The Wedding Garden Read Online Free Page A

presence. Not even her son.
    Justin studied the tops of his untied sneakers and mumbled in a more polite tone. “Am I grounded?”
    Annie pushed. “Are you going to tell me why you hit Ronnie Prine?”
    “No. But he deserved it.”
    Sloan was starting to believe the kid. He’d been there, done that. Bullies didn’t change. If they found a tender spot, they’d pick at it until you bled or exploded. Justin had exploded.
    Annie sighed, a long-suffering huff of air. “You have in-school suspension for the rest of the week. I suppose that’s enough, if you promise to control your temper and stay out of trouble.” Tiredly, she rubbed two fingers over her forehead. “Now go finish your homework.”
    The kid pivoted to leave the room. Sloan stopped him. “Wait a minute.”
    Eyes rolling, body cocked to one side in an expression of annoyance, Justin said, “What?”
    “Don’t you have something to say to your mother?”
    Justin squirmed, clearly not wanting to lose face, but when neither adult relented, he muttered, “Sorry, Mom.”
    Sloan narrowed his eyes and studied the lanky boy. Something about his stance was uncannily familiar. “How old are you, kid?”
    Annie shot him a long look.
    “Eleven. What’s it to you?”
    Maybe more than either of us knows.
    Eleven. Justin was eleven. With that worrisome little tidbit eating into his brain like a woodworm, Sloan did the math and considered the possibilities.
    Nah, he couldn’t be.
    Could he?

Chapter Three
    B luetooth headset attached to his ear like an oversize cockroach, Sloan exited his bedroom with an armload of clothes to toss in the washer.
    “Yeah, send Blake and Griffith with the ambassador’s family. Some segments of Manila aren’t excited about his mission. We may encounter problems there. Tell the team to be on their toes.” As head of Worldwide Security Solutions, he contracted with the government and military on a regular basis. This latest assignment in the Philippines had him worried. Muslim extremists had infiltrated the area. “Sure, no problem. How’s the issue in Afghanistan we discussed yesterday?”
    Listening intently, he rounded the top of the stairs…and slammed into Annie. The bundle of clothes went flying. Annie stumbled back and started to fall. Instinctively, Sloan reached out, grasped her upper arms and yanked forward. Annie ended up cradled in his arms, against his chest.
    His first sensation, besides the adrenaline pumping like pistons through his bloodstream, was the smell of her hair. He’d teased her in high school about washing her hair in apple juice. Apparently, she still did.
    The second thought was of how she fit against him, curved in all the right places and softer than silk. She must have been stunned, too, because she didn’t move for several seconds. Several torturous seconds while he flashed back to age nineteen and the wild, desperate love he’d felt for Annie Crawford.
    His throat went dry. This was not good, not good at all.
    He told his arms to release her. He told his legs to step back one stair step. His well-trained body, capable of taking out an enemy in three-point-six seconds, would not obey.
    The voice in his ear said his name. Once. Twice.
    “Later,” he muttered, too distracted to remember the business conversation.
    While he battled inwardly, both reveling in the touch and dismayed at the yearning, Annie stiffened.
    “Excuse me,” she said, voice muffled against his Harley T-shirt. When he didn’t move, she wiggled away, retreating one step so that he was looking down into her upturned face.
    She wasn’t happy about the unexpected contact either. Above the blush cresting on her cheekbones, her big green eyes looked even bigger. Her chest rose and fell like an escapee, and her mouth was pinched tight and tilted down. She looked repulsed.
    His touch repulsed her.
    Grinding his molars, Sloan gave a short nod he hoped passed for an apology and bent to retrieve his laundry. Silently, Annie gathered