Barbara Dunlop - His Convenient Virgin Bride

Then the preacher was finishing, inviting Alec to kiss the bride.

It seemed silly to do it, but churlish to skip.

So Alec bent his head. He struggled for emotional distance as he rested a hand on her perfect shoulder, slid the other arm around her slim waist and touched his lips to hers.

It was a tender kiss, nothing like the ones they’d shared when they made love. But sensations ricocheted through him, nearly sending him to his knees.

He held it too long.

He kissed her too hard.

He just barely forced himself to pull back.

When he did, she finally looked at him. Her cheeks were flushed, her mouth bright red, and her silver-blue eyes were wide and vulnerable. Something smacked him square in the solar plexus, and he knew he was in very big trouble.

Even in the midst of her stressful wedding day, Stephanie’s heart lifted when she saw McQuestin sitting on the front porch of the main ranch house. The old man was like a second grandfather to her, and she’d missed him while he’d been in Texas recovering from his broken leg.

She rushed out of Jared’s SUV, leaving Alec in the backseat.

“You’re home,” she called, picking her way carefully along the pathway in her thin, impractical shoes.

The old man’s smile was a slash across his weather-beaten face. His moustache and thick eyebrows were gray, and his hair, barely a fringe, was cut close to his head. His battered Stetson sat on his blue jean covered knee, while a pair of crutches were leaned against the wall next to his deck chair.

“Married?” he asked gruffly.

“I am,” she admitted, giving him a hug and a kiss on his leathery cheek. She hoped her brothers hadn’t told McQuestin about her pregnancy.

“How’s the leg?” she asked, brushing past the subject of the wedding.

“Be right as rain in no time. This your gentleman?” He nodded past Stephanie.

Her hand still resting on McQuestin’s shoulder, she turned to see Alec mount the stairs a few feet in front of Jared and Melissa. Royce’s truck came to a halt behind the SUV.

“That’s him,” said Stephanie.

McQuestin looked Alec up and down. “She’s too young to get married.” An accusation and a challenge were both clear in his tone.

Alec stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Stephanie’s bare shoulders. His hand was warm, strong and slightly callused, and her skin all but jumped under the touch.

“Sometimes a man has to move fast,” he responded easily. “Couldn’t take a chance on somebody else snapping her up.”

McQuestin’s faded blue eyes narrowed. “You’re not stupid. I’ll give you that.”

“I told you you’d like him,” Jared put in.

“Never said I liked him. Said he wasn’t stupid. Now this one, I like.” He nodded to Amber as she joined the group. “Got a good head on her shoulders.”

“That she does,” Royce agreed, and Stephanie realized McQuestin would only have met Amber today. Melissa on the other hand had been engaged to Jared before McQuestin’s accident.

McQuestin glanced around at the circle of six. “You go away for a couple of months, and look what happens?”

The comparison of the three relationships made Stephanie uncomfortable. She shrugged out of Alec’s embrace and backed toward the door. “I’ll go see how Sasha’s doing.”

“She’s got that table all decked out in delicates,” said McQuestin. “I’m afraid to touch it.”

“We’re celebrating,” said Melissa, giving him a hug on the way past. “It’s good to have you back.”

McQuestin winked at her. “A poker game with you later, young lady.”

“You bet.” Melissa fell into step behind Stephanie, passing through the doorway. “I think he lets me win,” she confessed in a whisper.

“If you’re winning, he’s letting you,” Stephanie confirmed.

“Who is he?” asked Amber as the door closed behind the three women. “We only had time for ‘hi, how are you,’ before we left for the ceremony.”

“He’s been the ranch manager forever,” said Stephanie, slowing her steps as she approached the dining room table.

It was set with her mother’s china, the best crystal wine-glasses, an ornate, silver candelabra and low bouquets of wildflowers. Sheer curtains muted the lighting, and Sasha had baked a stunning, three tiered wedding cake. It was pure white, decorated with a cascade of mixed berries and was sitting on the sideboard with an ornate silver knife and a stack of china plates.

Stephanie gripped the back of a chair. “I feel like such a fraud.”

“You’re not a fraud,” said Melissa, coming up on one side.

Amber came up on the other, flanking Stephanie with support. “And it looks delicious.”

The unexpected observation made Stephanie smile. “Are we looking at the bright side?”

“No point in doing anything else.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Stephanie allowed as she wandered over to the cake.

It did look delicious. She reached around the back, and swiped her fingertip through the icing then licked the sweetness off with her tongue.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Melissa laughed.

But Amber followed suit, tasting the icing herself. “Yum. Butter cream.”

“It’s good,” Stephanie agreed.

“I love cake,” Amber snickered.

Stephanie lifted the knife. “Let’s cut it now.”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Melissa trapped her wrist.

Stephanie struggled to escape. “What? You worried it’s bad luck.”

“I don’t believe in wedding luck,” said Amber, swiping another finger full of icing. “My fiancé saw the wedding dress before the ceremony and slept with the bridesmaid. And that turned out to be good luck.”

Stephanie and Melissa both blinked, round-eyed at Amber.

“Royce slept with a bridesmaid?” Stephanie asked in astonishment.

“Not Royce. My old fiancé, Hargrove. He slept with my best friend Katie. So I say to hell with luck. Let’s eat the cake.”

“Hello?” came Alec’s censorious voice from the doorway.

Stephanie and Melissa both dropped the knife, and Amber guiltily jerked her finger away from the bottom layer.

“Amber has a thing for cake.” Royce’s tone was dry next to Alec, but there was a twinkle in his eyes exclusively for Amber.

“That’s true,” Amber admitted, grinning right back at him, making a show of licking the tip of her finger.

Something about their easy intimacy tightened Stephanie’s chest. She didn’t dare look at Alec, knowing his expression would be guarded. There was no intimacy between them. They were barely acquaintances.

A few words, no matter how official, couldn’t make this a real marriage.

She knew she’d repeated the vows, and so had Alec, because the preacher had pronounced them husband and wife. But there’d been a ringing in her ears, and she’d had trouble focusing her eyes. She couldn’t honestly say she recalled any of it.

Except the kiss. She remembered the kiss all too well. And she remembered her body’s reaction to it-the arousal, the yearning, the fleeting fantasy that he’d scoop her into his arms and carry her off on a honeymoon.

“Stephanie?” Alec interrupted her thoughts.

Before she could stop herself, she glanced his way and caught his neutral expression, no twinkle, no teasing, no private message.

“The cake,” he prompted. “It’s up to the bride.”

Amber playfully elbowed her in the ribs. “Let’s do it.”

Stephanie forced a carefree laugh, turning away from Alec. “I don’t care if we cut it before dinner.”

“Not without a picture,” said Melissa.

Stephanie kept the smile determinedly pasted on her face. “Sure.”

Alec dutifully moved up next to her and the ornate cake, draping an arm around Stephanie’s shoulders.

Despite her vow to remain detached, she flinched under his touch.

“It’ll all be over soon,” he promised in a whisper.

“Maybe for you,” she snapped. “You go right back to your regular life.”

He stiffened. “You want me to stay?”

“Of course not.” But she realized it was a lie.

She desperately wanted him to stay.

It had been two weeks since Alec had seen or heard from Stephanie. Back in his compact, Chicago office, he’d filled every spare second with reviews of the various Ryder International divisions and queries to the possible whereabouts of Norman Stanton. He’d called in every outstanding favor and, quite literally, had feelers out all over the globe.

But no matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn’t get Stephanie off his mind. He knew he had to stay well away from her for both their sakes, but he couldn’t help wondering what she was doing. Was she still battling morning sickness? Was she picking out baby clothes? A crib? Thinking about a nursery? Had she been to the doctor again?

He was tempted to call, but he had to be strong. He’d seen the loneliness in her eyes and caught her fleeting glances his way after the wedding ceremony. She was vulnerable right now, and Alec couldn’t risk having her look to him for emotional support.

His instinct to care for his wife and unborn child might be strong, but if he gave in, it would be Stephanie who got hurt in the end.

A news update droned in the corner on his small television set, while the cordless phone on his desktop sharply chimed.

It was an unfamiliar area code, and he snapped up the receiver. “Creighton here.”

“Alec. It’s Damien.”

Anticipation tightened Alec’s gut. “What’ve you got?”

“We found him.”

Alec rocked forward in his chair, senses instantly alert. “Where?”

“Morocco.”

Alec closed his eyes for a brief second of thankfulness. “Good. Great. What now?”

Damien Burke was a decorated, former military man. He’d done tours in both special forces and army intelligence, and there was nobody Alec trusted more.

“The U.S. doesn’t have an extradition treaty with Morocco. Not that I’m suggesting we involve the Moroccan authorities. But Stanton will know that. You can bet that’s why he’s here. And that limits our bargaining power.”

“It’s not like we didn’t expect this,” said Alec. The man was smart enough to illegally drain millions of dollars from the Ryders then hide out in a foreign country. It stood to reason he’d done his research on extradition laws.

“I may be able to get him to Spain,” Damien offered.

Alec was cautious. “How?” Kidnapping was not something he was prepared to authorize.

Damien chuckled, obviously guessing the direction of Alec’s thoughts. “Margarita Castillo, Alec. Trust me, I’m not about to break the law and get myself thrown in a Moroccan jail.”

“Who is she?”

“An associate who, I promise you, will have Norman Stanton on an airplane within twenty-four hours.”

“And then?”

“And then a friend from Interpol will lay out the man’s options.”

Alec battled a moment’s hesitation. “You won’t do anything…You know…”

Damien scoffed. “‘You know’ won’t be even remotely necessary. I’ve watched the man all day. He’s soft as a tourist. We’re shootin’ fish in a barrel here.”

“Good.” A tentative satisfaction bloomed to life inside Alec. He might not be able to be with Stephanie in Montana, but he could do this for her.

Not that she’d ever find out.

“Touch base again tomorrow?” asked Damien.

“Thanks,” said Alec, signing off and sliding the phone back into the charger.

“-arrived at Brighton earlier this morning,” said the female, television news announcer, “and seen here heading for the barn area with her mare Rosie-Jo.”

At the sound of the familiar name, Alec’s gaze flicked to the television set.

“Anyone who follows the national circuit will remember this pair from Caldona where Stephanie Ryder and Rosie-Jo took first place.”

Alec reflexively came to his feet, drinking in the sight of Stephanie’s smiling face. She was dressed in faded jeans and a white cotton blouse. Her auburn hair was braided tight, and her amazing clear blue eyes sparkled in the Kentucky sunshine.

“She’s had an extraordinary year,” the male co-anchor put in.

“And an extraordinary career,” said the female. “If they take the blue ribbon this weekend, you have to expect the pair to be a shoe-in for the Olympic team.”

If they what?

“People are calling Rosie-Jo a cross between Big Ben and Miss Budweiser,” the announcer continued.

Alec gave his head a startled shake.

This was Brighton.

It was live.

Stephanie wasn’t allowed to jump. It was too dangerous for the baby.

“High praise, indeed,” the other answered.

Alec knew she was unhappy about the pregnancy, and he knew how desperately she wanted to compete. But she wouldn’t…She couldn’t…

She stepped past a cluster of reporters, Wesley beside her, leading Rosie-Jo.