Wedding Captives

She didn’t want him.

He revolted her.

But none of that, clearly, was true, because her arms went around him as if he hadn’t been gone all these years. Her fingers reveled in the feel of his hard muscles beneath the soft cotton of his turtleneck.

A part of her smirked. What was she doing? This was insanity. She’d forgotten all about her missing friend, and the conditions she had set out were being trampled. But her head tilted back and her objections died in her throat, vanishing into the thin musty air as she met his dazzling gaze. She realized that all she really wanted was the feel of Spence Cannon’s shoulders beneath her fingers.

She wanted the taste of his lips against hers.

Reading her mind from long experience, Spence complied. The hard pressure of his mouth satisfied a longing she’d fought to deny and then to ignore when her denial mechanisms failed her.

Her heartbeat quickened. An all-consuming passion exploded in the very core of her being, heightening numbed sensation to a tantalizing, trembling, voracious desire.

More.

She wanted more. She wanted a hundred more kisses. She wanted to touch his body, his bare-naked flesh. And more than that! She yearned for his caresses, the feel of his hands on her breasts, her thighs, she wanted his lips, the touch of his tongue to the dimples in the small of her back.

In a distant corner of her mind, the part that smirked, Thea knew she was dangerously close to making a big mistake, opening herself to all sorts of emotional pain. Sex with Spence, desire, had never been an issue, never a problem—except that it was so good, so desperately good that it had overwhelmed real problems for too long.

Against the aching thrill of his hand caressing her breast beneath her parka and the heat of his breath on her neck, she knew she had to stop him. Had to stifle her own sensual impulses before they destroyed her. There was a reason she’d asked him not to touch her. When he touched her, she lost track of the fact that he didn’t respect her at all, or at least he hadn’t—and his behavior in every other way had proved it, if only she’d been looking.

With the shred of willpower left her, she tore herself away from him.

He didn’t force her to stay in his embrace. Nor had he forced the kiss. Thea had had ample time to object, and she hadn’t warned him away. She’d asked him not to touch her, but when he came near enough, she’d allowed it. Craved it. And she really couldn’t blame him for her own lapse in good judgment. He had offered, and she had wantonly and unwisely accepted.

In a ragged voice, she vowed, “That can’t happen again.”

“Thea—”

But his impassioned plea, whatever he had been going to say, was interrupted from the top of the narrow staircase by a shout. It was Travis, calling his sister’s name. “Jenny! What’s the hap, woman? Where are you?”

Thea spun away from Spence and flew up through the stairwell on shaky legs. There was no handrail and she braced herself against the rough stones and crumbling mortar.

Standing at the door leading to the third floor, Thea gathered her composure, taking steady breaths to calm the ridiculous fluttering in her chest. She tore off her parka, hoping to ease the intense heat that flushed her body.

The third-floor landing was lit by wall sconces and a high chandelier. In contrast to the dank gloom of the servant’s staircase, the decor was bright and clean with white-on-beige wallpaper above polished wood wainscoting. An octagonal Persian-style rug covered the wood floor. Travis—in his red and yellow ski clothes—looked too modern and out-of-place.

“Jenny’s not here,” he said gesturing to the three wide-open doors as if Thea were responsible. “I looked everywhere.”

Thea headed toward the center doors as Spence came up behind her. “Is this the bridal suite?”

“Don’t you believe me? Didn’t I just say, she’s not here? Didn’t I just—”

“Travis, calm down, okay? This is a very large castle.” She felt like she was talking to one of her obstreperous students. She was struck, somehow, in this lighting, by Travis’s unruly platinum-hued hair, and the fact that his brows were so dark by comparison. He’d bleached his hair, bowing to some ultra-hip image of himself as king-of-the-world ski racer. Hip probably wasn’t even the right word. But he was still Jenny’s baby brother, and he was probably very upset not to have found her. “Jenny’s here somewhere, Travis. She’s got to be. Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll find her.”

“But this was the only room where the lights were on,” he said.

“That’s true,” Thea said. “But someone also had to turn on the outside lights when we approached.”

“Not necessarily.” Spence said. “The lights could be on a timer. More likely, they’re motion sensitive.”

She cut Spence a look. The thought had occurred to her as well, but to keep Travis under wraps she’d been trying to take a positive outlook on the situation. But maybe more than to reassure Travis, she needed to quiet her own forebodings.

Didn’t she have enough worries after that earth-shaking kiss on the staircase?

“Let’s take another look around. Maybe Jenny left a note or a trail of bread crumbs or something.”

“Yeah, maybe she and Rosemont are getting it—”

“Maybe,” Thea cut him off, “Jenny and Rosemont are off watching a movie in some fantastic entertainment room with a sound system so wonderful that they haven’t heard us troop in.”

“Freaky Pollyanna,” Travis muttered, but the suggestion of something that cool looked like it might occupy his nearly vacant head for a while.

Thea opened the doors to the bridal suite. It was everything Lawrence had promised and more—a fantasy in pinks, reds and ripe purples that would almost certainly mortify the puritanical sensibilities of Reverend Joshua Handy. Thea’s gaze came to rest on a life-sized incandescent marble sculpture of lovers so entwined it looked as if they had come straight out of the pages of the Kama Sutra.

Several smaller versions of couplings and threesomes stood scattered about. Spooky, unseeing marble eyes leered or rolled back in expressions of stone ecstasy.

Beneath the windows was an opulent pink-veined marble bathtub with Jacuzzi jets. Opposite was the largest bed Thea had ever seen. This place was obviously a sex palace.

Thea could not imagine Jenny in this room. It went beyond opulent right straight to decadent, making her feel embarrassed with Spence so near and their kissing so recent. She swallowed hard. “Interesting.”

“Yeah,” Travis agreed. “I can’t believe my prissy-pants big sister would even walk in here, much less sleep in the same room with these dudes.”

“They’re not all dudes,” Spence observed wryly.

Travis opened the mirrored closet door. “But look. Here’s Jenny’s stuff.”

Ignoring the marble orgy, fending off her own growing alarm that Jenny wasn’t right here to show off the castle, Thea went to the walk-in closet. She recognized a few of Jenny’s blouses and sweaters. Centered on the rack, hanging all by itself, was a black silk garment bag. A bit of white lace was visible above the top of the zipper. The bridal gown!

Jenny had described her wedding dress in detail, but Thea hadn’t yet seen this handmade creation with satin, imported lace and real pearls embroidered on the sleeves. Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick peek.

She unzipped the bag and pulled apart each side to reveal the dress her friend had chosen for her fantasy wedding.

But a terrible gasp tore out of Thea’s throat. In the center of the bodice was the dark red stain of dried blood.

Chapter Four

Spence was a medical doctor, certified in search-and-rescue emergency medical procedures, and while he’d interned at Colorado University Medical Center in Denver, he’d spent months in the ER, where he repaired bone-deep gashes, probed for bullets and had once delivered twins. The sight of blood shouldn’t have affected him.

But when he saw the stain on Jenny’s wedding gown, and yanked the gown from the garment bag, his gut wrenched. The filmy white fabric burned in his hands.

From the moment he’d first seen the castle, he’d sensed something was wrong, and other things only kept piling on to confirm his instincts. The remote location. The butler’s shoulder holster. The bizarre request to leave behind all cell phones, which were useless anyway without cellular service in the area.

Then, not only the absence of staff and servants, but Jenny’s failure to appear at all. Spence couldn’t even excuse Rosemont, who might be expected to keep to himself were it not the weekend of his wedding.

Now this. The bloodstain on Jenny’s bridal gown caused all the vague threads to draw together, like blood fibrin congealing. They were all caught up and in danger—perhaps mortal danger.

What had happened to Jenny?