LITMIR.BIZ

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groom.

      Mackenzie Fortune.

      Mac.

      His shoulders looked beam-broad in the black tux, his height towering, his thick hair darker than charcoal and shot with silver at the sideburns. Black suited him, the same way it would suit a pirate. His angular face was set with strong bones and an elegant mouth and a no-nonsense square chin.

      Nobody messed with Mac. The lean, mean build had nothing to do with it. He was a business man, not a pirate dependent on brawn to get his way. She’d never heard him raise his voice, never seen him angry, but he had a way of silencing a whole room when he strode in. Those shrewd, deep-set green eyes could cut through chatter faster than a blade. The life lines bracketing his eyes and mouth reflected an uncompromising nature, a man who loved a challenge and never backed down from a fight. Mac was a hunk, but he was also one intimidatingly scary dude—at least for a woman who was uncomfortable around powerful men.

      A year before, Kelly had been wildly, blindly, exuberantly in love. The father of her baby had been an incredibly exciting man. A man she believed in heart and soul. A man she would have done anything for, anytime, anywhere, no questions asked—and unfortunately, had.

      Mac wasn’t the man she’d been in love with.

      He wasn’t the father of her baby.

      He was just the groom.

      But his gaze met hers with the directness of a sharp, clear laser beam as if no one else were in that room but the two of them. He didn’t smile—but that look of his immediately affected the panicked beat of her pulse. She was unsure what the dark, fathomless expression in his eyes meant, but that wasn’t news. She was unsure of nearly everything about Mac, but she promptly forgave herself for the wild panic attack. Surely it was understandable. Normally a woman would have to be crazy to marry a relative stranger, but nothing about Kelly’s life right now was normal. For a few moments there, she’d just selfishly forgotten what mattered—and it wasn’t her.

      If there was a man on the planet who could protect her baby, it was Mac Fortune.

      Nothing else mattered to her or even came close.

      She took a breath for courage, plastered on a smile and walked up the aisle to her groom.

      

      At thirty-eight, Mac had no belief in magic, but he’d always felt a certain kinship with Houdini. He understood how much hard work it took to become an accomplished escape artist. For Mac, it had taken ceaseless determination and unfaltering resolve and downright dedication to escape marriage all these years—particularly when the family never stopped hounding him to tie the knot. More than a few women had chased him—most were more interested in a key to the Fortune money than in him personally, but that hadn’t bothered Mac. He had always respected both greed and ambition. He’d enjoyed being chased. Hell, he enjoyed women. He just happened to have a violent allergy to marriage.

      Kelly had almost reached the edge of the red velvet carpet when Mac saw her stumble. She didn’t trip, but he could see the stress swimming in her eyes. Without hesitation, he swiftly stepped forward and grabbed her hand. The minister’s brow furrowed in a repressive little frown, silently letting Mac know that he’d broken with protocol in this shindig. Apparently the groom wasn’t supposed to put his mitts on the bride at this point in the proceedings. Reaching out to grab her wasn’t in the program.

      Tough. Kelly looked fragile enough to keel over. Ghosts had more color. And judging from the sweat dampening his bride’s shaky palm, she was even less thrilled by this marriage than he was. The humorous thought crossed his mind that at least they had a couple of things in common. Neither wanted this wedding.

      And neither had seen any way out of it.

      “Dearly beloved,” the minister began in a sonorous drone.

      Mac tuned out. Keeping his fingers curled in hers, he mentally calculated how soon they could escape this circus. The ceremony couldn’t take more than fifteen minutes? And then they were on the hook to stick around for the champagne feast Kate had put together. But the blizzard forecast would surely cut this short for everyone. In less than two hours, with any luck, they could be driving home—long before the clock struck midnight and brought in the new year.

      He felt eyes on his back. Watching him, studying him. At any wedding, the groom and bride were obviously the focus of attention, but Mac was well aware these circumstances were different. As vice president of Finance for the Fortune Corporation for almost a decade, his job had often been to bail the business—or the family—out of trouble. The clan was long on love and loyalty, but big money still made for big problems and big disagreements as well. If there was a problem that could cause embarrassment, someone had to make the boo-boo disappear. When everyone else was freaked out and wringing their hands, Mac had a long history for taking charge and doing what had to be done.

      This time, though, they weren’t so sure of him.

      He’d announced two weeks ago that he was going to marry her. It was the first time he’d ever seen the family stunned to silence. Part of that silence was relief—the problem of Kelly was no secret, but no one could agree on solutions. Even for a family who would he, cheat and steal for each other—and sometimes, unfortunately, took loyalty just that far—nobody had considered that marriage was an optional solution for this crisis, much less for Mac. They knew about his allergy. They couldn’t believe he meant it. They still weren’t dead positive he’d go through with it.

      Kelly’s hand suddenly squeezed his. He glanced down. For an instant he caught the tiniest hint of humor in her eyes. “The ring,” the minister prompted. From the highpitched crack in Reverend Lowry’s voice, Mac suspected he’d missed his cue at least once.

      His cousin Garrett Fortune, thankfully, was prepared to do the best-man job, and quickly palmed him the ring. Mac reached for Kelly’s left hand. The slim gold band was almost microscopic—hardly appropriate for a Fortune bride. But he’d offered Kelly any size carat rock she wanted, and she’d balked. She wanted no jewels and particularly no stones with a Fortune heritage—probably because it was Fortune money that had heaped this whole mess on her head.

      Yet as he struggled to fit on the ring, he was suddenly aware of her. Distractingly aware. He’d clasped her hand to offer support, but there was nothing intimate in that simple act of kindness. She was so nervous that her slim white hand was trembling like a leaf in a high wind. But her dress rustled against his thigh. And her scent drifted to his nostrils, some perfume that vaguely reminded him of spring daffodils, illusive and sweet. And he saw a silvery pale curl sneaking down behind the veil, escaping a hairpin, coiling on the pale white column of her neck. Mac wasn’t sure why his pulse suddenly bucked—possibly because it hit him with the slam of a freight train that he didn’t know her. At all.

      But the ring stuck on her knuckle, and then he pushed it past.

      “With this ring...” The minister said, and then waited.

      Kelly nudged him with her foot. “With this ring,” Mac repeated loudly and clearly.

      “I thee wed...”

      She didn’t have to nudge him this time. “I thee wed.”

      “I promise to love, honor and cherish...”

      Normally telling lies would have bothered him. But not for this. The integrity of a man was measured in honor—an antiquated value that Mac happened to believe was the judge of a man’s life. But the truth of this moment was between him and Kelly, and a bunch of words said in public had nothing to do with that.

      Still, the fibs obviously didn’t come so easily for her. When it was her turn to put a ring on his finger, she fumbled and flustered and almost dropped it. “With this ring,” she started reciting.

      Her voice barely managed the volume of a whisper. She had trouble pushing the ring onto his finger, and Mac could sense how uneasy she was about touching him. She couldn’t or wouldn’t meet his eyes when it was done, but again they were close. He could see the sweep of velvet-soft eyelashes shading her cheeks,

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