Free Brenda Joyce - [Francesca Cahill 06] by Deadly Promise

her, too, in five months’ time?”
    He jerked, eyes wide.
    She wished she had not uttered what was really on her mind. She knew the blow was a cruel one—just as she suspected he would sleep with his wife time and again, should the opportunity present itself.
    He flushed. “It’s not what you are thinking.”
    “You still love her. Why can’t you admit it?”
    “I despise her. And Francesca, you are worldly enough to know that a man can sleep with a woman and it has nothing to do with love.”
    She did know that, at least intellectually, but after seeing Leigh Anne—and seeing Bragg with her—it was different. Francesca could not believe that he slept with her and no love was involved.
    Francesca turned away, recomposed herself, and faced him again. “I know I promised you my heart, and Rick—you still have it. But my feelings for you have nothing to do with my feelings for Calder.”
    Suddenly he crossed the room and gripped her shoulders. “Francesca, how can you say that? You deserve a wonderful husband—I want you to be happy. But I am afraid! This really isn’t about me. I love you and I do not want to see you destroyed by him. Please. Rethink what you are about to do. Please.”
    Being in his arms was awkward—and Calder Hart was the one who had made it so. She eased away, and in spite of herself, he had managed to feed her small, niggling doubts about Hart. “I am a grown woman, and I can think for myself—just as I am quite good at taking care of myself,”she said briskly, to hide how she was really feeling.
    “And what will you do when you find him in bed with a lover? Take a fry pan to his head?” Bragg asked sharply.
    She stiffened, for he had just verbalized her worst and most secret fears. “I will cross that bridge when I get to it,” she said. She would not tell him Calder had promised fidelity. He would laugh at her—he wouldn’t believe it.
    And a part of her refused to believe it—or trust Hart—either.
    And what kind of marriage was that?
    “So that’s it? You are blindly allowing him to lead you to the altar? You will go through with this? I am in shock!”
    A part of her was ready to throw in the towel, to back out and end the engagement. “We are hardly at the altar, yet,” she said through stiff lips. “We intend to marry in six months.” It suddenly occurred to her that now their wedding would take place in five months, as that date had been set a month ago when she had accepted Hart’s proposal.
    And Bragg kept insisting that he and Leigh Anne would be divorced in five months, as well. What if he meant it?
    Francesca closed her eyes, fighting for air, the office suddenly claustrophobic.
She didn’t believe he would ever walk away from Leigh Anne. There was simply too much there, between them
.
    Did that make Hart a second choice?
    It did.
    But was that so terrible? He already knew it and didn’t care. She also knew it and didn’t care.
    Whom was she fooling? Hart might not love her, but he cared very much that she had first chosen Bragg and that he was second fiddle. And she cared, too.
    “You look about to faint. I’m sorry.” His arm slid around her waist, and her eyes flew open. How familiar his touch was. “I’m sorry that I still care so much, and I’m sorry I ever put you in this position in the first place.” His gaze met and held hers. “But I will always care where you are concerned, Francesca.”
    “I know you will,” she whispered, turning to face him,and suddenly, briefly, she found herself in the circle of his arms. Her bosom met his chest. His thighs were hard against hers. She glanced at his mouth. She knew what he tasted like. She knew how his tongue felt in her mouth. Instantly, quickly, she lifted her gaze and met his yet again. His arms tightened around her. His golden eyes warmed impossibly.
    The air seemed to disappear from the room.
    He leaned toward her, his mouth parting. A fraction of an inch separated their lips. She smelled