Here Comes the Bride by Gayle Kasper Page A

the immodest sundress she’d splurged on this afternoon in one of the pricey shops in her hotel.
    She spun back around to face the front again, giving herself a frank appraisal. Her neck and shoulders had turned a glorious hue. She reached up and touched the smattering of freckles just above her breasts, tracing the irregularshape of one. Her breasts looked even paler against the contrast of color, high and rounded and pert, her nipples a dark, dusky pink.
    She didn’t exercise as regularly as she knew she should, but her body didn’t seem to be lacking because of it. For a moment she wondered what Nick’s assessment would be. Would he think she needed a workout on the Nautilus equipment? Or would he find her body tempting? Just right?
    She’d been aware of his appreciative male gaze on her last night, and other times, a slow, thorough survey of her attributes. And when they’d danced alone in the gazebo, she’d felt the evidence of his arousal, had known that he’d wanted her.
    And dammit, she’d wanted him.
    More than she thought she could ever want any man. The intensity of it had made her tremble in his arms.
    Then the music had stopped and the darkness crept into his eyes. He’d set his jaw firmly … and led her back to the party.
    A slow sigh shuddered up from someplace deep inside her. Nick bore a pain in his soul that she didn’t fully understand. And that she wasn’t sure could be healed.
    He’d be returning from L.A. tonight and would no doubt be at Winnie’s for dinner, an invitation Fiona had neatly sidestepped. Fortwo reasons. First, she’d hoped he’d have some private time with Winnie.
    The second had to do with need,
her
need. She didn’t know how she could sit across the table from Nick and make small talk when just his glance consumed her.
    She gave in to another deep sigh, then crossed the room and slipped naked between the sheets for a late-afternoon nap. Maybe later she’d order up room service and make her evening as decadently lazy as this afternoon had been.
    Fiona awoke to the intrusive sound of the phone ringing. She thought she’d been asleep only a short while, but the room was dark. Hours must have passed. The faint red glow of the alarm clock’s dial showed it was late, indeed. Nine thirty-five.
    A faint wisp of a dream still lingered in the darker recesses of her mind. A dream about Nick—slightly erotic and so real she was bathed in a sheen of sweat.
    At the continued insistent jangle she reached for the phone, trying to clear the cobwebs of sleep and the fading dream from her head.
    “Hello.” Her voice sounded froggy and deep, like it belonged to someone else.
    “Fiona?”
    Nick wasn’t sure it was Fiona. She sounded different. Her voice low and sexy with sleep. It made him want her so badly he ached from the need. He’d missed her all day, had thought of her at moments when his mind should have been on other things.
    He remembered her scent last night in the gazebo, the fragrance of her hair when they’d danced, clean and fresh, like a bouquet of newly picked flowers that still carried the scent of the sun.
    “Oh, Nick, hi.” Fiona sat up in bed, trying to orient herself. The sheet fell to her waist and she remembered her nakedness. The hotel’s air-conditioning had chilled the room and she raised the sheet to her shoulders.
    “Had you gone to bed already? I didn’t mean to wake you.”
    She dragged a hand through the tumble of her hair. “You didn’t … I mean, that’s okay. I’d just taken an afternoon nap.”
    “Fiona, it’s not afternoon.” Nick wondered what she slept in, a funny little nightshirt or … nothing. He groaned. Either way the image was too tantalizing to deal with right now. He needed to know if Fiona was all right. “Are you okay? I mean, you’re not ill or anything?”
    “No, I’m not ill.”
    He heard her shift, heard the faint rustle of sheets, and for one crazy moment found himselfjealous of those sheets that touched