His Convenient Virgin Bride

Amber playfully elbowed her in the ribs. “Let’s do it.”

Stephanie forced a carefree laugh, turning away from Alec. “I don’t care if we cut it before dinner.”

“Not without a picture,” said Melissa.

Stephanie kept the smile determinedly pasted on her face. “Sure.”

Alec dutifully moved up next to her and the ornate cake, draping an arm around Stephanie’s shoulders.

Despite her vow to remain detached, she flinched under his touch.

“It’ll all be over soon,” he promised in a whisper.

“Maybe for you,” she snapped. “You go right back to your regular life.”

He stiffened. “You want me to stay?”

“Of course not.” But she realized it was a lie.

She desperately wanted him to stay.

Six

It had been two weeks since Alec had seen or heard from Stephanie. Back in his compact, Chicago office, he’d filled every spare second with reviews of the various Ryder International divisions and queries to the possible whereabouts of Norman Stanton. He’d called in every outstanding favor and, quite literally, had feelers out all over the globe.

But no matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn’t get Stephanie off his mind. He knew he had to stay well away from her for both their sakes, but he couldn’t help wondering what she was doing. Was she still battling morning sickness? Was she picking out baby clothes? A crib? Thinking about a nursery? Had she been to the doctor again?

He was tempted to call, but he had to be strong. He’d seen the loneliness in her eyes and caught her fleeting glances his way after the wedding ceremony. She was vulnerable right now, and Alec couldn’t risk having her look to him for emotional support.

His instinct to care for his wife and unborn child might be strong, but if he gave in, it would be Stephanie who got hurt in the end.

A news update droned in the corner on his small television set, while the cordless phone on his desktop sharply chimed.

It was an unfamiliar area code, and he snapped up the receiver. “Creighton here.”

“Alec. It’s Damien.”

Anticipation tightened Alec’s gut. “What’ve you got?”

“We found him.”

Alec rocked forward in his chair, senses instantly alert. “Where?”

“Morocco.”

Alec closed his eyes for a brief second of thankfulness. “Good. Great. What now?”

Damien Burke was a decorated, former military man. He’d done tours in both special forces and army intelligence, and there was nobody Alec trusted more.

“The U.S. doesn’t have an extradition treaty with Morocco. Not that I’m suggesting we involve the Moroccan authorities. But Stanton will know that. You can bet that’s why he’s here. And that limits our bargaining power.”

“It’s not like we didn’t expect this,” said Alec. The man was smart enough to illegally drain millions of dollars from the Ryders then hide out in a foreign country. It stood to reason he’d done his research on extradition laws.

“I may be able to get him to Spain,” Damien offered.

Alec was cautious. “How?” Kidnapping was not something he was prepared to authorize.

Damien chuckled, obviously guessing the direction of Alec’s thoughts. “Margarita Castillo, Alec. Trust me, I’m not about to break the law and get myself thrown in a Moroccan jail.”

“Who is she?”

“An associate who, I promise you, will have Norman Stanton on an airplane within twenty-four hours.”

“And then?”

“And then a friend from Interpol will lay out the man’s options.”

Alec battled a moment’s hesitation. “You won’t do anything…You know…”

Damien scoffed. “‘You know’ won’t be even remotely necessary. I’ve watched the man all day. He’s soft as a tourist. We’re shootin’ fish in a barrel here.”

“Good.” A tentative satisfaction bloomed to life inside Alec. He might not be able to be with Stephanie in Montana, but he could do this for her.

Not that she’d ever find out.

“Touch base again tomorrow?” asked Damien.

“Thanks,” said Alec, signing off and sliding the phone back into the charger.

“-arrived at Brighton earlier this morning,” said the female, television news announcer, “and seen here heading for the barn area with her mare Rosie-Jo.”

At the sound of the familiar name, Alec’s gaze flicked to the television set.

“Anyone who follows the national circuit will remember this pair from Caldona where Stephanie Ryder and Rosie-Jo took first place.”

Alec reflexively came to his feet, drinking in the sight of Stephanie’s smiling face. She was dressed in faded jeans and a white cotton blouse. Her auburn hair was braided tight, and her amazing clear blue eyes sparkled in the Kentucky sunshine.

“She’s had an extraordinary year,” the male co-anchor put in.

“And an extraordinary career,” said the female. “If they take the blue ribbon this weekend, you have to expect the pair to be a shoe-in for the Olympic team.”

If they what?

“People are calling Rosie-Jo a cross between Big Ben and Miss Budweiser,” the announcer continued.

Alec gave his head a startled shake.

This was Brighton.

It was live.

Stephanie wasn’t allowed to jump. It was too dangerous for the baby.

“High praise, indeed,” the other answered.

Alec knew she was unhappy about the pregnancy, and he knew how desperately she wanted to compete. But she wouldn’t…She couldn’t…

She stepped past a cluster of reporters, Wesley beside her, leading Rosie-Jo.

“What would it mean to you to win at Brighton?” one reporter asked her.

“I’m sorry?” she cocked her head to better hear above the noise.

“What makes Rosie-Jo so special?” asked another, drawing Stephanie’s attention.

“Ambition.” She smiled. “She’s a powerful jumper, and she loves her job, so she’s always totally enthusiastic. But she’s still very careful.”

Stephanie took a step back, giving a friendly wave but ignoring the rest of the questions.

Alec flipped open his cell phone, dialing hers as he powered down his computer. He got her voice mail, left a terse message to call him then tried Royce.

By the time Royce’s voice mail kicked in, Alec was out the door on his way to the airport. He didn’t know what the hell she was thinking. Forget about who was vulnerable and who might get hurt, his job was to protect his unborn child.

The reporter’s question had startled Stephanie, so she’d pretended not to hear it. Word that she’d scratched from the competition had obviously not yet leaked out. But it would be common knowledge by Friday at the latest, and there would be questions, although she had no idea how she was going to answer them.

Wesley turned Rosie-Jo into her appointed stall at the Brighton grounds. His shoulders were tense, and he’d