Lori Wilde - There Goes The Bride (2 page)

This was it.

Her big day.

The seven-piece orchestra struck the first notes of the wedding march. Dum, dum, de-dum.

Delaney took a deep breath and glanced down the long aisle festooned with white rose petals to where Evan stood at the altar. He looked stunningly handsome in his long-tailed tux, love shining in his trusting blue eyes.

Her father started forward.

But Delaney’s beaded white Jimmy Choo stilettos stayed rooted to the spot. No, no, this was all wrong. It was a big mistake. She had to call it off before she embarrassed everyone. Where was her cell phone?

“Delaney Lynn Cartwright,” her father growled under his breath. “Don’t make me drag you.”

A hard throb of distress surged through her temples.
What have you done? What have you done? What have you done?

She forced herself to move forward. Her gaze searched for the exits. There were two on either side of the altar, and of course, the one directly behind her.

But Daddy wasn’t letting go.

Closer, closer, almost there.

Evan made eye contact, smiled sweetly.

Guilt whirled like a demon tornado in the pit of her stomach. She dragged in a ragged breath.

Her husband-to-be held out his palm. Her father put her hand in Evan’s.

Delaney’s gaze shifted from one corner exit to the other. Too late. It was too late to call this off. What time was it anyway?

“Dearly beloved,” the portly minister began, but that’s as far as he got.

A clattering erupted from behind the exit door on the left.

And then there he loomed. Dressed head to toe in black. Wearing a ski mask. Standing out like crude oil in a cotton field.

Thrilled, chilled, shamefaced, and greatly relieved, Delaney held her breath.

The intruder charged the altar.

The congregation inhaled a simultaneous gasp.

The minister blinked, looked confused.

“Back away from the bride,” the dark stranger growled and waved a pistol at Evan.

Excitement burst like tiny exploding bubbles inside her head.
Prop gun
, Delaney thought.
Nice touch
.

Evan stared at the masked intruder, but did not move. Apparently he had not yet realized what was transpiring.

“Move it.” The interloper pointed his weapon directly at Evan’s head. “Hands up.”

Finally, her groom got the message. He dropped Delaney’s hand, raised his arms over his head, and took a step back.

“Don’t anyone try anything cute,” the man commanded at the same moment he wrapped the crook of his elbow around Delaney’s neck and pressed the revolver to her temple. The cold nose of it felt deadly against her skin.

Fear catapulted into her throat, diluting the excitement. Delaney dropped her bouquet. It
was
a prop gun, wasn’t it?

The crowd shot to its collective feet as the stranger dragged her toward the exit from whence he’d appeared.

“Follow us and the bride gets it,” he shouted dramatically just before the exit door slammed closed behind them.

“You’re choking me,” Delaney gasped. “You can let go now.”

He ignored her and just kept dragging her by the neck toward the white delivery van parked at the back of the rectory.

A bolt of raw panic shot through her veins. What was going on here? She dug her freshly manicured fingernails into his thick arm and tried to pry herself free.

He stuck his gun in his waistband, pulled a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket, and one-handedly slapped them around her wrists.

“What is this?” she squeaked.

He did not speak. He wrenched open the back door of the van just as the congregation came spilling out of the rectory and into the street. He tossed her onto the floor, slammed the door, and ran around to the driver’s side.

Delaney lay facedown, her knees and elbows stinging from carpet burn. She couldn’t see a thing, but she heard anxious shouts and the sound of fists pounding the side of the vehicle.

The engine revved and the van shot forward, knocking her over onto her side.

“What’s going on?” She struggled to sit. The veil fell across her face. She pushed it away with her cuffed hands and peered into the front of the van. “What’s with all the rough stuff?”

He didn’t answer.

She cleared her throat. Perhaps he hadn’t heard her. “Nice execution,” she said. “Loved the toy gun, but the handcuffs are a definite overkill.”

He hit the street doing at least fifty and she tipped over again.

Her heart flipped up into her tightly constricted throat. She dragged in a ragged swallow of air. This guy was playing his role to the hilt.

When they made it to the freeway entrance ramp, he ripped off the ski mask, threw it in the seat beside him, and then turned to look back at Delaney.

Alarm rocketed through her. Saliva evaporated from her mouth. Something had gone very, very wrong.

Because the man who’d just taken her hostage was
not
the kidnapper she’d hired.

Chapter 1

Two Months Earlier

G
lasses up, girls. A toast to the bride-to-be,” bubbled Tish Gallagher. She smiled at Delaney, tucked a dark auburn corkscrew curl behind one ear studded with multiple piercings, and raised her drink. “May your marriage be filled with magic.”

Delaney Cartwright and her three best friends were celebrating the final fitting of the bridesmaids’ dresses by dining at Diaz, Houston’s trendiest new restaurant hot spot. They’d already slurped down a couple of margarita-martinis apiece and noshed their way through blue corn tortilla chips dipped in piquant salsa and fire-grilled shrimp enchiladas laced with Manchego cheese and Spanish onions.

Everyone was feeling frivolous.

All except for Delaney.

Tequila made her edgy, but it was what her friends were drinking, so she’d joined in.

“Third time’s the charm.” Jillian Samuels winked and lifted her glass.

Her friend was referring to the fact Delaney had postponed the wedding twice. No matter how many times she explained to people that she’d delayed the ceremony because she was trying to get her fledgling house-staging business on solid ground, everyone assumed it was because she’d gotten cold feet.

But that wasn’t the reason at all.

Well, okay, maybe there was a tiny element of an icy pinkie toe or two, but mostly Delaney didn’t want to end up like her mother. With nothing to do but have kids and meddle in their lives.

“To the most perfect wedding ever.” Die-hard romantic Rachael Harper sighed dreamily, her martini glass joining the others in the air. “You’ve got the perfect dress, the perfect church, and the most perfect man.”

On paper, it was true. Rich, good-looking, affable. Dr. Evan Van Zandt was kind, generous, and thoughtful. Her family loved Evan, and he adored them.

The only thing not perfect in the whole scenario is me
, Delaney thought and anxiously reached up to finger the bridge of her nose.

Rhinoplasty might have ironed out the hump, bestowing her with a flawless nose, but it hadn’t straightened out her insecurities. She felt like a fake. No matter how many people raved about how gorgeous she was, Delaney didn’t believe it.

The emotional repercussions of being a chubby, bucktoothed, nearsighted girl with a witchy nose resonated deep within. Never mind the weight-loss programs, intensive exercise sessions, braces, veneers, elocution lessons, LASIK, and liposuction. Inside, she still felt the same.

“To happily-ever-after,” Tish said. “Come on, up with your glass, Del.”

“To happily-ever-after,” Delaney echoed and dutifully clinked glasses with her friends.

Remember, it’s just like Mother taught you. Perceiving, behaving, becoming. Perceive yourself as happy and you’ll behave as if you’re happy and then you’ll become happy.

Happy, happy, happy.

Tish lowered her drink and narrowed her eyes at Delaney. “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet again, because I’m counting on your wedding paying off my Macy’s card.”

She might be teasing in that devil-may-care way of hers, but it was impossible to slip anything past Tish. Her street-savvy friend had come up the hard way, but she’d never let poverty stop her. After years of struggling, she was finally gaining the reputation she deserved as one of the best wedding videographers in the business. Delaney was so proud of her.

“Nothing, nothing. I’m fine.”

“You lie. Everything’s not fine. Spill it.”

“Honestly. Just pre-wedding jitters.”

Tish didn’t let up. “What’s wrong? Is your mother driving you around the bend with her everything’s-gotta-be-perfect-or-my-high-society-world-will-implode routine?”

Delaney cracked a half smile. People joked about Bridezilla, but no one ever mentioned that Mother-of-Bridezilla could make Bridezilla look like Bambi on Valium. “There is that.”

“But it’s not all. What else?” Tish pushed the empty salsa bowl aside, leaned forward, propped her elbows on the table, and rested her chin on her interlaced fingers. Jillian and Rachael were also studying her curiously.

She shrugged. “No relationship is perfect. I’m sure I’m making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“You let us be the judge of that. Go on, we’re listening.” Tish waved a hand.

Talking about her romantic life made Delaney uncomfortable. Unlike her friends, she didn’t enjoy freely swapping stories about her sexual adventures.

Um, could it be because you’ve never had any sexual adventures?

Besides, if she told them the truth, she couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine. And yet, staying connected to those she loved was the most important thing in the world to her. If she couldn’t share her fears with her friends, how could they remain close?

“Well?” Tish arched an eyebrow.

Delaney blew out her breath, trying to think of a delicate way to phrase it. “Things with Evan are . . .”

“Are what?” Jillian prompted when she took too long to continue.

Jillian was a dynamic young lawyer with exotic ebony hair, almond-shaped eyes, a body built for sin, and a Mensa IQ. She snared every man she’d ever set her sights on, but then dumped them just as easily as she collected them.

“Well, you know.” Delaney shrugged.

“No, we don’t. That’s why we’re asking.”

“Okay, here goes. Not to complain or anything, but ever since Evan suggested we abstain from making love until our wedding night, I haven’t been able to think about anything but sex. And now he’s leaving for Guatemala next Monday with a volunteer surgical team to perform surgery on sick kids, and he’ll be gone for six weeks.”

“What?” Tish exclaimed. “You guys aren’t having sex?”

“Evan thought it would make our wedding night special if we waited,” Delaney explained.

“How long has this been going on?” Jillian asked.

Embarrassed to admit the truth, Delaney dropped her gaze. She wished she hadn’t even brought it up. Evan was a saint. He was giving generously of himself to others, and here she was selfishly whining about their lack of a sex life.

She gulped and murmured, “Six months.”

“Six months!” Tish exploded. “You’re engaged, and you haven’t had sex in six months?”

“I think it’s romantic.” Kindergarten teacher Rachael was a green-eyed blonde with delicate porcelain skin and a poetic heart. Her favorite color was springtime pink, and she favored flowing floral-print dresses. In the candlelight, through the haze of a couple of margarita-martinis, Rachael looked as if she’d stepped out of a Monet. “And very sweet.”

“You think everything is romantic,” Jillian pointed out.

“Oh,” Delaney said quickly, “don’t get me wrong. I was all for the idea.”

“Why?” Jillian looked at her as if she’d said she was for a worldwide ban on chocolate.

Delaney shrugged. She wasn’t all that into chocolate either. “Because honestly, our sex life wasn’t so hot before and I thought maybe Evan was right, that time without physical intimacy would help us appreciate each other more. But now I’m thinking it was a dumb idea. What we really need are some techniques for spicing up our love life, not celibacy.”

Her friends all started talking at once, each offering their version of how to rev up her romance with Evan before he left on his trip to Guatemala.

“Surprise him with floating candles in a hot bath,” Rachael suggested. “Mood music. Massage oils.”

“No, no, that’s not the way to go,” Jillian said. “Sexy outfits are what you need. Stilettos, thongs, a leather bustier.”

“Make love outside,” Tish chimed in. “Or in the laundry room or in the backseat of your car. Pick someplace you’ve never made love before.”

“Sex toys,” Jillian threw in.

“Write him X-rated poetry.” Rachael giggled. “Mail him a naughty poem every day while he’s out of town. He’ll be crazed for you by the time he gets back.”