His Convenient Virgin Bride

Six

It had been two weeks since Alec had seen or heard from Stephanie. Back in his compact, Chicago office, he’d filled every spare second with reviews of the various Ryder International divisions and queries to the possible whereabouts of Norman Stanton. He’d called in every outstanding favor and, quite literally, had feelers out all over the globe.

But no matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn’t get Stephanie off his mind. He knew he had to stay well away from her for both their sakes, but he couldn’t help wondering what she was doing. Was she still battling morning sickness? Was she picking out baby clothes? A crib? Thinking about a nursery? Had she been to the doctor again?

He was tempted to call, but he had to be strong. He’d seen the loneliness in her eyes and caught her fleeting glances his way after the wedding ceremony. She was vulnerable right now, and Alec couldn’t risk having her look to him for emotional support.

His instinct to care for his wife and unborn child might be strong, but if he gave in, it would be Stephanie who got hurt in the end.

A news update droned in the corner on his small television set, while the cordless phone on his desktop sharply chimed.

It was an unfamiliar area code, and he snapped up the receiver. “Creighton here.”

“Alec. It’s Damien.”

Anticipation tightened Alec’s gut. “What’ve you got?”

“We found him.”

Alec rocked forward in his chair, senses instantly alert. “Where?”

“Morocco.”

Alec closed his eyes for a brief second of thankfulness. “Good. Great. What now?”

Damien Burke was a decorated, former military man. He’d done tours in both special forces and army intelligence, and there was nobody Alec trusted more.

“The U.S. doesn’t have an extradition treaty with Morocco. Not that I’m suggesting we involve the Moroccan authorities. But Stanton will know that. You can bet that’s why he’s here. And that limits our bargaining power.”

“It’s not like we didn’t expect this,” said Alec. The man was smart enough to illegally drain millions of dollars from the Ryders then hide out in a foreign country. It stood to reason he’d done his research on extradition laws.

“I may be able to get him to Spain,” Damien offered.

Alec was cautious. “How?” Kidnapping was not something he was prepared to authorize.

Damien chuckled, obviously guessing the direction of Alec’s thoughts. “Margarita Castillo, Alec. Trust me, I’m not about to break the law and get myself thrown in a Moroccan jail.”

“Who is she?”

“An associate who, I promise you, will have Norman Stanton on an airplane within twenty-four hours.”

“And then?”

“And then a friend from Interpol will lay out the man’s options.”

Alec battled a moment’s hesitation. “You won’t do anything…You know…”

Damien scoffed. “‘You know’ won’t be even remotely necessary. I’ve watched the man all day. He’s soft as a tourist. We’re shootin’ fish in a barrel here.”

“Good.” A tentative satisfaction bloomed to life inside Alec. He might not be able to be with Stephanie in Montana, but he could do this for her.

Not that she’d ever find out.

“Touch base again tomorrow?” asked Damien.

“Thanks,” said Alec, signing off and sliding the phone back into the charger.

“-arrived at Brighton earlier this morning,” said the female, television news announcer, “and seen here heading for the barn area with her mare Rosie-Jo.”

At the sound of the familiar name, Alec’s gaze flicked to the television set.

“Anyone who follows the national circuit will remember this pair from Caldona where Stephanie Ryder and Rosie-Jo took first place.”

Alec reflexively came to his feet, drinking in the sight of Stephanie’s smiling face. She was dressed in faded jeans and a white cotton blouse. Her auburn hair was braided tight, and her amazing clear blue eyes sparkled in the Kentucky sunshine.

“She’s had an extraordinary year,” the male co-anchor put in.

“And an extraordinary career,” said the female. “If they take the blue ribbon this weekend, you have to expect the pair to be a shoe-in for the Olympic team.”

If they what?

“People are calling Rosie-Jo a cross between Big Ben and Miss Budweiser,” the announcer continued.

Alec gave his head a startled shake.

This was Brighton.

It was live.

Stephanie wasn’t allowed to jump. It was too dangerous for the baby.

“High praise, indeed,” the other answered.

Alec knew she was unhappy about the pregnancy, and he knew how desperately she wanted to compete. But she wouldn’t…She couldn’t…

She stepped past a cluster of reporters, Wesley beside her, leading Rosie-Jo.

“What would it mean to you to win at Brighton?” one reporter asked her.

“I’m sorry?” she cocked her head to better hear above the noise.

“What makes Rosie-Jo so special?” asked another, drawing Stephanie’s attention.

“Ambition.” She smiled. “She’s a powerful jumper, and she loves her job, so she’s always totally enthusiastic. But she’s still very careful.”

Stephanie took a step back, giving a friendly wave but ignoring the rest of the questions.

Alec flipped open his cell phone, dialing hers as he powered down his computer. He got her voice mail, left a terse message to call him then tried Royce.

By the time Royce’s voice mail kicked in, Alec was out the door on his way to the airport. He didn’t know what the hell she was thinking. Forget about who was vulnerable and who might get hurt, his job was to protect his unborn child.

The reporter’s question had startled Stephanie, so she’d pretended not to hear it. Word that she’d scratched from the competition had obviously not yet leaked out. But it would be common knowledge by Friday at the latest, and there would be questions, although she had no idea how she was going to answer them.

Wesley turned Rosie-Jo into her appointed stall at the Brighton grounds. His shoulders were tense, and he’d barely said a word since they boarded the plane in Montana.

She’d been waiting since the wedding for his sullen mood to lift. She kept thinking another day, another week, and he’d stop acting like she’d kicked his dog.

He unclipped Rosie’s lead rope, and the horse startled.

“Wesley,” Stephanie sighed, knowing time was up. He needed to focus completely on jumping, and that meant she had to confront the situation head-on.

“Yeah?” He concentrated on coiling the lead rope in his callused hands.

“You can’t ride like this.”

He didn’t look up. “Ride like what?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

He crossed to the stall gate and slipped the catch. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.”

He set his lips in a thin line, opening the gate.

She followed him out. “We need to talk-”

“It’s none of your business.”

“I’m your coach.”

He glared at her, obviously struggling to mask the hurt with anger. “And I guess that’s all you ever were.”

Guilt tightened her chest. “Wesley, I never-”

“Never what? Never said we had a future? Never said you liked me? Never rushed off to marry that-”

“Wesley,” she warned.

“Why did you lie?” The pain was naked in his eyes now. “All that stuff about us talking about it later. Why didn’t you just tell me up-front it was him?”

Wesley was in worse shape than she’d realized, and she knew she had to talk him down. Riding Rosie-Jo at Brighton was a once in a lifetime chance for him to make a splash in front of a huge, national class audience.

“I didn’t lie,” she told him sincerely. “I do like you.”

His lips thinned, and he turned to walk away.

She rushed after him, pushing her hesitation to a far corner of her mind. It was time to be completely honest. “I married Alec because I’m pregnant.”

Wesley’s head jerked back.

“We got married because of the baby.”

He stopped and blinked at her in stunned silence.

“I don’t know where it’s going, or what will happen in the long-term. But I didn’t lie to you, Wesley.”

He glanced reflexively at her stomach. “That’s why you’re not riding.”

“Yes.”

“You mean…” His brain was obviously ticking through the math, going back to Alec’s first visit to the ranch.

“Don’t even go there,” Stephanie warned, already regretting her impulse. Her behavior was none of Wesley’s business.

“Right.” He squared his shoulders. “So it’s a marriage of convenience. You’re not in love with him.”

She didn’t answer.

After a beat of silence, the pain and anger cleared from Wesley’s eyes. Then he smiled. “So, afterward…”

In an instant, Stephanie realized her error. His hopes were up all over again.

It took Alec the rest of the afternoon to get from Chicago to Lexington and take the short hop to Cedarvale and the Brighton facility.

He tried Stephanie’s cell phone again, then tracked down her hotel and had the front desk try her room. In the end, he was forced to talk his way into the restricted area of the grounds and walk methodically through the horse barns looking for her.

He finally spotted her in the distance, outside, next to a white rail fence line decorated with sponsor bulletin boards.

Even at this distance, she took his breath away. The late day sunshine glinted off her hair. She was silhouetted against a dark background, her jeans and white blouse accentuating the body that he adored. He swore he could hear her voice, her laughter, her gasps when he drew her against him and kissed her.

It was all in his mind, of course. He was deluding himself if he thought she’d ever laugh with him again after this.

He wished he didn’t have to be mad at her. He didn’t want to fight. He wanted to hold her in his arms, caress her and kiss her, tell her everything was going to be okay. Then he wanted to figure out a way to make it okay.

For a moment he wondered if he’d played it wrong at their wedding. She’d asked him to leave, but if he’d stuck around, maybe she wouldn’t be here. Their baby would be safe. And he wouldn’t be headed for a confrontation that was sure to hurt them both.

As he drew closer still, he saw she was talking to a couple of reporters. Despite his simmering anger, he had to give her kudos for that.

But then he saw who was standing beside her. Wesley again. And the kid was way too close. They were practically touching. While Alec marched forward, Wesley reached up and cupped his hand over her shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

Alec quickened his pace.

The sun was setting, but the barn area was still alive with activity. Grooms walked horses, stable hands moved feed and manure, while technicians worked in the broadcast tents, setting up sound and video equipment for the weekend.

Alec halted beside Stephanie, and in one swift motion wrapped his arm around her shoulder, dislodging Wesley’s hand.

Stephanie turned to stare at him. While Wesley’s head whipped around. Both reporters immediately stopped talking. And the television camera swung to Alec.

“Alec Creighton,” he introduced himself with a nod. “Stephanie’s husband.”

Stephanie froze beneath his embrace, while the two female reporters’ jaws dropped open.

“Sorry to interrupt, darling,” he put in easily.

One reporter recovered more quickly and stuffed her microphone in Alec’s face. “You’re married to Stephanie Ryder.”

“Stephanie Creighton,” Alec corrected, though they’d never actually discussed her changing her name.

“When did you get married?”

“Tell us about the wedding.”

“We were married in Montana. At the Ryder Ranch.” Alec made a show of smiling down at Stephanie. “It was a simple ceremony, just the family.”

The reporters switched their attention to Stephanie.

“This is big news. Were you planning a formal announcement?”

Alec didn’t give Stephanie a chance to speak. Not that she seemed particularly capable of joining the conversation.

“You can take this as a formal announcement,” he told them. “You can also take this as notification that Stephanie won’t be competing this weekend.”

Both microphones went to Stephanie. “You’re not competing?”

“Thank you,” said Alec. “That’s all we have to say for the moment.” He swiftly turned her away and started back across the yard. “You did not just do that,” Stephanie rasped as they angled across the lawn to the nearest building.

Wesley seemed to have found his feet and was struggling to catch up with them.

“What are you doing here?” Alec demanded of Stephanie.

“What do you mean?”

Wesley caught them at a trot, and Alec pasted him with a warning glare.

Was the kid suicidal?

Stephanie was Alec’s wife. Wesley had absolutely no right to be touching her.

“This is a private conversation,” Alec announced.

Wesley looked to Stephanie for confirmation, and it was all Alec could do not to send the man sprawling.

“It’s okay, Wesley,” said Stephanie. “I don’t know what he’s doing here, but-”

“Goodbye, Wesley,” Alec interrupted.

Wesley hesitated a second longer in a transparent and hopeless attempt to pretend he had a choice. Then he shot Alec a hostile look and peeled off to one side, tracking for one of the technical tents.

Stephanie stopped dead. “What is the matter with you?”

“Not here,” Alec growled, scanning the grounds, looking for a place that offered privacy. It didn’t seem promising.

“We’ll go back to the hotel.” He switched their direction.

“Those were reporters,” she hissed under her breath.

“No kidding.”

“An hour from now, everybody’s going to know we’re married.”

“Were you planning to keep it a secret?”

“No. I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“What about the baby? Were you planning to keep that a secret, too?”

“Yes. For now anyway.”

He grunted, struggling to hold his temper.

She didn’t seem to feel guilty. She didn’t seem contrite. Had she somehow convinced herself it was okay to fly eight feet in the air and come crashing down on the back of a eighteen-hundred-pound animal? He’d seen her last bruise. The sport was bloody dangerous.

They took a stone pathway to the main hotel tower, crossed the lobby and entered an elevator.

As the elevator filled up, Alec nabbed her hand and tugged her close beside him. She pressed the button for the twenty-sixth floor.

It was a short walk down the hallway to her room. She inserted the key. He opened the door. Then he shut it behind them.

She immediately turned on him, back to the picture window that looked over the arena. “Are you out of your mind?”

He ignored the question. “Do your brothers know you’re here?”

“Of course they know I’m here. Why are you acting like I’ve done something wrong?”

He advanced on her. “Because you’re pregnant.”

“I know I’m pregnant. That doesn’t mean my life stops.”

“This part of your life stops.”

She paused. Her eyes darkened. Then she waggled her finger at him, stepping three paces backward as she shook her head. “Oh, no, no, no. I am not going to sit home in Montana twiddling my thumbs for the next seven months.”

He stepped forward once again. “Well you’re sure as hell not sitting on the back of a horse jumping six-foot oxers.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I know you can be reckless. I’ve heard you’re irresponsible. But honest-to-God, Stephanie-”

“What?” she shouted.

“You are not going to compete in show jumping while you’re pregnant with my baby.”

She stared at him like he’d grown two heads. “What makes you think I’m competing?”

He gestured out the picture window. “You’re here.”

“I’m coaching Wesley.”

Nice try. “With Rosie-Jo?”

“Wesley’s riding her.”

“No, he’s not.” The woman was caught. She might as well own up to it.

“Yes, he is.”

“Rosie-Jo is your horse.”

“She’s also a once-in-a-lifetime jumper. She’s not taking a year off just because I’m forced to.”

Alec stopped. A chill of unease spread through him. “You’re not jumping?”

“Of course I’m not jumping, you idiot. It’s dangerous.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here.”

Her shoulders relaxed. “To stop me from jumping?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand, Alec.” She gave her head a little shake. “Where did you get the idea…?”

He raked a hand through his hair. “I saw you on television this afternoon. You were here. You had Rosie-Jo. The reporters-”

“And you jumped to a conclusion.”

“Apparently.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Where were you?”

“Chicago.”

“And you flew all the way to Cedarvale?”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Phone me?”

“I tried.”

“Trust me?”

Alec didn’t have an answer for that. How could he trust her? He barely knew her.

“It’s my baby, too, Alec.”

“I know.”

“I’m not going to hurt our baby.”

Alec drew a breath. He supposed he knew that now. But he had no way of knowing that back in Chicago when the evidence had stacked up against her.

The hotel room telephone jangled.

Stephanie kept him in her sights with a censorious expression as she crossed to answer it.

“Hello?”

She paused. “Yes.”

She nodded. “Okay…I know…Thank you.”

She hung up the phone then turned to Alec.

“What is it?”

“Word’s getting around. You’ve just been included on a VIP reception invitation for tomorrow night.”

She waited, and Alec wasn’t sure what to say.

“What are you going to do?” she finally asked.

He knew what he should say, knew he should get his butt back on that plane and leave her the heck alone. But now that he was here, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. He found his emotions making deals with his conscience.

He promised himself it would only be for a day or two. He’d get them a suite, so they both had privacy. He wouldn’t let her get close, wouldn’t let her depend on him. He wouldn’t do anything to mislead her.

But when he spoke, his voice came out soft and deliberate. “I guess I’ll stick around and be your husband.”

“This way,” Stephanie said to Alec, pointing to an aisle that stretched between two racks of clothes in the exhibition hall in the basement of the hotel. For the first time in weeks, she felt lighter, almost happy. She’d always enjoyed the social events around major jumping competitions, and she woke up this morning vowing to enjoy them this weekend.

It would be odd hanging out with Alec, odder still that people would know they were married. But at least she’d have a dancing partner.

She supposed there was always a silver lining.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Alec stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the exhibition hall entrance, staring in obvious disbelief at the racks of costumes, hats, shoes and accessories.

“Our party’s a 1920s theme,” she offered, halting beside him.

He gazed deliberately around the barnlike costume rental setup. “They bring all this in for horse jumping?”

“Tonight isn’t the only theme event. And with this many wealthy people in one place, it’s a prime opportunity for fund-raising.”

People were starting to pile up behind them, so she snagged his arm and tugged him forward.

“You mean I have to dress up in a costume and give away my money?” he asked.

“You really don’t get out much, do you?” she couldn’t help teasing him.

“Not like this,” he told her, gazing around the jumble of merchandise taking up about a quarter of the cavernous room. “I’m more a dinner at Palazzo Antinori or a cruise on the Seine kind of guy.”

“A closet romantic,” she reflexively observed, then cringed at the unfortunate choice of words.

His expression turned serious. “No, Stephanie. I’m not a romantic of any kind.”

She sensed some kind of a warning in his words.

“Over there.” She cheerfully pointed, changing the subject as they made their way past a suit of medieval armor and a shelf of colored wigs and sparkling Mardi Gras masks.

Alec leaned in close, his tone still dire. “I don’t want you to…” He obviously struggled for words.

She refused to prompt him. She really didn’t want to pursue this line of conversation.

“To get caught up-”

“In the 1920s?” she wedged in.

“In our marriage,” he corrected.

She let sarcasm color her tone. “You afraid I’ll mistake a dance for a declaration of undying passion and devotion?”

He backed off a little. “You seem…”

“What?” she demanded.

He shrugged. “Happy. Animated.”

“And you attribute that to you? Wow. That’s some ego you’ve got going there Alec.”

“It’s not my ego.”

“Right.”

He clenched his jaw. “Forget I said anything.”

“I will.”

“Good.”

“You’re faking, Alec. I get that. I’m faking it, too.” She might have let her emotional guard down for a moment, but she wouldn’t make the mistake of enjoying herself again.

He searched her expression. “Fine.”

“Fine.” She nodded in return. Just flipping fine. Bad enough she had to fake a marriage. Now she wasn’t allowed to smile while she did it.

She put her attention on the costume racks again, now simply wanting to get this over with. “You might as well pick something?”

He glanced around. “I’m not a fan of costumes.”

“Yeah? Too bad.”

He shot her a look of annoyance.

What? She was supposed to get happy again? “Be a man about it,” she challenged. “Put on some pinstripes and spats. Be grateful it’s not superhero night.”

His look of horror almost made her smile.

“You’d look good in red tights.”

“Not in this lifetime.”

“Check those out.” She gestured to a rack of suit jackets.

For herself, she moved further down the aisle, finding a selection of flapper dresses.

She started through them one by one. After a few minutes, she came across a sexy, silky black sheath, dripping with shimmering silver ribbons that flowed from the low-cut neckline, past the short hem of the underdress to knee-length.

With a spurt of mischievousness, she held it against her body. “What do you think?”

His gaze traveled the length of the garment, eyes glittering with what looked suspiciously like humor. “You show up in that, doll-face, and I’d better be packin’ heat.”

This time, she did crack a smile.

She pulled the dress away from her body, turning it and making a show of taking a critical look. “Too much?”

“Not nearly enough.”

She could have sworn there was a sensual edge to his tone. But his cell phone chimed, cutting it off.

She hung the dress back on the rack, battling a wave of prickly heat that slowly throbbed its way through her system. Faking, she reminded herself ruthlessly. Faking, faking, faking.

“Alec Creighton,” he said into the phone.

His glance darted to her for a split second, then he turned away, lowering his voice.

She told herself to focus on the costumes and give him his privacy. He had his own life, and she had hers. As he’d so clearly just pointed out, this intersection between them was completely temporary.

Still, she couldn’t help catching snatches of the conversation. She heard him say tomorrow, then airport, then Cedarvale.

It sounded like he was leaving, and a wave of disappointment surprised and worried her. It was good that he was leaving.

But then she heard him say her brothers’ names. She blinked at his back, listening unabashedly to the final snatches of the conversation.

As he signed off, she quickly grabbed another dress, pretending to be absorbed by it.

“This one?” she asked.

It was a soft, champagne silk, with a low V-neck, spaghetti straps and covered in sparkling, criss-cross beading. The silk came to midthigh, while a wide, sheer, metallic lace hemline, slashed to points, rustled around her knees.

“They don’t have anything with sleeves?” he frowned.

“It’s the roaring twenties,” she told him, trying not to wonder about his phone call. “I’m supposed to look like your moll. What do you think? A wide choker and a long string of pearls?”

“I think you’ll be the death of me.”

“What about the red one?” she lifted another from the rack. “It comes with satin gloves and a feather boa.

Alec’s nostrils flared. “Better stick with the gold.”

“It’s champagne.”

“Not the red, and definitely not the black.”

“Fine.” She put the red one back, wishing she was brave enough to ask about the phone call. Was he leaving? And why had he mentioned her brothers? “What about a long cigarette holder?” she asked instead.

“Absolutely not. You’re pregnant.”

“Shhhh.” She glanced quickly around, worried someone would overhear.

He moved closer, leaning down to whisper. “You’re pregnant.”

“I wouldn’t really smoke anything.”

“Don’t even joke about it.”

“Who was on the phone?” she blurted out.

“A friend.”

“Does he know my brothers?”

Alec’s brow furrowed. “No. Why?”

“No reason,” she lied, glancing away. “I thought it might be about the Ryder International review. Are you leaving tomorrow?”

“You trying to get rid of me?”

She looked back up at him again, puzzling over why he’d hold back the truth about the phone call. If the friend didn’t know her brothers, Alec wouldn’t have mentioned their names. “I need to get Wesley prepared,” she told him.

Alec’s jaw tightened, eyes squinting further. “I’m staying.”

“Okay,” she agreed.

He gave a sharp nod of acknowledgment.

Moving away from yet another uncomfortable moment, she gestured to the rack of suits. “Did you find something to wear?”

“I’m not wearing pinstripes.”

“How about a hat?” She selected one with a center dent and a wide, satin band and tried to place it on his head.

He jerked sideways, out of the way. “How about a suit jacket and a pair of slacks, and I write a check big enough that nobody cares?”