A Convenient Groom

‘With this ring…’ she murmured, listing to one side, a soft smile on her face, her eyes closed.

‘That comes later,’ he said, shaking his head. And in this case, not at all. He was already seriously involved.

She fell sideways.

Joe caught her in his arms, holding her. What a night.

He lifted Riana into his arms, sending a prayer to the ceiling that the morning would bring her some sense as well as sobriety.

The last thing he needed was another fiancée.

CHAPTER FOUR

RIANA held her head and opened her eyes gingerly. Damn, what had she been drinking? She pried her tongue off the roof of her mouth and wet her dry lips, swallowing hard, trying to dispel the fur lining.

She was lying on the white sofa in her back office, her shoes on the floor, the spring silk samples draped over her like a blanket.

What was she doing here?

She vaguely recalled coming to the boutique last night…and before that? The wave of despair hit her. Stuart didn’t want to marry her!

Her eyes burned. He was such a jerk. Using her like a plaything, something just for fun, to amuse him until someone worth getting serious over came along.

She stared at the ceiling. Why on earth wasn’t she serious material? Sure, she may not have come from a rich family, or gone to a private school, but she had a class all of her own.

She shook her head. She was an idiot for even considering that he was worth her time, let alone her hand in marriage. The nerve of the man to tell her that she wasn’t good enough for him or his high-and-mighty rich family! 41

She rolled off the sofa, holding her stomach with one hand, her head with the other, bracing herself against the pitching of her senses.

The floor wavered. Darn. She should have kept drinking so she didn’t have to think about him, or feel like this.

She closed her eyes, resting on the edge of the sofa. At least she’d ended up safely here at Camelot Bridal Boutique and not in some gutter somewhere. That wouldn’t have been a good look for a wannabe up-and-coming designer.

She cupped her cheeks, holding her face in the hope that it might still the vibrations gnawing at her head. She hoped she didn’t look as bad as she felt.

She glanced at the clock on the wall. Seven-thirty. At least Joe couldn’t complain this morning about her tardiness. Did she still have that change of clothes in her office from the last time she went straight from work to a club? She hoped so. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Joe’s face when he arrived and she was already here.

Joe…

She strained to think. There was something about him that she was missing. She shook her head tentatively. Whatever it was, it could wait. The last session with him was today and she wouldn’t have to think about the scruffy-looking control freak again.

Riana stood up and staggered to the bathroom, her legs feeling as though all the alcohol she’d drunk last night had solidified there, every step jarring her brain and her stomach.

Waves of nausea slapped her senses.

Riana flicked the light switch in the bathroom and blinked away the pain behind her eyes.

She glanced at herself in the mirror. Mistake. Her hair was sticking out at wild angles as though something unspeakable had nested in it for the night. The smudges around her eyes from her make-up gave her the classic been-in-a-pub-brawl look, and her skin was as pasty as olive skin could get on a bad day. And, sheesh, it was a bad, bad day.

She turned the tap on. What she needed was a long hot shower to make her feel better, wash away all the comments Stuart had thrown around. Huh! She wasn’t just for a good time.

She cupped her hands under the streaming warm water, her attention caught by the glimmer of gold on her hand.

What? A ring? On that finger?

Her belly lurched. She brought her hand up closer to her face. The small band looked like a wedding ring. She shook her head as much as her aching brain allowed. But it couldn’t be. Whirlwind weddings didn’t happen in Australia. There were no Vegas altars available twenty-four-seven here.

Riana knew this for a fact. Her older sister, Skye, was forever being asked how fast a wedding could take place—mostly by young couples too caught up in the amazing raptures of love to think straight.

It was a month, she was sure of it. And it could only be less if someone was dying—if she was remembering right. She did have the habit of blocking out her sisters’ talk about work.

She fingered the band. Who?

Had she done it herself, knowing she deserved to be as happily married as her sisters? Or had someone else put it there? Why?

She scrunched her eyes tightly closed, clawing for any hint of last night’s desolation and subsequent commiseration with a bottle of vodka.

Joe’s face came to mind.

Riana grabbed the sink for support. Something to do with Joe Henderson, photographer extraordinaire, last night?

She could remember his face, strong and angular, his jaw rough with bristle. She closed her palm, almost feeling the sensation on her fingertips.

She’d touched him?

Flashes came to mind. Of kind words, his velvet-smooth deep voice, his golden eyes looking down at her with a warmth that made her toes curl.

What had she said to him? Her throat burned. The last thing she wanted was that man to know all her woes, especially after bragging up Stuart’s imminent proposal.

She sagged to the floor. Could she have acted more like an idiot if she’d tried? Fancy believing in the jerk so much that she’d told everyone that he was going to propose, including Joe.

Tears burned her eyes and made her throat ache with the need to yell. She was a fool.

Memories flooded her mind—of all the time she’d taken to spend with Stuart, of all the energy she’d spent on him, all the smiles, the flirting, the amazing outfits. And he was just like every other jerk that she’d met.

She stared at the ceiling, futilely blinking back the tears. She’d even told her mother she could stop worrying about her, that she was going to settle down too, like her sisters.

She let the tears flow, let the sobs rack her body, cursing her big fat mouth. Everyone was going to know now how much of an idiot she’d been with Stuart. He hadn’t loved her at all.

There was a light tap on the door.

‘Hey?’ said a deeply male voice. ‘Are you okay in there?’

Riana staggered to her feet, choking back the tears and the pain in her head. Couldn’t a girl have a quiet cry on her own bathroom floor without being interrupted? She flung the door open. ‘What?’ she snapped.

Joe Henderson stood in front of her, freshly shaved, his hair combed back, his blue jeans fitting very nicely on his body, and his white T-shirt stretched tightly across his wide chest.