Not Quite Married. Christine Rimmer

giddy joy just at the sight of him. The rotten SOB.

      He said, “Hello, Clara.” And those eyes, which were a deep crystal blue surely not found in nature, swept from the top of her head down over her giant pink shirt all the way to her bare feet—and back up again.

      And she said, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

      “May I come in?” Stiff. Cool. So completely unlike the man she’d once been idiot enough to think she loved. “We need to talk.”

      Oh, did they? She braced a shoulder against the doorframe and folded her arms on top of her baby bump. “About what, exactly?”

      He looked vaguely pained. “Not on your doorstep. Please.” It came out more like a command than a request.

      She stayed right where she was and just stared at him for a long, hostile moment. “I thought I gave you all my phone numbers.”

      “You did.”

      “Then why didn’t you call? A little fair warning isn’t that much to ask.”

      “I apologize.”

      “You don’t sound sorry in the least.”

      The blue gaze swept over her again, rousing a thoroughly uncalled-for shiver of excitement. “Let me in, Clara.”

      Oh, she was so tempted to shut the door in his face. Because she was tired and her feet hurt and there was a really good tearjerker on Lifetime.

      She didn’t want to deal with this. Not now.

      Not ever, really.

      But she and the stranger on her front porch had made a baby together. And the baby trumped everything: including her burning desire never to have to see his face again.

      With elaborate disinterest, she dropped her crossed arms and stepped away from the door. “By all means. Come on in.”

      Giving her no opportunity to change her mind, he stepped right over the threshold and into her private space. She blinked and looked up at him and couldn’t believe this was happening.

      “Nice house,” he said, his fine lips curling upward a fraction at the corners.

      “Thanks. This way.” She took him through her formal dining room to the combination kitchen, breakfast nook and great room at the back. Stopping at the long kitchen island, she turned to him. “Do you want coffee or something?”

      “No, thanks.”

      “Well, all right, then. Have a seat.” She gestured at the sitting area across the room.

      He went on past her, all the way to the wing chair next to the sofa, but he didn’t sit down. For a moment, she hovered there at the end of the island, reluctant to get closer to him.

      Dread curled through her. He wore the strangest look on his face, and a great stillness seemed to surround him. The moment felt huge, suddenly.

      What in the world did he plan to say to her? Something awful, probably, judging by the seriousness and intensity of his expression.

      Reluctantly, she approached him. He simply waited, watching her come.

      She stopped a couple of feet from him. “Aren’t you...going to sit down?”

      He didn’t answer. He didn’t sit. Instead he reached for her hand.

      The move surprised her enough that she didn’t jerk away. His fingers closed over hers, warm. Firm. So well remembered. Tears scalded the back of her throat. She pressed her lips together and swallowed them down. “What?”

      And just like that, he lifted his other hand and slid a beautiful diamond ring on her finger.

      She gasped and gaped down at it, a giant marquise-cut central stone, surrounded by twin rows of glittering smaller stones, more diamonds along the double band.

      “Marry me, Clara. Right away. You can move to Denver and we’ll work this out. We’ll make a family for our child.”

      She gaped down at that sparkling, perfect, beautiful ring. And then, slowly, her breath all tangled and hot in the base of her throat, she lifted her head and looked at him.

      The really terrible, awful thing was, somewhere inside herself, she longed to throw her arms around him and shout yes!

      And that made her furious—at herself, as much as at him.

      Because who was he, anyway? When he touched her, she felt the thrill, yes. Her body seemed to know him. But her mind and her confused, aching heart?

      Uh-uh. No. She didn’t know this man at all.

      She pulled her fingers free of his grip and took off the ring. “No, Dalton.”

      “Clara...”

      “Take it. I mean it.” He shook his head. But he did hold out his hand. She dropped that gorgeous thing into his palm. “No way am I marrying you, let alone moving to Denver. Justice Creek is my home. I have my family, my friends and my very successful business here, so this is where I plan to stay.”

      “Listen to me, I—”

      “Stop.”

      Miraculously, he did.

      “We need to get straight on something here right from the start,” she said.

      He eyed her sideways as he dropped the ring into his jacket pocket. And then he asked carefully in that voice of his that was so gallingly manly and deep, “By all means. Let’s get it straight. Whatever the hell it is.”

      “Are you married or not?”

      “Excuse me?” He gazed at her as though he had his doubts as to her sanity. “Married? Me?”

      “That’s right. Do you have a wife?”

      The blue eyes, impossibly, got even bluer and that square jaw went to rock. “Of course not. I’m divorced, and have been since before the island. And I know that you know this. I told you myself.”

      She had to get away, get some distance from him. So she turned and marched over to the fireplace. Better. She straightened her shoulders and turned to face him again. “Look. I saw you, okay? I saw pictures of you online, with your supposedly ex-wife on your arm at some fancy party. The two of you were looking very chummy.”

      “Chummy? Astrid and I are not the least bit chummy.”

      “You looked pretty damn chummy to me.”

      “Astrid is a lovely woman. She’s active in her community, doing what she can to help disadvantaged children and victims of natural catastrophes and such. Occasionally she asks me to support her various causes. I’m happy to help. Once or twice, I’ve acted as her escort.”

      “Well, isn’t that civilized?”

      “Yes, it is, as a matter of fact. Is there something wrong with being civilized?”

      She decided not to answer that one. “There was talk about the two of you getting married again.”

      “Talk? Who said that?”

      “I don’t know who. It was just...somewhere online, is all.”

      “And you always believe everything you read somewhere online?” His eyes were practically shooting sparks.

      Ha. As though he were the one who’d been shabbily treated. She wrapped her arms around herself again as she had at the door and held her ground. “Just answer the question. Are you married or not?”

      “No.”

      “Are you dating your ex-wife?”

      “No. I told you, we’re on good terms, Astrid and I. But the marriage is over and it has been since before you and I were together on the island—as I made perfectly clear the first night that we met.”

      A