Read The Borrowed Bride for Free Online

door.
    “Go on in,” Dan said. “It’s not locked.”
    She hurried in. He’d built a fire in the hearth of the main lounge, and the leaping flames seemed to draw her. He stood behind her, watching her tense movements and feeling such a surge of tenderness and passion that his chest hurt.
    “Look,” she said, staring as if mesmerized by the fire. “Number one, I wish you’d been straight with me and told me about your business with Anthony. And second, you didn’t ‘steal’ his girlfriend.”
    “Borrowed, then?” Dan suggested.
    “I don’t belong to either of you. He was amazingly understanding when I called him today.”
    “Then he’s a fool.” Dan took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “Like I was a long time ago. I never should have let you go, Isabel.”
    Just for a moment, she swayed toward him.
    An unbearable tension seized him; he wanted to cover her mouth with his, to taste her and plunge his hands into her hair.
    Then she seemed to catch herself and pulled back. “There was never a question of you ‘letting’ me go. I left. That’s all there is to it.”
    “Then why are you crying, Isabel?” he whispered.
    She lifted her hand to her cheek and seemed surprised to feel tears. “It’s been a long day,” she said in an unsteady voice.
    He took her hand, the one that was wet with her tears. “Come on. Your room’s ready.”
    She seemed a little dazed as she followed him upstairs. He gave her his favorite room, the one Juanita had done in timber green, with a wall hanging depicting a dogwood blossom.
    A man’s flannel pajama top lay folded on the bed. Isabel looked at him questioningly.
    He grinned. “It’s one of mine.”
    “But you never—” Her face flushed as she broke off.
    “Nope, not when I lived in the city. It gets cold up here. I didn’t get the heaters up and running until a few months ago.” He handed her the nightshirt and pointed her toward the massive bath and dressing room done in gleaming green tile and chrome-and-glass brick. “I’ll go make you a pot of tea. Okay?”
    Her brief smile was weary and resigned. She disappeared into the bathroom, and he went to make the tea.
    When he returned with a tray a short time later, he stopped in the doorway, propped his shoulder on the doorjamb and grinned. She was already in bed, fast asleep.
     
    Isabel awoke amid snowdrifts of eiderdown comforters. This was, she decided with an indulgent stretch, the most decadent bed she had ever slept in. It was also the most restful night she’d had since she could remember.
    Then, peevishly, she figured that walking for miles in the rain was bound to make anyone sleepy.
    She bathed in the sunken oval tub with the massage jets turned on full blast. She left it only when she realized how hungry she was. Wrapping herself in a thick terry-cloth robe that had been draped over a towel warmer, she finger combed her hair and helped herself to a new toothbrush that lay on the counter.
    Then she went in search of her clothes, not relishing the thought of putting on the damp, muddied skirt and top. She was amazed to find the clothes, along with her espadrilles and a cable-knit cardigan sweater, on a luggage bench just inside the door. Everything had been cleaned for her.
    She found Dan in the kitchen, locked in a staredown with a can of biscuits.
    Unable to stifle a laugh, she said, “You just have to press a spoon on the seam, and it’ll pop open.”
    He glanced up and grinned at her. She blinked, and for a moment her legs felt wobbly. Dan had always had a dazzling smile, one that caught at her heart and made her fiercely proud to be the object of it.
    He handed her a spoon and the can of biscuits. “I’ve never been big on breakfast.”
    “I remember.”
    His gigs had kept him out late every night. The next day, he usually staggered down to the espresso stand on the corner for latte and biscotti.
    As she popped open the can, he watched with amazement and asked, “Is that