His Chosen Bride

by Marcia Evanick

  Gillian shuddered. Whoever was threatening her had been following her. That was the scary part—not a bunch of fat, ugly worms. How else could he have known about the wedding yesterday? Their engagement hadn’t been publicized in the newspaper. It was one thing to have letters mailed to her office or apartment, where anyone with a phone book could have gotten the addresses. But it was entirely a different feeling to know that the man had walked up to the front door of her new home, set the box down and then brazenly rang the doorbell. If this madman was that daring, what else would he risk?

  Chapter 7

  Gillian paced the only room in the house she felt comfortable in, the family room. She had spent an hour this afternoon rummaging through her boxes stored above the garage, selecting a few items and scattering them throughout the room. Her ferns were placed strategically both to catch some sunlight and to add a little color. Simon, her porcelain dragon, stood guard by a set of French doors. An assortment of framed photos were now displayed on a side table, where before had sat a black hunk of what appeared to be iron, molded into some senseless configuration. She had studied the object for a full three minutes before placing it in a new, more fitting location: the top shelf of the closet where Mason kept his golf clubs. A couple dozen of her favorite books were now crammed onto the built-in shelves, which had contained nothing but an assortment of carved wooden ducks.

  She hadn’t realized it during her tour Thursday night, but there seemed to be a multitude of ducks spread throughout Mason’s home. Her husband must have a thing for ducks. Not the cute, fuzzy yellow ones, but wild ones. Mallards, pintails, mandarins and many she couldn’t identify were placed in nearly every room. She had kept a couple of the exquisitely carved and handpainted ducks on the shelves, but placed a few of the more colorful ones throughout the room. She didn’t have a problem with sharing her room with her fine feathered friends, just hunks of iron that represented Lord only knew what.

  The room was beginning to resemble a space she could feel comfortable in. Someplace where she could kick off her shoes, put her feet up and enjoy a cup of tea and a good book. In the winter a crackling fire would be an added bonus. The room still had a long way to go before it felt lived-in, but it would do for now. The same thing could be said for Mason. He had a long way to go before he felt like a husband, but she didn’t have any major complaints, at least not yet.

  She had expected more of an argument from him this afternoon about finding her in Carnes’s place and about the threats she had been receiving. But Mason had been strangely quiet about both incidents. One part of her wanted to breathe a sigh of relief. The other part knew it wasn’t over yet. Mason was trying to figure out the best way to handle his new wife. She didn’t need to read Mason to know what he had been thinking; it had been in his eyes.

  Mason didn’t like the fact that she had gone waltzing into a strip joint in The Blades. He also didn’t appreciate it that she left his bed while he was sleeping. He didn’t like her job. He didn’t like her prior job as a social worker. He glared at poor Simon every time he entered this room and he had frowned at the three blenders she had received as shower presents. What she was going to do with three blenders, especially since Mason already had one, was a mystery to her.

  The only thing Mason seemed to enjoy was the dinner she had cooked and their lovemaking last night. She didn’t have any frame of reference, but he must have enjoyed making love—why else would he want to repeat it twice more during the night?

  She walked over to the French doors and stared out into the night. A thick row of trees and bushes marked the end of Mason’s property, effectively acting as both a fence and a cover of privacy. The backyard was enormous. There was enough room for a pool and tennis court with an acre to spare. Neither had been added, and thinking of the barren patio, she wondered if Mason ever went out back to enjoy his little piece of paradise.

  The one thing they had going in this marriage was great sex. She had sat at the kitchen table an hour ago and been fascinated by his hands. Those same hands holding a fork had taken her to heaven. Of course, there had been a number of other parts of his body that had helped her journey. She wondered if Mason felt the same way, or was it merely satisfying to’ him? She had not only been satisfied, she had splintered into a million pieces. His strength, his control, had held her together. She wanted to see Mason shatter within her arms. She wanted him to feel the same things she felt when they made love. She wanted Mason to lose his highly prized control.

  The sheer curtain fell back into place as she turned her back on the night. Mason was in his office reviewing the cases he had scheduled tomorrow. With nervous fingers, she smoothed the silky flowing skirt she had put on after taking a shower. If Mason wasn’t going to come to her, maybe it was time she confronted the lion within his own den.

  Mason leaned back in his chair and frowned at the mass of folders scattered across his desk. How was he supposed to concentrate on tomorrow’s cases when his wife was in the next room looking like a lost puppy? A beautiful lost puppy that was slowly making him lose his mind as well as his control.

  Before dinner she had taken a shower and changed her faded jeans and T-shirt for a sleeveless pale blue blouse with a dozen tiny buttons and a flowing skirt done in a multitude of blues that ended below her calves and gave him an enticing view of her ankles. Snappy white sandals graced her feet and highlighted the pearly pink toenail polish she wore. All through dinner he had been fascinated by the tiny buttons streaking down her chest and the alluring fragrance of her seductive perfume. It had taken every ounce of his control to eat his meal and help clean up afterward. All his body wanted to do was to lay her down in the middle of the kitchen floor and sink into heaven.

  Memories of last night hardened his body but he refused to become a slave to his hormones. Every Sunday night, since he became a judge, he had retired to his office to look over his upcoming cases and make some final preparations for the coming week. He wasn’t about to change his schedule now that he had gotten married. He liked his life organized and well planned. Having a seductive wife wasn’t part of his game plan.

  For years he had never considered Gillian provocative. In his mind he had still pictured her as the lanky twelve-year-old who was all skinny legs and arms and had a bad overbite. Over the years he had seen her at a lot of the society’s functions, but she always managed to arrive late, leave early and never once draw attention to herself. Then came the night of the society party at the country club when she strolled in through the doorway wearing the sequined dress that raised more than his blood pressure. It was the first time he had noticed Gillian as a woman, a sexy, desirable woman. He would have preferred a plain wife who would play by his rules. Better yet, he would have preferred no wife at all.

  Now he was stuck with a wife who not only frequented strip joints and courted danger needlessly, but was also the object of some twisted individual’s sick plan for revenge. If all that wasn’t enough to make him turn gray overnight, she also could turn him on without even realizing it. The way her lips wrapped around a fork should be illegal. When she bit into her first piece of steak she had moaned the same sweet little sound she made when making love. He had to gulp down his entire glass of water before he could continue eating his meal. Even the way she said his name excited him.

  How was he supposed to get any work done after she had looked so damn sad walking around the house as if wondering why she was there? Maybe he should have consulted with her two years ago when he bought the house. Had he been wrong to select a nice, big stately house that the real estate woman assured him any woman would be thrilled to call home? He had picked the nicest and safest neighborhood and had hired one of Philadelphia’s top interior decorators to furnish the house. He had been satisfied with the results, but Gillian didn’t look too pleased. In fact, she ignored the majority of the house and seemed to have claimed the family room as her own.

  Her massive ferns added a nice touch of color to the room, but Simon, her
inane dragon, looked out of place. The books she crammed onto the shelves were not only disorganized and placed helter-skelter, but the majority of them were paperbacks. Nothing at all like the leatherbound collection he had in his office. He appreciated the fact that she seemed to like his duck collection and displayed them in more prominent positions throughout the room. But he couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to the ridiculously expensive sculpture the designer insisted went so well with the room.

  Besides all that, Gillian seemed to be adjusting to her new home. It was a shame the same couldn’t be said about him adjusting to Gillian. He’d think about purple dragons and missing artwork later. Right now he had a more pressing issue to worry about. Gillian’s safety.

  Whoever sent the leeches wasn’t joking around. The person was serious. Dead serious. The little he could get from Gillian concerning the letters she had been receiving only confirmed his opinion. His wife had made an enemy and her safety was in jeopardy. The maniac also knew where she lived.

  “Are you busy?” Gillian said.

  Mason glanced up to see his wife standing in the doorway. “No, come on in.”

  She nodded at the folders spread across his desk as she stepped into the room. “What are you working on?”

  “Just getting a feel as to what kind of cases I’ll be working on this week.”

  “Which one has you so perplexed?” She stood next to the desk and scanned the folders.

  Mason gathered up the papers into one neat pile. “What do you mean?” He hadn’t been working on any of the cases. In fact, he hadn’t even started to review them.

  “You looked like the weight of the world was resting on your shoulders when I walked in.”

  He placed the folders into his open briefcase and sat back. “I was thinking about you.” He refused to glance at the row of buttons trailing between her breasts.

  “Me?” She gave him a soft smile and leaned her hip against the desk. “What were you thinking?”

  She didn’t have to look so damn satisfied. “I was reflecting on the fact that someone wants to harm you.”

  Gillian’s smile slipped. “Oh, that.”

  “Don’t you understand how serious this is?” He stood up and walked from behind the desk to stand in front of her. “The authorities have to be notified.”

  “I already talked to someone and there’s nothing they can do until this person makes a move.”

  “Who did you speak to, and why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

  “You didn’t give me a chance. I talked to one of the local police who patrolled by my apartment.”

  “Why didn’t you go to one of the seven society members who are on the force? Maybe one of them could have traced a fingerprint.”

  “First off, if I went to one of the society members they would have felt obliged to notify the Council. Secondly, the Council would not only tell you, but they would have informed my parents. Six months ago my father was diagnosed with heart disease. They’re pretty sure it can be treated with medication but he shouldn’t be subjected to unnecessary stress.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about your father?”

  She shrugged. “There hasn’t been a whole lot of communication between us, Mason. I couldn’t see burdening you with my problems.”

  “I’m your husband.”

  “You weren’t six months ago.”

  Mason walked away from her and paced to the other side of the room. The temptation to shake some sense into her was too inviting. She didn’t want to burden him with her problems! It was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard, and in his profession he had heard some extravagant excuses. “I’m your husband now, Gillian.”

  “So now I’m telling you.” She perched herself up on the corner of his desk and lightly swung her feet. “My father has a weak heart so go easy on him. My mother’s a nervous wreck as a result of my father’s condition, our wedding and my sixteen-year-old sister. The only time I think she relaxes is at work and then she’s usually elbow deep into someone’s insides.” She gave a small grimace. “Isn’t it strange what soothes some people?”

  “From what I hear, your mother is a very talented surgeon.”

  “She is, but she knows all the talent in the world won’t save my father if his heart stops.” She smoothed her skirt over her knees. “My parents love each other very much.”

  “They had an arranged marriage, too, didn’t they?” He had seen her parents together and knew Gillian was speaking the truth. Patricia and Luther Barnett appeared to have found not only contentment, but happiness as well. He wondered how they had done it.

  “Yes.” Gillian tilted her head to one side. “Not all arranged marriages work out like your parents, Mason. The Council has an amazing track record when it comes to matchmaking.”

  “Do you think ours will make it, or is it destined to crash and burn?” He cringed at his own question. Talk about being pessimistic! Their marriage was barely twenty-four hours old and already he was looking for the crash.

  She gave a shrug. “As they say down at the courthouse, ‘the jury’s still out on that one.’” She slid off the desk and examined a couple of books on a shelf. “I think if we are going to make it, we need to talk.”

  “About?”

  “Whatever is bothering you.” She picked up an exquisite carved duck and inspected it.

  Mason watched the way her fingers trailed over the delicately carved feathers of one of his favorite pieces. He could almost sense those roaming fingers on his own heated flesh. Gillian was doing it again. Here they were having a very serious conversation about their future and all he could think about was carrying her upstairs and tasting her sweetness once again.

  “I don’t like the fact that some madman is threatening you,” he said.

  “Neither do I.” She gave him a slow smile and placed the duck back onto the shelf. “See, we can agree on some things, Mason.”

  “I bet we won’t agree on how to handle it.”

  “How would you handleit?”

  “First thing tomorrow morning we go downtown and pay a visit to someone I know and trust. He’s a detective named Jon Hall at the fifteenth precinct. We’ll turn over all the letters and the box of worms to see if they can get a print. The second thing we’ll do is make sure you’re never left alone and that you refrain from going to your office or any other part of the city.”

  Gillian chuckled and slowly shook her head. “It’s a good thing this is my problem and not yours.” She glanced with great interest at the computer sitting on his desk. “If you had your way I wouldn’t be working, would I?”

  “Not in your current profession. I don’t have anything against my wife working. In fact, I would probably encourage it.”

  “But not as a child-support recovery investigator?”

  Mason gave a weary sigh. “No.”

  “I bet not as a social worker, either.”

  “No.” He locked gazes with Gillian and waited for the explosion that never came. She looked confused and hurt, but not angry. Any other woman in America would have tried ripping his head off for making such a statement. It was both chauvinistic and barbaric to suggest to your wife that she change her career, especially one she loved. And Gillian really loved working with and helping the poor.

  “I’m not going to quit, Mason. The women who come to me need me. I not only love what I’m doing, but I’m making a difference.” She gave the computer another glance before saying, “But I’m willing to compromise.”

  It was more than he expected. Visions of sleeping on the couch for life had filtered through his mind. “What kind of compromises?”

  “I’ll allow you to take the box to Detective Hall in the morning on the condition he doesn’t make it public. I don’t want my parents to get wind of this. All the letters have been looked at and there weren’t any prints.”

  “Seems reasonable to me.”

  “My brother Cullen and my sister are coming here tomorrow around lunchtime to drop
off the wedding gifts from the reception. I’ll have them come with me to my office so I can pick up the mail and check on things.”

  “I don’t want you going to the office. If you give me your keys, I’ll stop by on my way home from work to pick up your mail.”

  She shook her head. “No can do, Mason. I’m not going to hide from this jerk, and you know as well as I do that I can protect myself. But I will try to do most of my work here at home until this guy is caught.”

  “You can do that?”

  “On one condition.”

  “Which is?”

  “That I borrow your computer. Mine’s at my office and I’m not about to lug it here for a day or two.”

  “My computer?” He glanced at the machine sitting on his desk. Everything concerning his life was in that computer. It was the heart behind his organizing. His planner. His calendar. No one but him had ever used the thing. But if it would keep Gillian at home, then he really didn’t have any other choice. “Don’t go into any of my files and you may use it.”

  “Great.”

  “And you’ll promise to stay out of The Blades?” It was dangerous just to walk down the streets in that part of the city on a good day. Never mind what could happen to her now that a psychopath was after her.

  “I promise to avoid the area as much as possible, but I still have to drop in at my office for mail and to meet a client or two. I’ll see about locating a couple of fathers who aren’t in that general area.”

  It wasn’t what he wanted, but it was an arrangement he could live with, for the time being. Maybe that was the secret behind a successful marriage—compromise. From what he remembered of his father, the man never compromised. It had to be Clint Blacksword’s way or no way. “What about having someone stay here during the day while I’m at work?”