Marrying Mr. Right

“Do you want to marry him as much as your parents want you to?” Title Page Dedication PROLOGUE CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN EPILOGUE Copyright

“Do you want to marry him as much as your parents want you to?”

Christina felt her face grow warm. Jerking her hand away from Greg’s grasp, she busied herself with clearing the table. “Of course I want to many him. Why would you ask such a thing?”

“Because you’re still married to me.” Greg followed Christina as she took the dishes into the kitchen. “After all these years, you’ve never made a move to get a divorce. And I’d venture a guess that you’re still a virgin.”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business!” The dishes clattered into the sink

“Ah, but It’s true, isn’t it? Because you’re not the kind of woman who would cheat on her husband, no matter how long he’s been gone.”

Christina glared at him. “For your information, I take my vows very seriously.”

“Those vows also said ‘until death do us part,” he reminded her “A marriage isn’t dead until the last bit of love is gone.” He moved closer and took her in his arms. “And last time I looked it was still alive and breathing....”

True love is worth waiting for...

Dear Reader,

Welcome to another book in our miniseries WHITE

WEDDINGS.

Everyone loves a wedding, with all the excitement of the big day: flowers, champagne and the thrill of the happy couple exchanging vows.... Over the next few months, some of your favorite authors will bring you all this and more in a series of very special romances.

You’ll meet blushing brides and gorgeous grooms, all with one thing in common: for better or worse, they’re determined the bride should wear white on her wedding day...which means keeping passions in check! Because for these couples, true love waits—until the wedding night...

Happy Reading!

Marrying Mr. Right

Carolyn Greene

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Bonnie Pega, flower lady extraordinaire.

And to Ernest Irby, my favorite magistrate.

PROLOGUE

“WE’RE here to be married.”

Greg’s voice was deeper than most eighteen-year-olds’, giving him an air of authority that some men twice his age didn’t possess. Christina sighed as the warm, vibrant tones surrounded her and melted any fragments of doubt that lingered in her subconscious.

The magistrate flashed a cynical frown at his secretary who passed him the forms they’d filled out earlier. Then he leaned forward and propped his elbows on the cluttered mahogany desk. “Manied, eh? I would’ve figured you for a traffic violation or vandalism.”

The man turned to Christina and studied her carefully.

Christina self-consciously pushed back a windblown tendril of blond hair and tried to smooth the wrinkles out of her dress. She’d chosen to wear the white sundress because its color fit the occasion, but now she realized it only served to accentuate the differences between her and Greg.

With his deep-set dark eyes and disreputable-looking biker clothes, it was easy to see why he’d earned the nickname, “The Italian Rapscallion.” Greg slid his arm around her waist, and for the thousandth time that day—and the millionth time since she’d met him—she felt her heart thudding against her ribs.

As for Christina, with her light hair, fair complexion and eyelet-lace ruffles, she knew she must look every bit the sheriff’s daughter. And the homemade rag doll she was holding must have only added to her aura of innocence. She dropped her arm so that the doll hung more discreetly by her side.

Mr. Terby took off his glasses and laid them on their marriage papers. “Do your parents know where you are, little girl?”

She straightened and clutched the doll tighter. “I’m not a little girl,” she said, fully aware of the contradiction between her words and the image she was presenting. “I’m eighteen years and one month old, which is legal marriying age in Virginia.”

“So it is,” he said, putting the glasses back on and straightening papers. “But, as a father myself, I feel it’s my civic duty to see that young people don’t rush into a decision they may later regret.” This time he stared over his half glasses at both of them. “How long have you been engaged?”

Greg looked at his watch. “Two hours.” His attitude said, Wanna make Something of it?

Not a word was spoken for a full minute as each male refused to back down from the other. As always, Christina was amazed at how casually Greg dared to defy someone in such a high position of authority. And she knew from having seen him glare down the school principal and assorted teachers that polyester stretch pants would come in style before Greg would buckle. His refusal to back down from any challenge was one of the many reasons Christina found herself attracted to him.

Finally, Mr. Terby turned back to Christina with a resigned sigh. “If you and your baby doll are ready—”

“It’s not a baby doll.” Although her words were barely more than a whisper, they captured the magistrate’s attention. Now she wasn’t sure how to explain why it was so important to include in the wedding ceremony the rag doll she and Greg had made in class. The doll they sewed themselves and were assigned to “raise” as their child in the Family Life course at school had sentimental value in their relationship, which was why she’d brought it along for this big event.

Mr. Terby raised one graying eyebrow.

“It’s our son, Murdock,” Greg said without a hint of embarrassment. He didn’t bother to elaborate further, even though it was clear he’d snagged the older man’s curiosity with his statement.

Greg slanted his gaze at Christina and flashed her a mischievous wink. The simple gesture assured her that—unlike Mr. Terby—he didn’t think she was silly or overly sentimental for bringing the memento to their wedding. Although they were as different as two people could. be, Christina knew she’d found a kindred spirit in Greg.

Mr. Terby heaved another sigh. “Very well. Let’s get on with it.” He stood and walked around his desk to a filing cabinet, where he retrieved a thin booklet bound with a narrow gold cord. Then he turned and, grabbing a crocheted loop that dangled high on the wall, pulled down a screen covered with a painted backdrop of a rose-covered trellis. Taking his position in front of it, he palmed his hair to smooth it, then beckoned them to join him.

“Most couples prefer something a little more romantic than an office setting,” he said by way of explanation.

While it was a slight improvement over the rest of the book-and-paper-cluttered room, the amateurish artwork with its garish hues of pink and green seemed more tacky than romantic. But Christina preferred not to focus on that. Instead she looped her arm through Crneg’s as he led her around the desk to stand before the magistrate, and she concentrated on the marital miracle that was about to occur. Greg gave her a smile that took her breath away. She’d never been happier than she was today.

Mr. Terby cleared his throat and began. “Dearly beloved...”

Christina hadn’t questioned Greg’s motive in asking her to make their pretend marriage real. It was enough that he wanted her. That he made her feel more desirable and more feminine than she ever had in her entire life. That he chose her over all the other, prettier girls at school who openly flirted and clam ored for his attention.

“Now place the ring on her finger.”

Christina and Greg both looked at each other as if expecting the ring to appear from the sheer strength of their wanting it In the next moment, Greg surprised her by reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a knife. The muscles in his forearm flexed as he exposed the blade and stepped toward the startled magistrate.

Christina gasped, and the sound was echoed by the secretary who observed the proceedings from near Mr. Terby’s desk. The magistrate backed away, as if he were trying to escape down the painted path beneath the trellis.

Greg paused. “Excuse me,” he said, motioning the gentleman aside.

Mr. Terby hurriedly complied but stopped short of bolting from the office.

Greg bent and freed the crocheted loop from the pull-down screen, then once again took his place beside Christina. Taking her hand in his, he returned the knife to his pocket and slipped the knotted white threads onto her finger. The fit was a little loose, but the effect was decidedly pretty. Christina held out her hand and admired the makeshift wedding band. Like the man who had put it on her finger, it was untraditional yet appealing.

“Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” Mr. Terby once again stood before them, and he seemed anxious to finish the proceedings.

Lawful wasn’t a word typically used to describe Greg, but now wasn’t the time to argue a point.

After they had finished their “I do’s,” Mr. Terby added, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride, after which my secretary will take an instant photo of the two of you in front of the tcellis.”

It was the first time he’d kissed her. Removing the doll from between them, Greg took her in his strong arms and pressed a gentle—almost cautions—kiss on her lips. Upon contact, it was as though everything and everyone in the room ceased to exist. All Christina noticed was the feel of his mouth on hers, the hardness of his muscled ribs against her breasts and the heat of his hands where they splayed across her back.

If a chaste, public kiss from Greg could be this good, then surely a private encounter with him later would be pure bliss. Christina felt as if her heart might explode right out of her chest

Back in Morrison Heights, Greg led her past the parked cars to the motel room door, which he opened with a plastic key card. He couldn’t believe his incredible good fortune. First she’d said yes, then she’d said I do, and now she was wearing a look that said I want you. Before she could go inside, he stopped her with a kiss.

Although his proposal at lunch today had been im pulsive and said as a joke, it was rooted in his desire for Christina—his desire to be with her always and continue enjoying the company of the girl who’d captured his heart from the moment he met her.

Instead of laughing at him as he’d expected, Christina had given him a soft smile. “Are you serious?” she’d asked. And he’d nodded, still waiting for the laughter that was sure to follow.

The darling of Morrison Heights, she could do no wrong in anyone’s eyes—especially not Greg’s. She was everything he wasn’t, and whenever he was with her, he felt awash with the stability and goodness that were lacking in his own home.

Some people thought he was making time with Christina to annoy her father, who’d taken an instant dislike to him. Sure, he’d love to see the look on Sheriff Cline’s face when he and Christina announced their elopement, but he’d want to be with her no matter who her parents were.

To his surprise, the laughter he’d expected upon his impromptu proposal never came. When she’d said yes, he’d been so relieved and happy he’d insisted they tie the knot right away...before she came to her senses and changed her mind.

And now, standing in front of this tacky motel, she returned his kiss with an ardor that equaled his own. It had been clear all afternoon that she wanted him—perhaps almost as much as he wanted her—and it had taken every ounce of willpower to end their wedding kiss and wait until they reached the motel to make love to her. The motorcycle ride here had been sheer torture, and feeling Christina’s arms wound so tightly around his midsection had only made his physical discomfort worse. She tilted her head back, staring up at him with his own desire mirrored in her clear blue eyes.

An animal sound escaped from his throat as he swept her up in his arms and carried her into the room. As he set her down, he reveled in the feel of her body sliding down the length of his own. Pushing a white ruffle off her shoulder, he bent and placed a kiss on her neck. He didn’t want to spook her by moving too fast, but when she tipped her head, giving him free access to her bare shoulder, he gave a tug to the other side of her dress.

The white ruffled cloth fell to her waist, baring a simple cotton bra. The old saying was right, he thought. Good things did, indeed, come in small packages.

Kissing her to distract her from the momentary shyness that seemed to overtake her, he slipped his arms around her and deftly released the fastener.

Her breasts were small but inviting, and she didn’t flinch from his touch. He knew she was a virgin—she’d told him so when they were working on their Family Life project. She’d said she considered her virginity a gift for the man who would someday be her husband, and he’d fallen even deeper in love with her.

She seemed too good to be true and yet here she was, giving him—of all people—her precious gift.

When her small hands fumbled at the hem of his shirt, untucking it from his jeans, desire coursed through him. He peeled off the unwanted clothing in one smooth motion.

In response, she clung to him, her soft flesh flattening against his chest. It was all he could do to keep from backing her onto the bed and having his way with her—hard and fast.

But that wouldn’t be good enough for someone as special as Christina. He wanted to unwrap her gift slowly, savoring the anticipation as her treasure was gradually revealed to him. Dropping another kiss on her lips, he told her, “I want you so much.”

She sighed, and the motion pressed her closer against his naked torso. “I want you to know,” she began, pausing as she obviously groped for the words she wanted to say. “Those vows we said earlier—for better or for worse, in sickness and in health and everything else—I meant every word of it.”

Greg nodded silently. He had no doubt that she took her vows seriously, just as he did.

“I’m going to be a good wife to you...in every way. I want to please you. It’s my first time,” she confessed, “but I want it to be good for you.”

Christina snuggled closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. Greg had just started backing her toward the bed when a banging sounded behind them. Before he could gather his wits, the door was flung open and sunlight spilled into the room.

“Looks like I got here just in time,” a male voice boomed.

As Christina stared past Greg, the passion in her eyes was quickly replaced with panic.

“Daddy!”

Greg turned his back to her, shielding her from the questioning gazes of Sheriff Cline, his deputy and the motel manager while she hastily adjusted her clothing.

The uniformed men glared at him in much the same way someone peers distastefully at a bug before squashing it.

“Daddy, before you get the wrong idea—”

“Never mind that. young lady. We’ll talk later about you casting your pearls before swine.” Sheriff Cline nodded to the deputy, who approached Greg with a pair of handcuffs. “Right now I have a matter of a robbery to discuss with your hoodlum friend here.”

Greg didn’t resist as the deputy cuffed him and recited his rights. The shame he felt right now wasn’t for himself—it was for having put Christina in the middle of this mess.

“You can’t do this,” Christina insisted, clutching Greg’s arm. “He hasn’t done anything for you to atrest him.”

Greg stood straight, but he didn’t meet her gaze. Couldn’t meet her gaze. “Christina,” he said softly, “let the man do his job.”

“Bet you didn‘t—”

He turned away from her, and he knew she assumed the worst. Not that he blamed her. He should be used to it by now—people always tended to think the worst about him—but it hurt so much more, coming from Christina.

He could try to explain. Try to tell her that the situation wasn’t what it seemed, and he was confident she would believe him. But her father wouldn’t, nor would anyone else in town, for that matter. He was as good as convicted right now.

She watched in stunned silence as the deputy led him to the patrol car parked outside, slammed the rear door shut and said to no one in particular, “Looks like this piece of trouble will be off the streets for at least a couple of years.” Then he threw Greg’s shirt onto his lap.

Christina started toward the car, and her father laid a hand on her arm. Breaking free of his grip, she ran to Greg and yanked open the car door.

“I’m going to find someone to help you,” she declared, even though she must have known that no teacher or other adult in town would come to his defense. “And while we’re getting this straightened out, I’ll be there for you...just like we vowed.”

When he could muster the courage to look at her, he tried to steel himself to her beauty and sweetness. He knew with certainty that she would do as she promised—she’d stick, by him through better or worse, through thick or thin—but what kind of louse would he be to make her endure such a hell? She deserved more than that, and one day he would find a way to give her the kind of life that was worthy of her. And he’d make himself worthy of her, no matter how long it took.

“I’m not going to drag you down with me.”

“It’s okay,” she said as her father approached the car. Her earnestness was sincere. “I’ll wait for you. And I’ll come see you every day.”

He had no doubt about that, but such an environment was not for the likes of someone as pure and sweet as Christina. With a stabbing pain in his heart, he knew the only way to protect her from it was to release her from her vows.

Someday he’d come back for her—when he was good enough for her. When she could be proud to introduce him as her husband. In the meantime, though, he had to let her go.

“I don’t want you there,” he said, his voice hard and strained. “There’s nothing left for us. Forget about me, and get on with your life.”

In his life, Greg had done a lot of things he wasn’t proud of, but he would never forgive himself for making Christina cry.

CHAPTER ONE

YOU make one foolish mistake in your entire life and, sure enough, ten years later he shows up on your doorstep, looking sexier than any man has a right to look. Her body mutinied, urging her to fling herself into his arms and pick up where they’d left off. Wisely, and with great effort, she resisted the urge, and it was just as well that she did.

Greg Primo was not a happy camper.

An official-looking packet of papers dangled from between his large fingers.

She glanced over her shoulder into the living room to see if Donald was aware of what was going on. Fortunately he had his nose buried in the business section of the newspaper.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

All those years apart, and no how-do-you-do or my-how-you’ve-changed. Nevertheless, he still had the power to make her drop everything and turn her full attention to him. It seemed as though her entire body was focused on him. It wasn’t just his physical presence Although, heaven knows, Greg’s musclethickened body, almost-black hair and penetrating brown eyes were enough to make any warm-blooded woman from puberty to rocking chair stop and give him her undivided attention.

And right then it would have taken a dynamite blast to divert her gaze from the magnificent human specimen that seemed to fill her front porch. A moth circled crazily as if it, too, were caught in the mesmerizing spell of the man.

As a teenager, Greg had been big for his age. But now... now his shoulders seemed to swell out of the dark suit jacket that was, for him, quite uncharacteristic. In contrast to his torso, his hips seemed narrow in the tailored slacks that hugged his long legs.

No, this was no teenager anymore. And if she weren’t convinced by his nearly brutal masculinity, the firm set of his angular jaw told her he was used to getting what he wanted...no matter what it took.

His dark hair fell in casual disarray across furrowed brows. His eyes were deep-set, and his scowling made them appear more so.

He shook the papers at her as if to snap her from her slack-jawed stare back into the present. “Do you have any idea how much trouble this is going to cause me?”

A droplet of perspiration that couldn’t be blamed on the late-April weather trickled between her breasts. Christina’s gaze traveled down the neatly typed heading on the paper that was now crumpled in Greg’s big fist: Christina Cline vs. Gregorio Primo.

A movement behind her distracted her from Greg’s fury, and when Donald touched her elbow Christina was grateful for the interruption.

“Is something wrong, dear?” He lowered his voice and spoke into her ear. “Want me to get rid of him for you?”

He was being unusually possessive tonight, acting for Greg’s benefit as if he lived here rather than just visited after work and on weekends. And as if their relationship were more than a convenient arrangement to satisfy their respective needs.

The idea of her fiancé taking on Greg was enough to jolt her out of her stupor. She was touched by his unnatural display of machismo, especially since their promises to each other would be in name only.

The two men were as opposite as if they’d come from different planets. Donald was as fair as Greg was dark. At thirty-five, his wispy blond hair was thinning prematurely, whereas Greg’s thick brownish-black locks shone under the incandescent porch light. And Greg’s tanned six-foot frame dwarfed Donald’s medium, deskbound build. Even their attitudes were oppositas. Greg’s reputation around Morrison Heights was, to put it mildly, less than sterling. And he was full of barely controlled energy, a condition that gave him the appearance of leaning forward even though his posture was perfectly erect. Serious-minded Donald, on the other hand, would someday run for a local political office—with Christina and the children he promised her by his side—and with no fear of any past indiscretions being exposed. His hands hanging awkwardly at his sides, he looked as though he’d rather be reading the stock report than dealing with this unexpected intruder.

“Uh, no, this is...” Her voice trailed off as she lifted the latch on the screen door and pushed it open. Where was Miss Manners when you needed her? For the life of her, Christina had no idea how one should introduce her fiancé to her husband.

Current husband, that is.

Greg stepped inside, filling the foyer with his massive bulk. How was it that, after all these years, he could still make her heart go flip-flop? Christina stepped back in a futile attempt to put distance between them. She would have to broach the subject of their relationship very carefully.

“Donald, I’d like you to meet Greg Primo...an old friend from high school. Greg, this is Donald Winkler, my fiancé.”

Greg raised one dark eyebrow. Christina mentally cringed as she waited for something unpleasant to hit the fan. He had just opened his mouth to speak when a rapping sounded at the screen door.

“Greggie, what’s taking so long? The mosquitoes are eating me alive out here.”

Even in the dark, the woman’s platinum-blond hair glowed like a defective nuclear reactor. Christina noticed the barely suppressed sigh Greg gave before he opened the screen door to her. As his companion stepped inside, it was easy to see why the mosquitoes considered her a fieast.