A Bride for the Runaway Groom

She hadn’t drunk much at all yesterday—only two glasses of wine. Because of the jet lag they’d hit hard. But not so hard she’d invited someone into her bed.

She’d attended her sister’s wedding alone. No plus-one for Rose.

There had been no flirtations, no alluring glances and no invitations back to her room. And this definitely was her room. She opened her eyes just a little to check.

Yes, there was her bright blue suitcase in the corner of the room. Thank goodness. She hadn’t been so tired that she’d stumbled into the wrong room. Seb’s house was so big it might have happened.

But it hadn’t.

So, who was heavy breathing in her bed?

She didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to alert the intruder to the fact that she was awake. She could feel the dip in the bed at her back. Turning around and coming face-to-face with a perfect stranger wasn’t in her plans.

She needed to think about this carefully.

She edged her leg towards the side of the bed. Stealth mode. Then, cringed. No satin negligee. No pyjamas. Just the underwear she’d had on under her bridesmaid dress that was lying in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the bed. Brilliant. Just brilliant.

Her painted toenails mocked her. As did her obligatory fake tan. Vulnerable. That was how she felt. And Rose Huntingdon-Cross didn’t take kindly to anyone who made her feel like that.

Just then the stranger moved. A hand slid over her skin around her hip and settled on her stomach. She stifled a yelp as her breath caught in her throat. Something resembling a comfortable moan came from behind her as the stranger decided to cuddle in closer. The sensation of an unidentified warm body next to hers was more than she could take.

She slid her legs and body as silently as possible out of the bed. The only thing close to hand that could resemble a weapon was a large pink vase. Her heart was thudding against her chest. How dared someone creep into bed with her and grope her?

She held her breath as her feet came into contact with the soft carpet and she automatically grasped the vase in both hands.

She spun around to face the intruder. In other circumstances, this would be comical. But, right now, it felt anything but comical. She was practically naked and a strange man had crept into bed beside her. How dared he?

Who on earth was he? She didn’t recognise him at all. But the wedding of an earl and a celebrity couple’s daughter was full of people she couldn’t even take a guess at. Undoubtedly he was some hanger-on.

If her rational head were in place she would grab her clothes and run from the room, getting someone to come and help with the intruder.

But Rose hated being thought of as a shrinking violet. For once, she wanted to sort things for herself.

She padded around to the other side of the bed in her bare feet, hoisting the vase above her head just as the stranger gave a little contented moan.

It was all she needed to give her a burst of unforgiving adrenaline. The initial fear rapidly turned to anger and she brought the vase down without a second thought. ‘Who do you think you are? What are you doing in my bed? How dare you touch me?’ she screamed.

The vase shattered into a million pieces. The guy’s eyes shot open and in one movement he was on his feet—fists raised and swaying.

He blinked for a few seconds—big, bright blue eyes with a darker rim that didn’t look the least bit predatory, but a whole lot shell-shocked—then dropped his fists and clutched his head.

‘Violet, what on earth are you doing? Are you crazy?’ He groaned and swayed again, one of his hands reaching out to grab the wall—leaving a bloodstained mark on the expensive wallpaper.

She couldn’t breathe. Her heart was thudding against her chest and her stomach was doing crazy flip-flops. ‘What do you mean, Violet? I’m not Violet.’

This just wasn’t possible. Okay, Violet was her identical twin. They didn’t usually look so similar, but a few years stateside and not seeing each other on a daily basis meant she’d shown up with an identical hairstyle to her sister.

This clown actually thought he was in bed with her sister? What kind of a fool did that?

He was still shaking his head. It was almost as if his vision hadn’t quite come into focus. ‘But of course you’re Violet,’ he said.

‘No. I’m not. And stop dripping blood on the carpet!’

They both stared down at the probably priceless carpet that had two large blood drips, and the remnants of the vase at his feet and across the bed.

He grabbed his shirt from the chair next to the bed and pressed it to his head. It was the first time she’d even noticed his clothes—discarded in the same manner as her yellow and white bridesmaid dress.

His eyes seemed to come into focus and he stepped forward, reaching one hand out to her shoulder. He squinted. ‘Darn it. You’re not Violet, are you? You haven’t got her mole on your shoulder.’

His finger came into contact with her skin and she jumped back. One part of her knew that this ‘intruder’ wasn’t any danger to her. But another part of her was still mad about being mistaken for her twin and being felt up by her twin’s boyfriend. How on earth could this be explained? This guy was obviously another one of Violet’s losers.

Violet burst through the door. ‘What’s going on? Rose, are you okay?’ Her eyes darted from one to the other. The guy, in his wrinkled boxer shorts and shirt pressed to his forehead, and Rose, in her bridesmaid underwear. The broken vase seemed to completely pass her by.

She wrinkled her nose in disgust and shook her head. ‘Will? My sister? Oh, tell me you didn’t?’

They didn’t sound like words of jealousy—just words of pure exasperation.

She threw her hands in the air and spun around, muttering under her breath. ‘Runaway groom my sister and I’ll kill you.’

Rose was feeling decidedly exposed. The only thing she could find to hold in front of herself was her crumpled bridesmaid dress.

Whoever he was, he obviously wasn’t Violet’s boyfriend—not with that kind of reaction. But did that make things better or worse? She’d still been groped by an absolute stranger.

He wobbled again and sagged down into the chair strewn with his clothes, arching one eyebrow at her. ‘So, crazy twin. Do you assault every man you meet?’

‘Only every man who climbs into my bed uninvited and cops a feel!’

‘Well, lucky them.’ He sounded oh, so unimpressed. Then he frowned. ‘Did I touch you? I’m sorry. I was sleeping. I didn’t even realise I’d done that.’

The blood was starting to soak through his shirt. She cringed. Maybe the vase had been a bit over the top. And at least she’d got some kind of apology.

She stepped forward and took the shirt from his hand. ‘Here, let me.’ She pressed down firmly on his forehead.

‘Youch! Take it easy.’

She shook her head. ‘The forehead’s a very vascular area. It bleeds easily and needs a bit of pressure to get the bleeding to stop.’

‘How on earth would you know that?’

‘Friends with children who seem to bang their foreheads against every piece of furniture I own.’

He gave her half a smile. It was the first time she really noticed how handsome he was. There were no flabby abs here. Just a whole load of nicely defined muscles. With those killer blue eyes and thick dark hair he was probably quite a hit with the ladies.

A prickle flooded over her skin. In the cold light of day this guy seemed vaguely familiar.

‘How do you know Violet?’ she asked.

He winced as she pressed a little harder. ‘She’s my best friend.’