by Rita Herron
She flipped on the light and glanced at the ring. She didn’t believe superstition. But moonlight streamed through her window illuminating the perfect creamy pearl, the tiny diamonds glittering like teardrops in the centers of the leaves. Oh, what the heck.
She stared at her bare left hand, the ringless finger. Maybe she would let the pearl serve as her engagement ring. What could it hurt? Smiling to herself, she lifted the ring and slipped it on her left hand, then crawled under the covers, and pulled them to her chin. Forget the superstitious family legend. Tonight she’d sleep like the dead.
Either that, or, if the legend came true, she’d dream about her future husband. Maybe they’d even be dreams of the hot honeymoon night to come. She closed her eyes—yep, she could already see Seth Broadhurst’s face in her mind.
His smoky gaze and the hunger in his solemn, brooding look was almost painful in its intensity. He swept her back with his hands, not bothering to disguise the tormented longing in the almost animal-like sound that erupted from deep in his throat. Hannah whimpered and leaned into him, unable to suppress the erotic tremors his heated touch drew from her tender skin.
He was her destiny. The man she would marry, the man to whom she would give her heart, body and soul for eternity.
Long, tanned fingers tormented her as he gently glided his fingers along her cheekbone, traced the curve of her chin. He kissed her tenderly, almost reverently, his lips a loving reminder of the words they’d shared only hours earlier when they’d spoken their vows. With a sigh of contentment, he pulled her into his embrace, murmuring heartfelt words of love and need that would forever be imprinted in her brain. Hannah curled into his warmth and strength, savoring the way he clung to her as he carried her over the threshold to their home.
Moonlight danced through the lacy curtains creating a halo around his magnificent form, shimmering streaks of gold through his thick dark hair, highlighting cheekbones etched in granite, a smile that barely made it to his lips, the strong jaw that remained clenched as he fought for control. Her gaze played over his broad shoulders, down his washboard stomach, then he turned to undress and she noticed a small crescent-shaped quarter-moon birthmark on his hip.
Moments later, they consummated their marriage with a passion unlike anything she’d ever imagined. He emanated strength, power; a man who would protect her and take care of her. And when she stared into his handsome, rugged face, she knew that after their honeymoon night together, they would forever be bound as one.
Hannah awoke with a start, streaked with sweat and tremors of unsated desire that shook her to the core. The sheets lay tangled around her aching limbs, the pearl ring glistening in the moonlight, the pillow beside her empty. A frustrated sigh tore from her lips as she realized she was alone, that the passionate union had been a dream.
She touched the unbroken circle of the ring’s band, the silly legend echoing through her mind. If you sleep wearing the ring the night before your wedding, you’ll dream about your future husband.
She dropped her face into her hands and groaned, a ball of confusion knotting her stomach. What was she going to do? She had dreamt all right—only Seth, her fiancé, had not been the man in her dreams.
Chapter Two
“I can’t marry Seth today.” Hannah inhaled a deep breath, but the waistline of her wedding gown was so tight it was cutting off the oxygen to her brain. Why else would she be dizzy?
Because she was having a severe case of cold feet minutes before her wedding.
Making matters worse, her father had pulled another one of his stunts—newspaper reporters and a TV crew had joined the guests to film every second of her ceremony. She had to go through with the wedding. Piano music wafted through the church signifying the seating of the guests.
“Of course you’re marrying Seth.” Mimi gestured toward her pale-green bridesmaid’s dress. “I’m not wearing this hideous chiffon thing for nothing. It makes me look twenty pounds heavier than I already am!”
“You’re not fat and you know it.” Alison rolled her dark brown eyes heavenward. “You have a beautiful hourglass figure most women would die for.”
“Yeah, you’re busty,” Hannah added, glancing down in despair at her own rather puny chest. Even with her new bra, she barely had cleavage. “I’m just not sure about me and Seth,” Hannah confided in a low voice. “What if he’s the wrong man for me? Grammy Rose met Seth last Christmas, what if she knew when she sent me that ring?”
“That’s crazy,” Mimi said.
“You know Seth is the right man for you. In here.” Alison curled her hand into a fist and pressed it over her heart.
Trouble was, she didn’t know. Hannah had long since forgotten childish dreams of love and romance. Her marriage to Seth was based on friendship, a mutual, almost business-like agreement they’d decided on months ago, thinking their professional relationship made them a suitable match.
Hannah gulped. Her brain whispered she’d be a fool not to marry Seth, he’d give her the stable, secure life she’d always dreamed of. But her body screamed for more: the heat, the raw hungry looks, the frantic, urgent coming together—the dark, virile man in her dreams. And her heart confused her even more, whispering that the man in her dreams was her soulmate. Foolish nonsense. She and Seth were soulmates, weren’t they?
She rubbed her temple where a headache had started pulsing. They were definitely…friends. And they’d almost made love a couple of times, but she’d backed away, claiming she wanted to wait until they were married. What if the real reason she’d held back was because there’d been no spark, no sizzle? What kind of marriage would they have together without passion? Without true love.
“Last night I dreamed I was making love to a stranger,” Hannah admitted in a strangled voice. “Why would I dream about another man when I’m marrying Seth?”
Mimi threw her hands in the air dramatically as she spun around to face Hannah. “Because Seth isn’t the kind of man who conjures up erotic fantasies.”
Alison narrowed her eyes at Mimi in a warning, then laid a comforting hand on Hannah’s shoulder. “Hannah, everyone has crazy dreams. They don’t always have to mean something.”
“Do you think I’m making a mistake?” Hannah asked.
“I think anyone getting married is a mistake,” Mimi replied dryly.
“Just because Mimi is anti-marriage doesn’t mean you can’t be happily wed,” Alison said softly. She handed Hannah her bridal bouquet, a huge assortment of white lilies with rose-colored satin ribbons streaming from the center. Hannah sniffed at the arrangement, the fragrance so sweet it made her eyes water.
“But what about the dream and the legend of the ring?” Hannah’s chest tightened. “I was supposed to dream about the man I was going to marry.”
“Maybe it was your way of having one last fling before you’re tied down to Mr. Boring,” Mimi offered with a devilish smile
Alison sent Mimi another warning glare and straightened the lace on Hannah’s neckline. “Silly folktale.”
Still unconvinced, Hannah remembered the dream kiss and knew in her heart she couldn’t hurt Seth by marrying him if she really didn’t love him. Her mother’s parting words rose to haunt her. I only married you, Wiley, because I was pregnant. A real marriage needs more…
Her parents had married because of her. Hannah definitely wasn’t pregnant, but had she agreed to marry Seth for the wrong reasons? For security, not real love. “Go tell Seth to come here.”
“But it’s bad luck for him to see you before the ceremony,” Alison argued.
“I don’t care. I have to talk to him.”
Mimi nodded and rushed out while Alison fanned Hannah’s face to calm her. Seconds later, Seth bobbed his sandy-blond head in, his expression perplexed.
His face fairly faded in front of her eyes, the shapely square jaw and chiseled face of the man from her dreams invading his space like a surreal sci-fi movie—Invasion of the Body Snatchers.
Like a flash of heat l
ightning, the vision disappeared and Hannah gaped at Seth, wondering why he fell vaguely short of her erotic fantasy. A woman’s toes should curl and her blood should boil when the man of her dreams kissed her, right? A woman should burn at a man’s touch. Maybe that passion was what her mother had been missing with her dad. She couldn’t marry Seth and repeat her mother’s mistake. She had to know now.
“What is it, Hannah? Did you forget something?” Seth asked.
Hannah framed Seth’s face with her hands and kissed him fervently on the mouth. Her toes would curl, her blood would sizzle, the passion would come, the hunger would surge. Magic would happen just like she’d dreamed when she was a little girl.
She kissed him harder.
Burn, baby, burn.
But her toes didn’t curl. Didn’t even twitch.
Her blood didn’t boil. Didn’t even bubble.
Darn.
At best, she was lukewarm.
The startled gasp that erupted from Seth’s throat when she finally ended the kiss didn’t sound like hunger or passion or even surprise. And her bright-red lip-prints streaked his mouth.
“I—I have to know something, Seth,” she whispered, near panic. “Do you have a birthmark on your b-behind?”
Seth stumbled backwards, his eyes dilating. “What?”
“A little quarter-moon?” She pointed to his left hip. “Up here, on your left cheek?”
Seth’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, steam practically oozing from his ears. “No. What’s come over you, Hannah? You’re acting odd.”
An overwhelming sense of panic hit her. “Seth, tell me why you want to marry me.”
His eyebrows narrowed. “What?”
“Please, just tell me. Why do you want to marry me?”
He ran a hand through his hair, spiking the ends. “We talked about this before. We make a good match, Hannah. We work well together. Have the same goals. We’re both doctors.”
“What about passion?” Hannah asked, desperate for something to cling to.
His face flushed. “I…I thought we decided sex could wait. That passion wasn’t really important.”
No, but love was.
“Seth, do you love me?”
He chewed the inside of his cheek. “I…I care about you…”
“But you don’t really love me,” Hannah finished for him.
“We’ll have a good life, Hannah. We work well together, we’re compatible—”
“I’m sorry, Seth.” Tenderly, she laid her palm on his cheek. “Maybe we were wrong. Maybe passion is important.”
He shook his head. “Can’t we discuss this later? The guests are here, the preacher. We have cake, we have a schedule….”
Typical, all business, no emotional response.
The vision of the other man appeared again, briefly but intensely, and she blinked Seth back into focus, a sickening knot balling in her stomach. Yes, Seth was the wrong man for her— No toe-curling or blood-boiling kisses. What if she married him, had children, then discovered they’d made a mistake? She never wanted to put a child through a divorce—not after the pain she’d experienced. And if she didn’t love Seth passionately, it wouldn’t be fair for her to marry him. He deserved better.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t marry you, Seth. You’re a wonderful guy, but you deserve a woman who loves you with all her heart and soul. And I deserve a man who feels the same way. I…”
Hannah spotted her sisters hovering at the door. “I’ll go tell Dad,” Alison whispered.
“I’ll tell my parents,” Seth said tightly.
Hannah reached for Seth’s hand. “No, I’ll do it.”
Raising her head up high, she snatched the tail of her dress and marched to the church entryway. Cameras, guests, her father, Seth’s parents—all stared back at her. The organist’s eyebrows shot up as if to signal it was time for the wedding march. A reporter started running toward her, his camera angled to catch her face. On his heels, a half a dozen others seem to come out of the woodwork, camera lights flashing.
Hannah panicked and blurted out the announcement, “I’m sorry, everyone. We’ve called off the wedding.”
A gasp rumbled through the room, Wiley shot forward, Mrs. Broadhurst jumped up and shrieked, and Hannah swung around and stumbled toward the back door, searching for an escape. Alison and Mimi stood at the side door, waving her forward. She darted past Seth, who scowled at her, and jogged outside, scanning the parking lot for her car before remembering she’d left it at her house. Mimi had driven her over. The honeymoon getaway car, a white Cadillac convertible complete with clanking cans and streamers, winked at her in the sunlight. Hannah darted toward it.
The last thought she had before she climbed inside the plush white interior was that later that night she would see herself on TV. Everyone had black sheep in their family, but the Hartwells had a whole flock of weirdos grazing the southeast. Uncle Elroy had served a stint in prison, Aunt Betty-Jo was a kleptomaniac, cousin Wally claimed he’d been an ostrich in a former life…the list went on and on. She’d spent her adult life trying to overcome her infamous family image.
But now her worst nightmare had come true—Hannah Hartwell, respected doctor and hater of public scenes, had just become another Hartwell spectacle.
DETECTIVE JAKE TIPPINS was having a terrible, no-good, very rotten day. As paramedics lowered his gurney from the ambulance to the ground outside Sugar Hill General, a camera flashed and he ducked his head. Damn. He couldn’t even hide his humiliation. He’d been shot in the butt, the EMTs had shredded the seat of his jeans, exposing his backside for the whole world to see, and now the media had jumped on the bandwagon, wanting the story. Thank God the hospital banned the vultures from entering the ER. They might blow his cover at Wiley’s.
He scrubbed a fist over his stubbled jaw, then dropped his forehead on the gurney as the EMTs quickly pushed him through the doors and wheeled him toward one of the exam rooms. Pain shot from his hip down his leg like a razor blade. Still, he reached behind him to try to cover his wound with his hand. A man had a right to a little privacy, didn’t he?
“BP high. One-fifty over ninety. Respiration twelve and even. Pulse eighty-eight and steady,” the EMT called.
The nurse pulled the sheet down around his knees and lifted the bandage. A gust of cold air hit his backside. “Still bleeding.”
He gritted his teeth as she applied more pressure to his wound, then tried to cover himself again. To think that the day had started out so simple. Most of the employees at Wiley Hartwell’s used-car lot had taken off early to attend the wedding of Wiley’s oldest daughter, Hannah. Wiley lived and breathed for his kids. He had boasted nonstop about his daughters ever since Jake had come to work for him, so Jake felt as if he knew them. But he didn’t get that whole hoopla about family stuff himself; he’d grown up being shuffled from one place to another, without a mother or father to speak of, and he was used to being alone. Weddings to him signified the death of a man’s bachelorhood, his whole identity. No wonder the groom partied the night before and wore black to the ceremony.
To avoid the uncomfortable formality, he’d volunteered to man the car lot during the wedding, hoping to take advantage of the opportunity and sneak into Wiley’s office. But after Wiley’d left, some punk kid had tried to steal a sports car right off the lot, and when Jake had tried to apprehend him, the black-leathered twerp had shot him. The reporters had dogged him from the site of the shooting at breakneck speed, calling him a hero.
A heavy-set nurse began to fire insurance questions at Jake, taking his medical history. A second nurse checked the bandage, tsking under her breath. “I need to get you another IV, sir.” He nodded as she left the room, then lifted his weary head and glanced through the glass-topped doorway on the opposite side of the room. He could swear he saw a beautiful blonde streak right past the window then dart into the room across from him—wearing a full-length wedding gown. She looked like an angel. Or maybe a princess.
Nah.
No princesses or fairy tales in the real world. He closed his eyes, giving in to the fatigue. He must be seeing things.
Hell, he might even be delirious.
HANNAH BREATHED a sigh of relief to find the locker room empty. She quickly shed her wedding dress and crammed it into her locker. It actually felt good to pull on fresh scrubs and her lab jacket. That gown had felt like a straitjacket.
She grimaced. Her wedding gown shouldn’t have felt confining; it should have felt magical. She fought the tears, but they trickled down her face anyway. What in the world was wrong with her? She wasn’t the emotional type. She hadn’t cried since she was nine, not since that awful birthday when her mother had left.
Maybe she’d suffered some sort of breakdown, a post-traumatic reaction to her parents’ divorce. Maybe she needed therapy. First she’d deserted Seth. And now she’d shown up at work where she would have to explain why she wasn’t at her wedding marrying him. Why the heck had she come to the hospital?
Because it seemed like the safest place, she acknowledged silently as she searched for a tissue. Her family would be calling or dropping by her house to check on her, and Seth might show up demanding to talk. She wasn’t ready to deal with any of them.
Besides, she had heard the news of a car crash on the radio while she’d been driving around in circles trying to decide what to do. There’d been a shooting mentioned, also, although she’d only caught the tail end of that story. The hospital probably needed her. Work was the one place she’d be able to forget about her messed-up personal life and feel responsible again.
She leaned against the locker, trying to collect herself as the shock of her own actions settled in. She hoped her sisters would have explained to their father….
Finally gaining control of her emotions, Hannah inched open the door and winced at two reporters still hovering in the hallway like starved lions sniffing out their prey, ready to pounce for the kill. She hadn’t expected them to follow her to the hospital. Sometimes she hated living in a small town—the reporters would have a heyday with the story, the traditional wedding gone awry, prominent doctor jilted at the altar. She pictured the headlines and groaned—Wacky Wiley’s Wacky Wedding.
