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THE HONOR-BOUND GROOM
Jennifer Greene
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Contents:
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11
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Chapter 1
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The wedding was a mistake. Getting married had seemed an outstanding idea to Kelly Sinclair two weeks ago, last week and even when she'd woken up this morning. But that was then and this was now. At this precise moment, Kelly realized—with a flash of brilliant clarity—that she'd have to be bonkers to go through with this.
The creamy gardenias clutched in her hands started trembling and wouldn't quit. Anxiety sloshed in her stomach in sick, dread-filled waves. Maybe most brides suffered some nerves on their wedding day, but the average, normal bride wasn't seven months pregnant She not only felt scared, but she also felt ugly, fat and scared—a lethal combination. To add insult to injury, her pregnant condition made a swift escape an especially challenging problem. Her fastest speed was a waddle. A duck could probably beat her in a sprint.
She tested her memory for any time in her life when she might have been this petrified—but no. There was nothing to compare to this level of terror. At twenty-seven, Kelly had certainly been hurt before. She'd been frightened before. But she'd never been in a situation where she felt this hopelessly, helplessly trapped. Panic was swimming in her pulse.
The door to the bathroom whooshed open. Kate Fortune, the seventy-year-old matriarch of the Fortune Cosmetics empire, poked her head in and then marched straight toward the bride. With slim, competent hands, she gently tugged the pearl-seed veil resting on Kelly's blond curls a little down to the left. "Everyone's seated. I told them to start the wedding march in two minutes. And I thought you might need some last-minute help, but I can see you are ready. And you look absolutely breathtaking, sweetheart."
Kelly met the older woman's eyes in the vanity mirror. "I look like a watermelon stuck on a toothpick."
"You sure do—and I'm so jealous. There's nothing like a pregnancy to give a woman a special radiance, and you've got it in spades." Just as Kate stepped back to give her one last critical look-over, the door whooshed open again.
Mollie Shaw charged in with a brilliant smile, her long red hair swinging halfway down her back. "There's our bride! I figured you'd be having some last-minute jitters and wanted to tell you that everything's ready, nothing to worry about. Hi, Ms. Fortune—man, do I love that smoky blue dress. It's so elegant, looks wonderful on you. And, Kel, you couldn't possibly be more gorgeous…"
Mollie gently tugged Kelly's veil just a little down on the right "…and now you're perfect. The music's going to start in just a minute or so. Remember what I told you about taking three deep breaths?"
"Yes."
"Okay, I'm going back out—but you know I'll be around to help during the reception. Everything's going to be fine, sweetie. Trust me."
Nothing was going to be fine. But Mollie had already charged back out the door before Kelly could get a word in—much less find the courage to announce her escape plans and that the whole deal was off.
"That girl's face is so familiar," Kate said absently.
The comment confused Kelly enough to distract her—at least for a second. "Well, sure she's familiar—you know Mollie, Kate—"
"Yes, and she's been a godsend. Lucky for all of us that your friend was already in the wedding planner business. As young as she is, she's really a dynamo. I don't know how we could have put all this together in two short weeks without her. It's not that. It's just that her red hair and green eyes are so distinctive, and every time I see her face I think I should recognize her from somewhere else, but I just can't place it. Well … it certainly doesn't matter now. Especially when we've only got a few more seconds, and there's something I really want to tell you."
Kate fixed the veil one more time. Her way. If she noticed the bride's crepe white pallor or the frantic alarm in her eyes, she never let on. "Kelly … I'm so honored that you're letting me be the one to give you away. I'm sorry your mom isn't still alive to be part of this—she'd be so proud. But I want you to know, I couldn't care more if you were my own daughter."
Well, spit. Her conscience was already suffering from muck-deep guilt, and Kate's words only made her feel worse. She had to tell Kate that her mind was made up; the wedding was off—there was no way she could possibly go through with it. But somehow she couldn't get the words said.
Kate had done so much for her. Four years ago when Kate had plucked her from the pool of clerks and given her the job as her personal social secretary, Kelly's whole life had irrevocably changed. Most people found her boss to be irascible and ruthless and domineering. She was all those things—even to her family—but never to Kelly. Their working relationship had long turned personal. Kate was the one who had picked out the cream satin wedding dress with the pearl-studded collar and cuffs. The simple style with the subtly draping pleats almost hid her beached-whale-size tummy, and heaven knew it was the most glamorous, gorgeous dress she'd ever owned. And it wasn't just the blasted dress. Kate had paid for the wedding, the clothes, everything, even made all the arrangements to have the ceremony at the Fortune company headquarters—probably the one place on earth where they could control security and be completely protected from the media.
Kate had private reasons for wanting this wedding to happen. Kelly realized that, but it didn't make her debt of gratitude any less. She'd still been treated like a daughter. "Kate, I had no idea that you were going to go to so much trouble and expense—"
"Nonsense. Your friend Mollie did all the legwork. I just helped with a bit of the organizing. It was a joy to arrange, no trouble at all."
Kelly knew better. She'd never asked for any of it, but every detail from the out-of-season gardenias to the designer dress to the champagne reception was a measure of how much trouble her boss had gone to. She also hadn't realized how much Mollie and Kate had conspired behind her back until everything was already done. Another layer of guilt troweled on her conscience. They'd both been so wonderful to her. She really didn't want to show her ingratitude by hightailing it for the front door at a wallowing gallop, but there was only one word screaming in her mind. Escape.
Abruptly she heard the first strains of the wedding march. Adrenaline bolted through her bloodstream, and a lump clogged her throat bigger than the Rock of Gibraltar. She couldn't go through with this. She just couldn't.
"There now." Kate also heard the music and firmly, securely, tucked her arm in hers. "Here we go … just think calm and put a smile on, and don't worry about a thing. Everything's going to work out."
Nothing was going to work out, but it seemed like only a millisecond passed before Kate had effectively herded her the few steps across the hall to the long, tall set of double mahogany doors. She could see Sterling, Kate's husband, waiting just inside. And Renee Riley, her maid of honor, shot her a wink, before starting her walk-down-the-aisle thing. Kate's grip never loosened when Kelly cast a swift, frantic glance over her shoulder.
The exit wasn't visible from here, but she glimpsed the lobby windows. Outside, holiday decorations still wreathed the streetlights and snow was clearly pelting down in a stinging fury. Not untypical of a New Year's Eve in Minnesota, the winter wind was howling like a banshee. The snowstorm had been building momentum since midafternoon, as if the weather gods had figured out her state of mind and were sending an omen. This was a bad idea. A disastrous idea.
In fact, she made a prompt New Year's resolution to never again get married for as long as she lived.
But in those teensy milliseconds, Kate had propelled her to the middle of those open doors, in full view of the guests
. The place wasn't recognizable as a conference room. In one sweeping glance, Kelly saw the red velvet carpet, the satin ribbons draping the chairs, the dais at the front of the room transformed with pots and sprays of fragrant gardenias and baby's breath and heart-red roses. She also saw the guests all rising in traditional respect for the bride and thought: they weren't gonna like it when she cut and run.
The minister smiled reassuringly at her from the front of the room. She thought: his smile was gonna disappear fast when the bride hiked up her skirts and took a fast powder.
The gathering only seemed crowded because every chair was filled, the room stuffed with people, yet the guests couldn't number much over thirty. She knew every face. They were either Fortunes or related kin—none of her own family, because she had none … not anymore—but God knew the Fortunes had taken her in as if she were part of their clan. Everyone knew when and how she'd gotten into trouble. Everyone had gone out of their way to stand by her, and their choosing to attend the wedding was another measure of that support.
An already catastrophic situation just kept getting worse. Undoubtedly they were expecting to attend the usual nice, peaceful, happy ceremony. Instead all they were going to get was a mortified bride running helter-skelter into a snowstorm. In cream satin shoes and no coat.
Kate gripped her arm more securely, urging her forward, yet her hold was never really that tight. Kelly knew she could shake free. It was just a matter of picking her moment. This marriage wasn't just a mistake. It was a mistake the size of an earthquake. Maybe she'd have to leave the country under an assumed name to live this down, but she simply couldn't go through with it.
But then this strange thing happened.
It wasn't as if the minister or Kate's grip or the whole sea of faces instantly disappeared … but her gaze suddenly locked on the groom.
Mackenzie Fortune.
Mac.
His shoulders looked beam-broad in the black tux, his height towering, his thick hair darker than charcoal and shot with silver at the sideburns. Black suited him, the same way it would suit a pirate. His angular face was set with strong bones and an elegant mouth and a no-nonsense square chin.
Nobody messed with Mac. The lean, mean build had nothing to do with it. He was a business man not a pirate dependent on brawn to get his way. She'd never heard him raise his voice, never seen him angry, but he had a way of silencing a whole room when he strode in. Those shrewd, deep-set green eyes could cut through chatter faster than a blade. The life lines bracketing his eyes and mouth reflected an uncompromising nature, a man who loved a challenge and never backed down from a fight. Mac was a hunk, but he was also one intimidatingly scary dude—at least for a woman who was uncomfortable around powerful men.
A year before, Kelly had been wildly, blindly, exuberantly in love. The father of her baby had been an incredibly exciting man. A man she believed in heart and soul. A man she would have done anything for, anytime, anywhere, no questions asked—and unfortunately, had.
Mac wasn't the man she'd been in love with.
He wasn't the father of her baby.
He was just the groom.
But his gaze met hers with the directness of a sharp, clear laser beam as if no one else were in that room but the two of them. He didn't smile—but that look of his immediately affected the panicked beat of her pulse. She was unsure what the dark, fathomless expression in his eyes meant, but that wasn't news. She was unsure of nearly everything about Mac, but she promptly forgave herself for the wild panic attack. Surely it was understandable. Normally a woman would have to be crazy to marry a relative stranger, but nothing about Kelly's life right now was normal. For a few moments there, she'd just selfishly forgotten what mattered—and it wasn't her.
If there was a man on the planet who could protect her baby, it was Mac Fortune.
Nothing else mattered to her or even came close.
She took a breath for courage, plastered on a smile and walked up the aisle to her groom.
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At thirty-eight, Mac had no belief in magic, but he'd always felt a certain kinship with Houdini. He understood how much hard work it took to become an accomplished escape artist. For Mac, it had taken ceaseless determination and unfaltering resolve and downright dedication to escape marriage all these years—particularly when the family never stopped hounding him to tie the knot. More than a few women had chased him—most were more interested in a key to the Fortune money than in him personally, but that hadn't bothered Mac. He had always respected both greed and ambition. He'd enjoyed being chased. Hell, he enjoyed women. He just happened to have a violent allergy to marriage.
Kelly had almost reached the edge of the red velvet carpet when Mac saw her stumble. She didn't trip, but he could see the stress swimming in her eyes. Without hesitation, he swiftly stepped forward and grabbed her hand. The minister's brow furrowed in a repressive little frown, silently letting Mac know that he'd broken with protocol in this shindig. Apparently the groom wasn't supposed to put his mitts on the bride at this point in the proceedings. Reaching out to grab her wasn't in the program.
Tough. Kelly looked fragile enough to keel over. Ghosts had more color. And judging from the sweat dampening his bride's shaky palm, she was even less thrilled by this marriage than he was. The humorous thought crossed his mind that at least they had a couple of things in common. Neither wanted this wedding.
And neither had seen any way out of it.
"Dearly beloved," the minister began in a sonorous drone.
Mac tuned out. Keeping his fingers curled in hers, he mentally calculated how soon they could escape this circus. The ceremony couldn't take more than fifteen minutes? And then they were on the hook to stick around for the champagne feast Kate had put together. But the blizzard forecast would surely cut this short for everyone. In less than two hours, with any luck, they could be driving home—long before the clock struck midnight and brought in the new year.
He felt eyes on his back. Watching him, studying him. At any wedding, the groom and bride were obviously the focus of attention, but Mac was well aware these circumstances were different. As vice president of Finance for the Fortune Corporation for almost a decade, his job had often been to bail the business—or the family—out of trouble. The clan was long on love and loyalty, but big money still made for big problems and big disagreements as well. If there was a problem that could cause embarrassment, someone had to make the boo-boo disappear. When everyone else was freaked out and wringing their hands, Mac had a long history for taking charge and doing what had to be done.
This time, though, they weren't so sure of him.
He'd announced two weeks ago that he was going to marry her. It was the first time he'd ever seen the family stunned to silence. Part of that silence was relief—the problem of Kelly was no secret, but no one could agree on solutions. Even for a family who would lie, cheat and steal for each other—and sometimes, unfortunately, took loyalty just that far—nobody had considered that marriage was an optional solution for this crisis, much less for Mac. They knew about his allergy. They couldn't believe he meant it. They still weren't dead positive he'd go through with it.
Kelly's hand suddenly squeezed his. He glanced down. For an instant he caught the tiniest hint of humor in her eyes. "The ring," the minister prompted. From the high-pitched crack in Reverend Lowry's voice, Mac suspected he'd missed his cue at least once.
His cousin Garrett Fortune, thankfully, was prepared to do the best-man job, and quickly palmed him the ring. Mac reached for Kelly's left hand. The slim gold band was almost microscopic—hardly appropriate for a Fortune bride. But he'd offered Kelly any size carat rock she wanted, and she'd balked. She wanted no jewels and particularly no stones with a Fortune heritage—probably because it was Fortune money that had heaped this whole mess on her head.
Yet as he struggled to fit on the ring, he was suddenly aware of her. Distractingly aware. He'd clasped her hand to offer support, but there was nothing intimate in
that simple act of kindness. She was so nervous that her slim white hand was trembling like a leaf in a high wind. But her dress rustled against his thigh. And her scent drifted to his nostrils, some perfume that vaguely reminded him of spring daffodils, illusive and sweet. And he saw a silvery pale curl sneaking down behind the veil, escaping a hairpin, coiling on the pale white column of her neck. Mac wasn't sure why his pulse suddenly bucked—possibly because it hit him with the slam of a freight train that he didn't know her. At all.
But the ring stuck on her knuckle, and then he pushed it past.
"With this ring…" The minister said, and then waited. Kelly nudged him with her foot. "With this ring," Mac repeated loudly and clearly.
"I thee wed…"
She didn't have to nudge him this time. "I thee wed."
"I promise to love, honor and cherish…"
Normally telling lies would have bothered him. But not for this. The integrity of a man was measured in honor—an antiquated value that Mac happened to believe was the judge of a man's life. But the truth of this moment was between him and Kelly, and a bunch of words said in public had nothing to do with that.
Still, the fibs obviously didn't come so easily for her. When it was her turn to put a ring on his finger, she fumbled and flustered and almost dropped it. "With this ring," she started reciting.
Her voice barely managed the volume of a whisper. She had trouble pushing the ring onto his finger, and Mac could sense how uneasy she was about touching him. She couldn't or wouldn't meet his eyes when it was done, but again they were close. He could see the sweep of velvet-soft eyelashes shading her cheeks, the faint spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose.
God, she was young. It wasn't the age difference between thirty-eight and twenty-seven that separated them half so much as the light-years of experience. In spite of her protruding tummy being obvious proof to the contrary, she still had a look of innocence. There were those freckles. And those shy, sky-soft blue eyes. And that silky fine hair that normally bounced on her shoulders and never looked brushed. She was a half foot shorter than him—squirt size—and her oval face was set with delicate, fine features, but there was nothing elegant or delicate about the way she ran around the company. Hell, he'd heard her giggling in Kate's office more than once, and she chased around with this radiant, exuberance zest for life that made the sun seem low-voltage by comparison. She was a grown-up, intelligent woman, and she handled a bundle of responsibilities for Kate, but nothing had ever sobered that so-young cheeky smile of hers. Until Chad took off and left her.
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