Page 4 of A Baby to Make Her His Bride

“Tell me first why you’re here. Are you with anyone? Your husband?” She had one, he recalled with a flick of his gaze toward the windows that looked onto the driveway. “Someone else?” he added with a twist of his lips.

A flash of indignation crossed her expression. She didn’t like being called unfaithful. Something more vulnerable followed—perhaps a realization that she was alone with a stranger because she lifted her chin and spoke with bold dishonesty.

“My husband is right behind me. You should definitely leave before he gets here.”

“Don’t lie to me, Vienna,” he said wearily. “I hate liars.” He really did.

“Well, I dislike people who pretend they know me when they don’t. Are you going to tell me who you are and what you’re doing in my house?”

“Your house.” He ran his tongue over his teeth, still judging that a fib.

She took fresh issue and stood taller.

She was on the tall side for a woman, with a figure that was willowy but indisputably feminine. Pretty. So damned pretty. He couldn’t help noticing even though she was very married.

Beauty on the outside didn’t mean beauty on the inside, he reminded himself starkly.

But the fact that she hadn’t known he was here, and didn’t recognize him, told him she wasn’t working for REM-Ex.

“I’m Jasper Lindor, Amelia’s brother.”

She seemed to stop breathing. She stood so still only her lashes quivered as her gaze bounced from his hairline to his gym shoes.

“Do you have proof?” she asked shakily. “Amelia was told you were dead. Hunter wouldn’t keep something like this from her.”

“She knows I’m alive. So does our father. I’ve seen them.” Once. It had been too short a visit, both heartening and heartbreaking. “I’m not ready to go public on the reasons for my disappearance, so Hunter let me stay here.”

She tucked in her chin. Her brow crinkled as she tried to decide whether to believe him.

If trust was a two-way street, they were both circling the block, unwilling to turn onto it.

“My passport is upstairs.” Worse for wear after all this time, but he’d managed to hang on to it. “Shall I get it?”

“No. I see the resemblance,” she murmured, her gaze traveling over his features with a thoroughness that made his chest itch. She cocked her head, relaxing a little. Her tone warmed. “Is this why Hunter was so strange about buying this property? I had no idea you were alive or staying here. That must have been such a relief for your family to learn you were okay.”

“Okay” was a stretch. He barely slept. He was haunted by the death of his friend and couldn’t help feeling threatened by a woman who posed as much physical danger as a knitted blanket.

None of that could be erased or fixed, but he was taking steps to achieve some justice. It all hinged on keeping that fact he was alive, and back in Canada, under wraps a little longer.

“Why are you here?” he asked bluntly.

She sobered. A flash of injury in her eyes was quickly screened by her lashes. Her mouth pursed.

“Seeking some ‘me’ time.”

“And you picked this house? Out of all the houses your family owns?” He didn’t know exactly how many there were, but he would bet there were several condos, cottages and cabins to choose from.

“I’m allowed to come to a house thatIown.”

From what he’d read—and he’d read very little about her because she hadn’t seemed relevant to his situation—Vienna had struck him as the quintessential vapid heiress: feckless and superficial. She was always pictured in the most classically perfect clothing, wearing the same meaningless smile whether attending a fundraiser or an award banquet or her brother’s canceled wedding. She didn’t have a job, didn’t have kids, and somehow kept her head above water despite a habit of flooding proverbial toilets.

“Well, this house is occupied. I want to be alone, too.” He tilted a flat smile at her. “That’s why no one knows I’m here.”

“I wouldn’t have come if I’d known,” she said in a burst of defensiveness. She folded her arms and glanced over her shoulder to the SUV in the driveway. “I can’t go anywhere else, though. Someone will recognize me. The gulls will flock in.”

“Gulls?”

“Paparazzi.” She curled her lip in rueful disgust. “I’m embarking on the latest mile of the Waverly Walk of Shame:divorce.” She lifted her brows facetiously to emphasize what a disgrace that was in some eyes.

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