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the words died on her lips. “The truth is, Maddie, I need you to rescue me .”

Chapter Four
    Standing on the threshold of Mitch’s living room, Maddie twisted her hands like a nervous old lady. They’d said their good-nights. He’d sent her to bed, and having to go and find him was the last thing she’d wanted.
    She rubbed a finger over the slight indent where her engagement ring had been. Why must every stab at independence be met with more tests? She’d tried to take care of things herself but even the basics were challenging her.
    Now here she was, once again forced to ask for help.
    She cleared her throat, hoping to get his attention, but a car exploded on the large flat-screen TV, drowning her efforts. Of course he had surround sound. In a house dedicated to the 1930s, it was befitting that one of the few concessions to modern life would thwart her.
    In the flickering gray light, his attention stayed firmly on the action movie and her glare was lost on the back of his head.
    At the bar, when she’d been buzzed on whiskey and his intoxicating flirting, spending the night had been the ultimate temptation. But the second they’d entered his kitchen, all of that ease had evaporated like a desert mirage, replaced by the tension of two strangers forced into close proximity too soon.
    After a few minutes of awkward conversation, he’d led her upstairs, handed her a T-shirt, and shoved her in a room straight out of her grandmother’s decorating book. In clipped tones, he’d pointed to the telephone, shown her how to lock the door, and offered to call the chief of police, who he apparently knew, to provide a character reference.
    She’d said that wouldn’t be necessary and he’d said good night.
    She’d hoped she wouldn’t have to face him until the following morning, but that was no longer an option. She had no other choice. Unable to avoid the inevitable any longer, she said, “Mitch?”
    He jumped, whipping around to pin her with a scowl, obvious even in the shadowed room.
    A tiny bolt of fear shot through her, and instinct had her two-stepping back.
    “Sorry, you scared me.” The rigidness of his posture eased as he smiled. His gaze roamed over her wedding dress, which was practically filling the doorway with its overflowing skirts. “I thought I’d sent you to bed.”
    Out of nowhere, the alcohol betrayed her. Her hand fluttered to her neck, fingers entwined on the crystal choker at her throat as something unforgivable welled inside her. “Um . . . I’m sorry,” she babbled, unable to form a coherent sentence. Please, God, no.
    “Is something wrong?” Concern tightened his expression and he slid one arm over the length of the sofa.
    Another step back. She couldn’t do this. The pressure in her chest grew. “I, um, it’s just . . .”
    “Come here, Maddie, and tell me what’s wrong.” His voice was soft but insistent.
    She took one small step forward, but the pressure threatened to crush her and her throat closed over. She stopped and looked down at the floor.
    No. No. No. But it was too late.
    She picked up a large handful of the dress. In this crazy, unreasonable moment, every problem in her life could be blamed on this stupid, god-awful, horrid princess wedding gown.
    The floodgates opened and she burst into tears. Loud, wailing, obnoxious tears.
    Her whole body shook as big, fat drops slid down her cheeks. Mortified, she covered her face as though she could hide her wailing.
    Strong arms enveloped her and Mitch pulled her close. She gave one thought to protest, and then sank into the warm, solid strength of his chest. He was big and broad, so different from what she was used to. The thought made her cry harder.
    She should push him away, but instead she curled closer. Needing him. She was the most wicked kind of woman. There’d be no escaping hell now. All those years of penance washed away by one night of rash behavior.
    Mitch kissed her temple, rubbing his hands over her bare skin.