3

      CHRISTY TRIED to doze, but she couldn’t get those blue eyes out of her mind. Why did he have to go and touch her like that anyway? Despite what her hormones thought, she was really fully prepared to not like the guy. After what he’d put her through, how hard should that be?

      She squirmed and shifted her weight what little she could without tipping over. This dress was a pain to be sure, but the heels were instruments of torture that would make the Marquis de Sade weep with pleasure. She, on the other hand, just wanted to weep. She wished now she’d agreed to let—She realized she didn’t even know his name!

      The organ came to life again, making her wince. But it was only when the chapel doors were pushed wide to allow the newly married couple to emerge that she thought about exactly what would happen next. The bridesmaids and groomsmen would follow…and then every single person in the church would come out behind them. Right past her. In this dress.

      She looked frantically around for some sort of camouflage, but knew one step would send her sprawling. Why hadn’t she thought this through before letting whatever his name was leave her here, propped against the wall like some party favor blow-up doll? Maybe he’d realize it and as soon as he came through the door with the maid of honor—Except there was no maid of honor. So she had no idea where he was in the ensemble at this point.

      Kate and Mike emerged through the doors just then in a cloud of white chiffon and flowers. They only had eyes for each other, and even as Christy did her best to become one with the wall, she couldn’t ignore the lump that rose in her throat. She was happy for them, just as she’d been happy for Vivian three years before.

      And look where that had ended up, her inner voice mocked. She only hoped Mike had the fortitude to put up with Kate. God, did she sound like a cynical old maid or what? She wasn’t that bad, was she? She was only twenty-eight for heaven’s sake. Hardly over the hill. How can you ever marry if you never date? Her mother’s oft-repeated words echoed inside her head. She’d never paid attention to them, knowing her mother would only go from wanting weddings to wanting grandbabies, and she was in no hurry to do either.

      But she was twenty-eight. With thirty on the horizon. And no prospects. The bridesmaids started out the door and Christy shrank even farther back, knowing the assembled guests were next, praying they’d keep their eyes straight ahead. She didn’t want prospects, she told herself. She had a demanding job she loved and if someone came along who demanded her attention in the same way, fine. But that hadn’t happened. So what if logic dictated she had to actually be looking in order to meet someone? She certainly wasn’t going to hunt down a guy just because all her friends were getting married.

      They were also getting divorced, she reminded herself. Well, Vivian had anyway. And if there had ever been a couple who seemed meant for one another, it was those two. And yet, there they were, miserable and alone. Why should she be in any hurry to become another statistic?

      She was actually doing the wise thing, focusing on her own life, her career and not searching for love. If love wanted her attention, it would just have to find her.

      “You ready to go?”

      His deep voice vibrated just behind her ear, so low and sexy it sent shivers of awareness throughout her entire, shrink-wrapped body. Okay, so she wasn’t looking for love, but an afternoon of mindless sex was sure sounding pretty good at the moment. And oh, did he sound good. Better than good. He sounded like—

      Horrified at the sudden direction of her thoughts, she stiffened, which immediately lost her the support of the wall…and pitched her directly into the support of his lean, hard body.

      He immediately folded her against him, steadying them both, but rather than stand her back upright, he scooped her into his arms.

      “No!” she rasped, looking frantically about, certain they were drawing stares. But the crowd was pushing as one out the front doors, and before she could protest further, she was being whisked away, down the side hallway, mercifully out of sight. “Thank you,” she said sincerely, if a bit breathlessly. That last part was due to the dress cutting off her air supply, not because of the feel of his body pressed against her. She was certain of it.

      He put her down near the door to the rear parking lot of the church. “Wait here.”

      He was so close, his body felt so nice and hard against hers…she all but swooned against him.

      “Steady,” was all he said, then carefully propped her in a corner and disappeared behind a white paneled door without another glance.

      Well, she thought, scowling at the now-vacant spot beside her. Apparently she was the only one suffering from hormone shock. She definitely had to forget those blue eyes looking into hers while he told her he wished they’d met under different circumstances. They hadn’t. And even if she was willing to forgive him—and she wasn’t saying she was—the rental car made it clear he was not a permanent fixture around here, or anywhere if the uniform meant anything. She let her eyes slide shut. And Lord, he was a man meant to wear a uniform. Protecting lives and making the world a safer place. A bubble of laughter pushed up her throat. Unless of course you were a bridesmaid ditching your pal’s wedding. Then he was a dangerous man.

      She thought about the way he’d taken her out of the house. Yes, he might be charming and polite when he wanted to be, but there was no doubt that he was a man who got what he wanted, when he wanted it.

      The door popped open again and he was back, taking up way too much of her personal space and invading her emotional comfort zone just as effortlessly. She, on the other hand, apparently hadn’t made the least little dent in his. He handed her what looked like a long white gown.

      “Choir robe,” he said. “I thought you might want to get out of that dress before we left.”

      Visions of him doing just that came right into her mind without even asking permission. She shoved them aside and hugged the robe to her chest. “Thank you.” Then she realized she hadn’t completed her descent into Bridesmaid Hell. “Um…apparently I’m going to need some help getting this thing off.”

      Where other men might have drooled openly at the opportunity to help any woman out of her clothes, he actually looked uncomfortable. She could almost like him for that.

      “You didn’t seem to have the least compunction in carrying me out of my house in my underwear,” she reminded him, even as her little voice told her it wasn’t wise to goad the man. What did her little voice know anyway? It hadn’t kept her out of this mess in the first place, now had it?

      “Is there a…zipper or something?” he asked, looking her over as if her dress was some sort of secret military weapon.

      If she hadn’t been so tired and uncomfortable, she might have enjoyed making him sweat a little. It was the least he deserved. “I rolled it on basically.”

      He just stared at her. Now it was her turn to feel a bit uncomfortable. Okay, more than a little. Having his hands on her, pulling this dress off—You’re in a church, for heaven’s sake, she reminded herself. She cleared her throat. “We should probably hurry up. Don’t you have to be in the pictures or something?”

      “They’re taking the group photos at the country club.”

      “Well, then