Needed: One Convenient Husband. Fiona Brand

gust of wind whipped the bride’s veil to one side, revealing that she was a little on the plump side. Her hair was also a couple of shades lighter than the rich dark mane shot through with tawny highlights that had been a natural feature of Eva’s hair ever since he’d first set eyes on her at age sixteen.

      Kyle’s jaw unlocked. Now that he had successfully circumvented Eva’s latest marriage plan, he was ready to leave, but when a zippy white sports car emblazoned with the name of Eva’s business, Perfect Weddings, pulled into a space, Kyle knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

      Eva Atraeus, dressed in a pale pink button-down suit that clung in all the right places, closed the door with an expensive thunk. Cell held to one ear, she hooked a matching pale pink tote over her shoulder and started toward the church doors, her stride fluid and distractingly sexy in a pair of strappy high heels. At five feet seven, Eva was several inches too short for the runway, but with her elegant, curvy figure, mouthwatering cheekbones and exotic dark eyes, she had been a knockout success as a photographic model. Gorgeous, quirky and certifiably high maintenance, Eva had fascinated gossip columnists for years and dazzled more men than she’d had hot dinners, including him.

      Every muscle in Kyle’s body tightened on a visceral hit of awareness that had become altogether too familiar.

      A faint check in her step indicated that Eva had spotted him.

      As the bridal party disappeared into the church, she terminated her call and changed direction. Stepping beneath the shade of the oak, she shoved the cell in her tote and glared at him. “What are you doing at my wedding?”

      Kyle clamped down on his irritation at Eva’s deliberate play on the “my wedding” bit. It was true that it was supposed to have been her actual wedding day. Understandably, she was annoyed that he’d upset her plan to leverage a marriage of convenience by offering the groom a lucrative job in Dubai. The way Kyle saw it, he had simply countered one employment opportunity with another. The fact that Jeremy, an accountant, had taken the job so quickly and had even seemed relieved, more than justified his intervention. “You shouldn’t have arranged a wedding you knew couldn’t go ahead.”

      Her dark gaze flashed. “What if I was in love with Jeremy?”

      He lifted a brow. “After a whole four weeks?”

      “You know as well as I that it can happen a whole lot faster than—” She stopped, her cheeks flushed. Rummaging in her bag, she found sunglasses and, with controlled precision, slipped them onto the bridge of her nose. “Now you get to tell me what you’re doing at a private wedding. I’m guessing it’s not just to have another argument.”

      He crossed his arms over his chest. “If you think you can kick me out, forget it. I’m a guest of the groom. I manage his share portfolio.”

      She took a deep breath and he watched with objective fascination as the flare of irritation was replaced by one of the gorgeous smiles that had graced magazines and posters and which had the power to stop all male brain function. “That’s thin, even for you.”

      “But workable.”

      “And here I was thinking you were here to make sure I hadn’t pulled off a last-minute coup and found another groom.”

      He frowned at the light, floral waft of her perfume and resisted the impulse to step a little closer. “It’s not my brief to stop you marrying.”

      Her head tilted to one side. Through the screen of the lenses her gaze chilled. “No, it’s to stop me marrying the man of my choice.”

      “You need to choose better.” Out of an impressive discard pile during the last few months, on three different occasions, Eva had selected a prospective groom. Unfortunately, all three had been strapped for cash and willing to sign prenuptial agreements that spelled out the cutoff date for the marriage: two years to the day, the exact time period specified in Mario’s will. Kyle had been honor-bound by the terms of the will to veto the weddings.

      “Jeremy was perfect husband material. He was attractive, personable, with a reasonable job, his—”

      “Motive was blatantly financial.”

      Her expression turned steely. “He needed money to cover some debts. What is so wrong with that?”

      “Mario would spin in his grave if you married a man with a gambling addiction.”

      There was a small icy silence, intensified by the strains of the wedding march emanating from the church. “If I have to marry Mr. Right according to Kyle Messena, then maybe you should choose someone for me. Only I’ll need to marry him by—” she checked the slim pink watch on her wrist “—next month. Since now, thanks to you, I only have three weeks left to marry before my inheritance goes into lockdown for the next thirteen years.”

      Despite Kyle’s resolve to withstand the considerable pressure he had always known Eva would apply, a twinge of guilt made his stomach tighten.

      Women and relationships in general had always proved to be a difficult area for him. It was a fact that he was more comfortable with the world of military operations or the clinical cut and thrust of his family’s banking business. He could do weapons and operational tactics; he could do figures and financial markets. Love and the responsibility—and the searing guilt that came with it—was something he would not risk again. “It isn’t my intention to prevent you getting your inheritance.”

      Eva’s serene smile disappeared. “No,” she said with a throaty little catch to her voice. “It’s just turning out that way.”

      Spinning on her heel, Eva marched back to her car.

      Kyle frowned. Eva’s voice had sounded suspiciously husky, as if she was on the verge of tears. In the entire checkered history of their relationship, he had only ever seen Eva, who was superorganized with a serene, kick-ass calm, cry twice. Of course, she had cried at Mario’s funeral almost a year ago. The only other occasion had been close on eleven years ago when he’d been nineteen. To be precise, it had been the morning after Mario had hauled them both over the coals for a passionate interlude on Dolphin Bay’s beach.

      Memory flickered. A hot, extended twilight, a buttery moon sliding up over the sea, the clamor of a family party at the resort fading in the distance as Eva had wound her arms around his neck. He’d drawn a deep breath, caught the scent of her hair, her skin. Every muscle had tensed as he’d dipped his head and given in to the temptation that had kept him in agony most of the summer and kissed her...

      If Mario hadn’t come looking for Eva, they would have done a lot more than just kiss. The interview with Mario that had ensued that night had been sharp and short. As gorgeous and put-together as Eva had looked at age seventeen, she had more than her share of vulnerabilities. The product of a severely dysfunctional family, Eva needed security and protection, not seduction. Mario hadn’t elaborated on any of those details, but the message had been plain enough. Eva was off-limits.

      Until now.

      He had no illusions about why Mario had done a complete about turn and made him a trustee, when for years he had treated Kyle as if he was a marauding predator after his one and only chick. For years Eva had stubbornly resisted Mario’s attempts to find her a safe, solid husband from amongst the sons of his wealthy business associates. Mario, forced to change tack, had swallowed his objections to the “wild Messena boys,” and had then tried to marry Eva off to both of Kyle’s older brothers, Gabriel and Nick. When that strategy had failed because Gabe and Nick had married other women and Kyle’s younger brother Damian had a long-standing girlfriend, in a last desperate move, Mario had finally settled on Kyle as a prospective bridegroom.

      His gaze still locked on Eva, Kyle strolled back to his Maserati. Now that he knew Eva wasn’t the bride, he should drive back to Auckland. Back to his ultrabusy, smoothly organized life. If he left right away, he could even make the uncomplicated dinner date he had with Elise, a fellow banking executive he had been seeing on and off for the past few months, mostly at business functions.

      But as he approached the Maserati,