Stand-In Bride's Seduction
Even as he watched, she shifted again. Rolling onto her back. His mouth dried. She was like a ripe peach. Her dark red hair spread in spiraling disarray around her face. Her eyelids flickered—no doubt she’d be awake soon. He debated crossing the short distance to the bed and placing a fleeting kiss on the lush pale pink width of her lips. Just the thought of doing so was enough to make his fingers tighten on the brass handle of the bedroom door.
He shook his head slightly. Rey quickly drew the bedroom door closed with a faint “snick” of sound. How did she do that, all of a sudden? How did she make him forget so quickly, so effortlessly, when before it had been she who had been so easily blurred from his thoughts?
Rina stretched against the cotton sheets and yawned—then sat bolt upright. Reynard? Where was he? She grabbed at the hem of her nightshirt and pulled it down hard, then, realizing how it stretched the material against her upper body, let it go again. She slipped from the bed and to the bedroom door, listening carefully for sounds of movement. Nothing.
Cautiously, she opened the door and listened again. While the noise of birds chattering wildly filtered through from outside, the cottage merely reflected an echo of emptiness.
Muscles she didn’t even know she’d tensed, eased as she realized he really was gone. She didn’t know just how well she’d have been able to keep up the charade. Which reminded her, she needed to get a hold of Sara and find out exactly when she planned to be back.
Rina found her BlackBerry and dialed her sister’s number. A frown pulled at her eyebrows as the call went straight through to voice mail. For a second she was tempted to hang up and just try again and again until Sara eventually answered, but she tempered that with the knowledge that her sister had never willingly and actively avoided her before, so she left a message.
“There’s been an accident. Benedict’s hurt. I’m sure they’re expecting me—or rather, you—at the hospital again today and I don’t know how long I can fake this. Please call me, Sara. Please?”
With an exasperated sigh she ended the call and walked across the cool tiled floor to the kitchen. On the bench she saw Rey’s note. Her eyes skimmed the words, written in a bold, slashing script. So he’d send a car for her about ten, would he? She looked at the wall clock above the kitchen stove. That gave her about two hours to get ready. And two hours to figure out how to tell him the truth about Sara. The prospect settled in her stomach like congealed oatmeal—heavy and completely unappetizing.
Rina gathered a set of fresh clothes and went to shower and get dressed. With any luck, she’d make it to the nearest town to get some much-needed groceries, and back, before facing Rey again for what, depending on his reaction, might be the last time ever.
The huge black bicycle, with a basket attached to the front, had Rina scratching her head for a few moments. Dare she risk it? There was no helmet, no chain guard, not even a set of gears on the thing—and judging by the cobwebs draping the frame it hadn’t moved past the lean-to shelter at the back of the cottage in some time.
She shuddered. She hated spiders. But as much as she hated spiders, she liked eating more, and her light breakfast had pretty much taken care of the remainder of the perishables in the house. She picked up a twig from a pile of kindling that was stacked just inside the lean-to, next to a larger pile of split wood, and carefully removed the spider webs before rolling the behemoth out into the sunlight and checking the tires.
The old bicycle pump, set on a bracket on the cross beam of the bike, thankfully lived up to its designated task of filling the tires with much-needed air. She cocked her head and listened. No telltale hiss anywhere. Deciding to err on the side of caution, Rina did a few short circuits up and down the road outside the cottage. Satisfied that the tires would hold, she gathered her wallet from inside, and the key, and popped them in the basket before rolling up the hem of her cotton trousers. Maybe white wasn’t quite the best choice, she thought as she straddled the bike and wobbled her way up the road.
She’d been pedaling for no more than a couple of kilometers when a dust cloud approached her from the distance. Since she’d figured out this was a private road, she was surprised to see another vehicle coming her way. And quickly, too, if the smear of dust particles in the air was any indicator.