Stolen Bride

She stared at Finn for a long moment, her thudding pulse subsiding. Then with an effort she nodded and got out of the car. She stood by the door, uncertain, watchful as he got out on his side with an easy grace.

There was something about him that drew the eye, that made her want to look at nothing else, but when he turned and glanced at her over the top of the car, she felt herself beginning inexplicably to blush.

He was coming around to her side, and she turned to meet him, beginning to attempt a smile and then instinctively freezing as she noticed the knife in his hand.

He waggled it at her and she stepped back, wondering whether she should try to run. The strange thing was, she didn’t feel frightened of him. But maybe he really was a crazy man. Madmen often seemed charming, didn’t they? Perhaps he was someone with violent delusions. She took another step back and felt the car hard against her.

‘What...what are you doing?’ Her voice was wobbly, but she couldn’t help it. She forced herself to lift her chin and look him straight in the eye.

‘Here,’ he said impatiently, turning the knife around and handing it to her, handle first. ‘Take it.’

She looked at it blankly as her fingers curled around it, noting mechanically as the tension eased out of her body that it was just an ordinary penknife, and then stared at him. ‘What do you want me to do with it?’ she asked.

.He moved his hands irritably. ‘I don’t know,’ he retorted. ‘But you have to do something with that dress of yours. Cut those frilly bits off, cut it shorter, anything. I don’t care, but make it look more like a normal dress.’

She gazed at the creased white silk and then at him. ‘I can’t cut this up,’ she whispered. ‘It’s a work of art. It was made by Elsa Schiapparelli in nineteen thirty something. The hand-stitching alone—’

His jaw clenched and he took a step towards her. ‘I don’t care if it was made by Elsa the lion in Born Free, just do something with it!’

She looked into his lean, lightly tanned face and bit her lip. ‘Maybe I could borrow some of your clothes,’ she said at last.

He slapped his forehead with his hand. ‘You know,’ he said softly, ‘I thought I had everything for this trip. The penknife that has so many attachments I’m sure there’s a fold-up bicycle among them, an idiot-proof camera, a well-respected credit card. And you know what? I left all my dresses at home. Isn’t that extraordinary?’

Cara ripped the flowers from her hair and threw them on the ground. She wanted to stamp on them, she was so suddenly, furiously angry. ‘You are the most impossible man I have ever met,’ she stormed. ‘You just walk in and steal me from my wedding as though you had ice water in your veins, and now you are acting like an outraged duchess at the idea of me wearing one of your shirts.’

Finn’s mouth opened and then closed with a snap. Without another word he yanked open the boot and tore out a grip. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘So sometimes you’re allowed to have better ideas than me. But we’ve wasted enough time. It’ll be dark soon, and I want to get moving.’ He smiled. ‘I keep thinking I hear a fleet of Mercedes thundering up the road, with Luca at the head doing his impersonation of Vlad the Impaler.’

A thin chill went down her spine as she thought of how terrifying Luca could be when he was angry. She looked straight into Finn’s face.

‘What’s the matter?’ he demanded.

‘You don’t look particularly scared at the idea of being chased by Luca,’ she said softly.

He shrugged. ‘He hasn’t caught me yet,’ he replied quietly. ‘And in any case, I’m more worried about you.’ He looked at the sky and then at her. ‘At least I stand no chance of him deciding to marry me.’

‘It’s not funny,’ she said shortly.

‘I’m not laughing,’ he replied. ‘But I’d appreciate it if you got a move on.’

Cara stepped towards him, then turned around. In a voice as impersonal as she could make it, she said, ‘You’ll have to undo me. I can’t reach all the catches.’

There was a short sigh and then silence, but she knew that he was standing right behind her. It wasn’t the feel of his body heat, or the soft brush of his breath on the nape of her neck, but something about his presence she simply couldn’t explain. Something she had never before experienced. And as his fingers began to free each cunningly hidden hook and eye, fleetingly touching her skin, she drew in a sharp breath.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked softly, ‘did I stick a pin in you by mistake?’

‘No,’ she replied unsteadily.

‘There,’ he said, his voice almost too controlled as he freed the last hook.

She turned quickly. ‘Finn—’ She was so close to him, he was almost embracing her. ‘Why...’ She swallowed. ‘Why are you doing this, really? Why did you step in like that?’

He said nothing, but his arms closed about her, and he held her hazel eyes with his. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to rest the palms of her hands on his shirt. She could feel the play of his muscles under the cotton, and wondered what his chest looked like without... She shook her head. This was ridiculous. Why couldn’t she get a grip on reality? It must be some sort of emotional reaction to everything that had happened, she thought. But she didn’t pull away. Somehow, inexplicably, she didn’t want to.

His fingers brushed her cheek. ‘You are a very beautiful woman, Cara,’ he said softly.

‘That’s not an answer,’ she accused, determined to hang on to the last shreds of her self-control, in spite of the fact that it felt so right, so comforting, to be held by him.

There were a few faint freckles on his high cheekbones. ‘What sort of answer would you like?’ he murmured, taking the pins from her carefully styled dark gold hair and watching it cascade thickly down her back.

‘A sensible answer,’ she said, trying hard and failing to look away.

‘Like this?’ he asked, as he bent his head and kissed her.

Her body tautened at the feel of his lips on hers, coaxing, flattering, not at all like Luca’s. She pulled away at that thought, but Finn’s hands were warm on her back and, astonished at herself, she relaxed.

His lips pressed harder, became more demanding, his fingers trailing down her spine, and Cara reached up to touch his hair, the palm of her hand sliding over his jaw, the faint roughness of his cheek. This was an experience she wanted to go on forever.

And then he stopped. His hands dropped to his sides and he looked at her and smiled grimly. ‘Some wedding this is turning out to be.’

It was as if he had broken a spell. Her face flaming, she pulled back, and he let her go. ‘I don’t know why I let you do that,’ she snapped, snatching away her hands.

His fingers imprisoned one of her wrists and he lifted it to his mouth, kissing the pulse point, holding her once more with his eyes.

‘Let me go,’ she demanded, knowing he could feel the blood thundering through her veins.

‘I wouldn’t move too fast if I were you, princess,’ he remarked. ‘That dress is staying up now by sheer willpower.’

‘I said, let me go,’ she snarled.

With a little smile he dropped her hand, and after a mock bow, he turned and walked to the edge of the trees.

Cara breathed out in one gusty sigh. Making sure he had his back to her, she let the dress drop to her feet. She ran to his suitcase, her high heels wobbling perilously in the soft earth. With a muttered oath, she kicked them off, knelt and flipped the catches on the case, then began rummaging desperately through his clothes.

‘There’s a Hawaiian shirt and a pair of shorts at the bottom,’ said Finn.

She looked up to find him staring at her. ‘Go away!’ she screamed.

‘Cara,’ he said gently. ‘We’re not exactly in the fitting rooms of Saks Fifth Avenue. Get the damned clothes and get in the car.’ Blushing furiously, she did as he said, pulling on the shirt and running to the passenger seat as he stuffed the dress, the wreath and her shoes into his case.

‘Attagirl,’ he said, sliding into the driving seat and taking a good look around. ‘Just getting dusk now. It’ll be fully dark in a few minutes, and with luck no one will notice us at all on the autostrada.’

Cara stared at him, the memory of what they had done suddenly becoming horribly real. ‘Luca’s men will see us get on,’ she whispered. ‘They’ll be watching for us when we go through the toll booth.’

He glanced at her. ‘We’re not going through the toll booth,’ he said at last, starting the car and driving onto the road.

‘But there is no other way,’ she objected.

Finn shook his head. ‘This road leads to the con-struction site for the new section of the autostrada,’ he said equably. ‘I was looking at it yesterday, funnily enough, and it’s just about completed. We just get on it, drive along till we hit the main autostrada and then, voilà.’