A Bride Until Midnight / Something Unexpected: A Bride Until Midnight. Sandra Steffen

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СКАЧАТЬ morning.”

      She unlocked the door. Leaving him space to enter, she slipped behind the counter where she normally greeted guests.

      There was something oddly familiar about the way he stepped over the threshold. Which was strange, because she was sure she didn’t know him.

      Wet, his hair was the color of her favorite coffee, dark and rich and thick. His eyebrows were straight and slightly lighter than his hair, his eyes too shadowed for her to discern their color from here. A drop of water trailed down his cheek before getting caught on the whisker stubble darkening his jaw. He hung his jacket on the coat tree next to the door then started toward the desk.

      Green. His eyes were green and so deep they shot a bolt of electricity straight through her. The atmosphere in the room thickened—desire at first sight. He must have felt it, too, because he wasn’t moving anymore, either.

      “Are you the innkeeper?” he finally asked, dropping his duffel bag at his feet.

      “Summer Matthews, yes. Welcome to The Orchard Inn.”

      Maybe it was the lamplight. Maybe it was the late hour and the rain, but her voice sounded throatier and somehow sultrier in her own ears. If one of them didn’t put an end to this soon, clothes were going to start falling off.

      “Everyone else arrived hours ago,” she said, taking a stab at normalcy.

      He delved into his back pocket. It took her a little longer than usual to realize that he was probably fishing for his credit card so he could register.

      She pushed the leather-bound book toward him and said, “As long as the power is out, my computer is, too. If you’d just sign the registry, we can settle up in the morning.”

      He hurriedly wrote his name. Leaving the book open on the other side of the counter, he turned his attention back to her. That delicious warmth uncurled deep inside her again.

      Well well well. Here she was having sexy thoughts about a rugged, earthy man who definitely was not wearing a two-hundred-dollar tie. There was hope for her yet.

      “You’re in Room Seven.” She handed him a key, since the electronic key card wouldn’t work during a power outage, the number seven dangling from a metal ring. “Upstairs, to your right, then all the way to the end of the hall.”

      He accepted the key and her venture back to decorum without saying a word. After picking up his duffel bag, he headed for the stairs.

      “Wait,” she called.

      He turned around slowly, his gaze steady and bold. Bold with a capital B.

      Outside, thunder rumbled. Inside, lamplight flickered like temptation.

      “Yes?” he asked.

      “You’ll need this flashlight.”

      He wrapped his fingers around one end of the light. The logical corner of her brain that was still functioning knew she was supposed to release her end now, but she couldn’t seem to do more than tip her head back and look at him.

      He was handsome but not in a classical way. His features were too rugged for that, his jaw darkened with beard stubble and damp from the rain. His face was lean and angular, forehead, cheekbones, chin; his lips were just full enough to cause a woman to look twice. There was a small scar below his nose, but it was his eyes that caused a ripple to go through her. Something about him brought out a yearning to hold and be held, to touch and be touched.

      He must have felt it, too, because his gaze delved hers before dropping to her mouth. From there, it was a natural progression to her shoulders, bared by her sleeveless dress, and finally to the V that skimmed the upper swells of her breasts.

      He drew a slow breath, and it was as if they were both suspended, on the brink of taking the next step. If either of them made the slightest movement, be it a gentle sway or the hint of a smile, there would be no turning back.

      She finally garnered the wherewithal to release the flashlight and step away. Giving herself a mental shake, she said, “I hope you enjoy your stay at the inn. Good night, Mr. Miller.”

      She’d surprised him. No doubt a man with his masculine appeal was accustomed to a different outcome. But he didn’t press her. Instead, he turned the flashlight on and followed the beam of light up the stairs.

      “It’s not Miller,” he said, halfway to the top.

      “Pardon me?” she asked.

      “My name isn’t Miller. It’s Merrick. Kyle Merrick.”

      The thud of his footsteps had quieted, and his door had closed before Summer moved. Looking dazedly around the room, her gaze finally fell upon the open registration book. She ran to it and spun it around. By the light of the oil lamp she read the bold scrawl.

      Kyle Merrick.

      Oh no.

      A few hours ago Madeline had said that neither of Riley’s brothers was planning to attend the wedding. So what was Kyle doing here?

      Regardless of his reasons, the wealthy, world-renowned journalist with a nose for scandal and a penchant for stirring up trouble was spending the night right upstairs, and it was too late for Summer to do anything about it.

      The Merricks were self-made millionaires. The jacket hanging on the coat rack was likely made in Italy. Kyle probably owned a closet full of European suits. No matter how far she’d thought she’d come these past six years, her taste in men hadn’t changed.

      She’d been wildly attracted to him and had come very close to succumbing to the desire he brought out in her. There was no other way to describe the awareness that had arced between them. She couldn’t explain it, and she couldn’t deny that she’d felt it. A delicious current lingered even now. She had little doubt an attraction like that would have led to more passion than she’d experienced in a long time.

      But he was Kyle Merrick.

      And she was … well, Summer wasn’t her given name.

       Chapter Two

      Kyle Merrick’s Jeep Wrangler was equipped with the most advanced navigational system on the market, but he rarely turned it on. Relying on technology dulled a man’s natural instincts. Besides, it was more fun to use the sense of direction he’d been born with. It came in handy when he needed to find a way out of dicey situations in some of the world’s largest cities, poorest villages and, on occasion, women’s hotel rooms.

      Locating the house where his brother was staying didn’t require navigational gadgetry, carefully honed skill or God-given talent. Once Kyle had narrowed it down to the general vicinity—east of the river and north of Village Street—Riley’s silver Porsche in the driveway had been impossible to miss.

      Kyle parked the Jeep and got out. As he sauntered to the door, he noted his surroundings, something else that came naturally. This neighborhood was in an old section of Orchard Hill, but, unlike the residences on the national historic registry, the houses here were small and nondescript. This bungalow wasn’t Riley’s type of house at all. Which meant it was Madeline Sullivan’s.

      Since СКАЧАТЬ