Page 8 of Unveiled

Interesting choice. Such a bright, vibrant color for a subdued woman like Adalyn. But she’d surprised him on multiple levels last night. With him, she’d been completely uninhibited, free of her mother and idiot ex.

She’d come completely out of her shell when they’d made love, her passion lighting a fire deep inside him. They’d destroyed the bed once they’d stumbled back into her room late last night—or was it early this morning?—then repeated the act when they’d woken. Had that really been less than an hour ago?

He couldn’t get enough—being even just a few feet away from her made his blood boil with lust. All he wanted to do was kiss away her reservations, take her back to bed and treasure her for the next several hours until life came calling. And it would, all too soon. Within a week he’d be off on another deployment, she’d be back at work in her bridal salon, and… then what?

“Favorite movie?”

The corners of her mouth tipped up. “Overboard.”

The irony was not lost on him. She suddenly sobered as their situation bore down on her. She hadn’t fallen off a boat and been picked up by a near stranger, but the similarities were there. They’d been thrust together, and now they had two options: fight to make it work or walk away.

Jaxon wasn't a quitter—never had been, never would be. But he couldn't do it alone; it would take both of them to work this out.

He rolled his shoulders. “What do you want, Adalyn?”

Her eyes widened a fraction before dropping back to the table. “Jaxon, I⁠—”

“Listen. I'm leaving in just a few days.” Her gaze snapped back to his. “Tell me what we're doing. Are we going to make this work, or are you going to walk away?”

“That's hardly fair.” Her gray eyes narrowed to slits, and her lips thinned. “This is crazy. We live in different cities; we like different things. We don't even know anything about each other. What if we're totally different?”

“What if we're exactly alike? What if we're perfect for each other? Maybe we don't like the same things. Do all couples agree on everything?”

“No, but⁠—”

“What are we going to do, Adalyn? I'll do my damnedest to make this work if you will. What's it going to be?”

Her grip tightened on the coffee cup, and his gut clenched as he watched her chest rise and fall, her breath unsteady.

“I just… I can't.” The words floated out on a whisper, and his heart fell to his toes. He should have known better. Why would a beautiful woman like Adalyn want a hardened, battle-scarred soldier like him? He was too hard, too rough, and she was too delicate. Maybe she was right. She was perfection, and he was lethal, deadly. He didn't deserve to breathe the same air as her, let alone have her for himself.

He let out a harsh laugh. “Of course not.”

Pushing back his chair, he stood abruptly and strode to the counter to pull a napkin from the holder. He scribbled down an address and stalked back to where Adalyn sat. He could feel her eyes on him, but he refused to meet her stare. He dropped the napkin on the table in front of her. “Send the paperwork here.”

Without another word, he spun on his heel and left, his long-legged stride carrying him quickly through the lobby and into the bright sunshine outside. He turned to the right and stormed toward the parking garage that housed his rental car, silently berating himself. One thing was for certain: He would never do anything impulsive like this again—never let a woman make him feel like he wasn't good enough, worthy enough.

He didn't slow even when he heard her calling his name, didn't turn around. He didn't know exactly where he was going, but it didn't matter. He could come back for his clothes later. Right now, he just needed to put some distance between them. Because if he saw her again, he wouldn't be able to control himself. He'd beg her to think things over and give him a shot. But he'd already given her a choice, and she'd made her decision. She didn't want him, and he didn't need her.

He rubbed a hand over his heart.

Too bad he didn't believe it.

CHAPTER

FIVE

TWENTY MONTHS LATER

Adalyn spread out the cathedral-length lace train and smiled at the effect. It was beautiful. The dress was gorgeous, the veil was stunning, and everything looked perfect—so long as one didn’t look at the bride’s face.

“It looks like a tail.” Caryn Andersen’s nose scrunched up in disdain, and Adalyn repressed a heavy sigh, just barely refraining from rolling her eyes.

“It’s very classy. It will look perfect in St. Mary’s as you walk down the aisle. The effect will be very dramatic.”

If there was one word in the English dictionary that Caryn was familiar with, it was drama. The woman was full of it. She was full of something else, too, but Adalyn kept that thought to herself. Caryn came from money, and lots of it. Her great-great-grandfather had owned several steel mills, and her family had made a fortune over the last couple of centuries.

As the demand for U.S. steel died away, the family moved into other ventures, including technology. The woman never let Adalyn forget that she was “beneath” her, treating her like a servant more than a successful business owner.