The Groom's Stand-In

overed with rain-streaked blood from a cut at his temple. His right leg dragged so badly that he was almost hopping on his left. He looked as though he was in terrible pain, but he also looked as close to frantic as she had seen him to this point.

He didn’t see her at first. “Chloe?”

“I’m here.”

He limped toward her. She called out again.

Finally spotting her, he stopped, his shoulders seeming to sag in relief for a moment. “Are you all right?”

“I think so. But I can’t get out.”

“Hang on.” He made his way carefully toward her. Stopping on the bank, he rested a hand on the trunk of the tree and looked down at her. “I’m going to try to pull you out. You’ll have to hold very tightly to make sure you aren’t swept away again.”

“How did you get out?”

“I hit a shallow area, grabbed a tree branch.” His foot slipped on a patch of mud, but he caught himself quickly. He steadied himself with one hand wrapped around a sturdy limb and leaned toward her, his other hand outstretched. “Brace your foot against the root and push toward me. Catch my hand and don’t let go.”

The position he was in had his weight almost fully on his right leg, which had to be causing him agony. Yet she knew he wouldn’t falter as he helped her out, no matter how bad the pain. Once again, she trusted him with her life.

He hadn’t let her down so far.

Somehow, she managed to place her hand in his. Somehow, he found the strength to drag her out of the water.

They stumbled away from the crumbling edge. And then they fell limply to a wet, grassy patch of ground, both too tired to stand, clinging to each other as though they were afraid to let go again. Lying there in the rain, Donovan buried his face in her dripping hair, while she burrowed into the wet curve of his throat. She felt heavy tremors running through him. She didn’t know whether to attribute them to cold, pain, exhaustion, reaction or—as in her case—a combination of all those things.

He drew back far enough to cup her face in his hands, studying her with anxious eyes. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine.” She reached up to touch her fingertips to the deep cut on his forehead. “How did this happen?”

His shrug was impatient, dismissing his latest injury as unimportant. “I saw you go under. I never saw you come back up.”

“It took me a while. The force of the water kept shoving me back down.”

“You could have drowned.” His voice was suddenly bleak. “I was afraid you had.”

“I thought the same about you,” she whispered. “I was so afraid for you.”

“We’re okay now. It’s over.”

“Yes.” She tried to give him a smile. She couldn’t quite manage it.

A new look of panic flitted across his face as he leaned over her. “Don’t cry, Chloe. We’re safe.”

“I’m not crying,” she insisted. She was sure the moisture on her cheeks were raindrops, not tears. Until her breath caught in a sob. And then another.

Donovan groaned. “Damn it, Chloe.”

He touched his lips to one of her rain-and-tear-streaked cheeks, and then the other. His mouth felt so warm against her icy skin—and yet she shivered in reaction to his touch.

When his lips settled on hers, she forgot all about the rain and the cold, her aches and pains, and their bleak situation. She simply wrapped her arms around his neck and allowed herself to get lost again. This time she didn’t even try to find her way to safety.

Their lips had touched before, but this was the first time he had really kissed her. And it answered one question once and for all—

Donovan really did kiss as skillfully as he did everything else.

His lips were hard. Hungry. Either his emotions were being influenced by the dramatic near-miss they had just survived or this kiss had been building for a long time. She knew which one was the case for her.

Four days ago, this man had been a complete stranger to her. Sometime between that day and now, she had managed to fall in love with him.