A Breathless Bride

She became aware that the rain had finally stopped, leaving the parking lot wreathed in trailing wisps of steam. In a short while she would pull free and step back, but for the moment her head was thick and throbbing from the crying and she was too exhausted to move.

Constantine’s voice rumbled in her ear. “We need to leave. We can’t talk here.”

She shifted slightly and registered that at some point Constantine had become semi aroused.

For a moment memories crowded her, some blatantly sensual, others laced with hurt and scalding humiliation.

Oh, no, no way. She would not feel this.

Face burning, Sienna jerked free, her purse flying. Shoving wet hair out of her face, she bent to retrieve her purse and the few items that had scattered—lip gloss, compact, car keys.

Her keys. Great idea, because she was leaving now.

If Constantine wanted a conversation he would have to reschedule. There was no way she was staying around for more of the same media humiliation she’d suffered two years ago.

“Damn. Sienna …”

Was that a hint of softness in his eyes? His voice?

No. Couldn’t be.

When Constantine crouched down to help gather her things, she hurriedly shoveled the items into her bag. The rain had started up again, an annoying steamy drizzle, although that fact was now inconsequential because every part of her was soaked. Wet hair trailed down her cheeks, her dress felt like it had been glued on and there were puddles in her shoes.

Constantine hadn’t fared any better. His gray suit jacket was plastered to his shoulders, his white shirt transparent enough that the bronze color of his skin showed through.

She dragged her gaze from the mesmerizing sight. “Uh-uh. Sorry.” She shot to her feet. She was so not talking now. His transparent shirt had reminded her about her dress. It was black, so it wouldn’t reveal as much as white fabric when wet, but silk was silk and it was thin. “Your conversation will have to wait. As you can see, I’m wet.”

She spun on her heel, looking for an avenue of escape that didn’t contain reporters with microphones and cameras.

His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her back against the furnace heat of his body. “After four days of unreturned calls,” he growled into her ear, sending a hot shiver down her spine, “if you think I’m going to cool my heels for one more second, you can think again.”

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