The Bridegroom's Dilemma

The Bridegroom's Dilemma
Lindsay Armstrong

Nick Hunter had proposed to Skye Belmont believing her to be an independent career woman. When Skye admitted, three weeks before the wedding, that she longed for children, Nick was shocked! Faced with his reaction, Skye decided to call it off and walk away.But their relationship had been intensely passionate, and Nick was determined to get her back. There was only one thing for it–he had to convince Skye to give their love a second chance!

“I’m not some mindless slave to sex,”

Skye continued, “There has to be more to it.”

“It wasn’t just sex,” Nick said harshly. “Do you really see it like that?”

“It wasn’t much more.”

Nick watched her walk away and ground his teeth in frustration as he asked himself why the hell he couldn’t just let Skye Belmont go. The thing was, he mused savagely, there was no way he could transform himself into the kind of husband she wanted.

So why, he asked himself, did he feel as if he’d let her down?

LINDSAY ARMSTRONG was born in South Africa but now lives in Australia with her New Zealand-born husband and their five children. They have lived in nearly every state of Australia and have tried their hand at some unusual, for them, occupations, such as farming and horse training—all grist to the mill for a writer! Lindsay started writing romances when their youngest child began school because she was left feeling at a loose end. She is still doing it and loving it.

The Bridegroom’s Dilemma

Lindsay Armstrong

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

‘LOOK at this! I don’t believe it.’ The middle-aged man lowered his newspaper and stared at his companion. ‘Skye Belmont and Nick Hunter have broken off their engagement only three weeks before the wedding!’

‘Doesn’t surprise me,’ the second man sitting at the pavement café said thoughtfully as he stirred his cappuccino. ‘Two very high-profile people, big egos, no doubt.’ He shrugged.

‘One very beautiful, high-profile person and she doesn’t act as if she has a big ego,’ the first man said with a sigh. ‘You know, Skye Belmont is the one girl I’d leave everything for. Those wonderful, laughing blue eyes, gorgeous figure, skin like satin, curly hair—I reckon she’s a natural blonde—and her legs are something to die for.’

His friend looked amused. ‘Wouldn’t we all? And they did seem like the perfect couple, but you never can tell.’

‘If he’s hurt her…’ the first man said pugnaciously.

‘Could be the other way around.’

‘Not Skye. She’s such a honey!’

‘Oh, well, we’ll probably never know…’

‘Skye, you can’t sit there all day, darling.’

Skye Belmont stirred and looked around her bedroom. She flinched visibly as her gaze fell on her beautiful wedding dress hanging up outside the wardrobe door then she glanced up at her mother. ‘If you must know, Mum, I wish there was a handy hole in the ground for me to hide in!’

Her mother sat down on the end of the bed and said gently, ‘You were the one who broke it off, Skye. For a lot of very good reasons, you told me. And all this interest and publicity will die down. Don’t forget, it was inevitable. Are you not the most sought-after cook-show host in town? And is Nick not—‘

‘The most eligible bachelor in town,’ Skye finished for her mother wearily. She laid her head back and two tears trickled down her cheeks. ‘Don’t I know it.’

‘Skye, are you regretting it now?’ her mother asked anxiously.

‘No.’ Skye licked the salty moisture from her lip. ‘But just between you and me, Mum, even though I know I can’t live with him and—all the rest, I guess I might always miss him.’

Iris Belmont looked concerned. ‘There’s an old saying: The devil you know…’ She raised a delicate eyebrow at her daughter as she left the saying unfinished.

Skye smiled faintly. ‘If there’s someone who can cope with the devil in Nick, it’s not me.’

‘You’re on the front page this morning, Mr Hunter,’ Florence Daley said as she slapped a sheaf of newspapers in front of her boss.

Nick Hunter removed his feet from his desk, his hands from behind his head and sat up with a sigh. He was six feet two with straight, short, almost black hair and eyes. Beneath the dark grey shirt he wore with a jade-green tie and charcoal trousers, his shoulders were broad and there was an air of suppressed energy about him despite the fact that he’d been lounging with his feet up, so immobile and deep in thought.

The rest of him was lean, rangy and unobtrusively powerful, but the most arresting thing was his face. You never stopped to wonder whether he was handsome, Florence thought, because there was so much vitality, humour yet strength in it. When he laughed, it was almost impossible not to laugh with him. When he raised an eyebrow with utter arrogance at you, you immediately felt demolished. No wonder she hadn’t been able to cope, the poor kid…

‘I suppose the whole world is wondering what kind of a bastard I am to have ditched Skye?’ he drawled, breaking in on her reflections.

‘Yes,’ his secretary said severely.

‘Not you too, Flo!’ He eyed Florence injuredly. She was in her early sixties, she always displayed a very prim and proper demeanour and, as his father’s secretary originally, she had known him since he was sixteen.

‘Me too, I’m afraid,’ Florence agreed. ‘I love Skye and I thought you did as well.’

‘Loving Skye and marrying Skye,’ Nick Hunter said meditatively, ‘are two different things. By the way, it was she who gave me my marching orders.’

‘I wonder why?’ Florence said with unusual irony. And proceeded to tell him. ‘You’re never here, for one thing! It would be like being married to a long-distance telephone. And you’re always doing difficult, dangerous things you don’t have to do—she’d never know when the father of her children would turn up as a statistic! Plus…’ Florence paused then went on with unusual vehemence, ‘Too many women are attracted to you and make fools of themselves over you.’

Nick had listened to this attentively but his dark eyebrows shot up at the last two observations. He said, with a grin, ‘Flo, I do think you’re exaggerating there—’

But Florence was in the grip of high emotion and would not be denied. ‘Nor does it become you to joke about it, Nicholas Hunter,’ she snapped. ‘The trouble with you is you’ve always had everything handed to you on a platter and you’re too used to dominating the life out of everyone around you.’