Free The Borrowed Bride by Susan Wiggs

found all the little delights of her, the hollow of her throat and the tender inside of her wrist, the backs of her knees and inner thighs where the skin was softer, smoother than anything he could imagine. With hands and mouth, he brought her to ecstasy again—and again—until she was sweetly exhausted, snuggling against his chest and growing warm and heavy limbed until, just as dawn tinged the sky, she slept.
     
    She awoke slowly, hovering in a delicious realm somewhere between sleep and waking. Her mind was filled with memories of Dan—his voice, his touch, thetaste of his mouth, the shattering power of the passion she had found with him.
    Only him.
    Willfully, she thrust aside the thought. Just for now, she would not worry about the future. Just for now, she would let herself be warm and lazy and slightly dazed by all that was happening to her.
    “Dan.” She whispered his name and opened her eyes, but he was gone. He must have gotten up to make coffee. She stretched, feeling interesting aches in certain parts of her body, then went to brush her teeth. Rather than pulling on the terry-cloth robe, she slipped into Dan’s leather jacket. Wearing it, feeling its voluminous weight drop from shoulder to midthigh, she felt closer to him.
    The jacket should have evoked bitter memories, for she had also worn it the afternoon she had come home from the hospital. Both she and Dan were so silent that day, neither knowing what to say. They both cried and held each other and looked at the doctor’s pamphlet explaining how a high percentage of early pregnancies ended in miscarriage; it was generally a natural process and there was no reason they could not try again….
    Somehow, they both knew they would not try again. The first time was an accident, but a second time would be deliberate, would force them to commit to permanence in their relationship, no more drifting through the days toward a hazy, shapeless future.
    He had not been ready. And when Isabel finally realized that she could no longer wait for the full commitment of his love, she left.
    Last night changed everything. Dan had never touched her so deeply, so intimately. He was differentnow. Settled. Responsible. Ready to love her. She was falling in love all over again. This time, it was for real. This time, it was for keeps.
    As she walked bare legged and barefoot down the steps, she felt wicked and wanton. Dan had plucked her out of her controlled, rigid life and plunged her into a world of sensation and emotion. It was scary and sometimes it hurt, but she had never felt so alive.
    Her hand encountered a folded piece of paper in the pocket of the jacket. She pulled it out—a flyer of some sort. As she read the words, she stopped on the second-to-last step. The blood froze in her veins. Her heart turned to a block of ice.
    “No,” she said in a low voice, forcing her legs to start moving again. Surely this was just something Dan had picked up and forgotten to discard. Surely… She forced herself to calm down and made her way to the back of the lodge.
    The kitchen was warm and cheery with the scent of coffee. Dan was out on the back porch, leaning against the railing, holding a mug in one hand and an envelope in the other. He was looking out at the mountains.
    He wore only jeans, no shirt or shoes. His muscular shoulders and chest gleamed in the muted morning sun, and his hair flowed down his back. The subtle shadow of whiskers softened the harsh line of his jaw.
    There was such a stark beauty in him that for a moment Isabel felt completely inadequate. He could not possibly be hers. He was too perfect, too desirable.
    Then she remembered her purpose and stepped out onto the porch. The screen door tapped shut behind her, and Dan turned.
    His slow, easy smile held every memory of the splendor they had shared the previous night. “Damn, Isabel,” he said, his eyes smoldering, “you always were a great dresser.” He set down his mug and held out one arm. She went