Page 21 of Stranded with His Runaway Bride

‘Normally, I never leave the castle without one,’ he said, tartly. ‘But curiously, I hadn’t imagined I’d need it on my wedding day.’

‘I’ve looked through the drawers and in the en-suite bathroom, but all personal effects have indeed been removed from the rooms, just as you’d said. There isn’t so much as a pair of nail scissors to be had.’

Her teeth chattered.

‘I can go hunting for a knife but you’re shivering in that wet dress. You need to get out of it quickly. I’ll try tearing it.’

His fingers landed on the back of her dress. Exploring what she assumed was a neatly sewn seam. He gave an exploratory tug, but nothing budged. He tugged again, harder. It rocked her on her feet.

His fingers brushed the nape of her neck. Violetta swallowed hard. Heat poured through her.

‘Forgive me. I’m going to have to touch you.’

Wasn’t that what he’d already been—?

Oh...

When he said touch, she didn’t know he meant with his mouth.

Warm lips brushed the back of her neck. Then bared teeth as he used them to tear at the threads. The faintest scrape of stubble as his jaw moved against her skin. Violetta clutched the cheerleader dress harder, willing the torture to end, or wanting it never to stop. She wasn’t sure which. Every nerve ending at the back of her neck was on fire.

Then, mercifully, a ripping sound and cool air hitting her spine. He ripped some more, until the dress flapped open to the base of her spine.

‘Will that do?’ He sounded hoarse.

She wriggled out of the lace sleeves and bodice. But she wore so many petticoats there was no way she could simply step out of the dress. She needed to lift it over her head, and she was going to need his help.

She peeked back at him. He was staring at her spine.

‘Um, I need your help to get this off.’

His gaze lifted back to her face.

‘Yes, of course.’ He was behind her. Grabbing the skirt of the dress to lift it upwards. It caught in the tiara, and it took a moment of struggling to release it again.

Her hands went across her breasts. She heard the moment Leo saw his next challenge. An odd, strangled sound in his throat. The petticoats were fixed with a drawstring and bow at the back. It needed loosening.

His fingers were at her back again. She felt a little tug and the petticoat fell with a whoosh to puddle at her feet.

‘I’m not looking,’ he said, sounding even more strangled.

She quickly shimmied into the sleeveless mini-dress and glanced over her shoulder. Her former groom hadn’t lied, he didn’t so much as peek. Instead, he was wrestling manfully with her gown, trying to lay it carefully over the bed, looking a little hot and bothered. Not his usual composed self.

She reached around for the zip, discovering she had a new difficulty.

‘I need you to fasten this one up.’

Would this torture ever end?

Leo had peeked. He’d pretended not to, of course, but he saw the shapely bottom, the limber thighs, the frou-frou of bridal underwear. He masked his reaction by focusing all his attention on dealing with the mountain of a dress. Hell, how had the woman managed to run even a metre in it? Despite the inconvenience she’d caused by fleeing, he had a new grudging respect for her.

Yards of silk. Acres of petticoats. Had this genuinely been their wedding night all his ardour might have been dampened by the sheer bloody effort of getting her out of it.

Until he saw what was beneath. Tearing all those neat, tiny stitches keeping her in had given him ample opportunity to study the delicate bone structure of her spine and the perfection of her skin.

What was wrong with him? She wasn’t his type, nothing like it, but his heart still racketed about in his chest as he drew closer.

Because every inch of her spine was on show, and he itched to place his fingers back on her exposed skin and not cover it all up.

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