Page 1 of Unintentionally Yours

CHAPTER ONE

. . .

Layla Bryant stared at her reflection, barely recognizing the woman gazing back at her from the full-length mirror. Tension thrummed through her body. The satin wedding gown clung to her generous curves in all the wrong places. Leave it to her mother to pick a dress that made her look like an overstuffed satin pillow.

Layla sighed, smoothing her hands over the gown’s bodice, grimacing as the corset beneath bit into her flesh. The dress—like everything else in her life—was designed for a woman half her size. A woman with a metabolism that didn’t go on strike at the mere mention of the word “diet.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take it in a bit more, dear?” Her mother’s voice cut through Layla’s thoughts like a poorly wielded seam ripper. “It’s not too late.”

“It’s fine, Mom.” Layla forced a smile, meeting her mother’s critical gaze in the mirror. “Really. I don’t want to risk popping a seam if I so much as sneeze.”

The other woman tutted, fussing with the gown’s trailing hem. “I just want you to look your best, sweetie. Randall won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

Layla forced a smile. That was the problem, wasn’t it? Randall never really saw her – the real her. To him, she was an accessory, an agreeable ornament to decorate his arm at corporate functions. She wanted passion, adventure, a love to set her blood on fire. Not this pale imitation of a fairy tale.

“And yet, here I am,” she thought bitterly, “about to marry Randall Montgomery, mattress king of Sheridan, Wyoming.”

She turned to face her mother, placing her hands on the older woman’s shoulders. “I appreciate all your help, Mom. Truly. But I think I just need a moment alone before the ceremony, okay? To collect my thoughts.”

“And my courage,” she added silently.

Disappointing her mother was nothing new for Layla. It seemed she’d been doing it all her life. From majoring in art history instead of following in her father’s footsteps to become a doctor to using her grandmother’s inheritance to open a gallery showcasing underappreciated artists. She thought back to when she was sixteen and had refused to attend the debutante ball, choosing instead to volunteer at the local animal shelter. Her mother had been livid, ranting about how Layla was throwing away her future and would never find a suitable husband.

And then, of course, there was the continual disappointment of her weight. Her mother possessed a willowy, slender figure, and Layla…Layla had curves on top of her curves. While her mother was never intentionally cruel, Layla knew her curves disappointed her.

And, she thought with a harsh laugh, her curves had disappointed most of the men in her life. Randall, well, Randall was just indifferent. Would it shock her mother to know she’d never made love with Randall? Probably not.

“Of course, of course.” Her mother nodded. “I’ll just go check on your father. Make sure he hasn’t snuck off to the bar already.” She pressed a quick kiss to Layla’s cheek before bustling out of the bridal suite, a whirlwind of silk and Chanel No. 5.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, Layla released a shuddering breath, trying to calm the riot of butterflies in her stomach. This was it. The moment she’d been dreading for months. The moment she would pledge her life to Randall Eustice Montgomery III, mattress king of Sheridan, Wyoming, in front of God, their families, and a hundred of their closest friends.

Randy. Steady, dependable Randy with his sensible haircut and his sensible job and his sensible plans for their sensible future together. Randy, who’d never once looked at her the way romance heroes looked at their heroines—like she was the sun, the moon, and the stars all rolled into one.

What was she doing? She couldn’t go through with this. Couldn’t resign herself to a life of lukewarm companionship and missionary position sex. She wanted passion, damn it. Adventure. Love that consumed her, body and soul.

Before she could second-guess herself, Layla kicked off her too-tight satin pumps and dashed over to her suitcase. She rummaged through the neatly folded clothes until she found what she was looking for—a pair of brand-new sneakers her mother had insisted she buy along with all the other clothing for her honeymoon. Jamming her feet into them, she snatched up her cell phone and shoved it into the hidden pocket of her gown.

Then, with a final glance at her abandoned bouquet, Layla strode over to the window and pushed it open. She hitched up her skirts, clambered gracelessly over the sill...and jumped.

Her less-than-elegant landing nearly toppled her into the hydrangea bushes below, but Layla quickly righted herself. With her heart pounding a fierce staccato against her ribs, she took off running towards the tree line behind the country club where her mother and Randy had insisted the wedding be held. The late afternoon sun beat down on her bare shoulders as she ran as fast as she could, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. Sweat prickled along her hairline, threatening to send the precarious up-do tumbling down her back. Still, she ran, determined to put as much distance as possible between herself and her unwanted groom.

But as she ran, doubts started to cloud her mind. What was she doing? What would people think? Layla could practically hear her mother’s disapproving voice ringing in her ears. Ladies didn’t run out on their own weddings. Ladies didn’t run, period—not unless someone was chasing them with an axe.

But she wasn’t a lady, was she? No matter how hard her mother tried to stuff her into that mold, Layla had never quite fit. She was too loud, too curvy, too prone to speaking her mind. Too much of everything, really.

Except, apparently, a backbone.

Layla’s steps slowed as the realization hit her. She’d done it. She’d finally worked up the nerve to call off the wedding, to take a stand for what she wanted. Granted, her timing could use some work, but...baby steps.

A slightly hysterical laugh bubbled up in Layla’s throat as she picked her way through the dense undergrowth that covered her escape route. The pristine satin of her gown snagged on a thorn bush, tearing a jagged hole near the hem. She couldn’t find it in herself to care.

The first fat raindrop hit Layla square on the nose, startling her out of her spiraling thoughts. She glanced up at the sky, only now noticing the ominous dark clouds gathering on the horizon.

Of course, it would rain on her wedding day. Even if she wasn’t still getting married.

As if on cue, the heavens opened. Icy sheets of rain pelted Layla from all angles, plastering the delicate fabric of her gown to her skin. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering as she squinted through the deluge. There was nothing around her but trees and more trees. Just how long had she been running?

There. Just ahead, nestled between the trees. Was that...a cabin?

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