EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2016 Peri Elizabeth Scott
ISBN: 978-1-77339-083-3
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: Audrey Bobak
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WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE TATTERED BRIDE
Peri Elizabeth Scott
Copyright © 2016
Prologue
12:00 noon
He trailed his tongue up her calf and behind her knee, the strangest sweet spot ever, but Victoria loved that Logan had discovered it. When he left it behind, she was squirming against the sheets, alternately begging him to stop and pleading with him to do it more. More.
Nipping at her thigh, he palmed a buttock. “Such a nice ass, Miss Sparrow. I’ll be thinking of this peach tonight.”
“Enough thinking, more doing,” she grumbled.
“Ah, ah, ah. You know I won’t be rushed.” He kissed her other cheek, his tongue making a sneaky little foray to tease her senses.
She tried to turn over, but he foiled her effort by lowering his weight across her legs and setting a firm hand in the small of her back. “We’ll get to the other side, baby. Patience.”
Patience was most definitely not a virtue. Not today. Their wedding was in several hours and she needed to get her hair and nails done, rush to her mom’s and get into her dress, and—
“Oh, my God.” He’d somehow worked one of those big hands between her thighs and put two fingers up inside her.
“Do I have your attention now?”
“Y … es.” It came out all wobbly as she tried to work against those digits. His sexual acumen had woken a passionate wench inside of her she hadn’t known existed.
“Good.” He pulled out and slid off her in a single movement, flipping her to her back in the next. And then he was between her thighs, his dark hair such a contrast to her pale skin.
She took handfuls of that silky hair, writhing as he laved her tender parts, working that devious tongue high inside her opening. Her thighs fell wider and she arched in a mute plea. Changing tactics, he settled his attention on her aching clit, a finger replacing his tongue.
As he fit deep in her passage, finding a spot he’d hunted out with great deliberation the first time they’d made love, he sucked hard on her clit. A near-scream burst free, past her lips, as dark spots and lights clouded her vision and she spiraled from a hard-hitting climax.
His face damp from her exertions, Logan surged up her body and fit his cock in exactly the right place. He thrust hard, battling for territory against swollen tissues and seated himself with a satisfied grunt. Staring at him, her hands slid along his sides to rest on his firm ass. She wondered how she’d found favor with this man who had the world and most of the women in it at his fingertips.
“God, I love you, Victoria.”
“That’s the position you’re in talking,” she teased, though finding words was an effort. He filled her so full and she craved him, precisely in this way.
“Oh, this too. But I love everything about you.” He shifted to work his hands beneath her shoulders, and his cock swelled inside of her.
“I love you right back, Logan Doherty.” Soon, she’d be Mrs. Logan Doherty. Victoria Doherty.
Holding her close, he rocked his hips and murmured endearments, his thrusts increasing in intensity. With a shudder, he stilled, his face a study in pained pleasure. She stroked his neck and shoulders as he sagged against her, his cock pulsing.
“I’m too heavy.” He rolled off and collapsed against the pillows, taking her hand.
She reveled in the continued closeness, inhaling the dark, earthy scent of sex, and then marked the time. “Logan. I have to go!”
He levered up onto one elbow and kissed her nose. “I guess I can wait a few hours.”
“It’ll be more than that, you animal.” She sat up and slipped from the bed, avoiding his reach. “We have to get ready, and then there’s the wedding and the reception.”
“And then the honeymoon. Or at least our wedding night.” He scowled. “I’m sorry we have to delay the honeymoon, baby.”
“Your father deems business supreme, Logan. I know. And we’ll be going away the end of the month. Something to anticipate.” Besides, nearly every day was a honeymoon with Logan. She hustled to the bathroom and quickly showered. She didn’t have to worry about makeup or her hair at least, and the salon would do a quick wax of important parts.
When she emerged, he was still sprawled on the bed, and she scanned his languid body. Well, not everything was languid. She tore her stare away and searched for her clothes.
Slipping into some fresh underwear, she dropped a sundress over her head. Logan watched every move. When she stepped into her sandals, he said, “Come kiss me goodbye.”
“It’s bad luck,” she teased.
“It’s bad luck to see your bride on the wedding day, and I saw every inch of you. Don’t put any stock in that old tale. Come kiss me.”
“Promise you won’t prolong things? Seriously, Logan. I have to pick up my sisters and meet Kaitlyn and Theresa at the salon. And I haven’t had my coffee!”
“You had something better.”
“Maybe.” She flashed him a smile and he uncoiled his length from the bed, prowling toward her like a big cat.
Laughing, she fended him off. “Teasing. It was a great substitute. Better than great. But I have to go.”
He yanked her against his chest, and she breathed in his man sweat, a scent uniquely Logan’s. Her belly swooped, but she reined herself in. They had the rest of their lives together. Tipping her head back, she accepted his kiss and bit his lip when he would have extended it.
Releasing her with a wince, he chased her to the doorway, smacking her ass with a mock growl. “You’re beautiful enough, but go try to improve on it. I’ll see you”—he pantomimed looking at a watch on his naked, muscular forearm—“in a few short hours. And try getting away from me then.”
“Deal.” She threw him a kiss and raced out the door, not daring to look back. Nearly dancing out to her car, she smiled widely and wished everyone near and far the happiness she felt.
Chapter One
4:00 PM
“Baby, I know the timing sucks. I couldn’t have chosen a worse time. I know that. But…”
“What’s wrong, Logan? What is it?” The cold chill of dreadful premonition traced its icy finger along her spine. Her own hands clenched around her bouquet, despite her need to touch him.
He winced. The fit of his tuxedo was impeccable, and she watched the jacket tighten as his big body tensed. “There’s no other way to say it. I’m sorry. I’m calling off the wedding. We aren’t getting married.”
The world narrowed to him and her, and a little slice of churning emotions she couldn’t decipher. “You’re calling off the wedding. Our wedding. Now.” Just in case she hadn’t heard him correctly. This had the makings of a horrible, sick joke…
Shoving a hand through his hair, he obviously struggled to meet her stare. His tawny eyes were turbulent. “I am. I … just decided. It’s—”
“What?” Victoria tumbled to it, falling into the abyss of her history. Deep down, she knew why. Too bad he’d only just decided. Now. At this inopportune time. All her issues and stupid insecurities washed
over her from wherever they’d been banished to, banished by Logan’s resolute pursuit and sincere belief in her. He’d addressed her fears, made her whole—and now? Now her tender underbelly was exposed—without a shred of armor—for the deathblow. The sublime lovemaking of a mere few hours earlier faded in the face of it.
“I—” Real pain and misery now seemed to burn in his eyes, and despite her terrified anticipation, she wanted to soothe him. Through set lips, he continued, “I don’t have the words to tell you why Victoria. I’m sorry. But the wedding is off.”
Still, she waited, believing he would somehow embellish, give her an explanation that wouldn’t make this about her, but he stood there mutely, now staring someplace over her shoulder. She checked out the direction of that gaze—maybe there was an answer there, but she saw only a watercolor of a pastoral scene. Please.
She let her pride crumble and begged. “Logan. This doesn’t make any sense. We… Only this morning…”
He shook his head and straightened to his full height. “It’s off.”
Deep inside there was an utter certainty that it did indeed make sense. He’d figured her out. Seen to the core of her the way others had. In despair, she gave up the fight to believe in him and their love in response to his firm declaration. The Victoria of her childhood emerged, in blind response, lashing out to hide from the truth.
“Was it the thrill of the chase? And then when you caught me, you became afraid you were settling? That there’s something better around the corner?”
She didn’t want to wait for a response. She had to leave. Now. What would get her past the sideways looks and the knowing stares? The church was full of family and friends—and others who had probably predicted this very moment…
“Victoria. You need to calm down. It’s not like that.”
“Calm. Down?” She was aware her voice was climbing as she talked over him, and the small room, the one where she and Logan would have been closeted to sign the papers finalizing their marriage, wasn’t soundproof. She modulated her tone the very best she could, humiliation and pain squeezing her very being. “What is it like, then, exactly?”
“I can’t say.”
“Tell me.”
He looked away. “I can’t.”
Dropping her beautiful bouquet of red roses, entwined with baby’s breath and white, embossed ribbon on the desk, the air currents disturbed the uncompleted marriage papers. They fluttered, mocking her. She stared up at the face of the man she loved. And faced the realization that she indeed still loved him. That part, at least, hadn’t changed despite the mortification of being dumped at the freaking altar. Love. She thought it was love. Too bad it wasn’t real.
“And I’m supposed to take that and be calm!”
“Yes, calm down.” His face was set in grim determination, his eyes hot. “We’ll … we’ll get through this.”
She narrowed her eyes and leaned into him. What couldn’t she be one of those classy women who took this kind of thing in stride and walked away without making a scene? Maybe she could be. Drawing on a reserve of strength she wasn’t aware she possessed, she said, “I’m calm. Dead calm. So shut up now. I never want to hear your voice again, let alone set eyes on you.”
Squaring her shoulders, she closed off his next attempt to speak. She avoided his outstretched hand and ignored the sudden abject despair written across his handsome features. Was he embarrassed? If he didn’t want a scene, why in hell had he chosen this public place to dump her? Flinging the door open to the main part of the church, she surveyed the people filling the pews. Those congregated there stilled into silence, with only an occasional murmur marring the quiet. Dozens of pairs of eyes looked in their direction. Victoria stepped forward. Classy. She could do this.
Logan was behind her—close enough to feel his heat—and the familiarity of it made her falter. Probably that very familiarity was what had palled. For him. The thought of losing him… She dug deep. The time to fall apart was later. Much later. If ever. Resolutely, she faced forward and spoke, projecting her voice into the corners of the vast space.
“I’m sorry you all came out today. There will be no wedding. I’ll see to it that your generous and thoughtful gifts are returned. Thank you.”
A swell of whispers and a few louder voices echoed and battered her ears, and she flinched. Logan placed a hand low on her back, but the touch no longer felt supportive or possessive, two sensations that had always thrilled her. Instead, it burned her very soul, because it was a mockery—and a reminder—of what they’d had.
She jerked away, and marched, as best as a woman swathed in the wedding dress of her dreams could march, past the altar, where her four bridesmaids waited, and the worried-looking minister. Past the groom’s family, vaguely marking the snide twist on old man Doherty’s lips and the tears on Logan’s mom’s face. Past her horrified family, sans her father, of course, her mother scrambling up to follow. Her sisters abandoned their posts beside the minister to contain their children who were squealing with delight to see her, and her brothers-in-law frowned thunderclouds of destruction toward Logan.
“Auntie!” Little Patricia struggled in her mom’s arms, her flower girl’s finery awry. “Come see me.”
Victoria forced a smile and a wave before hustling to the door. If Logan trailed her, she didn’t care to know, holding it together with the last of her composure. She focused straight ahead and somehow managed not to view the sea of faces lining the aisle.
“Tori.” Her mother’s anguished tone had her slowing to let her mom catch up. Together, they walked, side by side, not at all in the way Victoria had moved with her mom toward Logan, who’d been waiting for her beside the minister, flanked by his best friends, David and Patrick, and her brothers-in-law, Robert and Michael. Was that only a few minutes ago? The recollection of that hope, the anticipation and breath-stealing euphoria sucked the life from her as they crashed and burned forever.
“I need to get out of here. Is there a car we can use?” She discounted the limo at the curb, its tasteful ‘Just Married’ sign surrounded by more red roses and ribbon.
“Frank’s is over there. He never locks it and hides a key. We’ll take it.”
Bless the woman beside her, in that she didn’t pepper Victoria with questions, giving her the immediate privacy she so badly needed to get to those four wheels denoting her escape. Although where would she go that she wouldn’t take herself?
When had she suspected the instant her future was in shambles? It had been Logan’s inscrutable—blank—face, she decided, as he took her hand from her mom’s, his fingers curling so firmly. There had been a dire warning there, belied by the warmth of his touch. Not the proud, soon-to-be-groom she expected, with appreciation and admiration—and love—written large across his gorgeous features. And then he’d escorted her into that little room, the entire church speculating. So why had she even allowed herself a smidgen of hope?
He’d swept her off her feet from the first, tearing down her defensive walls, softening her heart, gaining her trust, making her believe she could love him with all of her soul. He was such an amazing man. She’d opened herself up to him…
Her heart skipped a beat as the air squeezed from her lungs, and it wasn’t the tight corset impeding her breathing. How far was the damn car? When she spotted the silver sedan drawn tight against the curb, she shuddered. Stumbling the last several feet, she sprawled into the passenger seat. Her mom shut the door, after making a half-hearted attempt to shove the material of Victoria’s wedding dress inside. Her veil tugged, caught in something, and she worked it out of her hair, squishing the netting with its beautifully applied pearls into an ungainly wad of fabric.
Her mother slipped into the driver’s seat and fumbled at the visor. A key fob dropped and a small hand, tipped with pink varnish caught it, and then rammed it into the ignition. The motor caught and with a slam of the shifter, the vehicle rolled away. Victoria let down the window and tossed out her veil, watching in the side
mirror as it unfurled, catching an updraft before drifting to settle on the street. Ruined and so defenseless.
She supposed it would get run over by countless vehicles, torn and trashed beneath unrelenting tires until it was unrecognizable. Kind of like her heart. Leaning back on the head rest, she reached up to free the remaining pins securing her fancy up-do. Her long hair tumbled down, easing the massive headache settling in to grind against her temples. She let it swing forward to screen her face.
“What happened?” There was a limit to her mother’s patience, and it occurred that maybe people thought Victoria had derailed the wedding. He hadn’t added his voice to hers when she made the announcement, and for an instant, she clung to the idea that she could put it about that she had stopped the proceedings. But her innate honesty put a stop to that. She wasn’t going to be responsible for concocting a story.
Maybe using some succinct words would wrap it up and give her the opportunity to practice what she’d say to everyone else who asked. “Logan told me he couldn’t go through with the marriage.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t say.” I couldn’t bear to hear his excuses, anyhow, that it was about him, not me. Because that was what he’d have come up with, had she stayed. She knew it. He might have hurt her terribly with his rejection, but the Logan she knew wouldn’t have made it about her. Except she knew the truth, and why should he have to lie? It wouldn’t have changed anything or made her feel better.
Victoria recognized the unvarnished truth about herself despite what other people said. The trauma of early years scarred deep, and for her, obviously lasted a lifetime. She’d been stupid to believe anything Logan said. Nothing was forever, except for maybe the survivors’ bond within her family.
The tires whirred against the uneven pavement and some country and western tune on the radio whined quietly in the background. Why couldn’t they sing about trucks and horses instead of hearts? Broken ones. With shredded souls.
The Tattered Bride Page 1
