The Getaway Bride

She heard him swallow, saw the new tension that gripped him. She rested her hands on his shoulders and leaned into him, remembering the first time he’d held her. She’d been so struck by his size, his strength, the warmth that had radiated from him. She remembered wishing that she could stay forever within the safe circle of those strong arms.

“I’ve missed you,” he admitted, his voice hoarse. “Sometimes I thought I would go insane...”

“Will you come to bed with me, Gabe?” she asked, and it took all her courage to say the words. “Will you make love with me?”

If only one last time, she added silently, refusing to allow herself to hope beyond this night.

He went rigid against her, as though fighting emotions that flooded through him in response to her request. She didn’t know whether he’d won or lost the inner battle when he gathered her into his arms and moved toward the bed without speaking.

She’d thought they would make love in the darkness. Gabe lay her on the bed and reached out to snap on the bedside lamp.

“I’ve been dreaming about this for too damned long,” Gabe muttered in answer to the question in her eyes. “This time I need to know it’s real.”

She blinked away a sudden film of tears and held out her arms to him.

He swept the gray fleece pants down her legs and tossed them aside, got rid of the socks, then reached for the hem of her black T-shirt. Blushing, but willing, she helped him, leaving her clad only in cotton panties and a thin gold chain.

Gabe froze, staring at the small gold ring that dangled from that chain.

The ring that matched the one he still wore on his left hand. The ring he had bought for her, and had placed on her finger as he’d vowed to love her for the rest of his life.

His hand closed unsteadily around the ring. “You’re wearing this wrong.”

She moistened her lips. “I know.”

He slid the chain over her head, removed the ring and lifted her left hand. She was trembling when he pushed the band onto her finger, his gaze holding hers captive. He tossed the gold chain carelessly onto the nightstand.

He didn’t give her a chance to say anything—not that she would have known what to say if he had. He took her into his arms and crushed her mouth beneath his.

Gabe seemed determined to relearn every inch of her, as though comparing reality to the memory he’d carried of her. He tasted her throat, nuzzled behind her ears, nibbled at her shoulders, lingered at her breasts until her toes curled into the sheets and her fingers clenched spasmodically in his hair. He nipped at her tummy, stroked her thighs, tickled behind her knees, kissed her toes.

And then he removed her panties and devoted his attentions to other, more intimate areas:

Page was shuddering, gasping, aching with a hunger that threatened to consume her from the inside out How many nights had she fantasized about this? About being with Gabe again, holding him, loving him. Being loved in return.

“Gabe,” she managed to plead, her voice hardly recognizable. “Gabe, please.”

His face was darkly flushed, his eyes glinting with near-feral desire. “I’m trying to make this last,” he grated. “It’s been so damned long, I’m ready to explode.”

She looked at him uncertainly. Surely he didn’t mean...?

“There’s been no one else,” he said, uncannily reading her thoughts again. “You should know by now that I didn’t take my marriage vows lightly.”

She was finally beginning to understand exactly how seriously Gabe had taken those vows. Seriously enough to search for her for two and a half years. Seriously enough to spend who-knew-how-much on private investigators. Enough to put his personal life on hold until he found her again. Enough to risk his very safety now to help her out of the mess she’d somehow gotten into.

She was both awed and dismayed by the depth of his commitment. She could see now that she’d underestimated the passionate young man she’d married.

She’d learned the hard way not to do so with the stubborn, angry, determined man he’d become.

For the first time, she wondered if she had made a tragic mistake by running away from him on that traumatic afternoon. If she had stayed—if she had told him the truth—could they have faced the danger together? Would he have been in any more danger if he’d known the truth than he had been since she’d left?

It broke her heart to think that the sacrifices she’d made for him, the pain she’d caused them both, had been unnecessary. It had been so much less painful to tell herself that she’d had no other choice.

“Gabe, I—”

He placed a finger over her mouth. “Not now,” he muttered. “We’ll talk later.”

“Yes,” she said with a sigh, sliding her arms around his neck. “Later.”