A Bride Worth Fighting For

by Sara Daniel

  He didn’t return to her side, so she pushed away from the tree and circled around in front of him. Placing her hand on his shoulder, she stood on tiptoe and leaned into him. “You’re not the only one who can initiate intimacy.”

  He turned his head aside, causing her lips to graze the soft stubble on his cheek instead of his mouth. He didn’t want her.

  She stepped back, blinking away tears. He was too nice to considering dumping her while she suffered from a mental illness, but he clearly wanted out of their relationship.

  They returned to the Haus in silence. She didn’t invite him in for coffee or attack him for a goodnight kiss as he dropped her at her room. Instead, she closed herself in her room and lay on the bed, trying to think of a plan to fix their relationship. He was her rock. She couldn’t imagine her life without him.

  She fell asleep before she came up with anything, but she awoke in the morning needing to arm herself with as many truths and facts as she could uncover. After dressing, she headed for the front desk in the lobby. “Myron, I need your help. I need some suggestions for old-fashioned memory-jogging activities, and I need to google myself.”

  The check-in clerk squinted at her then flipped over three playing cards. “Okay. Come around the counter. You can use the computer while I make a list for you.”

  Gwen stepped behind the desk and into an empty chair, feeling even more comfortable than in front of the counter. “What’s with the cards? Are you playing a solitaire game?”

  “I’m a card reader.”

  “Like a psychic or a witch or something?” she joked.

  “Psychic. I leave the witchcraft to Sarka.”

  Gwen started to chuckle, but Myron didn’t join in. Okay, then. Better not to think too hard about it. Especially since she had other things she needed to deal with before another headache incapacitated her. After opening an Internet search engine, she typed in her name. Holding her breath, she clicked enter.

  Recognizing a social-media page in her name, she scrolled through it, but the most recent posts were a year old, containing updates on her mother’s deteriorating condition and then funeral arrangements. A multitude of condolence messages littered the page. The agony and grief of reading each message washed over her. After the funeral, she’d chosen to step away from social media and give herself time to heal and reflect without sharing every step of the process.

  She returned to the search engine. Oddly, the next result for her name was for Wilde Land Development, the company owned by Tucker’s father and, from what he’d told her, managed by his stepmother. She clicked on the link.

  The screen refreshed with a picture of an old, stately, yet rundown mansion overlooking a serene lake. She gasped, her fingers trembling on the mouse. Her resort and her lake were not random impressions and memories. They existed in real life.

  After several minutes, she tore her gaze from the picture to the caption below. “A new Wilde Development project coming soon.”

  Yes, her vague ideas were a reality. She was in the midst of creating a resort. The original plans scrolled through her brain, and she began improving and modifying them, using the information she’d learned from the Wiccan Haus operation and her talks with Tucker. As soon as she returned home, she could get started.

  The elevator dinged. She lifted her gaze as Tucker stepped out. Her hand half rose in the air before she curbed the impulse to wave him over. The breakthrough was nothing short of amazing in her opinion, but she now understood the tension in their relationship. He’d been pushed aside when he tried to become involved in his father’s company. Moreover, he strongly disagreed with the way the company was being run.

  Why had she put herself at odds with her fiancé? Had she somehow taken the inside track to help him take back the company? The scenario sounded noble and heroic, but she couldn’t convince herself it made sense.

  She cleared the search engine history and closed the browser. Then she stood, walking away from the computer and the magical, seductive answers of the Internet.

  Tucker had stood beside her, showing unwavering support, never questioning why she didn’t remember him or insisting they resume the status quo of their relationship. Meanwhile, she upset him and let him down with her inability to remember. She wouldn’t hurt him more by asking him to help her decipher the information she’d just learned.

  Chemistry and passion still sizzled between them, and at one point it had been so strong they’d believed they were meant to spend the rest of their lives together. She’d focused on herself for long enough. Now she needed to rediscover their magic.

  “Tucker.” Gwen approached from across the lobby.

  He turned toward her, entranced by the extra sparkle in her eyes. “What are you doing up so early? I would have bet money you were still sleeping.”

  “I can’t sleep my life away.” She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his.

  The combination of good cheer, affection, and body heat woke him more effectively than a morning cup of coffee. “Good morning to you, too.”

  He couldn’t give in to the temptation to hold her and explore the sweet body pressed against his. She’d started acting like his fiancée, and he had to remember he had no right to touch her as if she were really his. He pulled away before his body betrayed him.

  “Here’s the list you requested.” Myron, wearing the name tag Kate, handed Gwen a piece of paper as she walked by. Then she smirked at Tucker.

  He ignored her and focused on Gwen. “What did you request?”

  “Recommendations for jogging my memory.”

  “All activities require partner participation,” he read the bold scrawl at the top of the list. He no longer wanted any part in bringing her memory back, but following the list was an excellent alternative to distract him from the “partner participation” activity his cock voted for. “What’s the first item?”

  “Private dancing lessons,” she read.

  His anticipation shattered. “What’s the second thing on the list?”

  “Oh, come on. Dancing sounds like fun. Let’s give it a try.”

  “No way. I don’t dance.” His heart pounded, filling his eardrums, leaving him unable to think of a way to distract her from her purpose.

  “That’s what the lessons are for—to learn. What do you do at parties now?”

  “Hold up the wall, and I’m damn good at it.”

  She laughed and patted his cheek. “Private means you and me and an instructor. If you venture away from the wall, no one else has to know.”

  He let her tug him down the hall. His standard cop-out excuse had failed him, so he needed to find another way out of this disaster. He could be a good sport about a lot of activities. Dancing was not one of them.

  Gwen turned into a room with a hardwood floor and way too many mirrors on the walls.

  Deflect. Redirect. He slipped his arms around her. “You know, I can think of other far more enjoyable things we can do in front of a mirror.”

  “Oh? Whatever could you have in mind?” Her eyes widened with exaggerated innocence, and her grin turned saucy. She rubbed her hands over his back through his T-shirt and then dipped into the back pockets of his jeans, squeezing his ass.

  “Glad to see I can skip the lessons on slow dancing and hip grinding,” a tall, ethereal woman with long silver hair said with a laugh as she strode into the room. “I’m Trixie. I met you, Gwen, during your extremely brief yoga session. I understand you’re looking for a refresher on some basic dance steps.”

  “I am. I’m hoping I already know the steps, and as soon as I get a little guidance, it’ll all come back. But no guarantees.” She shrugged.

  “And, Tucker….” Trixie held out her hand to him. “I don’t believe we’ve crossed paths yet this week.”

  He shook her hand, murmuring a polite greeting instead of admitting he’d have preferred not to cross paths at all.

  “If you two are will
ing to partner up, we won’t need the man I have on standby. Too bad because he was willing and very cute.” She winked at Gwen.

  Tucker gritted his teeth. He could walk out. No one was forcing him. Gwen would still get the dance lessons she wanted. All he had to do was allow another man to wrap his arms around her and move his body in time with hers, to accept that the man’s cock would grow hard and rub against her, that she might even enjoy the guy’s company and find herself attracted to him.

  Chapter Ten

  “I’m Gwen’s partner,” he said, jaw aching from clenching his teeth.

  With a smile, Trixie tipped her head in acknowledgement. Then she strolled to a panel on the side of the room and turned a knob, surrounding them with the strains of classical music. “Let’s start with a basic waltz.”

  Gwen faced him, her left arm bent at the elbow, her right arm extended. She’d assumed the proper position without prompting. He stepped toward her, moving his right arm just under her left to place his hand on her back and taking her right hand in his left, the stance so natural he didn’t have to think twice. She settled her left hand on his right arm and beamed at him.

  “Excellent,” Trixie said. “I’ll count, and we’ll begin with a simple box step.”

  Panic and a bone-deep familiarity shot up his spine. He might not have performed a box step in decades, but, according to family lore, his first baby steps had been to the box step of a waltz. He couldn’t have explained the steps if his life depended on it, but his feet moved of their own accord, adjusting to the rhythm of the music, Gwen’s body, and the instructor’s steady counting.

  “Beautiful,” Trixie proclaimed. “Continue with a Six-Count Underarm Turn.”

  She didn’t explain how to do it, but his feet executed the steps without hesitation. Gwen spun and then returned to him, her cheeks glowing.

  Trixie stopped calling out moves and counts, but he and Gwen continued dancing. Her body melted into each step with his. The music transitioned into a foxtrot, and they glided along the length of the dance studio. By the time they moved on to the tango, they were dancing so close, his knee slid between her thighs as they moved in step.

  “Are you ready for the mambo?” Trixie asked.

  The music picked up, but Gwen faltered, and, without her confident gait, he became unsure of the moves.

  Trixie paused the music. “Okay, I’m going to guess the mambo wasn’t part of your repertoire.” She began talking them through each move.

  Gwen rubbed her forehead. “Can we go back to the foxtrot? I’d like to concentrate on the dances I seem to know.”

  “Of course, but now that you’re familiar with each other, let’s sharpen each step.”

  Tucker eyed himself in the mirror as he danced. His footwork wasn’t bad, but his posture was sloppy.

  “Elbows out. Back straight,” his mother called. “Slow, slow, quick, quick.”

  He stumbled and released his partner. Mom?

  “You missed a turn,” a woman said. Not his mother. Some other lady that his mind had briefly morphed into his long-dead mother. He blinked and found Gwen and Trixie staring at him.

  “I-I need some water.” He strode from the room. In the empty hallway, he bent over, placing his hands on his knees and pressing his face into his hands. His stomach churned, and his eyes ached.

  What the hell had he been thinking, deciding to dance after more than two decades of holding himself together? He should have let Gwen dance with that other guy. Stewing in jealousy would have been far preferable to this emotional shit storm.

  “Tucker.” Gwen caressed his back. “Sit down. Trixie’s bringing some water. Are you light-headed? Sick?”

  Even though he fit both descriptions, he shook his head. However, he did drop to the floor, his legs too weak to hold him.

  “What happened in there?” She sank alongside him, continuing to rub her hand over his sweaty shirt, as if she could heal him with her touch.

  Oddly, his stomach did settle a bit. “Fucking memories. It’s why I don’t dance.”

  “Can you tell me?”

  “No.” He didn’t talk about this, but the words spilled from him anyway. “My mother was a ballroom dance instructor. Rather than hire a babysitter when she went to work, she’d take me with her. More ladies than men always signed up for her classes, so as soon as I could walk, she used me to bolster the number of male dance partners. I could tango before I could tie my shoes.”

  “I bet you were adorable,” Gwen whispered.

  And innocent and blissfully happy, until the tragedy that shattered his childhood. He sucked in a deep breath. “One night after class, the roads were icy.”

  He shivered, every fiber in his body begging him not to relive the memory. But he wanted Gwen to understand the horror dancing represented for him. “Mom tried to stop at a stop sign, but the car slid through the intersection into oncoming traffic. I walked away with a quarter-sized bruise on my arm.”

  He punched the spot on his arm that had long since healed, wanting the share of pain and hurt that should have come to him, but nothing could change the past. “Mom wasn’t so lucky. She was gone before the ambulance arrived.”

  “I am so sorry.” Gwen wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

  He shouldn’t have needed her comfort for something that had happened so long ago. But grief washed over him, as fresh and overwhelming as when the hospital chaplain had delivered the news his father had been too shell shocked to utter.

  Footsteps reverberated on the floor toward them and then moved away. Tucker didn’t look up.

  “Drink this.” Gwen pressed a glass of water into his hand, ice chinking against the cold, wet sides, soothing his hot, sweaty palm.

  He took a sip, the cool liquid relaxing his raw and aching throat. “I never went back to the dance studio. Dad sold it, and we never talked about it.”

  “You’ve suffered such tough losses with both your parents.” Gwen scooted around and squatted in front of him, facing him with her hands on his thighs, close enough to his groin he had to catch his breath.

  “But you had such a closeness with each of them during the time you did have together,” she continued. “Don’t ignore that. Celebrate it. Rejoice in the happy memories and your special bond with your mother.”

  His heart still ached, but he recognized the truth of her words. “Mom was always happiest when she was dancing. The first time I saw you, you were dancing, and your face was lit with pure joy.” He trailed his fingers over her cheek, tucking her hair behind her ear.

  “I’m happy right now because I’m with you.” She shifted onto her knees and pressed her lips to his. She kissed and caressed every inch of his face and neck while he closed his eyes and absorbed her tenderness.

  She touched him with such affection and care, he wanted to carry her upstairs, lay her across his bed, and make love to her. But he couldn’t. Even though her feelings were genuine, he was still living an act.

  Coming to the Wiccan Haus had been for her healing alone, but her status hadn’t changed. Meanwhile, every area of his life had been emotionally ripped open, and, amazingly, seemed to be piecing back together without the painful ache he’d carried around for so long.

  Maybe Cemil had been right about him.

  “What’s next on your list?” he asked Gwen.

  “This is next.” She kissed him, her tongue sliding between his lips, stealing not just his thoughts but his very breath.

  “You’re killing me,” he whispered, placing his hands on her shoulders and holding her back from him.

  “Killing you how? Because you think you have to be noble and resist me? We’re engaged, aren’t we?”

  If he were truly noble, he’d admit the truth, but he was selfish. With his emotions still in turmoil from dancing, he needed her companionship too much to push her away by admitting his fraud. “I don’t think the relationship counts until you remember.”

  She
brushed her lips over his eyelids. “Maybe I’ll remember if we make love.”

  His stupid cock rose and voted yes.

  “No. I’m not putting that emotional pressure on you.” He’d just begun to shed his baggage. He didn’t intend to heap more on by living with the guilt of taking advantage of her because of the lie he’d built her trust upon.

  She rose to her feet. “Fine. Let’s knock some more things off the memory list. Maybe I’ll hit a breakthrough so you can get lucky tonight.”

  His cock once again voted for it. Unfortunately, his brain was smarter. A scenario didn’t exist where she would realize the truth and still welcome him into her body.

  Tucker accepted the hand she held out to him and let her lead him down the hall. They spent the next couple of hours making cinnamon applesauce and hot cider in one of the kitchens. Afterward, they attended a meditation class on the lawn. Gwen fell asleep against his shoulder, leaving him with too much time to think.

  If he didn’t take drastic action, the evening would end with their naked bodies entwined. She’d signaled her willingness—hell, her eagerness—and she had his cock’s solid support. Most damning, he’d lost his ability to see her as an injured person in need of care or an unscrupulous person out to hurt his family. She felt and acted like a woman he wanted in his life on a long-term basis—a girlfriend, a fiancée.

  After dinner, while Gwen wandered through the lobby to talk with the staff member encouraging guests to try their hand at the piano, Tucker took the opportunity to wave down Cyrus and Rekkus. “I plan to sleep out under the stars tonight. Are any places off-limits?”

  Cyrus frowned at him. “You were given a room here. If we let people sleep wherever, we wouldn’t bother with room assignments.”