Project: Runaway Bride. Heidi BettsЧитать онлайн книгу.
off to her family’s lake house in Vermont to hide out for a while....
Boom! The very man she’d least wanted to deal with was the one to find her. The one she’d suddenly found herself alone with in the wilderness.
There was a message in there somewhere. A lesson. A cruel, cruel irony.
And no matter how much she might wish otherwise, she didn’t think Reid would be leaving any time soon. Never mind that he’d done his job—he’d found her, made sure she was okay. He could go back to New York now and report as much to her family.
But he wouldn’t. He would stick around and make her just a little bit miserable first. At least if his arrogant, uninvited disappearance into the cabin was anything to go by.
Juliet considered staying outside. All night, if necessary. Frankly, if the keys to her BMW hadn’t been on a hook in the kitchen—oh, so far away—she would have jumped in the car and raced at sixty or seventy miles per hour in the other direction.
With a sigh, she began to wonder if she would forever feel like running away. And if there was anywhere far enough away to truly escape the myriad problems surrounding her like quicksand.
The smart thing to do would be to face those problems head-on, but no way was she ready for that. Not yet. It was too much, happening all too fast. She still needed time to work it out for herself, let alone figuring out how to tell the rest of the world—or the few people directly involved, at least—what was going on.
Taking a deep breath, she moved the rest of the way around the house, climbing the wide plank porch steps to the front door. She didn’t know what Reid wanted, exactly. Other than finding her, as her sisters had asked, he really didn’t have any reason to stick around. But she knew him well enough to realize he wouldn’t leave until he was darn good and ready.
So she would play along. She’d become a rather good actress over the past several months.
She would simply do the same now, until Reid tired of toying with her and decided to leave her alone. Blessedly alone.
Pulling open the screen, she stepped inside, closing the heavier wood-and-beveled-glass door behind her. Across the way, Reid stood at the kitchen island, making himself at home by pouring himself a glass of orange juice—one of the few things Juliet had picked up at the small general store in town on her way to the cabin. He took a few long swallows before returning the carton to the refrigerator.
Crossing the wide-open space of the living room with its floor-to-ceiling windows facing the lake, she pulled out a stool and took a seat directly across from him, keeping the width of the island between them.
She had to bite her tongue to keep from asking why he was there, what he wanted from her, why he wouldn’t leave. But she knew if she spoke first, she would lose what little solid ground she currently possessed. Better to remain silent and let him steer the direction of their conversation so she at least had a clue of what was going on in that labyrinthine mind of his.
The seconds ticked by. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Then he pulled out a stool of his own and sank down as casually as though he’d lived there all his life.
That had been something else about him that attracted her. How comfortable he seemed to be, no matter his surroundings. Of course, she supposed a man like Reid had earned that right. An ex-army ranger. A self-made millionaire. He’d been everywhere, done everything.
She didn’t think he was afraid of much, either. Which wasn’t to say that he let his guard down. If anything, he seemed to be always on the alert, hyperaware of what was going on around him. Another trait that had made her feel safe when she was with him.
When he finally spoke, his deep voice filling the quiet, yawning space of the house, Juliet jumped.
“So...you want to tell me what’s going on?”
She licked her lips, buying time while her mind raced and her pulse returned to normal. “Nothing’s going on. I just needed to get away for a while.”
One dark brow winged upward. “You needed to get away,” he repeated. “In the middle of your wedding ceremony. Isn’t that what the honeymoon is for?”
Technically, it was before the wedding, not in the middle, but she could hear the bitterness in his tone as he muttered the word honeymoon, so she decided not to split hairs.
Her own stomach roiled at the thought—of being married to Paul right now, of going off with him somewhere isolated and alone. He’d booked tickets to Fiji, but her first choice had been Paris. She’d wanted to tour the Louvre and take in the cutting-edge fashions, bring home ideas for her own line of handbags and anything Lily and Zoe might like to apply to their designs. Of course, Paul hadn’t really wanted her to continue her design work, despite his assertions when he was trying to mollify her, so he’d nixed that idea in exchange for sun, sand and skimpily clad fellow vacationers.
When she didn’t respond, Reid lifted the glass to his lips and said snidely, “Maybe you finally came to your senses and decided you didn’t want to be that jerk-off’s punching bag for the next fifty years.”
“Paul never punched me,” she muttered automatically, then wondered why the heck she was defending him. It seemed like rather a moot point now, and was none of Reid’s business either way.
But instead of being placated, Reid’s temper flared. His scowl deepened as he snapped, “Does it matter? He put his hands on you. He left bruises. He used his size and brute strength to bully you.”
He was up and off the stool now, coming around the island to face her more fully. She was sure he didn’t realize it, but he was ten times more intimidating than Paul had ever been.
His broad shoulders. His forceful manner. His dark good looks. The thunderous expression on his face was enough to have her quaking in her boots.
The problem was, he made her quake in a good way. Quake and quiver and sigh deep inside.
He closed in on her, the crisp, clean scent of his aftershave tickling her senses and making her lean back an inch. He didn’t seem to notice.
“The only time that should happen,” he ground out, “is when a man does this.”
And then he was grasping her shoulders, jerking her to her feet and smashing his mouth down on hers.
* * *
What the hell was he doing? Hadn’t he learned his lesson where this woman was concerned?
Apparently, she was the female equivalent of sugar, nicotine or black-tar heroin: highly addictive and nearly impossible to quit.
He shouldn’t be here at all. Should have turned down her sisters’ pleas for help. Should have turned around and left as soon as he knew she was alive and well. And he sure as hell shouldn’t have come inside, confronted her or rounded the island counter so that she was within easy reach. Because when was the last time she’d been within reach and he hadn’t felt compelled to touch her?
Even after everything that had passed between them—and recently, it had mostly been bad—he couldn’t resist her. She felt like heaven in his arms. Soft and plush against him, her gentle curves molding to his hard planes. Her warm lips giving beneath his own.
For long, drawn-out minutes, he kissed her, tasting the mint of her gum or toothpaste or whatever else. It was so easy to block out the rest of the world when he was with her. Especially when he was with her this way.
He didn’t think about the job he was supposed to be doing, or the duty he owed to her sisters, or the man she’d left at the altar. He didn’t even think about how she’d left him to run back to that other man or how pissed he’d been ever since.
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