LITMIR.BIZ

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She was chic and refined and perfect at all times, a flawless complement to her husband, the esteemed Maryland senator William Conroy IV.

      It was a cruel trick of fate that unconventional Andie had been born to such parents. She straightened, and her nervous thoughts found verification in the gilt-framed mirror covering one entire wall of the plush dressing room. Her dark, defiant, curly locks were already breaking free of the restraining lace headband with its attached tulle veil. No amount of makeup could hide her pixie freckles.

      The gown felt like a straitjacket, the expensive high-heeled shoes like torture devices. She’d already snagged the delicate hosiery when she’d broken one of her fingernails.

      She couldn’t go through with this.

      “No, Mother!” Andie cried. Then she realized how she must have sounded, and she hastened to repair the damage. “I mean, not right now. I—I just need a few moments to myself.”

      Enough time to run.

      “Are you all right, Andrea?”

      “I’m fine, Mother. Really.” Andie said what her mother wanted to hear. Her mother liked things to go as planned. Meaning, as William Conroy planned.

      Andie looked at her slim gold watch. She was to be wed in ten minutes! “Please, just give me five minutes,” she begged. Her voice cracked. Nerves jitterbugged in her stomach.

      Why had she let things go this far?

      She knew the answer to her own question. Nobody said no to William Conroy. Who knew that better than Andie? She’d been saying no to her father for twenty-five years, and he never listened. She might as well have been mute her entire life for all the attention he’d ever paid to her wants, her desires, her needs.

      She’d tried to conform. She’d even tried going to law school, when teaching art to kids was all she’d ever wanted to do.

      She’d tried to be the dutiful, model daughter her father wanted. She’d tried—

      Andie squeezed her eyelids tight, emotion stinging them. She’d tried to make him love her.

      She swallowed thickly, and her eyes flashed open. She shook her head.

      She’d tried—and she was through trying. She’d been censured and scolded and pushed for the last time. This was too much. She couldn’t marry Phillip Masterson! Here, in the church, in her dress, the stark reality of what she was about to do had hit her.

      Every inch of her slender five-foot-five body recoiled from this marriage. She didn’t love Phillip. Not in the least. And he didn’t love her. He loved her father’s power and position. Not her.

      “Are you sure, dear?” Her mother sounded worried.

      Andie almost broke down and started bawling. She imagined her mother sitting in the front row of the church sanctuary with hundreds of attendees behind her, waiting for her little girl to walk down the aisle—

      “You know how many of your father’s friends and colleagues are here,” Lillian went on. “These are important people. You don’t want to keep them waiting.”

      Andie blew out a disgusted breath. Of course. Her mother wasn’t worried about her. Her mother was concerned that she might inconvenience her father’s stuffy society connections.

      “I’m fine, Mother,” Andie repeated. Familiar hurt swallowed her whole.

      “All right, dear. I’m going to sit down now. Your father will be here to get you in five minutes. Next time I see you, you’ll be Mrs. Phillip Masterson!” she said, making the title sound like a privilege beyond compare. Then she clicked away in her high-heeled shoes, leaving her heavy, luxurious scent behind her.

      Silence. With shaking hands, Andie ripped off the ostentatious engagement ring with which Phillip had presented her, and set it on the dressing table.

      She cracked the door. The hallway was empty again. Nervous fear all but closed up her throat. She could barely breathe.

      She ran a dry tongue over her lips.

      Now!

      Quickly, she took the first small step out of the dressing room. Reaching around, she turned the lock in the door and pulled it shut behind her. Hopefully, it would take them a few minutes to get in and figure out she’d disappeared.

      She heard her father’s deep voice boom out from the vestibule. Five minutes! He was supposed to give her five minutes!

      No surprise that he wasn’t going to pay attention to her request.

      Andie scooped up the gown’s long train and dashed down the hall, in the opposite direction from her father’s voice. At the end of the hall was an exterior side door. She pushed through, looking over her shoulder. No one was in the hall.

      No one saw her leave!

      With her heart lurching and her breaths coming in quick hitches of panic, Andie ran from the huge, downtown church into the June heat. Into freedom.

      Tall oaks dotted the grounds. Parked cars filled the lot to the side of the building. Unfortunately, Andie didn’t have the key to a single one. She and her parents had arrived at the majestic Washington, D.C., church by limo.

      How could she possibly get away? What had she been thinking?

      In another minute, they were going to discover she was missing. They’d come looking for her...and find her. Her father would be furious.

      Another of Andie’s silly scrapes!

      Andie’s gaze darted all around, searching for hope. The light Saturday afternoon traffic—shoppers and tourists—flew up and down the broad avenue. As she watched, a mammoth, midnight-blue tractor-trailer rig pulled over to the curb in front of several parked cars.

      A man, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, emerged from the cab, a black dog at his heels. The man strolled onto the manicured grass while the dog ambled over to a tree to do its business.

      Andie’s gaze continued its hungry scan. Beyond the eighteen-wheeler, in the distance, she saw a taxi heading in her direction. It was like a gift from God.

      She sped over the grass toward the street. Her veil flew out behind her. Her dress flapped wildly. She ignored the confused glance the man shot her.

      The dog barked and started to follow her. She heard the man call him back.

      The taxi approached in the middle lane. Andie sprinted through two parked cars and into the street.

      “Taxi!” She extended her arm as she shouted, desperately willing it to pull over.

      She had no idea where she was going. And she didn’t care. She just wanted to get as far away from Phillip Masterson and William Conroy as she possibly could.

      The taxi zoomed past.

      Andie stopped dead in her tracks, immediate, desperate tears clogging her vision. Despair washed over her.

      A low-slung black sports car suddenly rose before her eyes, coming out of nowhere at a high rate of speed, in the very lane in which she stood. Andie stayed rooted to the spot, frozen, shocked, as the car bore down on her.

      She screamed.

      

      Troy Armstrong took in the woman as she shrieked in terror, the car racing too fast toward her. Adrenaline bulleted through him.

      He rushed at her. Throwing his arms around her tiny waist, he swept her out of danger. She felt light, like a flower. He stumbled backward and they crashed together onto the hard pavement between two parked cars, the woman collapsing atop him.

      The black sports car whizzed past.

      His dog, named Dog—part Lab, part mystery—barked excitedly.

      Troy lay still for a few seconds, dazed by the impact, feeling more than a little off balance. Usually, he wasn’t out driving his own trucks. His time was

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