Borrowed Bride Page 3

  Iced apricot. The thought appealed so much, he supposed it was only natural for a man to wonder what hot apricot would be like.

  Along with the Harley, he had pulled from the van a couple of large knapsacks so tightly packed they were straining at the seams. Gabrielle stood by and watched as he struggled to strap them to the bike in a spot where they would be as much out of the way as possible. He’d figured that she wouldn’t take up much space, being only about five foot five and slender, but the ride ahead was straight uphill. That fact, plus the added cargo they’d be hauling, would make it even more of a challenge than the getaway from the church had been. He had to make sure that both the bags and Gaby would be safe. It wasn’t easy, and Connor didn’t have to look up to know that she was relishing every moment of his frustration.

  By the time he finished, he’d bitten back every curse he knew, and sweat was running between his shoulder blades. The only thing stopping him from stripping off his leather jacket was the knowledge that if he did he’d have to find someplace on the already overloaded bike to stow that, as well. He’d rather sweat.

  After double-checking the kickstand to make sure it was secure, he turned to her. “Let’s go make that call.”

  Gabrielle felt a combined rush of excitement and relief. She quickly rejected the impulse to thank him, reminding herself he deserved to be flogged for what he was doing to her, not thanked for merely having enough decency to allow her to call and let her family know she was still alive. Evidently it didn’t take long for the Stockholm syndrome to kick in, she thought disgustedly as they walked the short distance to the phone booth. She picked her path carefully, grimacing each time her bare feet landed on a sharp stone.

  “I can carry you if you like,” Connor offered when they were about halfway there.

  Gabrielle slanted him a look of disdain. “I’d rather crawl.”

  He shrugged. “That’s another option, I suppose.”

  In spite of her bare feet she increased her pace so that she was out in front of him, where she didn’t have to see his mocking smile. Reaching the phone booth first, she stepped inside, slammed the folding door shut and reached for the receiver, her heart pounding with excitement. Only then did she remember she didn’t have a purse or money on her.

  Gritting her teeth, she slid the door open. Connor smiled as he dropped the quarter he was holding into her hand, but when she went to shut the door again, he stopped it with his foot.

  “Here’s the deal,” he told her, his smile gone. “You’ve got two minutes. You tell whoever answers that you’re fine, that you simply got cold feet at the last minute and—”

  “I will do no such thing. I won’t lie for you or—”

  “You’ll do exactly as you’re told, Gaby, or no call.”

  She exhaled, struggling to control her fury. “Fine. I’ll tell them I got cold feet.”

  “And that you need some time alone to think things through.”

  “All right.”

  “A week.”

  “A week?” she echoed, stricken.

  He nodded. “A week. You can tell them not to worry, that you’ll be in touch.”

  “They’ll never believe me,” she told him. “My mother and my sister know I would never do anything as thoughtless and irresponsible as taking off from my own wedding...and even if I did something as silly as get cold feet, I would never, ever leave Toby without—”

  “It doesn’t matter what they believe,” he interjected harshly. “They’ll at least hear your voice and know you’re all right, and you’ll have the satisfaction of getting a message to Toby.”

  Toby. Everything inside her yearned to see and hold her little boy.

  “I have to talk to Toby myself,” she said.

  “Not unless he answers.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Connor, he’s only five years—”

  “It will take too long.”

  “I have to, Connor.” She swallowed her pride. “Please. He’s just a little boy... a little boy whose daddy...”

  “All right, all right,” he said giving in exactly as she had suspected he would.

  For future reference she tucked away the knowledge that underneath all that reckless macho bluster, even Connor DeWolfe had a conscience that could be pricked if you used the right needle.

  She reached for the phone. His hand closed over hers, stopping her.

  “Remember,” he warned, “nothing about me or where you are.”

  “I don’t know where I am,” she reminded him, her smile tart.

  “Good, then you won’t try to drop any hints. I mean it, Gaby. Anything cute and I’ll rip the phone right out of the wall. That will only alarm them more.”

  He was right, of course, and her smug little plan to do exactly what he was warning against fizzled inside her. Glumly she realized that she had no choice but to do as he’d instructed. She couldn’t risk having him break the connection and upset her mother or Toby any more than they must be already. Especially not when she had no idea when she might be able to contact them again.

  She lifted the receiver, dropped the quarter into the slot and punched in her mother’s number. When a recorded voice instructed her to deposit additional coins to complete the longdistance call, she turned to find Connor had them ready for her. He was well prepared; she had to give him that much. Unfortunately. Under the circumstances she wished with all her heart he was behaving more like the irresponsible, undependable hotshot she remembered so well.

  Just as she heard the first ring, he startled her by moving inside the booth. He had to lean against her in order to slide the door shut behind him, crowding her against the back wall, filling the small space with the scent of leather and man.

  “What are you doing?” she challenged, as disturbingly aware of every inch of him as she had been of his heated gaze a few minutes ago, when thanks to him they’d fallen on top of each other in the back of the van.

  “Making sure there aren’t any road noises they might be able to identify and trace later.”

  “Of all the stupid... Hello,” she said, straining to sound normal as she heard her mother’s voice on the other end of the line. “Mom? Is that you?”

  “Gabrielle? Oh, thank goodness. It’s her,” Gabrielle heard her mother say to someone else. Her sister maybe, or Adam. Probably both. “It’s Gabrielle. Where on earth are you, Gabrielle? We’re all worried sick.”

  “I’m fine, Mom. Please don’t worry. I just...I just got a last-minute case of nerves and I had to...to get away.” She glared at Connor as she spoke the lies he’d ordered. “I need some time to think things over. Alone.”

  “Well, goodness, Gaby, I don’t know what to say. I was so sure you knew what you were doing.”

  “So was I, Mom, but things changed. I’ll explain everything as soon as I get back.”

  “All right, sweetheart, you just come on home and...”

  “I can’t, Mom,” she said, her voice cracking as a longing to be back home where she belonged erupted inside. “Not right away.”

  “But, Gaby...”

  “Please, Mom. I...I need some time to myself. To think. Will you please take care of Toby for me until I get back?”

  “Well, of course I will. But...oh, dear. Gaby, Adam is right here and he’d like to say a word to you.”

  “No.”

  “Gaby, really, I think you owe it...”

  “Not now, Mom,” she said firmly. “I don’t have time. Please put Toby on.”

  “Toby? But Adam...”

  “Mom, get Toby for me, and hurry. My time is running out, and I don’t have any more change on me.”

  “All right.” She turned away from the phone, and Gaby heard her calling for Toby and trying to explain to Adam that Gabrielle insisted on speaking with her son. Gabrielle heard Adam’s voice, loud and indignant. She winced. I’m so sorry, Adam, she thought. Sorry for the pain and the humiliation you must be feeling. She would make it up to him somehow, but right then her overriding concern was T
oby.

  “Mommy?”

  “Toby? Oh, Toby, hello, sweetie. It’s Mommy.”

  “Where are you, Mommy?” he asked, the familiar sound of his voice bringing tears to her eyes. “I waited and waited, but you never came down the aisle like you were supposed to.”

  “No, I know I didn’t, sweetie. Something came up, and Mommy had to go away in a hurry. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home.”

  “I thought you were mad at me because I was afraid to carry the pillow with the rings.”

  “Oh, no, Toby. I wasn’t mad at you.”

  “Were you afraid, too?”

  “Maybe a little. Listen to me, Toby. I want you to stay with Nana for a while, and be very good for her, all right?”

  “But where will you be?”

  “I’ll be home soon,” she told him, aware of Connor tapping his watch impatiently. “And when I do, we’ll...” She struggled to think of something to give him to look forward to. “We’ll go ride the horses again. You and Adam and me, all right?”

  “That’s it,” Connor mouthed, lifting his hand to the connection lever on the phone.

  “I have to go, Toby. I love you, sweetie. Tell Nana goodbye for me and that I love her, too.”

  “Okay, Mommy. I—”

  Connor lowered the lever, cutting off the connection.

  “Damn you,” she shouted. “He was still talking to me.”

  “I told you two minutes,” he said. “I let you go over as it is.”

  Gabrielle tilted her head to meet his determined gaze. He was a big man, bigger than her late husband, Joel, had been, bigger than Adam. Six foot two and powerful. The muscles she knew were beneath that leather jacket, the muscles that allowed him to grab her and toss her around as if she were of no more substance than a bag of feathers, were a matter of function rather than fashion. They’d resulted from years of reckless physical activity, not membership at some expensive health club. Strong and impulsive and undependable—that was Connor DeWolfe, and at the moment she was totally at his mercy. Crowded into the small, hot phone booth, he seemed bigger than ever to Gaby, and still she would have fought him tooth and nail if she’d thought there was even a slight chance that doing so would get her back home to Toby faster.

  It wouldn’t.

  “Let me out of here,” she ordered.

  He’d been watching her with an odd, almost assessing expression. Ridiculous, thought Gaby, since she and Connor had sized each other up long ago. He also started to say something in reply to her demand, then snapped his jaw shut and reached behind him to shove open the door.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He led the way back to the bike, walking faster than she could have even if she’d been wearing shoes. Halfway there he glanced back at her and frowned.

  “Hurry up. We’ve got a long ride ahead of us.”

  Gaby made a face at his back, but she did try to move a little faster. For all she knew, he might decide to drag her along if she fell too far behind. In spite of her efforts to keep up, he reached the bike before her. As she approached he was standing with his back to her, rummaging in a small leather pouch strapped beneath the handlebars.

  For the first time it occurred to Gabrielle that the long ride he warned of was going to have to be made on this motorcycle. She already felt battered and weary, and every bone in her body rebelled at the thought of climbing back on the black-and-chrome monster. She was eyeing it warily, wondering where she was going to sit and how, when Connor turned.

  The sunlight glinted off the knife in his hand, and Gaby screamed.

  “For God’s sake,” he said, grasping her by the shoulder as she tried to back away. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Her gaze slid from the six-inch blade to his grim expression. It was a toss-up as to which was more menacing.

  “Me?” she managed to say. “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? Why are you doing this, Connor? Why do you want to hurt me?”

  He looked stunned, as if she had taken the knife and turned it on him, planting it deep in his belly. His eyes narrowed as he stared at her as blankly as if he was looking at a total stranger. It was not, Gaby decided, a reassuring moment.

  “Hurt you?” he asked. “Why on earth would you think I want to hurt you?”

  “Damn it, Connor, you’re holding a knife on me. What should I think?”

  He glanced at the knife as if he’d forgotten he had it and quickly dropped his arm to his side. “How could you think... hell, Gaby, hurting you is the last thing I want to do. You have to believe me. I never want to hurt you again.” He lifted his hand as if to touch her face. “I only want to take care of you.”

  Gabrielle flinched and his hand froze in midair. Take care of her? Her mind reeled at the absurdity of it. She’d always said he was crazy, but she’d meant it in the reckless, daredevil sense of a man who had never really grown up. Maybe she’d been more on target than even she had known. Maybe he was truly insane.

  “The same way you took care of Joel?” she whispered.

  Instantly his gray eyes became shuttered, his expression hard. Gabrielle held her breath, her heart thundering in her chest, as he took a step closer and grabbed the hem of her dress in the front. He pulled the sheer fabric taut.

  “What are you-?”

  “Quiet,” he ordered, hunching down.

  She watched in horror as with one efficient slash of the knife he slit her skirt from the top of her thighs to the hem.

  “Turn around.”

  Gabrielle did as he said, not sure if she was trembling more from her anger at being manhandled or relief that he evidently didn’t have even more sinister plans for the knife. The thoughts that had flashed through her mind when he suddenly turned with it in his hand still made her feel queasy. And a little silly. As crazy as he was acting, this was Connor after all. A man she had known for years. Her son’s godfather. A friend. Sort of. She tossed her head defiantly. All right. So maybe she had overreacted a bit. It was damn hard to know how to react to any of this.

  Connor quickly slit the back of her dress in the same way he had butchered the front.

  As she whirled back to face him, he flipped the knife shut with a quick, unmistakably practiced motion and dropped it into the pouch.

  “My beautiful dress,” she cried, glancing at the tatters fluttering around her legs in the soft breeze. “It’s ruined.”

  “Instead of whining, you ought to be thanking me. You’ll be a lot more comfortable riding behind me than you were up front.” He shot her a taunting grin. “Or are you bitching because you’d really rather be back in my arms again? Is that it, Gaby?”

  “Not in this lifetime,” she snapped.

  “Good. Because I was getting real tired of having that damn veil blowing in my face.” He lifted his gaze to the top of her head. “In fact...”

  Before she could stop him, he had yanked the veil off and tossed it into a ravine by the side of the road. He stepped back to look at her. “Much better,” he declared. “Now you have another reason to thank me.”

  “For throwing away a handmade, imported lace headpiece that cost a small fortune?”

  “No. For making you look more like yourself and less like Adam Ressler’s bride.”

  Chapter 3

  The long ride provided Gabrielle with plenty of time to brood about how much she hated Connor DeWolfe and how she was going to make him pay for what he was doing to her. It was easier to think clearly now that they weren’t hurtling through traffic, with her in fear for her life every second. Also, as much as it galled her to admit that Connor was right about anything, she did feel safer and marginally more comfortable riding behind him than she had sprawled across the front of his seat.

  Apart from the bumps in the narrow road, which seemed to wind endlessly up the side of a small mountain, the worst part of the ride was having to sit with her chest pressed against his back and her arms wrapped around his waist. It wasn’t a matter of choice, since there was simply no
other way to hold on. At least his leather jacket made for a reasonably sturdy barrier between her chest and his broad back. True, it wasn’t the solid granite wall she would have preferred between them, but it was far preferable to the situation in front.

  He’d unzipped his jacket before they started out, letting it fly open in the breeze so that her palms were separated from his midsection by only the wash-softened cotton T-shirt he wore underneath. Each time he leaned into a curve or shifted his weight, she was aware of his hard muscles clenching and rippling beneath her fingertips. She swore she could even feel him breathing and several times she found her own breath unconsciously coming in unison with his. When that happened she purposely held her breath for as long as she could and then took great pains to make sure she exhaled when he inhaled and vice versa.

  She didn’t care if it was childish. She hated Connor DeWolfe with every fiber of her being.

  He was also right about one other thing, however. She had always hated him, or at least disliked and distrusted him immensely. All that, Gabrielle thought grimly, in spite of the fact that he’d been her late husband’s best friend and that he, Adam and Joel had been business partners in one of the most successful restaurants in the state. She’d married Joel right after college, for better or worse, and ever since then, as far as she was concerned, Connor was the worst.

  From the start she’d been convinced he brought out the worst in Joel, as well. When he was around Connor, it had been as if the sweet, dependable man she loved was suddenly plummeted back to adolescence, with no scheme too outrageous to undertake, no feat too dangerous to attempt if Connor put forth a challenge. Oh, she’d tried to hide her feelings of disapproval for Joel’s sake, but inside she had always been afraid that sooner or later Connor would get Joel into real trouble, that he would wind up fired or arrested or bankrupt.

  Gaby closed her eyes against the familiar threat of tears. If only it had all ended that innocuously.