The Castaway Bride

Praise for Kandy Shepherd
’
s novels

“Strong, passionate characters that have plenty of chemistry between them.”

Fallen Angels Reviews

“Sexy, funny and heroes to die for.”

RT Book Reviews
forum

“Delightful characters, witty dialogue, and an entertaining storyline.”

Fresh Fiction

“Completely charming contemporary romance.”

Chicago Tribune

“Fabulous on so many levels.”

Night Owl Romance Reviews

THE CASTAWAY BRIDE

Kandy Shepherd

Copyright © 2011 Kandy Shepherd

Cover design by Hot Damn Designs

***

This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual persons living or dead, locales, businesses, or events is entirely coincidental.

***

CHAPTER ONE

With
trembling fingers, Cristy Walters made the final adjustment to her bridal veil as she gazed into the mirror in her hotel suite. She tucked in a stray wisp of golden hair, then smoothed down the flyaway swathe of white tulle. She checked her front teeth for lipstick.

Now all she needed was for her maid-of-honor, Miriam, to inspect the row of tiny satin-covered buttons that fastened into loops all the way down her slender back. She couldn’t be sure she hadn’t missed one.

She didn’t bother to knock on the door that connected their two rooms before she pushed it open. “Well, what do you thi—?” she began and then stopped halfway through her triumphant pirouette, her silky skirts swishing to a sudden halt around her ankles.

All she could see of Miriam from behind the black, tuxedo-ed back of the man who was kissing her was a flash of pink satin and Miriam’s plump arms twined voluptuously around the man’s neck. The man’s hands appeared to be clutching Miriam’s bottom.

They were too engrossed in their passion to notice her and Cristy unsuccessfully smothered a laugh. Really Miriam, can’t you wait until
after
the ceremony before you get off with the groomsman!

Her laugh, muted as it was, disturbed the couple. They stood still for a moment then sprang apart in a rustling flurry of satin. As they turned, the smile froze on Cristy’s face and she felt as though all the air had been suddenly and painfully squeezed from her body.

The man kissing Miriam so passionately wasn’t the groomsman. He was the groom.

Her groom.

She stared in disbelieving horror at Howard, the man she was to be joined with in holy matrimony in just twenty minutes time.

Her husband-to-be and her bridesmaid stared back, guilt etched on their stricken faces. Howard’s chin was emblazoned with a smear of Miriam’s hot pink lipstick.

Then Howard cursed and Miriam yelped out Cristy’s name in a high-pitched squeak.

Cristy felt all color drain from her face and she started to tremble from the top of her pearl coronet to the tips of her silk-clad feet. She let out just one single sob of betrayal and fury.

Then she spun on one high satin heel, wrenched open the door and ran, helter-skelter, into the hotel corridor. Frantic, she looked from side to side, unable to comprehend the reality of what she’d seen. Not Howard and Miriam. The two people she trusted most in the world. This couldn’t be happening to her. She’d wake up any minute.

Then she heard Howard’s voice close behind her and knew she was only too awake. “Cristy, come back. I… we can explain.”

Nothing he said could make this better. She didn’t want to hear one traitorous word from him. Howard—the man she was marrying because she’d thought he was decent and honest and honorable. Because she’d thought he would never let her down.

It had been six weeks from proposal to today’s proposed “I do”. In that time not once had she doubted his commitment. Not once had she suspected anything between him and Miriam. Miriam, who had her own husband.

A wave of nausea rose so that she nearly choked. Her dream wedding had suddenly turned into the worst of nightmares.

Cristy didn’t care about the expectant guests assembled below in the hotel function room. She didn’t care about the celebrant gearing himself up for the ceremony.

She just wanted out of here.

She pushed aside a trolley laden with fresh linen and toiletries, mumbling a frantic “sorry” to the startled housemaid who stood, hands on hips, and watched the bride’s flight down the corridor, her long, full skirts billowing out around her, her frothy veil floating above.

Cristy made for the elevators to find the doors just closing. She stabbed frantically at the “down” button with her freshly manicured fingers. “Please, please let me in,” she beseeched as she tried to wrench the doors apart.

Suddenly they slid open. She stumbled and fell into the elevator—smack onto its only occupant, pushing him hard up against the wall.

The man’s chest was solid, and the arms that encircled her to help her gain her balance were strong and powerful. She was as close to him as if they were in a lover’s embrace—she could smell the spice of his aftershave, feel the warmth of his skin, sense his heart thudding against hers. But she was too winded to apologize or move away from him.

Behind her she could hear Howard pounding furiously on the elevator door. “For heaven’s sake Cristy, this isn’t what it seems.”

She looked back over her shoulder.

The doors started to glide open again revealing Howard’s flustered, lipstick-smeared face and, peering nervously and tearfully behind him, Miriam.

Traitor.

Two traitors.

Howard’s agitated eyes and nervous wringing of his hands made him seem genuinely distressed but Cristy couldn’t bear to hear what he had to say. She didn’t need explanations. She’d seen what she’d seen. How could she ever, ever forget the way he’d been clutching Miriam’s bottom?

This was Howard, the man who had been her best guy friend long before he was her fiancé. Her mentor. Her confidant. The last man she’d thought would hurt her.

And Miriam—her trusted friend Miriam—had been wantonly pressing herself against him as if she couldn’t get close enough.

Cristy choked on a sob. She couldn’t bear the sight of them.

She twisted away from the stranger and fumbled for the “close door” button.

He got to it before she did. “Is this guy bothering you?” he asked in a husky Australian drawl.

Mutely, she nodded.

With one hand he pressed the “close door” button. With the other, he firmly pushed Howard backward. As the doors slid shut, Cristy was left with the final image of a vertical slice of her fiancé’s face, his eyes nearly popping out of his face with frustration at her evasion.

“Th… thanks,” she finally managed to stutter out to her companion of the elevator, as she watched the numbers on the display flashing downward and attempted to plot her next move.

She tried to still her trembling with one deep breath and then another while her thoughts tumbled chaotically over one another. She was on a tropical island off the north coast of the state of Queensland, Australia. She had to get home. But where was home? Her walk-up back in New York City—or the apartment she’d leased in Sydney when she’d come to Australia for her job three months ago?

First step to anywhere was to get out of here. But the only building on Starlight Island was this luxury hotel. There were no roads, no airport. The only way off the island was by boat. Only she didn’t have a boat.

“Honeymoon over so soon?” At the stranger’s cynical words, Cristy turned back to him. Her first instinct was to give him a curt retort. But then she looked, really looked, for the first time at her rescuer.

Her eyes widened and she found herself swallowing hard. She had to look a long way upward—and she was tall herself. In her panic she had not registered that the man she had fallen on was so extraordinarily handsome.

Lean faced, with bemused green eyes and a slightly crooked nose, his dark, straight hair fell almost to his shoulders. Tight, well-worn jeans hugged narrow hips and muscular thighs; his black T-shirt did nothing to hide the breadth of his shoulders and the power of his chest. No wonder he’d felt so good to fall against.

She tried, she really tried, but she could not stop staring at him.

Through her panic, she realized that a bride should not be registering the sexual appeal of any man other than her groom. Should not be so aware that they stood just kissing distance apart in the confines of the elevator.

But the rules were different for a jilted bride. She could admire him all she liked. Because from this moment on she was officially single.

“You’re obviously in trouble. Can I help?” The stranger’s voice was deep and husky, the cynical edge now gone.

Cristy tore her gaze away from him to check on the lights flashing downward toward the lobby. Down there was a roomful of guests flown here at Howard’s expense. At Howard’s enormous expense.

They were expecting her at any moment to walk into the flower-bedecked room and down the aisle formed by rows of ribbon-adorned chairs. They were expecting to hear her swear vows to love and honor the man she’d just caught groping her bridesmaid.

The wedding was off. But was she to be the one to face their guests? She couldn’t endure that humiliation. No way was she was going in there.

“Yes,” she said and impulsively clutched the stranger’s hard, muscular arm. Such rash behavior was out of character for her. But everything was unraveling. All the plans and schedules and calculations in the world couldn’t help her now.

She looked beseechingly up to his green eyes. “You
can
help me. Just get me away from here. I don’t care to where. Just get me out. Please. Now.”

M
att groaned inwardly. Wasn’t it just his luck? Innocently riding an elevator and suddenly he’s lumbered with a bride. Someone else’s bride.

What the hell was he going to do with her? All kitted out in full bridal regalia, she was hardly inconspicuous. And to make it worse he, Matt Slade, had volunteered for the bride disposal duty. Why hadn’t he just bowed out of the elevator and left her to sort out her lover’s wrangle for herself?

He didn’t know who the ginger-haired guy upstairs was but from the look on his face when the elevator doors had closed on him, he wouldn’t be taking no for an answer from this lady. This could get ugly.

He disengaged her hand from his arm. “What about your husband?”

“Husband?” she said. “What husband?”

He gestured at her white gown.

“I’m not married.” Her voice caught. “And now I… I’m never going to be.”

The bride looked wide-eyed up at him. “I’ve just caught my bridegroom—my, uh, ex-bridegroom—kissing my bridesmaid. His hands all over her. He—”

She was speaking so quickly the words tumbled over each other. Then her voice broke with a little tremor that bordered on a sob.

It was a distressing sound that twanged a chord somewhere deep in Matt’s barricaded heart. It was a sound that signaled “damsel in distress” and flooded him with an irrational urge to whistle up his white charger and race to her rescue, slaying dragons all the way.

The elevator stopped and the doors slid open. Matt let out a sigh of relief that the irate bridegroom wasn’t there to greet them.

The bride seemed relieved, too. She peered around the door to check that the coast was clear. It was only the doors starting to slide closed again that propelled her into the lobby.

Nervously she glanced toward the Orchid Room. “In there, the wedding’s in there.” Then she turned to look imploringly at him. “I can’t face them.”

Her voice rose a little too high on the last words though she was obviously struggling to control it.