, curled on her side, using her upper arm for a pillow. He slid his fingers over her slender ankle, ignoring the strong urge to smooth his hand over the rest of her shapely leg.

      He tried to shake her awake. “Carly? Come on, Princess. Time to rise and shine,” he said gently.

      Nothing. Not even a soft little moan or a flutter of those lashes fanning her pale cheeks. She was out cold.

      “So much for not being around when the booze hit,” he complained, then worked to open the stall. Once he had it opened, he moved into the cramped space beside her, trying one last, useless time to wake her.

      Carefully, he eased his arms around her and managed to get her and her cumbersome dress out of the stall. She issued a soft little moan when he lifted her into his arms, curling her slender hand against his chest. With the lightweight bundle held securely, he concentrated on getting her upstairs into his apartment without tripping over her dress, and not the way her full breasts brushed against his chest when she sleepily wound her arms around his neck.

      He shouldered his way down a short hallway to his old bedroom. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Princess,” he said, easing her onto the twin mattress. “In a few hours, you’re gonna be feeling like you’ve been