Claiming His Runaway Bride / High-Stakes Passion: Claiming His Runaway Bride / High-Stakes Passion

High-Society Secret Pregnancy by Maureen Child & Front Page Engagement by Laura Wright

Spaniard’s Seduction by Tessa Radley & Cole’s Red-Hot Pursuit by Brenda Jackson

Claiming His Runaway Bride by Yvonne Lindsay & High-Stakes Passion by Juliet Burns

New Zealand born, to Dutch immigrant parents, Yvonne Lindsay became an avid romance reader at the age of thirteen. Now, married to her blind date and with two surprisingly amenable teenagers, she remains a firm believer in the power of romance. Yvonne feels privileged to be able to bring to her readers the stories of her heart. In her spare time, when not writing, she can be found with her nose firmly in a book, reliving the power of love in all walks of life. She can be contacted via her website, www.yvonnelindsay.com.

Dear Reader,

As a child I always loved fairy tales—in fact, I never tired of reading them over and over again. Having children of my own was a chance to relive those tales of wonder—of the course of true love never running smooth, of happy ever after. One story that always spoke to my heart, as a child and as an adult, was Beauty and the Beast. I think it’s the whole “Love Conquers All” that just gets to me—the unwavering belief that true love can break the wickedest of spells and redeem the hardest of hearts. Anyway, suffice it to say that I’ve always been a bit of a romantic, and when I first started thinking about Claiming His Runaway Bride it was a simple matter to go for a Beauty and the Beast theme. My convoluted mind just couldn’t help but add an amnesiac runaway bride to the mix.

When I start my romance novels I always think very hard about the setting, and in all the beauty that is New Zealand I’m spoiled for choice. A part of the North Island I’ve always loved has been the Taupo district. Lake Taupo is the largest lake in the country, and the scenery around the area is exquisite in its beauty and diversity. Tourists travel from far and wide to appreciate the splendour of the countryside—especially those who enjoy outdoor pursuits. My “Beast” needed his own castle and domain, and what better area than the rugged strength and power of the hills to the southeast of Lake Taupo, where hunting, fishing and tramping reign supreme. And so Luc’s Tautara Lodge was created as an exclusive luxury adventure-holiday empire.

I hope you enjoy my own version of a modern fairy tale.

Best wishes,

Yvonne

This one is for my beautiful girls, Morgan and Tegan. One day your prince/s will come…:)

One

His wife?

How could she have forgotten something like that?

Someone like him?

Belinda eyed the silent stranger standing beside her father at the foot of her hospital bed. Tall, and looking as if his designer clothes were just a little too large on his frame, the stranger stood with his left hand in his trouser pocket, his right hand resting on the knob of a shiny black cane.

She didn’t even know his name. How could she be married to him and have no knowledge of it? Fear choked her throat.

His glittering green eyes never left her face. An intangible thread of something—was it anger?—burned just below the surface. His expression remained inscrutable. The hard lines of his face spoke of an iron will—this was not a man who tolerated fools.

Her breath hitched. She didn’t know him—how could they expect her to go home with a total stranger? Belinda cast a frightened look at her father. The smile he returned seemed strained; the lines on his face deeper than usual. Suddenly her desire to be released from her room here at Auckland City Hospital fled, and the place she’d itched to be free of assumed proportions more in line with a much-sought-after sanctuary.

A disturbing thought occurred to her.

“If you’re my husband why haven’t you been here at my side, like my parents have? It’s two weeks since I came out of the coma.” Her challenge rang hollowly across the room.

Belinda intercepted a glance between her father and the man who claimed to be her husband, saw the imperceptible nod her father gave.

“Well?” she demanded, her hands fisting in the bedclothes.

“The accident that took your memory also caused me injury. I am fit to return home now. With you.”

There was a great deal he wasn’t saying, and what he left unsaid caused her more anxiety than the realisation he too had been hospitalised. She’d been treated with kid gloves by the medical staff and her parents since she’d regained consciousness, everyone prepared to give her medical answers but nothing else. Not even the details of the accident that had left her in a coma for four weeks. Throughout the past two weeks of tests and examinations, her doctors had tried to find the cause of her amnesia and had come to the conclusion it was not a direct result of the blow to her head that she’d sustained in a car accident. She’d overheard the words “traumatic amnesia” and “hysterical amnesia” being discussed in low tones.

The last had made her shudder. Did that make her crazy, she wondered, that she chose to forget a part of her life that for anyone should have been full of excitement, fun and passion? Or did she have good reason to want to forget?

She looked again at the stranger. The slightly less-than-perfect fit of his clothing now made sense if he had been stuck in hospital. Had he been too incapacitated to see her? Did a lengthy stay in bed explain his gauntness? She had no doubt that he was the type of man who paid attention to every detail, and that under normal circumstances his clothing would conform to his body as if tailor-made.

Another thought skittered through her mind. Had they timed her release to coincide with his? Protest flared inside.

She’d been railroaded.

“No, I won’t do it. I won’t go home with you. I don’t even know you!” Her voice sounded shrill, panicked.

The stranger’s eyes narrowed, a muscle worked in the side of his jaw.

“I’m Luc Tanner, you are Belinda Tanner—my wife. Of course you’ll come home with me.” He nodded in her father’s direction. “Do you think your father would allow you out of his sight if I was a threat to his precious child? Rest assured, you know me well.”

There was an undercurrent in his tone she couldn’t quite nail, but it was enough to send a shiver down her spine. She shook her head slightly to rid herself of the sensation. What the stranger—Luc, she corrected herself—said made sense but a cautionary niggle played at the back of her mind.

“Why can’t I go home with Dad? At least until my memory returns.” She was grasping at straws, and she knew it.

“And if your memory never returns? Are we to forever forget our marriage? Our vows to each other?”

There was a thread of steel in his tone that sent a chill through her. It was a good question. What if she didn’t get her lost months back? And why, when she could remember so much else, could she remember nothing of their courtship, their marriage? The love they’d supposedly shared.

A spear of something else shot through her body. Had they been intimate? They must have been, even now her body warmed to his with a physical recognition her mind refused to accept. He was a very attractive man despite that air of aloofness he wore like a warrior’s mantle. A flush of heat suffused her cheeks as she studied his features—the slightly shadowed line between cheekbone and jaw bisected by a thin pink scar, the straight blade of his nose, the sensual curve of his lips. Had they lain together, delighted in each other’s scents, reactions, pleasure? Had she clutched that shortcropped sable-coloured hair as she’d held him to her body?

The stranger’s voice was like the sensual stroke of velvet across her skin as he changed tactics in the face of her refusal to go with him. “Belinda, I know you’re afraid, but I’m your husband. If you can’t trust me who can you trust? We will work through this,” he cajoled gently. “And if your memory never returns, we will make new memories.”

New memories. Why did the very thought strike dread into her heart?

She shot an imploring look at her father. “Dad?”

“You’ll be fine, my sweet. Besides, you know your mother and I had planned to travel for a bit. We postponed the trip because of the accident. Now that you and Luc are well again we can set our plans back on track. Go home with Luc, honey. Everything will be all right.”

Was it her imagination or were her father’s words just a little too emphatic?

“The doctor has seen fit to discharge you. It’s time for you to come home.” Luc held out his left hand to her, a hand that bore a glint of gold on his ring finger. A ring she’d supposedly put on him while declaring her love for him before witnesses.

Belinda was suddenly aware of her own naked hand. There wasn’t even so much as a dent in her skin to show where a ring had encircled her finger.

“Ah, yes, of course. Your rings.” Luc slid his hand inside the breast pocket of his jacket and extracted two rings. He limped forward to the side of her bed. “Let me.”

His fingers were surprisingly warm to the touch. They curled about her hand in a gentle, yet undeniably possessive grip. Something perverse inside her encouraged her to pull from his touch. As if he anticipated her action his fingers tightened as he helped her to her feet—his grip holding her hand captive.

He slid the platinum band, inlaid with baguette-cut white diamonds, onto her ring finger. As the overhead light caught the sparkle and fire in the stones, Belinda fought to control the tremor that quaked through her body, the sensation of having been branded Luc Tanner’s property. A shocking sense of déjà vu swamped her as the image of Luc placing the ring on her finger in another time and place filled her mind. A remembered thrill of excitement and anticipation surged through her.

She fought to hold on to the impression, the fleeting consciousness of her lost months, but it dissipated as quickly as it had come, leaving her feeling empty and alone.

Belinda became aware of Luc’s long fingers sliding another ring on her finger, bringing it up over her knuckle to nestle against the wedding band. The radiant-cut blue-grey diamond burned with cold fire, the shoulders of its setting decorated with smaller baguette-cut white diamonds. She gasped aloud at the size and beauty of the stone.

“Did…did I choose this?”

Luc’s dark brows pulled together, making him appear even more formidable than before. “You don’t remember this, either? For a moment I thought you did.”

Somehow he’d sensed her flash of memory when he’d put on her wedding band. The implication of how well he understood her was unnerving, more unnerving perhaps than even the knowledge that she couldn’t remember a single thing about him.

“No,” she replied on a whisper. “I remember nothing.”

“I commissioned the ring for you the day I met you.”

“The day we met? But how…?” Belinda looked up at him in surprise.

Luc’s gaze held hers. “I knew from that day you would be my wife.”

Her laugh sounded forced, even to her ears. “And did I have any say in the matter?”

“Belinda.” He pronounced each syllable of her name with care, making it sound like a caress. “You loved me before. You will love me again.”

He lifted her hand to his lips, and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. His lips were surprisingly cool and an unexpected quiver of longing spread through her. What would it feel like if he kissed her? Would that unlock their past, the memories entrapped within her mind?

Luc drew her to his side, the imprint of his body heat seeped through her light clothing and deeper, to her skin. She pulled away, just enough to break the unnerving contact that had already sent her pulse into an erratic beat. His body felt unfamiliar, yet she was drawn to him at the same time. Surely if they had been married, been intimate together, she would have some physical memory imprinted in her psyche?

“The helicopter is waiting. We can’t obstruct the hospital helipad for any longer than absolutely necessary.”

“Helicopter? We aren’t driving? Just how far are we going?”

“Tautara Estate is southeast of Lake Taupo. Perhaps being back there will assist in triggering a memory for you.”

“Lake Taupo, but that’s almost a four-hour drive from here. What if…?” Her voice trailed away helplessly. What if, indeed? There’d be no one there to help her if the fears that plagued the edge of her consciousness became more than she could bear.

“What if…?” Luc prompted, his lips a thin implacable line across his face.

“Nothing.” Belinda dropped her head slightly, allowing the fullness of her hair to cover her face, to hide the sudden tears that stung her eyes. Everything inside her screamed that this was wrong, but she couldn’t, for the life of her, remember why. The doctors had told her her memory should return in time, that she should stop trying to force things, but right now the black void in her mind threatened to overwhelm her.

“Then let’s go.”

Belinda walked two steps with Luc then halted, her sudden stop sending him slightly off balance. She noticed he used the cane to regain his stability. Was he fully recovered himself? She already sensed it was a question she couldn’t ask, sensed he was too proud to admit to physical failure or weakness. Pulling from Luc’s hold, she turned to her father, holding her arms out for a hug.

“I’ll see you later, then, Dad. You’ll give my love to Mum?” She searched his face once more for any inkling of why she felt as if she’d been shucked off like last year’s haute couture, but he refused to fully meet her gaze. Instead he wrapped her in his arms and held her as if he’d never let her go.

“Yes, I will. She wasn’t up to today’s visit but we will see you soon,” Baxter Wallace said, his voice thick.

“Baxter.” Luc’s voice cut through the air with the precision of fine steel, and her father’s arms dropped to his side.

“Go on, darling, everything will be all right. Just wait and see,” he urged.

“Of course everything will be all right. Why wouldn’t it be?” Luc tucked Belinda’s arm in the crook of his and guided her out the door.

Later, as the helicopter lifted from the pad, Belinda tried to remember why she’d been so excited when the doctor had told her she’d be discharged this afternoon. Now she felt anything but. She had nothing with her but the clothes on her back and the rings on her finger—rings that felt as foreign to her as the man who was her husband. She didn’t even have so much as a pair of sunglasses to ward off the sharp late-summer-afternoon light.

She cast a glance forward to her husband who sat next to the pilot in the cockpit. Her husband. No matter what they said, he was a stranger, and deep in her heart she knew he’d remain that way for a long, long time.

You loved me before. You will love me again.

His words echoed in her mind and as they did it occurred to her he’d said nothing of his feelings for her. Not one word of love had passed his lips from the moment she’d set eyes on him. The realisation sat like a cold ball of lead in the pit of stomach.

Relief poured through Luc’s aching bones as his Eurocopter Squirrel neared Tautara Estate—so named because of its position on the hilltop overlooking a small tributary river to New Zealand’s largest lake. He consciously fought to stop himself from rubbing his hip to ease the ache of sitting in the confines of the cockpit of the helicopter. He’d accepted he was unable, at this time anyway, to pilot the craft himself. His recovery from the broken hip and torn spleen had taken longer than expected when a bone infection had delayed his rehabilitation.

The knowledge that his wife lay only a couple of floors away from him, locked in a coma that had baffled her doctors, had done much to hasten his recuperation. Her emergence from the coma had come just as he commenced intensive physical therapy and had begun to welcome the challenge of restoring his body to its customary strength. He’d had no desire to appear as a cripple the first time she saw him after the accident. He’d pushed himself hard this past fortnight, but it had been worth it. He was nearly home.

With her.

The chopper followed the path of one of the lake’s tributaries, where he often hosted trout fishing expeditions for his celebrity guests, and Luc took comfort in the familiar landscape, the energy of the land below reaching out to him. Yes, he’d heal more quickly here, in charge of his own progress. In charge of his life. The way it should be.

He cast a look backward to where Belinda sat staring out the side window. A fierce wave of possession swept through him. She was his. Lost memory or not, things would return to the way they should have been all along—before the accident.

Her misty blue-grey eyes were serious as she gazed at her surroundings, her face pale, her hands curled into tight fists in her lap. She’d barely moved for the duration of the flight. Frozen in the past he supposed. She didn’t remember meeting him, their courtship or their wedding. She didn’t remember the crash. A part of him hoped she never would.

As the helicopter gained height, then circled over Tautara Estate, Luc allowed a smile of satisfaction to play across his lips. The estate was a monument to his success and power and was renowned worldwide amongst the wealthy, the famous—even royalty—for its facilities and attractions. And it was home in a way he’d never had a home before. The words his father had beaten into him on a regular basis—“You’ll never amount to anything. Nothing you have will stay yours.”—echoed in his head.

“You were wrong, old man,” he swore silently. “I am and I have everything you never were or ever had.”

Yes, now they were back all would be well again.

The pilot set the chopper down on the designated pad and Luc disembarked, turning to help Belinda from the cabin. They walked in silence toward the main house, which sprawled before them. Belinda halted beside him.

“Is something wrong?” Luc asked, forcing himself not to scoop her up in his arms and carry her to the front door through his sheer will.

“I’ve been here before?” she asked, her voice tentative.

“Of course. Many times before our wedding.”

“I should remember something, but I don’t. There’s…nothing there.”

Luc sensed the frustration that held her in its grip and unbidden, felt a brief but undeniable pull of sympathy for her. The feeling left him as quickly as it had come.

“Come into the house, perhaps something there will jog your memory.”

He took her hand in his and felt a measure of relief when her slender fingers curled around his, almost as if she was frightened to take the next step without him at her side. A grim smile settled on his face, and the fingers of his other hand gripped the head of his custom-made cane, its solid weight against the palm of his hand a reminder of the disability that would forever remain a legacy of their short marriage.

Whether she remembered again or not, he had her back at Tautara Lodge, where she belonged. As they crossed the threshold onto the New Zealand native parquet floor in the imposing cathedral-ceilinged entrance, Luc fought to hold back a roar of triumph. Nothing would interfere with his plans now.

No one reneged on Luc Tanner and got away with it—least of all his beautiful wife.

Two

Belinda stared around her. She felt as if she’d been totally displaced in her world. Nothing about the ornate stained-glass and rimu wood-framed doors at the front entrance felt familiar, and as her heels clicked on the highly polished wooden floor the faint echo rang out as a taunting reminder of the echoes in her mind. Fleeting. Intangible. Lost in a moment.

“Let me show you our suite.”

“Our suite?”

“Yes, I run Tautara Estate as a luxury lodge for overseas visitors. They pay handsomely for their privacy, I demand mine. Our rooms are to this side.”

Luc led her through another set of panelled rimu doors and down a wide, high-ceilinged, carpeted corridor. To her left was a panel of floor-to-ceiling glass windows giving an exquisite view down through the valley, with Lake Taupo, sunlight glinting off its surface, far in the distance. The tranquil beauty of the scene lay in direct contrast to the nerves leaping and dancing in her stomach.

At the end of the corridor Luc swiped a key card and thrust open the door. Belinda stifled a gasp at the stepdown lounge that spread before her. It was twice the size of her parents’ formal sitting room at their palatial St. Helier’s Bay home in Auckland. Twice the size and, by the looks of it, twice as expensively comfortable.

She walked down the stairs ahead of Luc. Her hand stroked the fronds of the potted palms that guarded the base of the shallow stairs and trailed over the surface of the baby grand piano nestled in an alcove of the room to her left.

“You play?” she asked.

Her fingers grazed the cool ivory of the keys, sending a single discordant note to hover on the air.

“After a fashion,” Luc answered noncommittally.