Page 8 of Rescuing Our Bride

And goddamn if she doesn’t want to be kept. Or at least I thought she did.

“Is it?” Anna asks, fisting the translucent white sheet to her chest like it’s her lifeline, tugging me back from my thoughts.

“Is it what?” I take another sip of coffee, hoping the caffeine will make a direct course from my tongue to my brain because I’m too lost in the blue of her eyes, the flush in her cheeks, and the shimmer in her hair to keep track of whatever the hell we were just talking about.

“A good morning.” The sheet drags along the floor behind her, like the train of that god-awful wedding gown she wore yesterday, as she moves through the kitchen to fix herself a cup of coffee.

Was it just yesterday? How is that even possible? I barely know this woman. Mark and I researched her and her family, but there wasn’t anything in our files that could have prepared us for the real thing. Somehow, she fits like the missing piece between me and Mark. A piece neither of us knew was missing until we took her—in more ways than one.

“After last night, I was hoping you would think so.” My left eye twitches. Not quite a wince, but I find myself bracing against whatever comes out of her mouth next, because I suspect it won’t be good.

“Yeah, well, the sun has a funny way of shining a new light on things.” Anna sips her coffee, grimacing at the mug before setting it down on the counter to add more sugar and cream.

She takes it light and sweet—nothing like how she takes it in the bedroom. Still, I note the number of spoonfuls of sugar, and the length of the pour of cream so that I can replicate it and have the perfect cup of coffee ready and waiting for her tomorrow morning.

It’s a small thing. A tiny gesture. But that’s what love is, isn’t it? The little details that go unnoticed by others. Except for you. You notice how all of those things come together—how the sum of the whole isn’t just greater than the sum of its parts, it’s pieced together by them. And the parts are not interchangeable. Take away one detail, one little quirk, and Anna would be different.

Shit. Love? Where the hell did that come from? Infatuation, maybe. This is nuts. I’m fucking nuts and the edge of regret in her voice is making me even crazier.

“Hmm, I suppose it does.” I inch my shoulder up, the slightest shrug, and keep my voice soft and easy because she looks fragile, like she might break. As much as I don’t want to be the reason she falls to pieces; in the best possible way, I need to know where her head is at, and what she’s thinking. “And how are things looking to you?”

“Like I made a huge mistake.” Anna dumps her coffee down the drain and sets her mug in the sink. One hand still clutching the sheet to her chest, she grips the edge of the counter with the other and stares out into the woods behind the cabin through the window above the kitchen sink. “Yesterday I was getting married.”

She raises her hand as if to stave off the argument she must sense is coming because what was about to go down in that church yesterday was far from a marriage.

“Yes, I was being forced into it, but I resolved myself to the fact that I was marrying Patrick for my mom. To save her. I wanted to run, you know? I was going to sneak out of the house and disappear. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t live with myself if she died because I didn’t have the strength to do what was necessary to save her. So I made a choice. Or, at least I told myself that’s what I did.”

Anna’s chin is up and her shoulders are pushed back, but she won’t look at me. She just keeps staring out that fucking window like the key to the universe is dangling from one of the pine trees.

“And then you and Mark stormed in, armed to the teeth. You took me from the church at gunpoint and tossed me in the back of a van. I should have been terrified. I mean, I was terrified. But I was also relieved.”

She rounds on me then, eyes wild with a fire that grew from an ember she had buried deep inside her.

“My mother is dying, and I’m the one with the power to make her life better. At least give her a chance at surviving. And I was relieved when you kidnapped me. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, I slept with you. Both of you. I gave up my mother and my virginity all on the same day. What kind of person does that? What the fuck does that say about me?”

“It doesn’t say anything about you, and it doesn’t make you any kind of person except the person that you are.” I grab her free hand and tug her toward me. She resists, her bare feet skidding across the floor, but even without using all my strength, she’s no match for me physically. “Listen to me carefully, Anna. Patrick is the villain in this story. Not you.”

“I need to call my mom. I want to talk to the doctor or a nurse or something to make sure she’s okay. So she knows that I’m okay.” Some of the fight drains out of her when she rests her forehead against my chest and lets me hold her.

Anna feels amazing in my arms like her body was made to mold against mine and as much as I’m enjoying the feel of her pressed against me, this moment isn’t going to last. Not when I’m about to be the bad guy.

Fucking Mark. Why did he have to sleep in? If he was down here, he could be the one to tell her no.

“I’m sorry, Anna. I really am, but I can’t let you?—”

“You’re not going to let me call my mom?” She goes rigid in my arms before pushing me away.

The sheet, all but forgotten as she struggles to free herself from my hold, droops and exposes the most perfect breasts I’ve ever seen. My hands itch to touch them. Hell, I’m practically salivating at the thought of pulling them into my mouth and rolling her taut nipples between my teeth. It takes everything I have not to grab her and fuck her right here on the kitchen floor. But I can’t. I won’t. No matter how much I want her right now.

Because I want her to want it too and now isn’t the time. Not when she’s throwing daggers at me with her eyes.

“I can’t let you call her. No one can know where you are. Not even your mom.”

“Right, because I’m just a pawn in this twisted game of revenge you’re playing with Patrick.” She adjusts the sheet, wrapping it around herself and tucking the corner in at the top to hold the layered cotton in place. “Well, you know what, screw you. Screw your plans. I’m calling my mom.”

Anna’s gaze flicks to my cell phone on the end of the counter, then back to me; a silent dare to stop her swirling in the blue depths of her eyes. She takes a step to the left. So do I. Her muscles tense, she’s coiled tighter than a viper ready to strike. She’s quick when she wants to be. Rather than let her get the jump on me today, I swing my arm out and swat the phone off the counter.

“Morning.” Mark stumbles in, stopping short as the phone skids across the hardwood floor inches from his feet.

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