Borrowed Bride Read Online Free Page A

would turn out that he was wrong about Adam, wrong about everything, and that he himself was exactly what Gaby accused him of being, an impulsive jerk.
    Maybe. In the meantime Connor wasn’t sure what to make of the unexpected feelings being churned up inside him by thoughts of her with Adam. He only knew that it pleased him royally that he and not Adam had been the one to see how beautiful she looked in her iced apricot garter belt and stockings.
    Iced apricot. The words stuck in his head as he thanked his friend and watched the van pull away. Although he could never have come up with so poetic a description on his own, he was astute enough to see how well it suited Gaby. Her smooth skin sort of reminded him of ripe apricots. And there was no question that her manner where he was concerned was definitely icy.
    Iced apricot. The thought appealed so much, he supposed it was only natural for a man to wonder what hot apricot would be like.
    Along with the Harley, he had pulled from the van a couple of large knapsacks so tightly packed they were straining at the seams. Gabrielle stood by and watched as he struggled to strap them to the bike in a spot where they would be as much out of the way as possible. He’d figured that she wouldn’t take up much space, being only about five foot five and slender, but the ride ahead was straight uphill. That fact, plus the added cargo they’d be hauling, would make it even more of a challenge than the getaway from the church had been. He had to make sure that both the bags and Gaby would be safe. It wasn’t easy, and Connor didn’t have to look up to know that she was relishing every moment of his frustration.
    By the time he finished, he’d bitten back every curse he knew, and sweat was running between his shoulder blades. The only thing stopping him from stripping off his leather jacket was the knowledge that if he did he’d have to find someplace on the already overloaded bike to stow that, as well. He’d rather sweat.
    After double-checking the kickstand to make sure it was secure, he turned to her. “Let’s go make that call.”
    Gabrielle felt a combined rush of excitement and relief. She quickly rejected the impulse to thank him, reminding herself he deserved to be flogged for what he was doing to her, not thanked for merely having enough decency to allow her to call and let her family know she was still alive. Evidently it didn’t take long for the Stockholm syndrome to kick in, she thought disgustedly as they walked the short distance to the phone booth. She picked her path carefully, grimacing each time her bare feet landed on a sharp stone.
    â€œI can carry you if you like,” Connor offered when they were about halfway there.
    Gabrielle slanted him a look of disdain. “I’d rather crawl.”
    He shrugged. “That’s another option, I suppose.”
    In spite of her bare feet she increased her pace so that she was out in front of him, where she didn’t have to see his mocking smile. Reaching the phone booth first, she stepped inside, slammed the folding door shut and reached for the receiver, her heart pounding with excitement. Only then did she remember she didn’t have a purse or money on her.
    Gritting her teeth, she slid the door open. Connor smiled as he dropped the quarter he was holding into her hand, but when she went to shut the door again, he stopped it with his foot.
    â€œHere’s the deal,” he told her, his smile gone. “You’ve got two minutes. You tell whoever answers that you’re fine, that you simply got cold feet at the last minute and—”
    â€œI will do no such thing. I won’t lie for you or—”
    â€œYou’ll do exactly as you’re told, Gaby, or no call.”
    She exhaled, struggling to control her fury. “Fine. I’ll tell them I got cold feet.”
    â€œAnd that you need some time alone to think things