The Getaway Bride

“Open this door or I swear I’ll break it down.”

He didn’t raise his voice, but she heard him clearly enough. He wasn’t bluffing. Even through the wood, she recognized the resolve in his tone.

Whatever the consequences, he was fully prepared to break the door in.

She took a deep breath and opened the door, leaving the safety chain in place. “Go away or I’ll call the police.”

Frowning at her through the narrow opening, he glanced at her new hairstyle, then at her face. “Fine. Call them,” he said.

He seemed to know her threat was an empty one. Maybe he suspected that she was as reluctant to call the police as he was for her to do so.

She tried another tactic. “I don’t know who you think I am, but you’re mistaken. I’ve never seen you before.”

“I know exactly who you are,” Gabe returned, his expression grim. “You’re my wife.”

Her breath caught in the back of her throat. She shook her head. “You’re wrong. I’m nobody’s wife.”

“Let me in, Page.”

“I’m not Page. Now go away.”

He caught the door with his left hand when she would have closed it. The wedding ring she’d placed on his finger gleamed, catching her eye, holding her almost mesmerized. She hadn’t expected that he would still be wearing it.

“I won’t leave until we’ve stalked,” he said flatly. “Either let me in or there’s going to be an ugly scene.”

She heard footsteps approaching on the concrete walkway. She could call for help again, she thought rapidly. Would it work twice? Or would she be caught up with him by police interference, detained for precious hours, taking the risk of having public attention brought to her?

Gabe glanced in the direction of the footsteps, then back at her. “What’s it going to be?” he asked quietly.

She swallowed hard and released the safety chain, praying that she was making the right choice.

She backed quickly away from the door, her arms locked defensively in front of her. She felt uncomfortably vulnerable in her robe and bare feet. She wished she’d had the chance to dress before dealing with this.

Gabe stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

And then he just stood there, looking at her.

Her fingers tightened around the sash of her robe. Her throat was so tight that she couldn’t have spoken even had she known what to say.

He looked older, she thought. He’d aged more than he should have in two and a half years.

His rich brown hair was still thick, still untouched by gray. He looked strong and fit, the picture of health and virility. A thirty-two-year-old man at his peak. And yet, the deep lines around his amber eyes and beautifully shaped mouth hadn’t been there before. And she knew they hadn’t been caused by long days spent working in the hot Texas sun.

Seeing those pain-carved lines, and knowing she had put them there, was almost as painful for her as knowing that there was nothing she could do now to make this ordeal any easier for him.

Gabe finally broke the taut silence. He stepped closer to her and lifted his left hand, brushing her cheek with the backs of his fingers. His wedding band was cold against her skin.

“Did you really think,” he asked roughly, “there was anything you could do to yourself that would keep me from knowing you?”

His unexpectedly gentle touch almost dissolved her composure. She flinched away from him, before she could be tempted to do or say anything that would be a terrible mistake—for both of them. “Please don’t touch me.”

His hand fell to his side. His eyes darkened.

“You needn’t worry,” he said coolly, moving back. “Neither your life, nor your ... virtue is in danger from me. All I want from you is the truth.”

She almost flinched at his heavy sarcasm. She concealed her reaction with a lifted chin and narrowed eyes. She kept her mouth stubbornly closed.

His voice roughened with frustration. “Damn it, Page, talk to me. Tell me why the hell you left the way you did.”