Free The Temporary Mrs. King by Maureen Child Page A

his forehead. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”
    â€œMaybe a little of both.”
    â€œI can live with that,” he told her, then steered her off the dance floor before they were crushed by the expanding crowd. Tucking her hand through his arm, he walked with her to a set of French doors and then stepped outside.
    The cool breeze wafted over them both and Melinda drew her first easy breath in hours. It was good to get away from everyone for awhile. She looked back over her shoulder and watched all of the wedding guests dancing and laughing, and felt like an outsider at her own wedding.
    â€œYou’re doing it again,” Sean said softly.
    â€œWhat?”
    His strong, tanned fingers cupped her chin and gently turned her face to his. “Wasting time on regrets.”
    â€œThat’s not it.”
    â€œThen what?”
    She took a breath, stepped free of him and walked to the edge of the balcony. On the other side of the railing, soft, outdoor lighting made golden puddles in the garden. The heavy scent of jasmine drifted to them and overhead, the moon was bright, dazzling in the sky. “I just thought that when I got married…”
    â€œYou’d be in love?”
    She looked at him. “Well, yes.”
    â€œUnderstandable,” he allowed and leaned one hip against the stone balustrade. “And you still can one day.”
    â€œNo, this is it for me,” she said with a shake of her head. “I’m not looking for love or romance. So, no more weddings.”
    â€œFunny,” he murmured, “I said that once.”
    Surprised, she looked at him. “You were married before?”
    Sean frowned and wished he could bite back those words. He hadn’t meant to mention that first miserable marriage. Hell, he had never spoken of it—until now at precisely the wrong moment. What did that say? Was it a Freudian slip? Great. Now he was going to psychoanalyze himself. Good times.
    Meanwhile, his new wife was staring up at him, waiting for an explanation, and he knew damn well he wasn’t going to give her one.
    Which would only make her more determined to uncover his secrets. One thing you could depend on with a woman, he mused silently, they had ways of worming information out of a man and they didn’t usually give up until they’d succeeded.
    Maybe he could avoid that by giving her a little without spilling his guts.
    Shrugging, he said only, “It didn’t take.”
    â€œSo you’re divorced.”
    â€œNot anymore,” he said, giving her that half smile again. “As of now, I’m a married man.”
    Her mouth curved slightly in response, but the action never reached her eyes. “Yes. Married.”
    He turned and looked out at the garden and the moonlit ocean beyond. The soft wind ruffled his hair and teased at the edges of his jacket. “Don’t sound as happy about our bargain as I thought you’d be.
    â€œIt’s complicated.”
    â€œDidn’t taste complicated to me,” he said, turning his head to look at her.
    Dam n she was beautiful. He had thought that when he saw her walking down the aisle toward him that he would want to bolt. Instead, he’d stood there as if nailed to the floor. Unable to look away from the picture she made. That black hair falling over bare skin. The stark white gown that clung to her curves only to spill down around her legs in sensuous folds of silk. The swell of her breasts with each breath she took and the sheer, steely determination in her clear blue eyes. All of it had seemed designed to seduce him into staying right where he was—the perfect bridegroom looking at his future.
    Their audience had sighed with appreciation when Melinda slid her hand into his and Sean could still feel the charge of heat he had felt when their palms brushed. Then dancing with her, kissing her had opened up a whole new world of hunger inside him and he was still trying to