Runaway Bride Returns! Read online

  Her thigh hardened under his touch and he heard the little catch in her breath. Her tongue reached out to make a nervous flick along the fullness of her bottom lip.

  He’d want to do that, too.

  “I’d like to give them a call,” his mother was saying.

  Izzy’s eyes went wide and her gaze shifted from his face to the older woman on the couch. “What?” she said.

  “If you’d give me their number, I’d like to phone them and introduce myself as your new mother-in-law. Maybe they’re available to come for a visit soon so we can all get acquainted.”

  “Oh…well…” Her thigh started jumping as her knee bounced in a jittery movement. “That’s not, um…”

  Not a good idea? He supposed she’d kept the news of their wedding as secret as he had. And while he could mention that to his mother, and then flat-out inform his parents that this marriage was a temporary situation just waiting for a permanent solution, he…well, he didn’t feel like it. Because…

  Because his mother might take the truth as a reason to apply the screws and get him out of his place and into the penthouse in San Francisco. He didn’t want that.

  Because stating the bald-faced truth about their marriage to his family would surely banish Izzy from his life. And he didn’t want that, either. Not now. Not yet. Not when he supposed they had forms to fill out and papers to sign.

  He stroked his fingertips over Izzy’s nervous leg. “Mom, we don’t want visitors right now.”

  “But—”

  “Think about it, Mom. This is really my and Izzy’s honeymoon.”

  Izzy’s leg stilled. Her gaze jumped to his. The fire’s flames reflected warmly on her apricot skin—damn Bryce, he was never going to get that fairy comment out of his head—but there was another flush warming her skin, as well.

  Embarrassment, or that “approval”?

  It didn’t matter, not when just looking at her could have him remembering past the need to end their marriage, remembering beyond the argument in the Vegas hotel lobby, remembering back to that incredible, undeniable physical attraction he’d experienced the moment they’d met. It overrode every sensible thought, every angry response to what she’d done.

  Izzy licked her bottom lip again. His fingers tightened on her thigh.

  Owen’s dad cleared his throat. “June, I think that’s our cue to head on home. We still have some packing to finish up, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Owen knew it wasn’t smart to be feeling this, but he couldn’t seem to extinguish the rising heat. Catching Izzy’s hand, he brought her fingers to his mouth. “Good idea, Dad,” he said, brushing his lips against her knuckles.

  That small hitch in her breath reached Owen’s ears, and that little sound seemed to reach lower, too, where his body demonstrated so very clearly that not every part of it was broken.

  “I’ll…I’ll just show your parents out,” Izzy said, her gaze locked on his.

  Owen squeezed her fingers. Attraction, not good sense, ran the show right now. And it didn’t want her moving an inch from him. It wanted her close, and hell, Izzy was still his wife. “You stay right here, baby. They know the way.”

  Owen’s parents were rising to leave and Izzy really felt as if she should accompany them to the front door, but she found herself pulled down into Owen’s lap instead. “What—”

  “Play along,” he murmured as he nuzzled her hair. “Or else they’ll linger and we’ll end up confessing one of our wedding guests was a pretend Priscilla Presley.”

  She squirmed, because she was ticklish right behind her ear and his breath was so hot and his—well, something hard was pressing against her bottom.

  “Bye, Mom, Dad. Have a great trip,” Owen called out. His voice sounded hoarse and she told herself it was from smoke, not sexual promise. “Be sure not to write. Don’t phone.”

  “Owen,” Izzy started to protest, but he put his mouth over hers, cutting off her words. Reminding her of what it was like to kiss him.

  Good. Kissing Owen was good. His uninjured hand cupped her cheek and kept her mouth turned to his. His tongue painted the seam between her lips and it was as if she didn’t have a will of her own. She opened for him, and even reached out her wet tongue to his.

  At the touch, a sizzle shot through her system, a jagged, hot sensation that had her gasping for breath. Her mouth jerked away. She swallowed, her eyes staring into his.

  They were so close she could see that the edges of the cut at the bridge of his nose were drawing together. He could have died, she thought again. Owen could have died.

  His hand shifted from her face to curl around the back of her head. As he speared his fingers through her hair, he brought her mouth close to his again. Close enough to brush his lightly, setting off more sparklers.

  “Owen,” she said, though she didn’t know why saying his name gave her such satisfaction.

  “Shh,” he murmured. “Make this look good. They may tiptoe back up the stairs, and we want to look like real honeymooners, don’t you think?”

  Right. She wasn’t sure why she was agreeing, but it didn’t really matter when it was just like Las Vegas again, with the incredible feelings she experienced in his arms welling up, buoying her on a combined tide of mental well-being and physical excitement.

  Izzy stroked her hands over his thick hair and she heard him groan as she opened her mouth and took his tongue inside again. Heat blossomed over her skin, and she pressed closer to him, even though she knew more closeness wasn’t going to cool her down.

  The sound of a distant door slamming stilled them both. “Hey, bro!” Bryce’s voice. Steady footsteps said he was coming up the stairs.

  Izzy jumped and made to move off Owen’s lap, but he held her there. “This is embarrassing,” she told him.

  “It will be more embarrassing—at least for me—if you get up right now, honey.” He stroked a hand over her hip and she felt her face heat up again as she realized her body was covering up what had happened to his.

  “But I’m too heavy.”

  He half groaned, half laughed. “Believe me, that’s not what I’m complaining about right now.”

  Bryce bounded into the bedroom, grinning and appearing not the least put out by finding his brother and Izzy snuggled up on a single chair. “What’s up?”

  Owen slanted her a glance, one eyebrow winging high. “Want to answer that one?”

  Bad. Bad boy. She sent the message with a quelling glance—they taught a course on it in librarian school—then tried to appear casual and not at all a little uncomfortable in her current position. “We just had a visit from your parents.”

  “And now you,” Owen said. “Bryce, it’s at least an hour to here from your office. Why the hell have you come?”

  “Is that any way to greet your loving little brother?”

  “Well, yeah, considering I have a life and that you should get one outside of your assistant, your financial reports and your refereeing between Granddad and Dad. If you’re taking off early it should be to visit a woman.”

  “Who says I’m not?” Bryce smiled again, one hundred bright watts of masculine appeal that he shot straight at Izzy. “How’s my beautiful fairy today?”

  Her heart rocked a little under all the male allure, but probably because his ultrasexy big brother had already set the thing tumbling with that string of surprise kisses. “I’m—”

  “Completely immune to your dubious charms,” Owen finished for her. Then he frowned as Bryce picked up his beer bottle and drained the half-filled bottle dry. “Hey! That’s mine.”

  “You know I always want whatever you have,” he said, sliding his teasing glance toward Izzy’s face again. “If I can’t play with your wife—”

  “Which you can’t.”

  “—then sheesh, don’t begrudge me some of your beverage.”

  Owen was shaking his head, and though Izzy suspected he was amused by his brother’s antics, he had his casted arm secured against her middle. With his other h
and, he adjusted her a little so that her head fit under his chin. She felt him press his lips on the top of her hair.

  Bryce was beaming at them both. “I do like to see you so happy, bro.”

  She would have craned her neck to look at Owen, but he had her clamped too closely to him. Did he appear happy? She wondered, because over the past few days, more than once she’d caught him looking very much less than that. Moody and brooding described it better, as if there were a dark cloud hanging over his head that was poised to drench him in a downpour.

  She was pretty sure he wasn’t sleeping well. But when she’d asked him about it, he’d made clear that his nighttime habits were off-limits.

  “Happy?” Owen stiffened, then patted her hip in a dismissive gesture. “Yeah, well. Could you move, Iz? My legs are going numb.”

  Of course Izzy did as directed, and it gave her an opportunity to check out that “happy” herself—and realize it wasn’t the way she’d characterize his expression. Not at all. A minute ago he’d been exchanging passionate kisses with her, but now he looked as if he’d much rather be alone. His gaze was remote, his eyes focused on something she couldn’t see.

  She found herself dropping to the arm of his chair like before, then flicking a glance in Bryce’s direction.

  He looked worried now, too. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Owen replied, his gaze still on that faraway place.

  “It just seemed to get a little, I don’t know, chilly in here.” Bryce frowned, studying his brother.

  “Stoke the fire, then.”

  With a shrug, Bryce ambled over to the brass log carrier set on the hearth. There was some newspaper wedged behind the stacked logs, and he pulled it out. “Wait a second. You don’t mean to burn today’s copy of the Paxton Record here, do you? It doesn’t look as if you’ve read it.”

  Owen made a dismissive gesture. “I don’t want to.”

  “Mr. News Junkie turning down info? I know it’s just the local rag, but you’re as addicted to that as your daily dose of those big-city papers you read online.”

  Bryce was holding it out, but it was Izzy who took the sheets from him. She remembered bringing it in this morning, but she’d just tucked it on Owen’s breakfast tray and not given it a second thought.

  Now that she saw the odd stiffness in his body, though, she looked down at the paper with suspicion. Above the fold, a photo of a fireman in full gear. Jerry Palmer, the caption read. The top story was coverage of his funeral, which had taken place the day before.

  Her stomach folded in on itself. Oh, no. “Owen. I wish someone had let us know about the service…”

  His face gave nothing away. “I knew about it. The captain called.”

  “We could have found a way to go—”

  “It’s okay.” He was shaking his head. “Everyone understands.”

  She didn’t understand. Why hadn’t he mentioned it? Was it because he didn’t want to be seen by his friends and colleagues beat up and battered, or was there something else turning in this man’s head?

  Bryce didn’t seem to be any more enlightened than Izzy. Though he’d finished building up the fire, he still stood by the hearth, gazing on his brother’s face, a line between his eyebrows. “Bro…”

  Owen curled a hand around Izzy’s waist and pulled her into his lap again. Then he bent his head to place a hot kiss against the side of her neck. She shivered, half because it felt so good and half because she knew he was using the move as a way to dodge Bryce’s scrutiny.

  “Be a bro back and get out of here, will you?” Owen asked.

  Bryce didn’t appear ready to be dismissed, though. He crossed to the couch and dropped onto the cushions, stretching out his long legs. “Like you said, it took me over an hour to get here from the office. You’re not going to kick me out after less than fifteen minutes, are you?”

  Owen took Izzy’s face in his good hand and turned her lips to his. The kiss he gave her was chaste compared to some they’d shared, but she felt her tight stomach start to unfurl again, even knowing he had something else on his mind besides a renewed acquaintance with her mouth.

  Owen’s lips lifted. “You don’t mind being a third wheel, Bryce?”

  “I mind being BS’d,” his brother replied. “Is something bothering you, Owen?”

  “Yeah, I can’t kiss my woman without you looking on.”

  “Really, Owen,” Bryce answered, his eyes narrowing. “Is something biting your butt about what happened that night?”

  “What night? Last night?” He laid another soft kiss on Izzy’s bottom lip. “Last night when I was alone with my wife?” He caressed her shoulder with his hand.

  The same hand that he’d used last night to morosely flip the channels on the TV remote, rarely responding to her in anything other than grunts. She might as well have been a doorknob for all the attention he’d paid to her. The day hadn’t been so bad, but as the night descended, as it was doing now, his mood seemed to go down with it.

  “I’m talking about the night of your…accident,” Bryce clarified. Then his voice quieted, all his earlier humor gone. “Are the memories of it bothering you?”

  Owen appeared to swallow his impatience. “Look. I’m good. The fact is, I don’t even remember much, okay? I remember studying for a class Will and I are taking on haz mats, I remember the alarm, but after that it’s all sorta smoky.” He put on a grin that Izzy would swear was forced and shifted his gaze her way. “Hey, librarian, I punned.”

  “You did.” She shot a look at Bryce, then turned back to Owen, not knowing what to think.

  “I get a prize, don’t I?” And he swooped in to take it, laying a dramatic kiss on her mouth. Another show, but she went along with it anyway. Fine. It was hard to turn down a kiss that potent.

  “Okay, okay,” Bryce said as they came up for air. “I get the hint. You two lovebirds want to be alone.”

  “Thanks for coming.” Owen settled back into the cushions of his chair. “Next time, call first.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” the younger man grumbled, waving a hand over his shoulder.

  Then he was gone, leaving Owen and Izzy alone. She looked at him, but he was looking at the flames now roaring in the fireplace. A log popped, and Owen jolted, as if a ghost had jumped out and yelled “Boo!”

  “You’re faking,” she heard herself say. God, he was faking.

  His gaze jumped to hers. “What?” he demanded.

  She focused on his face, taking in that bleak expression once more in his eyes. “You’re faking. You faked to your family that our marriage is real. You faked to your parents that we’re having ourselves a ‘honeymoon.’ And now you’re faking that you’re feeling any kind of ‘good’ about what had happened the night of that fire.”

  His eyes had narrowed to slits. His uncasted hand was curled into a tense fist. “It’s none of your damn business, Izzy.”

  “Owen—”

  “Why don’t you just move to a hotel? From there you can figure out what we need to do about this marriage, then we’ll sign the damn papers.”

  “Your signing hand is in a cast,” she pointed out.

  And it wasn’t just his body that was damaged. She knew now that something deeper was hurt, as well. And Izzy Cavaletti owed this man her help until he healed—all the way. “So I’m sticking,” she told him.

  Of course, he didn’t look very happy about it.

  She raised her brows. “Think about it, my friend. Do you want your parents and Bryce here hovering? Or just me?”

  She had him there. She knew it.

  Except he was looking angry again, instead of grateful, and there was no sign of the man who had kissed her silly just a few minutes before. “Fine,” he finally ground out. “Stay. But if you’re not in my bed, Isabella Cavaletti, then you stay the hell out of my head!”

  Since sharing his bed was about the worst idea she could think of, Izzy welcomed the distinctive ring of her cell pho
ne—“Bohemian Rhapsody”—and hurried away to answer it. Her retreat gave Owen the last word, but that seemed the safest course.

  Chapter Four

  C ollege football played on Owen’s big-screen TV. He was lying on his bed, pretending to be immersed in each play, when all he saw were figures of blue and red scrambling on a green field. He made himself blink every once in a while to keep the colors in focus, but he let the rest of his consciousness drift, thinking about nothing, willing himself into a comfortable catatonic state.

  Izzy moved into the periphery of his vision and he drew his eyebrows together, as if the success of the defensive line was tantamount to victory for the free world—or at least as if he had some cash riding on the game. Anything to get Izzy to go away and leave him alone.

  “Look who’s here,” she called out brightly, waving a hand. “And they brought lunch.”

  Owen slid his gaze in her direction. Damn, there was a “who” all right, two of them, and they were beaming smiles and bearing bags. He felt obliged to smile at them, because at least they’d serve as a temporary buffer between Owen and all the things he didn’t want to think about. “Will,” he said, greeting his best friend and colleague at the Paxton F.D. “And Emily. It’s nice to see you again.”

  The last time he’d seen the smiling woman had been in Vegas, as matron of honor to Izzy, his bride.

  Will gripped his right hand, giving it a strong squeeze. “You said you were doing well on the phone, but Emily said she had to see you in person.”

  Emily frowned and shoved her husband aside to kiss Owen on the cheek. “It was all his idea,” she whispered. “Not that I didn’t want to see you myself, but apparently he feels it necessary to hide behind me in order to preserve his macho image.”

  Owen could certainly understand that. Right now he was all about preserving his macho image, which wasn’t easy when a man was laid up, with a lousy memory and a temporary wife he was forced to depend on for his every mouthful. Except this time Will and Emily had brought a meal. “What’s in the bags?” he asked, glancing at Will.