Page 9 of A Baby to Make Her His Bride

“He doesn’t know you’re getting a divorce? Why not?”

She’d been afraid he would talk her out of it.

“Call me old-fashioned, but I thought my husband should be the first to know,” she said ironically. “Once he receives the papers, I’ll tell Hunter.”

“Yourhusbanddoesn’t know?” Jasper choked on a humorless laugh. “That’s cold.”

She lurched to a halt.

“You knownothingabout my life.”Shewas the cold one? Right now, sure, her voice was as frigid as the tundra during an ice age. Her heart had plunged to the bottom of a canister of liquid nitrogen, but Neal was the one incapable of basic human warmth. That was why she was walking away from her marriage and the bleak future he offered her.

Jasper stopped two paces ahead of her.

She willed her hot eyes not to well with tears of rage or, worse, the humiliation that had been such a constant companion all these years. But the deep, horrible suspicion that maybe she was to blame for the lack of love from her husband was always there, ready to choke her.

“You’re right.” Jasper’s cheek ticked. “I was out of line. Your reasons for divorce and how you go about it are none of my business.”

Her jaw almost fell to the sand. She really was going to cry now, because at no point in her marriage had her husband ever offered anything close to that sort of personal accountability. It was always,Don’t be ridiculous, Vienna. What aboutmyfeelings?

Fearful she would break down completely, she ducked her head and walked past Jasper without another word.

Ah, hell. He’d handled that poorly, hadn’t he?

Women were more vulnerable than men. They were vulnerabletomen. He knew that. Even the trophy wives he wanted to lump her in with, the ones who seemed happy to use their looks to feather their nests, were physically smaller than men. They were objectified and subjected to sexism.

For all he knew, Vienna’s marriage had been abusive. He had no right to pass judgment on how or why she had chosen to leave it.

He was trying to hold Vienna at a distance, though. Trying to dismiss her as avaricious and manipulative so he wouldn’t admire things like how she moved with the grace of a gymnast.

They had reached the obstacle course of driftwood between the beach and the forest. She stepped atop a log and balanced her way along, shifting to the next and the next as she worked her way up the beach. She didn’t look back once, which told him how much he had annoyed her.

He followed, brooding, watching for the path back to the house in case she missed it.

They were almost there when she gave a sideways leap to a log that had been sanded by wind and waves to a smooth, slippery finish. Her foot shot out from under her and she waved her arms, about to topple onto a pile of broken driftwood.

Jasper reacted without thought, leaping to catch her into the front of his body, giving her that extra moment to find her balance again.

It was seconds—less than five—that he held her, but the feel of her slender back and the firmness of that gorgeous ass pressing into his groin left him branded by her shape.

At best, he expected a grudging thank-you, but when he released her and she looked back at him, her expression was startled and defenseless. Her gaze traveled over him as though she was seeing him for the first time. As though she was seeing through his clothes and touching his skin. Or wanted to.

There was such earthy, sexual awareness in her eyes, such wonder when she lifted her gaze to meet his, that it struck him as a delicious punch in the stomach.

He was experienced enough to know when a woman had decided he struck her fancy. He was man enough to consider it when one did. Everything about her appealed to him. Her flowing hair glinted with sunlight. Her soft mouth and naked lips were shiny and receptive. Kissable.

Damn, but he wanted to taste that mouth. Her curves enticed his palms to gather and stroke and something intangible within her called him to a brighter place, drawing him like a flame in the night. Beckoning.

It’s not infidelity if she’s divorced, the devil on his shoulder pointed out.

It could happen.Theycould.

Theoretically, he corrected dryly, as she blushed with mortification and jumped to the sand, hurrying up the path to the house.

That was probably for the best. An affair with her was a terrible idea.

CHAPTER THREE

VIENNAHADALWAYSfound an escape in art. Her only true memory of her mother’s life was the funeral when she’d been laid to rest. Not even the service, but the aftermath, when a well-meaning aunt had handed her a coloring book and some crayons.

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