B.J. Daniels - Mystery Bride

As he approached the Firebird on the passenger side, watching the side mirror as he advanced, he was even more intrigued by this woman. Strangely, he had the feeling she might bolt if she saw him. Or maybe not so strangely. After all, she had disappeared from the party without a word—and after that very intimate kiss.

He’d almost reached her car when he heard the engine turn over. He wasn’t about to let her get away again. Impulsively, he rushed forward, grabbed the passenger side door handle and pulled. The door swung open, and he jumped in.

SURPRISE DIDN’T EVEN come close to describing what Samantha felt when Will Sheridan leapt into the front seat of the Firebird. Her hand went for the pistol duct-taped beneath her seat—stopping just short of the weapon when she recognized him.

“Hello,” he said, reminiscent of their first encounter. Except for the lack of champagne.

“Will Sheridan?” She stared at him openmouthed and tried to get her heart rate back to near normal.

He grinned. “You remembered.”

Not likely that she’d forget. However, she’d never dreamed she’d see him again. And certainly not here. Certainly not now. What could the man possibly be doing so far from where she’d met him? Not to mention his timing, which was nothing short of amazingly bad.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Looking for you.”

Oh, no, this didn’t sound good. He must have found out that she was the one who busted the commissioner at his sister’s party.

“Imagine running into you here in Wolf Point,” he said, his look questioning, suspicious. Not surprising under the circumstances.

It was beyond even her imagination. She’d sized up Will Sheridan at the party and had known, even before she investigated him later, what kind of man he was. A stable, successful construction company owner with good standing in the community. Everything a woman could want. If that woman liked predictable and unimaginative. And terrible timing.

“Why were you looking for me?” she asked, already knowing the answer, wondering how she could get rid of him—short of shooting him.

“We didn’t get to talk the other night at the party.”

That stopped her. “What?”

He grinned. “I want to get to know you.”

She stared at him. He had to be kidding. “Why?”

It was the kiss, dummy.

Pleeeeze. I’ll admit it was a nice kiss—

Oh, come on. Can you even remember the last time a man made you feel like that?

Let’s not even go there.

“Why?” He laughed. “I should think it’s obvious.”

It was the kiss. She dragged her gaze away to look down the street at the tan rental car parked in front of the motel. Time was running out. She had to do something. And quick.

She tried to keep the urgency out of her voice. “Will, I’m flattered but this really isn’t a good time.” Major understatement.

He seemed to notice then how she was dressed. A jogging bra that showed a lot of cleavage and midriff. A pair of skimpy running shorts. Cross-trainers and ankle socks. No makeup. Her unruly sun-streaked brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She was amazed he’d even recognized her.

“I guess my timing isn’t very good?”

Boy howdy.

He smiled and reached for the door handle. She never knew she could feel relief and disappointment at the same time.

But he didn’t get out.

“Here’s the thing. I had a little bit of a hard time finding you,” he said, turning back to her. He flashed her a hundred-watt smile. “Now, I’m afraid if I let you out of my sight you’ll disappear again, and I might not be so lucky next time.”

She stared at him. How had he found her? That was some luck.

Could be fate.

Yeah, right.

“So,” he said, appearing as conflicted as she felt.

She could understand his confusion. She’d kissed him at first sight, lied to him and disappeared. Now here she was in this rather revealing outfit in a different town, acting even more strangely. Add to that the fact that he must have gone to a lot of trouble looking for her. By now he’d know she’d lied about her name and a lot more. And here she was trying desperately to get rid of him. What he must think!

So why was he still here? Why didn’t he just turn and run?

THE LAST THING on Will Sheridan’s mind was running. Admittedly, the situation was odd, and it appeared things wouldn’t be quite as easy as he first might have hoped. But that had never stopped him when he wanted something.

And he wanted Samantha. When he looked at her he was struck by one clear thought: he wouldn’t mind waking up to that face every morning. Tiny freckles trailed across the bridge of a cute little nose, golden lashes framed wide warm sea-green eyes, suntanned skin glowed on prominent cheekbones.

She’d been stunning at the party. But without makeup, she looked…delectable.

It wasn’t just her face or her lovely body—something he could see a lot of right now. There was something…intriguing about this woman. Mysterious.

“So,” he said again, hoping she’d help him out. He watched her shoot a glance down the block in the same direction she’d been looking when he’d first seen her. He followed her gaze down the quiet street to what appeared to be a small, one-story nursing home. The sign in front read, Lazy Rest. A tan Buick was parked in the for-the-disabled space out front. The car had a rental sticker on it but no disabled decal.

He could feel her tension. It was as strong as the low-frequency hum that vibrated between them. Was she meeting someone? Was that why she wanted him out of the car? She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t involved. Temporarily, he hoped.

“If I could just get your phone number,” he said, wanting so much more. Home address, work number, e-mail, social security number and first-grade school photo. “I’d like to call you for a date, to start with—”

Her gaze swung around to his, her eyes wide. “You tracked me down just to ask me for a date—?”

She sounded incredulous. And almost suspicious. As if there was some other reason she thought he’d come looking for her.

“—To start with?”

Definitely suspicious now. Imagine what she’d say if he told her his real intention.

Up the block, the front doors of the rest home opened and a short, stocky man in his late thirties came down the long walkway. Was this the man she’d been waiting for? Shorty headed for the tan Buick parked at the curb.

Samantha seemed to catch the movement out of the corner of her eye. She swung around in her seat to stare in the man’s direction, tense as a tightrope walker.

“Look, you seem busy. What are you doing tonight?”

“Tonight wouldn’t be good,” she said, her gaze on the man now opening the driver’s door of the Buick. “Why don’t I call you?”

Did she really think she could get rid of him that easily? “Samantha, I have no idea what’s going on here, but I’m not getting out of this car until you at least talk to me. If you hadn’t kissed me the way you had—”

SO IT HAD BEEN that blamed kiss! She’d regretted it for two days now. But only because she hadn’t been able to put it—or Will Sheridan—out of her mind. She’d wondered, what if… What if they’d met under different circumstances. What if she ran into him again?

And now she had. And at the worst possible time!

She glanced over at him. One look, and she knew he meant what he’d said. He wasn’t getting out of her car until he got some answers. Not that she could blame him. But he was making this very difficult.

She looked back to see the man getting into the rental car look back toward the nursing home, and she knew what she was going to have to do.