Free His Stolen Bride (Chicago Sons) by Barbara Dunlop Page A

expression that looked like disgust, he pulled out his phone. But instead of handing it over, he dialed a number.
    “What’s Ellie’s last name?”
    “Sharpley. Why?”
    “It’s me,” he said into the phone. “Crista needs to make a call. Ellie Sharpley.” He paused, sliding an exasperated glance her way. “I know. It’s a girl thing.”
    Crista squared her shoulders. “A girl thing?”
    “Let me know when it’s done.”
    “A girl thing?” she repeated.
    He pocketed his phone. “What would you call it?”
    “A conversation. A human thing.”
    “You’ll be able to have one in about an hour. Are you hungry? You must be hungry.”
    “You must have people you talk things over with. Friends? Relationships?”
    “I’m pretty independent.”
    “No girlfriend?” For some reason, she’d assumed he was single. But there was no reason for that assumption. Well, other than the way he’d kissed her. But he had only kissed her.
    “No girlfriend,” he said.
    She was relieved. No, she wasn’t relieved. She didn’t care. His love life was nothing to her.
    “Hungry?” he repeated.
    She was hungry. She’d barely eaten yesterday. She’d been watching calories for weeks now, wanting a svelte silhouette in the formfitting dress. In retrospect, her waist size was the least of her worries. But now there wasn’t a reason in the world not to indulge in pizza or pasta, or maybe some chocolate cake.
    “I’m starving,” she said. “I know it’s only lunchtime, but any chance we can get a martini?”
    “There’s a patio café overlooking the back nine.”
    “Sold.”
    A martini wouldn’t help her make a better decision, but it would relax her in the short term. Relaxed was good. She could use some relaxing.
    She came to her feet. “It feels strange not to take a purse.”
    He rose with her, and they made their way toward the door. “You want to buy a purse?”
    “I’ve got nothing to put in it.”
    “We could buy you a comb or some lipstick or something.”
    She couldn’t help but appreciate his offer. She also couldn’t help wondering about his motivation. It was strange that he was still here, stranger still that he was putting out an effort to help her.
    She exited into the hallway. “Are you feeling guilty?”
    He checked to see that the door had locked behind them, then fell into step beside her. “For what?”
    “For destroying my life.”
    “Gerhard was the one trying to destroy your life.”
    “Jury’s still out on that.”
    Sure, Vern had been a jerk back at the mansion. But to be fair, he’d been under stress. She could only imagine his parents’ reaction to the disappearance of the bride. Poor Vern had been alone with them, bearing the brunt of their displeasure for nearly twenty-four hours.
    Jackson pressed the elevator button. “The pictures are real, Crista.”
    “Can you prove it?”
    “I’m sure we can. Let me look into the options for that.”
    They stepped onto the elevator, and it descended.
    “We’ve been together for nearly a year,” she said.
    It wasn’t a whirlwind. And it sure didn’t make sense for Vern to marry her if he was involved with someone else.
    “People aren’t always honest, Crista.”
    She found herself glancing up at his expression. “Are you honest?”
    He met her gaze. “I try to be.”
    “Well, there’s a nonanswer.”
    “In my profession, I can’t always tell everybody everything.”
    “So you only lie professionally.”
    There was a trace of amusement in his tone. “Not personally, and not recreationally.”
    “Interesting moral framework.”
    The doors slid open.
    She started to move, but Jackson’s hand shot out to block her, coming to rest on her stomach.
    “What?”
    He pulled her to one side then stabbed his finger hard on the close door button.
    “What are you doing?”
    The doors slid shut.
    “You must have talked to someone since we’ve been here.”
    “No. Well, I tried to phone Ellie. But I got her voice mail. I