Project: Runaway Bride by Heidi Betts Read Free Book Online

Paul right now, of going off with him somewhere isolated and alone. He’d booked tickets to Fiji, but her first choice had been Paris. She’d wanted to tour the Louvre and take in the cutting-edge fashions, bring home ideas for her own line of handbags and anything Lily and Zoe might like to apply to their designs. Of course, Paul hadn’t really wanted her to continue her design work, despite his assertions when he was trying to mollify her, so he’d nixed that idea in exchange for sun, sand and skimpily clad fellow vacationers.
    When she didn’t respond, Reid lifted the glass to his lips and said snidely, “Maybe you finally came to your senses and decided you didn’t want to be that jerk-off’s punching bag for the next fifty years.”
    “Paul never punched me,” she muttered automatically, then wondered why the heck she was defending him. It seemed like rather a moot point now, and was none of Reid’s business either way.
    But instead of being placated, Reid’s temper flared. His scowl deepened as he snapped, “ Does it matter? He put his hands on you. He left bruises. He used his size and brute strength to bully you.”
    He was up and off the stool now, coming around the island to face her more fully. She was sure he didn’t realize it, but he was ten times more intimidating than Paul had ever been.
    His broad shoulders. His forceful manner. His dark good looks. The thunderous expression on his face was enough to have her quaking in her boots.
    The problem was, he made her quake in a good way. Quake and quiver and sigh deep inside.
    He closed in on her, the crisp, clean scent of his aftershave tickling her senses and making her lean back an inch. He didn’t seem to notice.
    “The only time that should happen,” he ground out, “is when a man does this.”
    And then he was grasping her shoulders, jerking her to her feet and smashing his mouth down on hers.
    * * *
    What the hell was he doing? Hadn’t he learned his lesson where this woman was concerned?
    Apparently, she was the female equivalent of sugar, nicotine or black-tar heroin: highly addictive and nearly impossible to quit.
    He shouldn’t be here at all. Should have turned down her sisters’ pleas for help. Should have turned around and left as soon as he knew she was alive and well. And he sure as hell shouldn’t have come inside, confronted her or rounded the island counter so that she was within easy reach. Because when was the last time she’d been within reach and he hadn’t felt compelled to touch her?
    Even after everything that had passed between them—and recently, it had mostly been bad—he couldn’t resist her. She felt like heaven in his arms. Soft and plush against him, her gentle curves molding to his hard planes. Her warm lips giving beneath his own.
    For long, drawn-out minutes, he kissed her, tasting the mint of her gum or toothpaste or whatever else. It was so easy to block out the rest of the world when he was with her. Especially when he was with her this way.
    He didn’t think about the job he was supposed to be doing, or the duty he owed to her sisters, or the man she’d left at the altar. He didn’t even think about how she’d left him to run back to that other man or how pissed he’d been ever since.
    But he couldn’t kiss her forever. More’s the pity.
    Lightening the pressure of his mouth against hers, he pulled back, encouraged when he noticed that her eyes were glassy and she was out of breath. Nice to know he wasn’t the only one affected any time they were in the same room together.
    Relaxing his hold on her upper arms, he ran his fingers through the hair at her temple, tucking an errant strand behind her ear. Her tongue darted out to lick lips rosy and moist from his kiss, sending a jolt of electricity straight to his groin.
    “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said in a shaky whisper.
    He took a determined step back. “Why not? You’re not engaged anymore. At least I think that’s what it