A Wedding at Ruby Lake. Jennifer Hayward
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from her fingers.
She was vaguely aware of Hunter cursing, plucking her from amid the glass shards and ordering her mother to get water.
Her gaze lifted to his. “What’s going on, Hunter?”
He smiled that devil-may-care smile she remembered so well. “Why, I’ve come back to take what’s mine. You’ve always been the only woman for me, Ari. Surely you know that?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, surely she didn’t. That he’d left her. But then Hunter was setting her down on a bench and disappearing inside to find a broom.
Her head spun even faster. It took about five seconds for Ariana to do what any semi-hysterical, vaguely sensible woman would do.
She picked up her skirt and ran.
Jackson O’Connell had made millions playing to the subtleties in life. He knew precisely when to nudge a burgeoning client into riskier territory, when to pull back and when to tap the market to line their pockets even deeper than before. But he had yet to master the fine art of reading his fiancée. Why Ariana did what she did remained a mystery to him. A quirk of the female brain.
In actual fact, he didn’t much care. She was beautiful, smart and cooked a mean coq au vin for his business associates. All the attributes he needed in a wife.
He did wonder, however, where she was right about now. Tyra Brown, their ever-efficient wedding planner, was chomping at the bit to sit everyone down for dinner and his fiancée was nowhere in sight.
He was just about to go find her when Georgia, Ariana’s younger sister, sidled up to him, shot his best man an appraising look and announced blithely, “Ariana’s gone.”
The mouthful of beer he’d taken went down the wrong way. He coughed and struggled to breathe. “What… do you mean, gone?”
“Outta here. AWOL. Took a boat and disappeared after Hunter told her he’d come back for her.”
“Excuse me?”
Georgia smirked. “Didn’t you know? Hunter was the love of Ariana’s life until he took off and left her high and dry.”
Jackson felt the blood drain from his face. Hunter Joseph, known for his take-no-prisoners brutality in a business deal, had walked in here tonight as if he’d owned the place. Looking for something. And now Jackson knew what. His fist clenched by his side. He was going to take Hunter apart piece by piece.
“Where is he?”
Georgia’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Oh, he’s gone, too. After Ariana. It’s all a bit dramatic.”
“One could say it’s the best thing that’s happened all day,” Nick muttered under his breath. “How many ways can you say high maintenance?”
Jackson ignored that as he watched Bradley Westwood elbow his way through the crowd, a frown on his face. Ariana’s father leaned down, told Georgia to keep her mouth shut, and pulled Jackson aside.
“How much did she tell you?”
“That my fiancée is missing and Hunter Joseph has gone after her,” Jackson replied grimly. “What the hell is going on, Bradley?”
“I’m eager to find out,” Ariana’s father said curtly. “But first we need to find her.”
He set his glass down. “I’m coming with you.” And God help Hunter Joseph if Jackson found him first.
***
Jackson knew he should be feeling something as he and Bradley’s assistant, Sarah, sped out over the dark, silent lake in one of the Westwood speedboats. His fiancée had run out on him, ostensibly upset over her ex-boyfriend’s appearance, leaving him to face the fallout in front of a hundred-plus people. He should be beside himself. Yet all he felt was the same numbness that had consumed him all week leading up to this three-ring circus that was his wedding. And a strange sense of relief as the Westwood compound was reduced to a tiny speck behind them. He could breathe easier. His equilibrium was restored. And he wondered if he’d always known his fiancée was in love with someone else.
Wasn’t his.
Wondered if he even knew what love was.
He and Nick had been excellent bachelors. Throw a good looking woman in front of them and they’d used their endless supply of money to wine and dine them. But as far as forming long-term attachments? Laughable until he’d met Ariana.. His friends had referred to her as a killer portfolio.
But this was his life he was talking about. Not a business investment.
“Are you all right?”
The confident, self-possessed blonde who apparently doubled as Bradley Westwood’s bedmate yelled the question over the noise of the engine. A local who knew the area like the back of her hand, Bradley had sent her with him to search the old Westwood cottage, while he went to comb the other side of the lake.
Jackson ripped his gaze away from Sarah’s million-dollar calves. “Is that it?” he asked, pointing to the rather run-down cottage on the hill in front of them.
She nodded and cut back the engine. “You aren’t in love with her.”
The simple, confidently spoken statement rang out on the night air like an invitation to a truth serum he wasn’t yet ready to consume. He stared at her perfectly composed face. “Pardon me?”
She expertly guided the boat into the old, wooden boat-house slip. “If you were in love with her, you’d be livid.”
“I am livid.” At himself mostly for being such an idiot.
She reached for the side of the dock and pulled the boat in. “You know,” she offered dryly, flicking him a glance, “the strong, silent type went out with cigarette commercials. Emotionally self-aware men are in.”
He brought his back teeth together. “And how would emotion help in a situation like this?”
She climbed out of the boat and tied it up. “I’m trying to offer an explanation as to why she might have run off.”
‘Because I don’t talk enough?’ He flashed her a black look and stepped out of the boat. “Forgive me if I’d prefer not to take advice from a woman dating a guy twice her age.”
She lifted a brow. “You think I’m sleeping with Bradley?”
“Everyone seems to think so.”
She made a face. “He’s between women, Jackson. He needed a plus one to make his wife jealous. I fit the bill.”
She sure did. He reached down to help her secure the knot and got an excellent view of a creamy toned thigh on the way up.
“Also that.”
“What?”
“Men who are in love with their fiancées don’t ogle other women’s legs.”
His temper flared into a living, fire-breathing entity. “How about,” he suggested caustically, “we focus on finding my fiancée before we have to tell the guests she’s having second thoughts?’
Three hours and an exhaustive search of two additional locations later, there was still no sign of his bride. Furious with Ariana for pulling such a stunt, his own doubts mounting by the minute, Jackson returned with Sarah to the Westwood compound.
He struggled to feel something—anything other than frustration and confusion. Sarah disappeared, came back with a bottle of wine and sat down beside him on the slip. She poured him a glass without asking, handed it to him and they drank in silence for what seemed like a very long time.
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