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Secretly Married
Allison Leigh
Secretly Married
Allison Leigh
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ALLISON LEIGH
started early by writing a Halloween play that her grade-school class performed. Since then, though her tastes have changed, her love for reading has not. And her writing appetite simply grows more voracious by the day.
She has been a finalist for a RITA
Award and a Holt Medallion. But the true highlights of her day as a writer are when she receives word from a reader that they laughed, cried or lost a night of sleep while reading one of her books.
Born in Southern California, Allison has lived in several different cities in four different states. She has been, at one time or another, a cosmetologist, a computer programmer and a secretary. She has recently begun writing full-time after spending nearly a decade as an administrative assistant for a busy neighborhood church. She currently makes her home in Arizona with her family. She loves to hear from her readers, who can write to her at P.O. Box 40772, Mesa, AZ 85274-0772, or visit her Web site at www.allisonleigh.com.
For my family.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Prologue
The Moonlight Chapel of Love.
Delaney Townsend slid off her blazer and folded it over her arm. Even at two in the morning, the air in Vegas was hot. But it wasn’t the heat that disturbed her, particularly. It was the entire situation in which she found herself.
“Something wrong?” The man standing with her grazed her bare arm with a long finger.
Despite herself, despite the heat, despite…everything…she shivered from the contact. She glanced up at Samson Vega if for no other reason than the sight of him was far more reassuring than the sight of the Moonlight Chapel of Love.
If she repeated the chapel’s name often enough in her head, would some of the shock recede?
“It’s…blinking,” she finally said.
The corner of Sam’s mouth kicked up, and her stomach clutched in the odd little way it had done since the very first time she’d seen that half smile of his.
If only she’d been stronger against that disarming appeal, they wouldn’t be standing in front of a merrily blinking wedding chapel at two in the morning.
“It is pretty bright,” he allowed blandly.
Understatement. She felt a bubble of laughter rising inside her. Or maybe it was hysteria. “There’s a line of people waiting.”
He nodded, though his gaze was on her rather than the couples waiting outside the shiny white-and-gold double doors. She’d long ago given up the idea that his manner of focusing on a person was because of his profession. It wasn’t cop. It was simply him. Undiluted.
And it was lethal to a woman’s common sense.
“Well.” Delaney’s voice was faint. It had a tendency to get that way when he looked at her like that. As if he couldn’t wait to feast.
On her.
His lips curved slowly. Sam tucked his hand around her arm, his thumb dragging in a slow circle over the inside of her elbow. “Line isn’t going to get any shorter.”
The truth of which was proved by an impossibly young boy and girl who climbed from the rear of an ungodly long limousine that stopped at the curb. They ran—arms entangled, laughter spilling—across the brief grassy area to take a place at the end of the line.
She barely had a chance to realize that she, at the grand old age of thirty-four, felt old at the sight of their youthful enthusiasm when the shining double doors opened wide and a couple stepped from inside the chapel. Silly smiles lit their faces, and even from this distance she could see the gold bands on their fingers.
“They look like they belong on the top of a wedding cake.” She hadn’t realized people would dress in full wedding regalia to visit a place like…this.
“Is that what you wanted? The whole wedding getup?”
She realized she was watching the emerging couple with the sort of morbid fascination usually reserved for vehicular accidents. “No.”
Sam chuckled softly, his head angling toward her. “Don’t sound so horrified. We could still do this back home, you know. You wouldn’t even have to dress up like a Barbie-gone-berserk in ruffles and lace. If you want your mother or your dad—”
“No.” She was acting like a ninny. There was no other word for it. She’d agreed to marry him, and they both wanted to do it now, so it was ridiculous to act as if she was rethinking the decision. “The last thing we need is to have my mother and my father cooped together even for the ten-minute duration of a ceremony. We’d all live to regret it.”
“Do you regret this?”
Delaney’s breath caught a little. “You do believe in being direct, don’t you.”
His right eyebrow rose a fraction. “You ought to know.” His tone was low. Intimate. “Usually makes things easier in the long run.”
And she usually agreed. But logic wasn’t ruling her these days; it had been shoved aside in favor of the madness created by letting him into her life during a weak moment.
She watched the departing cake-topper couple for a moment. He wanted to marry her. In all the time she’d known Sam, she’d never known him to prevaricate.
The direct approach.
Her stomach swam.
“Hey.” He turned her to face him, nudging a thumb under her chin. “I know how to warm up cold feet.”
“That’s what got us here.” Her voice was tart, but Delaney still found herself leaning into him.
“Don’t hear me complaining.” His mouth covered hers in a slow brush, and she felt the curve of that kicked-up corner. “So, are you ready?” She felt his words on her lips, too. Then his hand slid behind her neck. Something so simple. The touch of a man’s warm palm, the gentle press of long, blunt-tipped fingers, the soft heat of masculine lips.
Only it wasn’t simple at all. Because she’d shared kisses before with perfectly attractive, interesting men. None of them had made her knees weak. Until this man, who’d been complicating her life from the moment they’d met two years ago. First professionally. Then personally.
Her better sense knew that marrying him was akin to jumping from the frying pan into the fire. But then he lifted his head, his deep brown eyes focused only on her…her…and her heartbeat skittered. She stopped listening to common sense and followed her heart.
“Yes,” she whispered back. “I’m ready.”
Sam’s smile was slow and all the more sweet because of it. He slid his hand down her arm, finding her hand. Slipped his fingers between hers, palm meeting palm.
They walked over and joined the end of the line.
One hour later, after a service that lasted all of seven minutes, Delaney Townsend and Samson Vega emerged from the shining white double doors, silly smiles on their faces and gold wedding bands on their ring fingers.
Chapter 1
Two years.
The first time since she’d seen Sam in two years, and he was in the arms of another woman.
Not just some witness he was questioning after a crime. Not some elderly woman he was helping to cross the street. It was clichéd, but she’d watched him do that, more than once, as if he were “good guy” personified.
No, this woman with whom he danced was definitely not elderly, and if she were witnessing anything, it was what it felt like to press her temple against Sam’s strong jaw while they swayed together beneath a starlit sky.
Well, wasn’t this just dandy?
Delaney exhaled and paused at the fringe of the crowd spilling from the clearing that was being used as a dance floor. Despite the outdoor setting, she felt hemmed in by too-warm bodies, too-loud music.
And Sam.
She hadn’t let herself think too deeply about how she’d feel seeing him again after all this time. Silly, considering that she was a psychiatrist. Now, like a tongue gingerly approaching a suspect tooth, she probed not only at what she felt seeing Sam, but what she felt seeing him dance closely with another woman.
Tiny red, blue and green lights were strung from the tops of young trees, circling bushes, sprouting from the swaying fronds of palm trees, even though the holiday season was half a year away. They blinked and twinkled, casting the revelers in a surrealistic light.
That’s what it felt like, Delaney decided.
Surreal.
How had their lives come to this?
The question was moot. She knew good and well how.
She glanced over at the main building that loomed against the studded sky. Fortunately, young Alonso was taken care of and was now settled in at the halfway house, Castillo House. She’d said her goodbye, difficult as it had been. Which meant that all Delaney had left to accomplish was this one last…task.
Maybe it was foolish. But to leave without at least speaking with him smacked of cowardice. It might appear that she was still affected by what had happened. And she didn’t want him thinking that way. Even if it were true.
She exhaled again, smoothed first the front of her regrettably wrinkled suit, then the strands of hair that kept slipping free of the pins, and headed into the fray of dancers.
She turned this way and that, moving between and around couples, murmuring an apology when she bumped right into one couple while avoiding another. But her voice was absorbed by the music blaring from the sound system just as surely as the high heels of her pumps sank into the earth, and she was fairly certain that nobody paid any heed at all to her progress through the melee.
That was okay. Having the element of surprise on her side could only be a good thing where Sam was concerned. She was prepared, while he was not. He couldn’t possibly be. A cowardly approach, perhaps, but there you have it.
She sidestepped, avoiding a couple intent on an enthusiastically bad tango, and finally came face-to-face with Sam.
Well, face to back.
She willed away a foolish surge of nervousness. For heaven’s sake, surely she was past the stage of butterflies where he was concerned.
She cleared her throat a little. “Excuse me.” Her voice was swallowed whole by the swell of the female singer and a symphony orchestra. She sighed a little and tried again, shifting when Sam and his partner slowly revolved and Delaney found herself standing behind the other woman. “Excuse me.” She tapped the dark-haired woman’s arm.
Immediately the woman looked around, her eyebrows lifting as she looked over her shoulder.
Sam noticed her then, too. His gaze narrowed on her face, his eyebrows jerking for a moment before drawing together over his hawkish nose. All around their odd little trio, the dancers continued to sway.
Well. She had managed to surprise him. Who knew? “Sorry to interrupt,” she said smoothly. “I just wanted a moment of your time.”
The woman’s head swiveled from Delaney to Sam and back again, and Delaney stuck out her hand, feeling some sympathy for the bemused-looking woman who shook it. “Delaney…Townsend.” She hesitated over the name. She’d have to work on that. She’d only been using it since she’d been in contact with Castillo House—two months, now, when she should have begun using it two years ago.
“Sara Drake,” the other woman murmured.
“Drake?” Delaney looked over at the enormous mission-style house that provided a backdrop along with the trees and lights. “Are you related to Logan Drake?”
“He’s my brother,” Sara confirmed. “But I’m afraid I don’t—”
“What the hell are you doing here, Delaney?” Sam interrupted the exchange.
Meeting his gaze was more difficult than she’d expected. So she looked at the total picture of him. The shining black hair springing back from his forehead, as thick as ever. Why couldn’t the man at least have a receding hairline? Or a paunch instead of a body that looked—as impossible as it ought to be—even harder and stronger than before.
