Rule #13: A lady would never initiate advances on a man…

Carly couldn’t explain what came over her. “I’m tired of following the rules, Coop,” she whispered in a husky voice as she slipped into his arms.

She held her breath, then moaned softly when he traced his tongue over her bottom lip.

“You’re bad news,” he said roughly as he captured her mouth in a kiss so deep and wet she trembled.

His tongue slid across hers. He tasted like peppermint, and a whole lot like man. Tiny shivers of delight rippled through her. Her nipples beaded against the satin of her bra, the sensation adding to the heat Cooper so effortlessly fanned into a three-alarm blazing inferno.

He lifted his head and she looked into his eyes, feeling a wealth of pleasure ribbon through her at the heat in his gaze.

“Make love to me, Cooper,” she murmured. Another rule broken. But she was beyond caring.

“Maybe I have rules about things like that…. We’ve only known each other a short time, sweetheart.”

The smile curving her sexy, very kissable mouth was filled with sass. “Well, then we better make up for lost time!”

Dear Reader,

Have you ever wondered what you would do if you suddenly found yourself completely free? Would you break every rule you’d ever learned and establish your own laws? Most of us wouldn’t dream of doing anything quite so rash, but that’s exactly what Carly Cassidy does when she runs away from her own wedding and the man she doesn’t love.

Carly runs right into The Wilde Side, a local Chicago tavern, and Cooper Wilde, a man convinced Carly has more brass than brains—until she devises an outrageous plan to help him save the place from bankruptcy, and steals his heart in the process.

I hope you enjoy Carly and Cooper’s “rule-breaking” romance! And I hope last month you enjoyed meeting Carly’s sister Jill and her sexy hero in #793, Rules of Engagement.

Happy reading,

Jamie Denton

P.S.: You can write to me at jamie@jamiedenton.net or P.O. Box 224, Mohall, ND 58761-0224.

Books by Jamie Denton

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

748—THE SEDUCTION OF SYDNEY

767—VALENTINE FANTASY

793—RULES OF ENGAGEMENT

Breaking the Rules

Jamie Denton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

For The Bunnies

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

1

Rule 1: A lady never cries in public.

FOR THE FIRST time in her life, Carly Cassidy broke the rules, and what had it gotten her? Nothing but trouble, she realized, sitting in her defunct Ford Escort in an unfamiliar city where she knew absolutely no one, and harboring more guilt than any mother—Jewish, Catholic or otherwise—could possibly inflict.

Knowing that she’d disappointed so many people did that to a person, she thought. Her gaze slid to the open doorway of a corner bar. If they had a pay phone, she could call a tow truck. Guilt and regret were tough enough to swallow without adding desperation to her already overloaded emotions. But then again, she had run away from her own wedding and spent hours gazing out at the sailboats on Lake Michigan. She’d bet not a single one of the occupants soaking up the warmth of the midday sun experienced one iota of the shame and disappointment she felt. By the time the sun started to set she still hadn’t found the relief that she had made the right decision.

Raucous rock music drifted from the open doorway of the neighborhood tavern, snagging her attention. The only other sign of life in the older section of Chicago came from a closed market halfway down the block with a dim light spilling onto the pavement. She turned in the seat and looked behind her toward the market for a pay phone, seeing nothing more than a stretch of pavement and darkened storefronts. She couldn’t very well sit in the car all night.

“Oh sweet Mary,” she muttered. She was an adult. She had every right to walk into that bar and use the phone, and even order a drink if she wanted. So why was she hesitating?

She let out a sigh. Because twenty-four years of following rules told her a preacher’s daughter didn’t enter a bar without a male escort. Especially if the daughter in question was wearing a wedding gown!

With a lift of her chin and a determination to break her second rule in the same day, she scooped her little white satin bag from the passenger seat and climbed out of the car, thankfully without tripping over the voluminous yards of white satin.

She tugged hard on the train she hadn’t had time to detach before her abrupt departure from her own wedding, ten feet of satin spilling from the driver’s seat onto the asphalt. Not bothering with the elastic wrist-band, she bunched the fabric in her hand, slammed the door to her uncooperative Escort sedan, and walked resolutely toward the entrance below a green, flashing neon sign.

Blaring music and the stench of stale smoke and alcohol hit her when she slipped inside the bar. All she needed was a telephone to call a tow truck, and then she’d be on her way. Where, she hadn’t decided, but she planned to stay as far away from Homer, Illinois, as possible.

She stepped up to the archway leading into the bar. Her confidence wavered. She could do this. How else was she going to learn to take care of herself, and more importantly, do things her way, if she couldn’t even walk into a bar?

The song blasting from the jukebox at damaging decibel levels she recognized from an older MTV rock video. Flea. The lead singer’s name was Flea, and in the video, most of his body had been covered in tattoos. Who would name their child Flea? she wondered.

Someone who ignored rules, that’s who. Someone who grabbed life with both hands and shucked the restrictions of convention. Someone who didn’t do everything that was expected of her without question. Someone who probably wouldn’t feel half as awful as she did for running out on her own wedding.

A wooden sign above a long mirror covering the wall behind a mahogany bar caught her attention. For the first time in days, a genuine grin tugged her lips as she read the sign: Take a walk on The Wilde Side.

She couldn’t think of anything more appropriate for a woman intent on breaking the rules.

THE WILDE SIDE was the last place Cooper Wilde expected to find a fairy princess, but damned if one hadn’t just walked through the doors. A platinum blond fairy princess with a chickie-boom body and big, round turquoise eyes filled with apprehension. That intriguing gaze darted around the smoky bar before landing on him, sending awareness rumbling through him in Richter-scale-worthy shock waves.

She stood a little straighter and headed right for him as the Red Hot Chili Peppers segued into a classic rock standard by the Hollies. There was nothing long and cool about the hot little number dressed in bridal satin and lace, and Coop seriously doubted she’d ever stepped foot in a bar. Hell, he had suspicions about her even being of the legal age. He had enough trouble without getting busted with a minor in the bar.

She lifted her chin and ignored the stares of his few customers, a blue-collar crowd for the most part, their glances ranging from mild curiosity to a few outright leers that leapt straight across the border toward rude. She tightened her grip on a little satin bag clutched in her delicate fingers and stepped up to the long mahogany bar.

Coop crossed his arms and looked down at her, into those big eyes banked with a determination that filled him with dread. He had enough to worry about in what was becoming a vain attempt to keep the bar operational without having to deal with a jilted bride who didn’t have the foresight to change clothes before traipsing around Chicago. His customers were mostly long-timers, harmless older guys he’d known practically his entire life, but there were a few rougher types who wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of a pretty little lady with busted dreams and a broken heart. As far as he was concerned, a lone woman in a wedding gown pretty much qualified under both categories.

The best thing he could do for The Wilde Side, and himself, was to send her back to fairyland as soon as possible. He didn’t need to scan the pitifully thin crowd to know she was attracting a whole lot of attention. Attention that could get her into trouble.

“What can I do for you, Princess?”

“Do you have a pay phone?” she asked in a voice loud enough to be heard over the jukebox.

“In the back,” he answered with a quick jerk of his head.

“Thank you,” she answered primly.

He braced his hands on the bar and leaned forward. “And you’re in the wrong place, Princess. St. Mike’s is a few blocks south of here.” He pushed off the bar and strolled away, hoping she’d take the hint and leave.

“I’m looking for a telephone, not a church,” she called after him.

He shrugged and opened the cooler for a fresh bottle of beer for Marty Davis, a welder who was his uncle’s closest friend, and by extension, another surrogate father to Cooper. Hayden Wilde and Marty had been the ones to convince him eleven years ago, via ultimatum, to join the navy and see the world. He’d been a rebel of the first degree and intent on living up to his name. As much as he hadn’t wanted to take their advice, the service had held a hell of a lot more appeal than jail, which was where he’d been heading fast.

He’d surprised not only himself, but his uncle as well, when he’d gone into SEAL training. The special forces team had intrigued him, and earning the nickname Wildman hadn’t been too much of a stretch. He’d figured he’d do his four-year stint, but when the end of his term drew to a close, he’d gone to see the retention officer and reenlisted for another six years. He’d been about to re-up for another six when the chaplain had come to see him, telling him his uncle needed him to come home. Taking into consideration the heart attack Hayden had suffered the previous spring, Coop decided to come back to Chicago to take care of the man who’d raised him after his mother died.

What he found was not only Hayden in perfect health, but he’d let his life’s work fall practically to ruin. And not because of any illness, as Coop had been led to believe. No, Hayden Wilde had been suffering from another unfortunate condition, one caused by faulty genetics. His obsession with the opposite sex had cost him more than his pride this time, it had almost cost him his business.

“And I want a drink,” the princess yelled over the music in a voice filled with steely determination.

That got his attention and snapped him right back into the present. Coop set the beer in front of Marty, who didn’t bother to hide his amusement, and moved back down the length of the bar toward her. “Not without some ID, Princess. I could lose my license for even allowing you in here.”

She gave him a smug look and opened her little satin bag. “As you can see,” she said, handing over her driver’s license, “I’m well over the legal drinking age.”

He took the ID from her. “Barely,” he muttered, counting backward as he examined the small plastic card, alternately comparing the police lineup quality photo to the real thing. The real thing was much more interesting. Too bad he didn’t have time for interesting, because Carly Cassidy was sassy and curvy. Throw in willing, and she’d be just the way he liked them, even if she was only three years above the legal drinking age.

Since he wasn’t breaking the law by serving her, he handed the license back. “One drink, then you leave. I don’t need your kind of trouble, Princess. What’ll it be?”

Carly hadn’t a clue. The only alcohol ever to pass her lips had been the sacramental kind. For her first drink, she wanted something interesting. One of those exotic kind the starlets in Hollywood sat around their swimming pools sipping, with colorful paper umbrellas and sweet tropical fruit perched on the side of the glass.

“We don’t do frilly and frothy,” the sexy bartender said, practically reading her mind. He braced his hands on lean hips encased in soft, faded denim. “My customers like it hard and they like it fast.”

She looked up at him, frowning when an odd tingling started to uncurl in her tummy. Hunger, she decided. Those strange tingles had nothing to do with the way the bartender’s white T-shirt with an alcoholic beverage logo splashed across the front clung to the broadest shoulders and widest chest she’d ever had the privilege of viewing. Most assuredly hunger, she reminded herself, and not caused by the way his dark chocolate eyes swept over her or the way his mouth tipped up into a breathtaking grin that belied his surly attitude. She’d been so nervous she hadn’t been able to eat breakfast, that’s all. The huge feast at the wedding reception…well, she had missed that. Yes, she decided firmly. Most definitely hunger.

“Scotch,” she finally blurted, wondering if she’d even like whiskey. Anything was better than another round of guilt. “On the rocks.”

One of his rich sable eyebrows lifted. “One finger or two?”

Fingers? Was that bar slang for ice cubes?

She shrugged. “Two should be sufficient.”

The gorgeous hunk of a bartender gave her a skeptical look, then moved down the bar to fix her drink.

Keeping her satin bag clutched firmly in her hand, she headed toward the rear of the tavern, passing between a pair of pool tables and a couple of rough-and-tumble-looking men with cue sticks in one hand and amber bottles of beer in the other. They looked at her curiously, and she couldn’t exactly blame them. Odds were that not many women actually frequented The Wilde Side dressed in a wedding gown.

Nestled at the end of a short hallway next to the ladies’ room, she found the pay phone with a tattered copy of the phone book attached to the wall by a metal cord. She made her call for the tow truck only to learn she’d be waiting for a minimum of two hours. It was, after all, Saturday night.

She hung up, deciding to wait for the tow truck driver to arrive before she called a taxi. She took a step to turn and ran smack into a brick wall of leather, denim and chains.

She looked up, tipping her head far back to stare into one of the most homely faces she’d ever had the misfortune of viewing. Biker Boy’s eyes were beady and wide set, and focused on some point south of her face. His nose was crooked, obviously it’d been broken—more than once.

He grinned, revealing a missing front tooth. “’Scuse me, miss, but my buddy and me was wondering if them were real?”

Carly’s jaw fell slack. Where she came from, strange men did not approach women and ask if their…if their breasts were real!

She snapped her mouth closed. She wasn’t in Homer. No one here expected her to murmur a polite “excuse me” then quietly step around the gentleman, pretending he hadn’t just insulted her. If she followed the rules as she’d done all her life, that’s exactly what she would do in the face of such an impropriety.

Who was she kidding? If she’d followed the rules the way she was supposed to, she wouldn’t even be having this conversation. She’d be spending her wedding night at the Village Inn in her hometown before setting off tomorrow for the Florida Keys with her groom.

Rules. She hated them, but worse, despised herself for simply following along like a good little girl. Rules had nearly ruined her life. They’d almost seen her married to a man she didn’t love and who didn’t love her. Because of them, she’d accepted a position as a music teacher at her hometown high school, when that was the last thing she wanted to do for the rest of her life.

Well, Carly Cassidy was finished following rules!

“Actually,” she said, flashing Biker Boy a blithe grin, “it’s this damn corset I’m wearing. Ridiculous contraption, don’t you think?”

Biker Boy’s beady eyes rounded, making him look almost cross-eyed. His crooked nose turned bright pink, the color slowly spreading over his wide, puffy cheeks.

He cleared his throat. “I meant your eyes, miss. They’re a real nice turquoise color, and Joe thought they was them colored contacts some women like.”

“Oh.” Heat spread over her own cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I thought…I thought you meant…Oh sweet Mary, she felt like a fool. Even if she was through following everyone else’s rules, rudeness was quite unacceptable. She felt just awful for embarrassing him. Although she had to admit, Biker Boy and blushing weren’t exactly synonymous.

His gap-toothed grin was sheepish. “It’s okay. So are they? Your eyes,” he added meaningfully.

She grinned for the second time that day. “Yes, they’re real. And I really am sorry. Uh…can I buy you a drink? You know, as an apology.”

Biker Boy took a step back and swept his beady blue gaze over her. “Don’t you have someplace to go?”

“Not until the tow truck driver shows up for my car.” Even then, she had no particular destination in mind, but she’d worry about that later. From now on, she was going to make her own rules. Carly’s Law, she thought, with a mutinous lift of her chin, would be to live life as it comes, and do it with gusto. Provided she could shelve the guilt plaguing her, she might even be able to start living by her new laws. Once she decided what they were, of course.

She stooped to gather her dress, then smiled up at Biker Boy. “Do you have a name?” she asked. She didn’t think he’d appreciate the nickname she’d given him, but the faded Harley-Davidson motorcycle T-shirt was rather telling.

“Benny,” he said, flashing her a grin again.

“Well, Benny,” she said, tossing the train over her arm. “I have a drink waiting for me at the bar, so unless you plan to join me, you’ll have to excuse me.”

She marched back inside the barroom and headed straight for the bar and the lone drink waiting for her on a paper napkin. With a little concentration and ingenuity, she managed to climb onto the bar stool despite the weight of her dress. She set her bag in front of her, reached for the glass and took her first very un-ladylike drink of straight Scotch.

The fiery brew instantly seared her throat. Her stomach roiled, then ignited into a ball of flame. What had the bartender given her? Lighter fluid?

She coughed, sputtered, then wheezed out a breath. Undaunted, she downed another fraction of whiskey. The second drink felt no better than the first.

Benny and his friend approached her, occupying a bar stool on either side of her. “This is Joe.” Benny introduced his friend with a crook of his thumb. “He thought your eyes were fake.”

Carly looked over at Joe. He wasn’t quite as homely as Benny, but someone needed to have a serious discussion with him about personal hygiene.

“Are you a mechanic by any chance?” she asked, wondering how anyone could have that much grease under his fingernails and not spend his day beneath the hood of someone’s car.

Joe grinned. Joe had all of his teeth, she noticed. “I fix lawn mowers.”

Carly nodded, then took another drink of whiskey. Too bad, she thought. Maybe she could’ve gotten him to take a look at her car and figure out why it had died.

By her fourth attempt at the Scotch, she’d started to feel just a teensy bit numb. Numb was good. Numb didn’t allow room for guilt or regrets.

Someone fired up the jukebox again, and a series of alarms sounded, followed by the mellow strum of an electric guitar. Benny signaled for the bartender, who took his sweet time. “What’ll it be boys?” she asked them, flashing Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome a grin that only made his frown deepen.

“I thought I told you one drink,” he said, his voice a heck of lot smoother than the alcohol he served. He flipped the cap off two bottles of beer and set them in front of Benny and Joe.

“Give her a break, Wilde,” Joe said. “She’s waiting for a tow truck.”

Wilde looked at her with hard eyes. “She doesn’t belong here.”

“She has a name,” Carly said before draining her glass. “And it’s Carly. And Carly wants another—” she pointed at her empty glass, trying like the devil to remember what she’d just ordered “—another one of these.”

Those dark chocolate eyes narrowed, but she ignored that and concentrated on his face. He has a nice chin, she thought. Strong and square. And those eyes. A soft sigh escaped her lips. A woman could easily get lost in all that intensity.

A series of little tingles skirted along her spine, then spread outward over her tummy, making her feel warm and cozy. If this was the way alcohol made people feel, no wonder such a large majority of the population imbibed on occasion.

Wilde braced his hands on the bar and leaned forward. She watched in fascination as his biceps strained against the fabric of his white T-shirt. The urge to trace her fingers along all that muscle was strong. Too strong, she thought, and frowned. Funny, but she’d never once considered doing that to her abandoned bridegroom.

“Don’t you have someplace else to go?” he asked, his deep voice as intoxicating as his eyes, no matter how disagreeable his attitude. Well, not exactly disagreeable, she amended, but he wasn’t the most friendly person she’d ever met.

She let out another little sigh and propped her chin in her hand and looked into eyes filled with distrust. “Not for the moment.”

“Isn’t someone wondering where you are?” he asked, looking pointedly at her wedding dress.

She ignored the reminder of her current state of shame and traced her finger along the rim of her empty glass, still wishing she could do the same to those incredible biceps and corded forearms.

“Oh, I’m sure they’re all quite curious.” Curious, concerned and disappointed in her. She’d never done anything remotely irresponsible in her life…until now.

The Rolling Stones began singing for a little sympathy for the devil. “Don’t you have any music from this century on that jukebox?” she asked him, anxious to change the subject. She didn’t want to start thinking about what she’d done or about the people she’d hurt by running off like a big fat coward.

“You want Top Forty, Princess, you’ll have to go to City Lights.” He slapped a damp towel on the bar in front of her. “I’d be more than happy to call you a cab.”

She ignored his blatant hint to leave and turned her head to the side, resting her temple against her fist. She let her gaze wander over the dozen or so patrons in The Wilde Side before looking back at Wilde. “I bet if you smiled more, you’d attract a lot more customers.”

He pushed off the bar, taking his damp rag with him, but not before giving her a look that said he didn’t appreciate her free public relations consultation. When he returned, he set the drink in front of her, and shot Benny and Joe a warning look before moving down the bar a few paces.

A warning about what? she wanted to know.

Benny leaned forward, bracing his big beefy elbows on the bar. “You from around here, Carly?”

She took a sip of her Scotch, keeping her gaze on Wilde. Using long, slender fingers, he gathered empty glasses from the bar and set them in a tub of soapy water. He turned, and she caught a glimpse of his backside, admiring the way the soft denim hugged his body. The man definitely wore his jeans well.

She looked at Benny. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

“Are you from around here?”

She shook her head. “Nope.”

“Just passing through?” Joe asked before lifting the bottle to his lips.

She frowned and thought for a minute before nodding slowly. “That about sums it up,” she said quietly.

Benny turned, leaning on the bar, and looked down at her. “So, uh…where’s your groom?”

“I don’t know,” she said around the sudden tightness in her throat. “He’s probably being consoled by our families and friends because of what I did.”

Carly’s frown deepened. Because she’d panicked, she’d hurt people, and that bothered her more than her uncertain future. Family was still important to her, and heaven knew she had more than her share of family to go around. She’d been selfish and irresponsible, and the guilt weighed heavily upon her shoulders.

How was she going to break rules if she couldn’t do it without harboring guilt?

She sucked in a deep, shuddering breath and looked up at Benny. And then she burst into tears.

2

Rule 2: A lady will always strive to maintain a hint of mystery.

COOP SLID A pilsner glass over the scrub brush inside the metal tub of hot soapy water. He concentrated on twisting the glass over the scrub instead of allowing his gaze to drift back to the platinum bride with the chickie-boom curves and eyes the color of the Mediterranean Sea at sunset.

She was trouble. The kind of trouble a guy like him enjoyed and could easily be attracted to if he’d let himself get involved.

He couldn’t afford to get involved, not when he had a business to salvage.

He swished the glass a few more times over the scrub before dipping it into the tub of clear hot water, then added it to the rack to dry. The Stones CD on the jukebox faded into Carlos Santana’s sultry ode to a black magic woman, the momentary silence between CDs interrupted by hushed conversation and a sudden wail from the south end of the bar.

Cooper let out a sigh and shook his head, fighting the urge to stop what he was doing and head back down the bar toward the lush little number in white. That plaintive wail of hers was easily a barometer to her sorry emotional state, which no doubt included equal doses of regret and guilt now that a couple of stiff drinks had dulled the shock of her act of desperation.

Benny looked helplessly at his buddy Joe. “Don’t cry, Carly. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Carly muttered something Coop couldn’t quite make out, then she looked up at Benny. After a rather noisy sniffle, she dropped her forehead against the bar and sobbed louder.

Coop hid the wry grin on his lips when Benny’s jaw fell slack. “It’ll be okay,” Benny said, thumping the crying woman on the back in a rough attempt at sympathy.

“You gonna do something ’bout that, Coop?” Marty hitched his thumb in the blubbering bride’s direction. “She’s gonna chase off the customers, son, and you can’t afford that. If we wanted to hear a woman whine, we’d stay home.”

Considering his blue-collar clientele, Marty definitely had a point, Cooper thought. Fred and Lou were already loading their custom pool cues into their cases and preparing to leave.

“Why me?” Cooper muttered. He slapped a dry towel over his shoulder. “Of all the bars in Chicago, why this one?”

Marty chuckled. “Face it, Coop. When it comes to luck, if it wasn’t for bad, you wouldn’t have any.”

He very nearly agreed, except the pitiful state of The Wilde Side wasn’t of his making. No, that had been Hayden’s doing, or undoing, he thought grumpily. He’d known exactly what he was getting into when he’d promised his uncle he’d take care of the place—a lost cause. The neighborhood tavern had been around since the late fifties, and a few of the regulars never failed to remind him that the bar was as much a part of Chicago history as old Mrs. Leary’s cow. He could probably teach the teary bride a few things about guilt, he thought, because every time he considered closing down the bar, that’s exactly what he felt—a hefty dose of guilt about going back on a promise to his uncle.

Luck had nothing to do with the obstacles Coop faced. Poor planning and allowing a woman to cloud his uncle’s judgment did, however, and Coop had nothing to blame but his loyalty to Hayden for his current problems and the sorry state of his own finances. He couldn’t afford to dump another dime into the bar, but if things didn’t turn around soon, he’d have no choice but to close the doors for good. And a blubbering bride chasing off what customers he had left wasn’t helping matters.

He headed down the bar toward the odd threesome, stopping long enough to lower the volume on the jukebox. Benny and Joe were good guys, rough on the outside and always anxious for a little action, legal or otherwise. But anyone who took the time to get to know Benny West or Joe Lanford knew they were a couple of pussycats underneath the scruffy denim and chrome chains. What did surprise Cooper, though, was their matching soft spots for the curvy little damsel in distress. They made a habit of steering clear of the sweet and pure types, not that any frequented the bar, but one look at the teary bride and Cooper knew she’d easily reside at the top of the good-girl list.

Oh well, he thought, snagging a box of tissues from behind the bar. At least with Benny and Joe playing bodyguard, not many would be anxious to hassle the bride.

He slapped the box of tissues down in front of her. “Turn off the waterworks, Princess. You’re spooking my customers.”

She sniffed and lifted her short cap of platinum curls, casting those intriguing eyes filled with moisture his way. Something twisted behind his ribs at the despondency cloaked in her gaze. Certainly not his heart. He didn’t need this. Not now when he was a bank statement away from financial ruin. Hadn’t he learned anything from the mistakes of his uncle and his mother?

Obviously not, considering the way the buxom bride was making his heart slam into his ribs every time she shifted her turquoise eyes in his direction.

“I’m sor…sorry,” she said, a huge tear spilling from her spiked lashes. “I’m not supposed to cry in public.”

“Who said you can’t cry in public?” Joe asked, his gravelly voice filled with genuine sympathy as he gently patted her shoulder.

Another sniff followed a tug on a tissue from the box. She looked at Joe. “It’s a rule.”

“Who made up a dumb rule like that?” Benny asked, his puffy face filled with curiosity.

Carly shrugged, a barely perceptible lift of one satin-clad shoulder that drew Coop’s gaze like a magnet to a pair of very full breasts. “I don’t know,” she said, dabbing her eyes. “But there are thousands of them. And I’ve always adhered to them, until now.”

Coop crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels. “What do your rules say about a bride in a bar without her groom?”

Carly pulled in a deep breath.

Cooper winced and waited, wishing he’d kept to the opposite end of the bar.

She wailed again, burying her face in the already crumpled tissue.

“Aw, Coop. Now look what you did,” Benny chided him. He smacked Carly on the back with his beefy hand in another poor gesture of comfort.

“Ow,” she muttered between sobs.

“We just got her calmed down,” Joe said, shooting him a disgruntled glance. “Why’d you have to go and get her started up again?”

Coop gave them both a hard look. “Why don’t you two find out where she belongs and see about returning her?”

“She’s not a lost puppy,” Benny scolded. His pencil-thin eyebrows pinched together in a frown. “Some guy stood her up. On her wedding day.”

Carly shook her head, blond curls bouncing with the movement. “No, he didn’t.” She reached for another tissue. “I…I ran away,” she managed before issuing another ear-splitting wail.

Cooper rolled his eyes. He tried to tell himself he didn’t care. He didn’t care about her or why she’d left her groom at the altar. The firm reprimand didn’t change the fact that he was lying to himself, nor lessen the gnawing in his gut he could only describe as something a lot more interesting than curiosity.

Something he didn’t want or need. Dammit, he’d made a promise and he wasn’t about to let a voluptuous female, no matter how attractive, distract him. And Carly had diversion written all over her.

“Just keep it down,” he groused, then moved a couple of feet down the bar to serve another customer.

“I’m sure you had a very good reason for leaving like that,” Joe said, sliding her drink closer. “Here. Drink up, Carly. It’ll cure what ails ya.”

She dropped the bunched-up tissues on the bar and took the glass in both hands, downing the Scotch as if it was no stronger than a soft drink. Cooper didn’t want to be around when all that booze hit.

She hiccuped and waved her slender hand in the air. “Could I have another, please?”

“Anything you want, Carly,” Joe said, his gruff voice ridiculously saccharine. “You just tell Joe all about it, okay?”

“Aw, hell,” Cooper muttered to himself. If she wanted to get plastered, then that was her problem. What did he care if she’d have the devil to pay come morning when she woke up with a whopper of a hangover? It wasn’t as if he’d be holding her head while she bowed to the porcelain god.

He delivered another Scotch, adding more water than booze to her glass, then moved down the bar to take care of a few more customers before wandering back toward her and her mismatched caretakers.

Curiosity, he told himself. That’s the only reason he continued to take up residence at the south end of the bar. He was curious as to how she came to be in his tavern. It had nothing whatsoever to do with attraction, sexual or otherwise, even if he couldn’t seem to keep his gaze from straying to those lush curves.

She looked at him when he stopped in front of her, and his gut tightened.

Damn!

Curiosity, he attempted to convince himself again. He was not reacting to those big turquoise eyes.

She braced her elbows on the bar and hung her head, her soft white-blond curls swaying forward, brushing her cheeks. Hunched slightly over the bar like a regular, she provided him with a perfect view of her ample cleavage. Damned if he could drag his eyes away to safer territory. If he wasn’t careful, he’d start drooling any minute.

Images filtered through his mind.

Erotic images.

Cooper frowned. He didn’t have time for this, no matter how tempting or alluring.

“I tried to tell him yesterday,” she said suddenly.

“Who?” Joe asked, tipping back his beer.

“Dean,” she said, trailing her finger over the rim of her glass. “I tried to tell him when we went to meet my sisters at the country club to finish the decorations for the reception. I tried to tell him and he just wouldn’t listen to me.”

Benny shrugged. “Hey, at least you tried,” he added sympathetically.

“There are over three hundred family and friends eating chicken Kiev right now. Baked potatoes with little pats of butter molded into perfect squares with my and Dean’s initials on them. They were supposed to be celebrating the beginning of our life together.”

She reached for the glass and tossed the contents back like a shot. “He just wouldn’t listen,” she said again. “He kept insisting it was only prewedding jitters.”

Considering she was on her third drink, she hadn’t slurred a single word despite Coop’s doubts about her being an experienced drinker. Her skin looked too soft and smooth, having none of the telltale signs of someone who frequented the bottom of a bottle. His fingers itched to touch her, to see for himself if her skin was as silky as it looked.

He made a fist and turned away, moving down the bar to serve a couple of men he didn’t recognize. They’d come into The Wilde Side looking for a little relaxation, or a little action. From the sly glances they cast in Carly’s direction, Cooper had a bad feeling action would be on the menu for the night, unless he found a way to get rid of her.

For the next hour, he served customers, refilled drinks and made polite conversation. A few of the guys asked him about the lone bride, but for the most part, other than an occasional off-color joke, now that she’d finally quieted, no one paid her much attention.

During a brief lull, and against his better judgment, he found an excuse to wander down to her end of the bar again.

Benny polished off his beer and requested another. “I almost got married once,” Cooper heard him tell Carly.

Her head snapped around and she blinked a few times. “You did?”

Cooper slid a fresh beer in front of Benny, hiding his grin at her reaction. When a guy was as butt-ugly as Benny West, chasing women didn’t exactly mean he’d catch them.

“Sure did,” Benny said, a hint of melancholy in his voice. “But I didn’t like the thought of being tied down to one woman.”

Carly blinked several times, but Cooper had to give her credit when she kept a straight face. Either she was already ripped or one of the most tenderhearted creatures he’d ever met.

“Did your limbs quake?” she asked.

“Naw,” Benny said, flashing her that gap-toothed grin. “But I puked once.”

Carly’s jaw dropped. “Really?”

Cooper cleared his throat to keep from laughing, then grabbed a damp rag to start wiping down the bar.

At Benny’s nod, she turned her attention to Joe. “Are you married?”

Joe set his beer aside. “Not me. No way.”

She tilted her head to the side, those bouncy curls brushing her cheek. “I don’t think marriage is all bad,” she said after a moment. “Not really. I’ve got six older sisters, and they’re all happily married. Well, not Jill,” she said, as if they knew to whom she was referring. “But that’ll probably change soon.”

“Maybe you weren’t ready to get married,” Cooper reasoned, wanting to bite his tongue off for getting involved. Would he ever learn?

Carly flashed her intriguing gaze his way. “Probably not,” she said quietly. A frown tugged her brows together. “But how do you know when you’re ready?”

Cooper didn’t answer, because he didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t shatter those little-girl illusions she no doubt harbored. When it came to marriage, role models had been in short supply for him. From the few guys he’d known in the navy who’d walked down the aisle, he’d learned that marriage and the navy didn’t mix. As a SEAL, he hadn’t spent much time in one place and had wisely chosen not to tie himself down. Even with the lack of role models in his life, he knew wedded bliss wouldn’t be a reality unless he came home more than a couple of days every month or two.

When he didn’t provide a response, Carly looked to Benny and Joe for insight. Both men remained silent, contemplating their beers. “That’s what I thought,” she said after a few moments.

Benny turned and gave her a wide grin. “You know what you need?”

Carly let out a hefty sigh, crossed her arms on the bar and rested her cheek on her satin-covered forearms. “Sure. A job, a place to live and some serious direction in my life.”

Benny shook his head. “Uh-uh. You need to have some fun and just forget about everything else for a while.”

“Great idea,” Joe added.

She lifted her head to look at Benny. “How long is a while?”

Benny shrugged. “I dunno. Tonight. A week. A month.”

Joe slapped his hand on the bar. “How about a year?”

She straightened, her eyes filling with interest. Dangerous interest, in Cooper’s opinion.

“You’re suggesting I just run away from my problems?”

Cooper scooped her empty glass off the bar. “Isn’t that why you’re here?” he asked.

She turned her head, her gaze colliding with his. “That wasn’t very nice.”

He shrugged. “I just call ’em as I see ’em, Princess.”

Her chin lifted a notch and a defiant light sparked in her gaze, highlighting her irises with tiny flecks of gold. Why that made his gut tighten even more, he couldn’t be sure, but he sure as hell liked the way she looked at him. She might be an emotional wreck, but he suspected there was too much fire and spunk behind the teary-eyed bride routine for her bout of alcohol-enriched depression to last for very long.

And damn if he didn’t like fire and spunk.

A lot.

She made a noise that bordered on a snort, then turned her attention back to her bodyguards. That chin of hers inched upward another defiant notch, too. “What kind of fun?” she asked, determination lacing her sweet voice.

The big guy shrugged. “Wanna shoot some pool?”

She glanced over her shoulder to the pool tables. “I don’t know how to play.”

“It’s okay,” Joe said, standing. “We’ll teach you.”

She shrugged and slid off the bar stool. “Okay. But only until the tow truck driver shows up. Then I have to leave.”

And go where? Cooper almost asked, but stopped himself in time. He didn’t care. He didn’t want to care, but there was something about her that spiked his interest, regardless of what a distraction like her could cost him.

“Let’s make it interesting,” Joe suggested, leading her away from the bar. “Let’s play for drinks. Winner buys.”

Lyrical laughter drifted to Cooper as he kept a watchful eye on the bride while pulling a beer from the cooler. For the next hour or two, other than an occasional glance in her direction, he didn’t have time to worry about Carly. She was safe with Benny and Joe. It was Saturday night, and thankfully the bar was somewhat busy for a change. With his waitress off because of a sick kid, he was on his own, and he didn’t have time to baby-sit a hot number in white, even if his gaze kept straying toward her more times than he cared to admit.

By midnight, the bride had disappeared without a word, and he tried to tell himself what he felt wasn’t even remotely close to disappointment, but gratitude. The last thing he needed was to get tangled up with a woman when he had more important things to worry about. Like finding a way to hang on to The Wilde Side until his uncle came to his senses again.

By the time he ushered the last customer from the bar, Coop was beat. He emptied the till and started cleaning up rather than putting it off until the next day. Sunday was the only day of the week the bar opened later in the afternoon, and he looked forward to a few extra hours to himself.

As he mopped the floors, his mind drifted to the platinum blonde with the lush body. While he finished cleaning up the men’s room, he wondered if perhaps he should’ve asked her two self-appointed bodyguards where she’d gone.

She was none of his business, he thought grumpily, flipping off the light. He shoved the mop into the metal bucket and wheeled it across the hall to the ladies’ room. It wasn’t as if he’d ever see her again. Or even that he cared.

Then why couldn’t he stop thinking about her, wondering if she was all right?

Because he was genetically predisposed. How could he stop thinking about her when his DNA forbade it? He couldn’t, and gave a heartfelt thanks to his guardian angel for taking the Princess out of the equation.

He pushed open the door to the ladies’ room. Miles of dirty white satin spilled from beneath the door of the last stall, tangled around a delicately shaped foot.

Cooper swore colorfully. So much for someone upstairs looking out for him.

“Party’s over, Princess,” he called out as he crossed the asphalt tiles to the last stall.

She didn’t respond.

He pounded on the metal door. “You all right?”

No answer.

Great. Just what he didn’t need. He let out a rough sigh followed by a few more curses and tried the door, but she’d locked it. This wasn’t the first time some drunk had passed out in one of his bathrooms. But she wasn’t some drunk, he reminded himself. She was a runaway bride who’d had too much to drink after an emotionally exhausting day, and no doubt on an empty stomach.

He had two choices, and neither option thrilled him. If he called Chicago’s finest and let them deal with her, they’d toss her delectable backside behind bars. Having spent a few nights of his own in the drunk tank after carousing with his buddies on shore leave, the thought of her spending the night in one left him with a bad taste in his mouth. The other option left him with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He had no other option, he thought, at least none that would allow him to continue to live in peace with his conscience.

Crouching, he peered under the door. She was sound asleep, curled on her side, using her upper arm for a pillow. He slid his fingers over her slender ankle, ignoring the strong urge to smooth his hand over the rest of her shapely leg.

He tried to shake her awake. “Carly? Come on, Princess. Time to rise and shine,” he said gently.

Nothing. Not even a soft little moan or a flutter of those lashes fanning her pale cheeks. She was out cold.

“So much for not being around when the booze hit,” he complained, then worked to open the stall. Once he had it opened, he moved into the cramped space beside her, trying one last, useless time to wake her.

Carefully, he eased his arms around her and managed to get her and her cumbersome dress out of the stall. She issued a soft little moan when he lifted her into his arms, curling her slender hand against his chest. With the lightweight bundle held securely, he concentrated on getting her upstairs into his apartment without tripping over her dress, and not the way her full breasts brushed against his chest when she sleepily wound her arms around his neck.

He shouldered his way down a short hallway to his old bedroom. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Princess,” he said, easing her onto the twin mattress. “In a few hours, you’re gonna be feeling like you’ve been run down by a Peterbilt truck at full speed.”

He straightened and looked down at her, not sure what to do next. There were still things in the bar that needed his attention, but he couldn’t very well leave her trussed up in her wedding dress and Lord knew what else for the night. Or could he?

No, he decided against his better judgment. He couldn’t, but the thought of removing all that satin to reveal smooth skin didn’t exactly appeal to him, either. He took that back. It more than appealed to him, and that was the first and foremost reason for him to walk out and leave her be, regardless of how uncomfortable she looked.

Muttering a few more curses, he started with her shoes, then pushed up the heavy satin to reveal the lacy tops of white stockings covering the shapeliest pair of legs he’d ever seen.

He eased out a breath. Very nice.

What the hell was wrong with him? As if he didn’t have enough trouble, here he was borrowing more than he could handle by undressing a woman—an unconscious woman—he didn’t even know. Convinced he was certifiable and just looking to get his butt sued, or worse, he removed her stockings anyway, along with a blue satin and lace garter her groom should have slid from her leg as dictated by tradition.

She sighed, a soft sound that stirred his blood. Ignoring the heat uncurling in his belly, he tugged the satin down to cover her legs, then shifted her weight to expose a long row of pearl buttons running along her spine. Once he had them undone, he eased the dress from her arms and managed to pull the heavy fabric away from her.

Cooper was sweating, and it had nothing to do with the warmth of the sultry evening and everything to do with the beauty lying in his childhood bed with her legs angled in a seductive pose. Wearing a scant pair of pure white lace panties cut high on her thigh and a matching corset that enhanced the swell of her breasts, she was a vision.

A sensual vision that had his blood pumping fast through his veins.

And a distraction he didn’t need or welcome.

He left the bedroom only to return a few minutes later with one of his T-shirts. Lifting her in his arms again, he pulled the shirt over her head and slipped her limp arms through the sleeves. Once he had her decently covered, he worked the back lacing of the corset, pulled it from around her and firmly tugged the shirt down.

A dreamy little sigh escaped her parted lips when he eased her back onto the bed. “Hmm,” she murmured, turning onto her side. Her hand landed in his lap, dangerously close to his fly.

Her slender fingers flexed.

A flash of heat flared in his gut and spread south.

He sat on the edge of the bed staring down at her, his gaze divided between the blissful expression on her face and the delicate fingers brushing his fly.

What the hell was he supposed to do with her now?

Absolutely nothing!

He had a business to salvage thanks to Hayden’s obsession with the opposite sex. He couldn’t afford a distraction, especially one with a body made for sin and a sassy glint in her turquoise gaze capable of sending his testosterone levels soaring.

“Nothing,” he muttered, and gently eased away from her.

He crossed the room and flipped off the overhead light, quietly closing the door behind him. He hoped his lapse into knight in shining armor was brief, praying it wouldn’t cost him any more than it already had: the unexpected need clawing his gut.

Too bad the only relief he suspected existed resided in the form of a buxom Princess sleeping off the effects of too much alcohol on an empty stomach.

3

Rule 3: A lady will never openly seek an invitation, but will wait until one has been extended to her.

CONSCIOUSNESS returned with a vengeance.

Carly eased her eyes open to mere slits, then quickly squeezed them closed against the blinding sunlight streaming through an open window. A series of jackhammers pounded on the street, or somewhere.

Her head?

Sweet Mary, what had she done?

Like a bad movie, the events of the previous day swam through her muddled and pounding head. Her panicked flee from the church. A hastily written note with virtually no explanation as to why she couldn’t go through with the wedding. The drive into Chicago. Her car breaking down in front of a bar, followed by far too many Scotch on the rocks for someone who’d never tasted anything stronger than sacramental wine.

She opened her eyes and groaned, grabbing her head in both hands, hoping to still the memories and lessen the pounding. She failed on both counts.

A flash of color caught her attention. Carefully, she opened one eye. Blue. Navy blue cotton?

She sat up quickly—too quickly—and heard the sound of a pitiful moan. Good grief, was that her?

One hand continued to hold on to her head, while the other shot to her rolling stomach. A few deep breaths later, she eased her eyes open again and looked down.

She was wearing a T-shirt.

A man’s T-shirt?

Frowning took too much energy, so she simply looked around the unfamiliar room. Where was she? Nothing snagged a memory. Worse, there just weren’t any memories, no clues as to how she ended up in a strange room dressed in a man’s T-shirt.

She spied her wedding gown laid carefully over a wooden ladder-back chair in front of an old student desk and gasped. Not only her wedding gown but her stockings, garter and corset, as well, all neatly folded and sitting on the corner of the desk. Had someone undressed her? Had she…?

“Oh, sweet Mary.”

Carefully, she eased her legs over the side of the twin bed and stood, the hem of the T-shirt reaching a few inches above her knees. Thankfully, the room didn’t spin. She vaguely recalled spinning, but not here, not in this room. It had been somewhere cool that smelled of bleach and disinfectant.

She shook her head, then groaned when a fresh flash of pain stabbed behind her light-sensitive eyes. She crossed an old braided rug to the door, then quietly stepped into a short hallway. The dulled hardwood floor was cool beneath her feet as she debated heading down the corridor toward the intoxicating aroma of fresh-brewed coffee or making use of the bathroom directly across the hall.

The bathroom won.

She took care of her immediate needs, then splashed cool water on her face. Studiously avoiding her reflection in the mirror, she opened the medicine chest in search of toothpaste. A tube with the cap snapped firmly in place sat on the lower shelf beside a single toothbrush, a container of floss and a bottle of inexpensive aftershave. Whomever had taken her home was neat, and single.

Since her own toothbrush and other toiletries were still in her car in the overnight bag she’d snagged before bolting from Homer, she made use of her unknown host’s toothpaste by spreading it on the tip of her finger. She snapped the medicine chest closed, then further invaded his privacy by liberating a comb and attempting to restore a bit of semblance to her hair.

Feeling about as refreshed as she could without the benefit of a hot shower and a change of clothes, she left the sanctity of the small tiled bathroom and slowly made her way down the corridor. To her immediate left, a door stood open. Ignoring everything she’d ever been taught about good manners, she peered inside, hoping to gain any amount of knowledge possible about the identity of her host. All she received was further confirmation of his cleanliness, which pretty much eliminated Benny or Joe, based solely on their scruffy attire.

Still clueless, she left the corridor and entered a comfortably and neatly furnished living room. No newspapers cluttered the old but shining surface of a square coffee table. Not a single magazine lay near the vinyl recliner or was tossed carelessly on the shelf of the wall unit, which doubled as an entertainment center and bookshelf. Even the CDs and videocassettes were arranged in neat rows and—she peered closer—in alphabetical order. The only occupant in the wood-paneled living room was an overweight white cat, stretched over the back of the sofa. His big, round green eyes shot her a look of disdain before the furry beast hopped off his perch and meowed his way into another room.

Hoping the cat would offer some sort of clue as to her whereabouts, she followed. She stilled at the sound of a deep, masculine voice chastising the cat affectionately.

She knew that voice from somewhere.

Before she had time to resurrect the memory, the owner of the voice, followed by the cat, rounded the corner and stopped. Carly stared at a wide chest. Her gaze dipped to faded denim hugging lean hips and long legs, to bare feet. She didn’t need him to turn around to know his backside was one incredible specimen of masculine perfection. She’d spent enough time last night admiring that view.

Dragging her gaze away from all that perfection, she tipped her head back and looked into eyes the color of dark chocolate. She stifled a groan. Of all the people in Chicago, she had to end up half-naked in the grumpy bar owner’s apartment.

Had he undressed her? Just the thought of those hands on her body, her unconscious body, made her skin heat.

The missing pieces of her memory fell rapidly into place, particularly how rudely she’d behaved to him. Even telling herself he deserved it considering he’d been equally rude, not to mention judgmental, did nothing to lessen her embarrassment.

Not knowing what else to do, she extended her hand. “How do you do,” she said, pushing her hair out of her eyes with her left hand. “I’m Carly Cassidy, and I don’t think I’ve ever been more embarrassed in my life.”

She wished he would at least smile. She vaguely remembered his was one of those breath-stealing types. Sweet and sexy enough to make her heart flutter in her chest. Unfortunately, he wasn’t in a smiling mood this morning. He just looked down at her with that intense gaze as if deciding what to do with her.

“Considering your life only consists of twenty-four years, that’s not saying much.” He shifted his coffee mug to his left hand, then grasped hers in a firm grip that sent a series of tingles shooting up her arm to settle in the tips of her breasts.

“Cooper Wilde.”

She slowly pulled her hand from his. The tingling didn’t stop. “I don’t know whether to say it’s been a pleasure or not.”

A half grin lifted one corner of his mouth. “No, I don’t suppose you would. Coffee?”

“Any chance you might have some tea handy?” she asked, telling herself she was not affected by his lopsided grin. She’d heard him laugh the night before and seemed to remember the sound had made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. He really was quite attractive, frowns and all. If a girl went for all those angled lines and rough edges.

He shot her a look that said I think not.

“Coffee works for me.”

She followed him into a small, compact kitchen, tugging on the hem of the T-shirt. He pulled a mug from the cabinet and filled it. “Black?”

Why not? she thought, and nodded. After what she’d consumed previously, black coffee would be a definite improvement.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” she said, taking the mug from him before following him out of the room to a small square dining table beneath a pair of windows. “But, exactly where am I and how did I get here?”

He sat in a chair and leaned back. “I found you passed out in the ladies’ room after closing.”

She set her mug on the table and dropped into another vinyl padded chair. “Oh sweet Mary,” she muttered, dropping her head into her hands. Now she knew what had been cool and smelled of bleach and disinfectant. The bathroom floor!

He lifted his mug to his lips, his bittersweet gaze regarding her over the rim, revealing nothing other than perhaps mild interest. “It was either bring you up here or call the cops.”

“Thank you.” She could just imagine what her family would have to say about a visit on the wrong side of the divider at the local Gray Bar Hotel. Hi Dad, it’s Carly. Just calling you from my jail cell to tell you I’m fine.

She frowned and looked over at Cooper. “‘Up here?’” she asked, taking a sip of much-needed caffeine. The cat purred and dropped onto his side, stretching his large furry body beneath a sunbeam streaming through the open window.

“I live above the bar,” Cooper said.

Made sense, she thought. It was convenient. That thought made her frown deepen, wondering if he often brought home stray women. No, she decided. The single toothbrush told the truth. Cooper Wilde was extremely single and excessively neat. Even his hair was neat, cut in a short cropped style. No stray locks of sable brushing that forehead. Everything had a place and everything was in its place. No doubt he viewed her as a disruption to his neat and orderly lifestyle.

Well, now what was she going to do? She had no clothes since they were locked in her car, and she couldn’t very well prance around the city of Chicago in his T-shirt or her filthy wedding gown looking for a place to live.

Her car!

“Did the tow truck ever show up last night?” she asked him.

He turned to look out the window. “Either that or your car’s been stolen.”

“My purse. Do you have my purse?” If the driver had shown up, he would have given her a business card, or had her sign a receipt of some sort. Something to tell her the whereabouts of her vehicle, a change of clothes and her own toothbrush.

He stood and walked across the small dining area to a built-in cabinet. Opening a long center drawer, he pulled out her satin bag. “I found it when I went back down to finish closing the bar last night. You’re lucky it was there.”

She ignored the censure in his voice and opened the purse to riffle through the meager contents. Everything was there, except two twenties, which she’d no doubt spent last night in the bar. Unfortunately, no business card or receipt from the tow company. “Do you have a phone book?” she asked before he sat.

He retrieved the phone book and a cordless phone and set them in front of her, then disappeared into the kitchen. The cat promptly followed.

She scanned the pages until she found the name of the first tow company that sounded familiar. After a quick call to the dispatcher, she learned her car had indeed been towed to a local Ford dealership. The subsequent call was useless, however, since it was Sunday and the dealership was closed.

“You want to call someone to pick you up?” He placed a small plate with dry toast in front of her, and sat. Obviously he’d had experience with hangover remedies.

“Thank you,” she said, and nibbled on the toast. She could call any one of her sisters and they’d come to her rescue as quickly as humanly possible. She could even call her parents. Except Carly was tired of being rescued. And she was fed up with doing what everyone always expected of her.

As the youngest daughter, she’d been expected to stay close to home. She’d been expected to finish college and return to the family fold. She’d done that.

Everyone expected her to teach at the local high school, just like her older sister Wendy. She’d accepted a position. As expected.

Everyone—her family, friends, and the majority of the population of Homer, Illinois—had expected her to marry Dean Langley, the only guy she’d ever dated. They started going out in high school, so of course everyone just assumed they’d marry when they continued their courtship through her years at college. She’d even agreed, as expected, she thought with a hefty dose of cynicism, but as the wedding drew closer, she knew she couldn’t go through with it for one very simple reason—they weren’t in love.

The day before the wedding, she’d asked Dean if he was in love with her. His response hadn’t broken her heart, but had merely made her face the truth they’d both managed to avoid for months. Too many people had worked hard to make the wedding happen. Did she really want to disappoint them?

That was no reason to get married, as far as she was concerned, but Dean had countered her arguments with a diagnosis of prenuptial anxiety.

Anxiety about spending the rest of her life with a man she loved, rather than one she was in love with, she couldn’t argue.

Yesterday she’d taken the first step. A faulty one, considering she’d given in to her case of cold feet, ended up in a bar, passed out and woke up in the apartment of a strange but very sexy man with warm brown eyes and a body she couldn’t ignore without being a discredit to her gender.

She couldn’t go back. If she did, she’d no doubt end up married to a man she didn’t love, working in a job she didn’t want and living the rest of her life wondering what if.

She shifted her gaze back to Cooper. “There’s no one.”

He leaned forward and braced his tanned forearms on the table. “I probably shouldn’t bother, but considering you passed out in my bar and slept in my bed, I think that gives me some small right to ask…. Where are you from, Princess?”

Carly considered lying, but even if she was tired of following everyone else’s rules, she couldn’t forget twenty-four years of training and teaching by her minister father. Lying was one of the Top Ten, after all. “A small town about a hundred or so miles from here.”

“Family?”

She smiled. “Do six older sisters, five brothers-in-law, both parents, three grandparents and a great-grandmother count? Oh, and a couple of aunts, uncles and innumerable cousins, too.”

He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Go home, Princess,” he said gently. “You’ve got a lot of people who’re probably worried about you.”

She didn’t doubt that for a minute, considering how she’d left without anything more than a note that said she was fine but couldn’t go through with the wedding.

But how could she go home? She couldn’t. Not with the rest of her life at stake.

She looked across the table at her reluctant host. “I can’t.”

A deep frown pinched his eyebrows together. “Can’t? Or won’t?”

She sighed, wondering how she could make him understand. Someone like him no doubt lived exactly as he wanted, answering to no one and living by his own rules. How could he possibly understand what her life had been like up to this point?

“A little of both, I think,” she said, looking over at him. “If I go back now, I’ll slip right back into the pattern of doing exactly what everyone always expects of me. For once in my life, even if it’s only for a short while, I’d like to do things my way.”

“And you expect to accomplish this how?”

“By getting a job, finding a place to live.” She shrugged, wondering why she was even telling a total stranger her plans. It wasn’t as if she was seeking his approval, for goodness’ sake. Her days of seeking approval were over. “I haven’t quite worked out the details.”

He leaned forward and gave her a level stare. “You want some unsolicited advice?”

“Not really, but I expect you’ll give it to me anyway,” she muttered, reaching for the other slice of dry toast.

“Go home. As of right now, you have no car, no money, and—” his gaze slid over her, making her skin tingle as if he’d physically touched her “—no clothes.”

“I realize it isn’t exactly a stellar beginning,” she said, rubbing her hands over her arms to ward off the unexpected chill chasing over her skin. “But I have to start somewhere. And if I could impose upon you for just a while longer, would you mind terribly—”

“You can’t stay here,” he said abruptly, and stood.

She shook her head. “I wasn’t…” She’d planned on asking him if he’d mind finding a discount store open and picking up a few things for her so she’d at least have something besides his T-shirt to wear until she could get her bag. Until she had something decent to wear, she couldn’t very well leave his apartment.

She frowned as an idea took root.

A very dangerous idea, but one she couldn’t completely discard as inconceivable.

Why not? she wondered. If she was going to take control of her own life, why couldn’t she ask him if she could bunk in his spare room for an extra night? Because the rules said she shouldn’t? Because the rules said she couldn’t possibly do something so rude as to impose on him?

Carly’s Law: Don’t be afraid to ask for what you need or want.

“I won’t be any trouble,” she blurted, before she lost her nerve. “I’ll even share expenses until I can find my own place.”

Cooper stared down at her, having serious doubts about her statement of being no trouble. Little Miss Cute and Curvy had been trouble with an underscored and capital “T” since she’d walked into his life. No. Not his life, his uncle’s bar. The same bar he was close to losing if he didn’t find a way to turn it around.

“It’ll probably only be for a day. Two at the most,” she said, sincerity banked in her innocent gaze.

The night she’d already spent under his roof was one night too many. He’d tossed and turned until dawn. Every time he closed his eyes, she drifted across his mind, an unwanted visitor in his home and his thoughts. The feel of her smooth as satin skin, the light floral scent of her hair, the way her long sooty lashes fanned against her cheeks while she slept had haunted his dreams. His very racy dreams.

“I like living alone,” he lied, then walked back into the kitchen for more coffee. Truth be told, while he did enjoy his privacy, he’d never lived completely alone until recently, and reluctantly realized he missed having someone to talk to. Until he’d practically been forced by Hayden to join the service, he’d lived his life in this very apartment. After enlisting in the navy, he’d bunked with a bunch of other guys either in barracks, aboard a ship or in other places he’d rather not remember. There was Hercules, the cat his uncle had claimed kept a nonexistent rodent population under control, but Herc was a cat and didn’t exactly qualify as a roommate, or a conversationalist.

“I promise not to get in your way.”

He turned at the pleading note in Carly’s voice. She stood next to the counter with her arms crossed, which caused the hem of his T-shirt to lift and reveal more of her smooth, lightly tanned legs.

He let out a rough breath. “I’m too busy. I have a bar to run.” I can’t afford your kind of distraction.

He felt himself wavering under the force of her full and wide grin that had her eyes sparkling and the tempo of his heartbeat increasing.

“I won’t be any trouble,” she said. “Honest.”

He didn’t believe that for a minute. She was trouble of the worst kind, the kind that could easily drive him crazy…with need, if his physical reaction to her last night was any indication of his testosterone levels.

“I’ll even help you with the bar.”

He frowned. “I already have a waitress.”

“I didn’t see her last night.”

“Karen’s daughter is sick.” The little girl suffered with asthma, and considering Karen had taken the child to the emergency room the previous night, the chances of her making her shift tonight were slim. Still, Sunday wasn’t usually all that busy, except the Cubs were playing out of town and a few of his regulars would be in to watch the game on TV.

“What do you know about tending bar, anyway?” he asked, then quickly shook his head before he completely lost his sense, common or otherwise. “No. Forget it, Carly. Go home.”

He walked out of the kitchen and headed into the living room to the entertainment center. He had two hours until he opened the bar, and he had things to do. Things that didn’t include lusting after a tempting little distraction with a lethal body and a dangerous and determined glint in her ocean-blue gaze.

“I can’t go home,” she said from behind him. “At least not yet.”

His hand stilled above the power button to the small stereo system. “You ever been a waitress?” he asked, looking over his shoulder for his common sense and finding only Carly and those soft-as-silk legs tempting him beyond reason.

“No.” She crossed her arms again, drawing his attention to her breasts. “How hard can it be?”

He forced his mind out of the gutter. “The Wilde Side isn’t some trendy, upscale club in a nice, safe part of town. The tips are lousy and the customers aren’t looking for chitchat from some perky number like you. It’s a neighborhood tavern that serves hard drinks to hardworking men. You won’t fit in.”

“How do you know that unless you’re willing to give me a chance?”

He punched the button to the stereo and adjusted the volume low. “I just know.”

“That’s a cop-out.”

A grin he wasn’t really feeling tipped his lips. “It’s my bar, Princess.”

His uncle’s bar, but his responsibility. Carly was a distraction, plain and simple. The fact that he couldn’t get her out of his mind was more than enough reason for him to send her packing back to her safe world where people cared about her and were worrying where she’d gone.

With Karen off, he really could use the extra help, even if it was only to give him time to take care of other business matters regarding the bar. Matters that might allow the doors of The Wilde Side to remain open so he could keep his promise to Hayden, though it was a long shot.

“Why is this so important to you?” he asked before he could stop himself. Whatever happened to not caring?

She moved closer and trailed her finger along the entertainment center. “Before I go back home, I have to know I can make it on my own. I’ve never done anything important or even exciting my entire life. What everyone else wanted me to do, I did. I’ve always been the quintessential good girl. I’ve listened to and followed every single rule ever created. Boring and predictable. That’s me,” she said, then looked down at the dust-free pad of her finger with a frown before glancing up at him.

“All right,” he reluctantly relented. “I could use the help for a couple of days. But if you’re bored and looking for a vacation from staid and predictable, look elsewhere, Princess. The Wilde Side doesn’t have what you’re looking for.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, flashing him a grin full of sass that tightened his gut, instantly making him regret his decision. “I think spending some time on The Wilde Side could be very interesting.”

Cooper didn’t even want to go there. “It’s only temporary,” he managed, trying to shake a few wild images from his mind.

She stepped closer and looked up at him with those deep sea-colored eyes. Before he could guess her intent, Carly slipped her hand behind his neck and applied the slightest bit of pressure. “Thank you, Cooper,” she said, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, sexier than anything he’d heard in a very long time. “You won’t be sorry.”

He was more than sorry when her sultry gaze shifted to his mouth. Against his will, his common sense fled faster than rats fleeing a sinking ship. There was no other explanation available, he thought, angling his head to capture her sweet lips beneath his.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.