Cullen's Bride by Fiona Brand

surrounding her, and something only just realised—a quality that had been there all along with Cullen, but which she’d never fully defined—a sense of rightness. Of finally coming home. The thought drifted, settled, but she was too tired, too momentarily content, to examine the curious dichotomy—that there was nothing in the least secure or domesticated about the man who was holding her with such care.
    â€œDidn’t he get to know you at all?” Cullen mused in a voice that was little more than a rough purr. “You’re so fierce and wild beneath that ladylike exterior. If you were my wife and I left you for another woman, I’d spend the rest of my life wearing a flak jacket and watching my back.”
    â€œAdam’s not like that,” she mumbled, a strange, hesitant joy filling her at the teasing note in his voice. She tried to picture Adam. His hair was brown, he was a little above medium height, leanly muscled, assured and good-looking in a completely urban way. “He runs a successful advertising agency and prides himself on not having enemies. It would never occur to him that anyone wouldn’t like him.”
    â€œI don’t like him,” Cullen murmured, stroking his chin across her hair as if he liked the feel of her against his skin. “Want me to go see him for you?”
    â€œAnd do what?” She found herself smiling. “Tell him he has to marry me again?”
    That surprised a low sound of amusement from Culled. “Hell, no,” he drawled softly- “I’d give him a sympathy card, because one day he’s going to realise what a mistake he made in letting you go. But it’s not all bad news, because he was all wrong for you anyway.”
    Rachel breathed in the river-scented musk of his skin, the unnerving delight of being so close to him. “So, tell me,” she found herself asking while she braced herself for his answer, “who’s right?”
    He didn’t answer for a long time, just continued to hold her, and she couldn’t help but be aware that his hug wasn’t purely comfort—she could feel the firm male pressure of him against her belly. He was fully aroused, although he seemed prepared to ignore that fact.
    â€œNot me,” he said finally.
    Pain sliced through her at the simple denial. Rachel knew that what they shared was little more than an abortive series of encounters, each one of which Cullen had been determined to walk away from without furthering their acquaintance. But even knowing that, and despite every attempt to armour herself against the attraction, Rachel hadn’t been able to stern her feelings. She felt an attachment, a bond with Cullen, that went beyond logic or sensibility. When she was with him she felt more alive, more vital, more female, than she ever had before.
    With an effort of will she freed herself from his embrace, suddenly hating the comfort he was giving her, the notion that Cullen was letting her down gently, that he hadn’t meant to come back at all and was probably regretting it. “You should wait to be asked before you turn a lady down,” she said in a voice that, despite every effort at control, shook
    The breeze stirred the feathery branches above them, sending shadows sliding across his skin. “If you asked, I don’t know if I could refuse. I don’t want to put my resolve to the test.”
    She looked blindly away. “You won’t have to.”
    He touched her jaw, bringing her gaze back to his. The lingering stroke of his fingers was so indescribably tender that she drew in her breath against the light tingle of it, closed her eyes against the shiver of need that rippled through her.
    â€œDon’t,” he muttered thickly.
    His warm palm slid possessively around her nape, his long, strong fingers rasping gently against her skin, slipping into her hair. He dipped his head, his teeth closing over the sensitive flesh of