Little Secrets: Claiming His Pregnant Bride. Sarah M. Anderson
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gave her a reassuring smile. “Everything happens for a reason.”
This time, when she started laughing, he was ready for it. He chuckled along with her as if they were at a comedy club in downtown LA as opposed to on the edge of a scenic overlook in the Black Hills. He held out a hand to her and bowed at the waist. “Seth Bolton, at your disposal.”
For the longest second, she just stared at him, as if he were a Tyrannosaurus rex that had emerged from the undergrowth and was roaring at her. “I’m not imagining you, right? Because you’re kind of perfect and I made a mess of everything.”
“I’m very real—the last time I checked, anyway,” he joked, which got a small, quick smile out of her. He kept his hand out, the picture of a chivalrous gentleman. Take it, he thought. He would feel so much better if she were on solid ground next to him.
She placed her hand in his and it took everything he had not to close his fingers around hers and yank her out of the driver’s seat—and into his arms. Instead, he tightened his grip on her ever so slightly and waited as she swung her feet out and stood. Her layers of dress settled around her—silk and satin and chiffon and all of those fabrics that his aunt Stella made dresses out of for her fashion line.
He didn’t think this was one of Stella’s dresses. Stella designed classic gowns that looked deceptively simple. This gown?
There wasn’t anything simple about it. The bride looked a little bit like an overdone cupcake, with sparkles and sprinkles. The skirt was huge, with tiers and layers of ruffles and lace. How had she even fit behind the wheel in that monstrosity?
Her golden-brown hair was swept up into some elaborate confection that matched the dress, but at some point it had tilted off its bearings and now listed dangerously to the left. Pearls dripped off her ears and around her neck, but her ring finger was bare.
What did she look like when she wasn’t dressed up like a bride? All he could see of her was her face and her bare shoulders. And her cleavage, which was kind of amazing—not that he was looking. His body tightened with awareness even as he tried to focus on her eyes. It didn’t help, staring down into her face. Everything tugged him toward her with an instinctive pull that wasn’t something he’d planned on, much less could control.
His first instinct had been right—she was gorgeous, he realized as she lifted her gaze to his. A sweetheart face, wide-set eyes that were the deepest shade of green he’d ever seen. The kind of eyes a man could get lost in, if he weren’t careful.
Seth was careful. Always.
He knew exactly what happened when a man lost his head around a woman. So it was final—no losing himself in her eyes. Or any other of her body parts. She might be a goddess, but she was obviously having a very bad day and he wasn’t about to do a single damn thing that would make it worse.
So he locked down this intense awareness of her.
She wasn’t for him. All he could—and should—do was offer her a helping hand.
“Hi.” He launched another smile, one that had broken a few hearts, in her direction. “I’m Seth,” he repeated because he honestly wasn’t sure if she’d processed it the first time.
“Kate,” she replied in a shaky voice. She hadn’t pulled her hand away from his yet. Seth took an experimental step back—away from the limo—and was pleased when she followed. “I... I’m not sure what my last name is right now. I don’t think I got married. I’m pretty sure I left before that part.”
In his time, Seth had seen people involved in accidents still walking and talking and functioning almost normally because they were in a complete state of shock. Big dudes thrown from choppers and yet walking around and cracking jokes with one of their arms hanging out of the socket. Later, when the adrenaline had worn off, they’d felt the pain. But not at first.
Was this what this was? Had she been hurt? He looked her over as surreptitiously as he could, but he didn’t see any injuries—so this was just a mental shock, then.
“Kate,” he said, his voice warm and friendly. “That’s a pretty name. What would you like your last name to be?
“Burroughs,” she said firmly. “I don’t want to be Kate Caputo. I can’t be.”
Seth let out a careful breath. That answered that question.
He had found Roger’s runaway bride.
Kate felt like she was moving in a dream. Everything was blurry at the edges—but getting sharper. How much time had she lost? A couple of hours? A couple of days? The last thing she remembered was...
She had been sitting in the little room set aside for the bride to get ready, staring at the mirror and fighting back the rising tide of nausea. Because she was pregnant and she was supposed to be marrying Roger and—and—
“Easy,” a strong, confident male voice said.
She looked down to see that her hand was being held by a man who was not Roger and they were not at the lodge she had especially selected for the beautiful sunset. She looked around, startling again. None of this looked familiar. Especially not him. She’d remember him. “I don’t...”
The man’s arm went around her waist and even though she didn’t know who he was or what was going on, she leaned into his touch. It felt right—comforting. Safe. Whoever he was, he was safe. Maybe it was all going to be okay. She could have cried with relief.
“I’ve got you,” he said, sounding so very calm when there was nothing to be calm about. “It’s all right.”
She laughed at that. “No, it’s not.”
“It’s not as bad as you think, I promise. Roger will get over this, and so will you.”
She wasn’t sure she believed that, but his arm tightened around her waist. Kate couldn’t have said if she leaned on him or if he picked her up or how, exactly, she got to the bench. All she could focus on was this man—with dark hair and dark eyes and tanned skin, wearing a motorcycle jacket over what looked like a pair of suit trousers. He sat her down on the bench and then took a seat next to her. “You’re cold,” he said, picking up her hand and rubbing it between his.
“Am I?” Yes, now that she thought about it, she could feel a chill in the air. The way he spoke to her called to mind someone trying to capture a bird with a broken wing.
Then something he’d said sank in. “You...you know Roger?”
The man—Seth? Had he said that was his name? Seth nodded. “I lived with him in college.” He stood and peeled off his leather jacket and even though Kate was having a terrible day, she was struck by how nicely this strange, sympathetic man filled out a button-up shirt. He even had on a tie—but somehow, it didn’t look stuffy. It looked dangerous, almost. “Frankly, I think you’re doing the right thing,” he went on as he settled his jacket around her shoulders. “Assuming he hasn’t seen the light and become a better human, that is.”
“No, I don’t think he has,” she said slowly. His jacket was warm and soft, and she immediately felt a hundred times better. She had been cold for far too long. It was good to realize there could still be warmth in the world.
Then she realized what she’d said. “I didn’t mean that,” she quickly corrected, feeling the heat rise in her face. She blinked. Seth was staring at her with a level of focus that she wasn’t used to. Roger certainly didn’t listen to her like this.
But even thinking that made her feel terrible. She was supposed to be marrying Roger and she wasn’t. She didn’t have to add insult to injury by—well, by insulting him. “I mean, he’s not a bad guy. He’s a great catch.” On paper.
On paper, Roger was handsome and educated, a successful small-business