LITMIR.BIZ

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minute. He didn’t want to care about her. Didn’t want to want her. Didn’t want to see beyond what he’d already seen. She was the manipulative woman he’d first thought her. She had to be because anything else was simply unacceptable.

      They weren’t really married. He’d made her no promises and didn’t intend to, he reassured himself. When this month was over, he’d be leaving. Back to the Navy. Back to the next mission.

      And who, his mind demanded, would be here to look after Simon?

      The fierce scowl on his face that thought engendered was enough to convince most people to give him a wide berth, and Hunter was grateful for it. He was visited out. No more friendly chats tonight. All he wanted to do was survive this dance, get back to the castle and locate one of Simon’s bottles of aged scotch.

      At last, he found a slice of darkness, an alcove off the entrance, far enough away from the crowd that he could think without being interrupted by old friends. But close enough that his gaze could search out Margie. Damn it.

      What was it about her that got to him? She was nothing like the women he was used to. She was…unlike anyone he’d ever known. God, when he compared her with his ex, it was as if the two women were from different planets.

      Gretchen didn’t want to think about tomorrow. She was the quintessential party girl. She was ready for adventure, good in the sack and beautiful enough to make a grown man whimper. But, he reminded himself, just two months before Hunter had hinted that he might be thinking about settling down. Maybe getting married—okay, no time soon, but someday. When he was too damned old to go out and get himself shot anymore. Gretchen had backed off like he was on fire and she didn’t want to be singed by the flames. She’d broken up with him that night and taken off for a photo shoot in Peru, of all damn places.

      Shaking his head, Hunter folded his arms over his chest, leaned back against the cold wall and watched Margie. Unlike the gorgeous Gretchen, his temporary wife was all about the future. She was always planning tomorrows, looking ahead, dreaming dreams and finding a way to make them real.

      Hell, she knew their marriage was a lie, yet she continued to pretend to everyone in town that all was well between them. She continued to do her best for a town that she was going to be leaving soon.

      And she told sexy stories about him and a honeymoon that hadn’t happened.

      What the hell was he supposed to do with a woman like that?

      Of course, he knew what he wanted to do. At least, what his body was clamoring for. But sex with Margie would complicate a situation that was already so twisted he couldn’t see an easy way out. So he’d bury his lust and focus on getting through the next three weeks or so.

      In the next instant, he wondered where Margie would go when she left Springville. What would she do? What would Simon do without her?

      He rubbed one hand over his face and tried to wipe out the scrambling thoughts in his mind. But how the hell could he not think about her when she was there, in front of him, looking sexier and more desirable than ever?

      “I never really believed Hunter was married to her,” a woman said to her friend as she blithely walked past the shadowed alcove where Hunter stood silently.

      “What do you mean?”

      “Oh, come on.” The first woman, a brunette who looked familiar to Hunter, laughed lightly. “I mean, when you look at Margie, do you really think…hmm, there’s the woman for Hunter Cabot.”

      “I guess not,” her friend said and shifted to look at Margie.

      Hunter did too and frowned as the brunette kept talking.

      “I knew him in high school, and even then he was the stuff dreams were made of.”

      He frowned and thought about moving out of the shadows so the women would know he was there. Then he second-guessed that idea. He’d learned long ago that a man could learn a lot with a little eavesdropping, so he held his ground and waited.

      “I can imagine,” the second woman said. “The man is…wow.”

      “Exactly. He’s wow and she’s…ho-hum. I mean, she’s nice and everything—”

      Nice? Margie was nice? Gritting his teeth hard, Hunter glared at the brunette. Margie worked continuously for this town, giving everything she had, and these two women felt comfortable standing in the shadows of the dance Margie had arranged and bloodlessly tearing her apart? Temper sparked and a protective surge like nothing he’d ever known before rose up inside Hunter.

      “Completely,” her friend agreed quickly. “Margie’s a sweetie.”

      “But he’s a…god, and she’s a peasant. Never should have happened. And—” The brunette stopped, glanced at her reflection in a nearby window and smoothed her pinky finger over her bottom lip. Sighing, she said, “Until Hunter actually showed up here and claimed her, I never believed those stories she told all over town.”

      “Mmm,” her friend said on a sigh. “Like Bali?”

      “Yes…” The brunette shook her head, stared across the room at Margie and said, confusion ringing in her tone, “What the hell does she have that I don’t have?”

      “For one thing,” Hunter spoke up and stepped out of the shadows, startling both women into gasping. “She’s got me.”

      “Hunter—I—we—” The brunette threw her friend a desperate look, but that woman was already melting into the crowd, disassociating herself fast.

      He looked down into the brunette’s eyes and finally placed her. Janice Franklin. Cheerleader. Homecoming queen. And still the town’s reigning bitch, apparently.

      “Janice, right?”

      She brightened, obviously pleased to be remembered. “Yes.”

      Hunter just looked at her for a long minute or two. She was still pretty, in a hard, sharp way. And clearly, she thought highly of herself if she figured he’d just brush aside everything she’d said about his “wife” without a second thought. Well, she was wrong. He wasn’t going to stand there and let this woman—or anyone else for that matter—sharpen her claws on Margie’s hide. Why it mattered to him so much, he couldn’t have said. All he was sure of was that it did matter. He’d worry about the why of it later.

      “Well, Janice,” he finally said softly, chucking her chin with his fingertips, “let me tell you something else about my wife. What she has someone like you will never understand.”

      She blinked at him. “Well—I—”

      “Do yourself a favor,” Hunter told her as he left her babbling to herself, “don’t say anything else.”

      Riding a wave of righteous fury on Margie’s behalf, Hunter stalked through the crowd. His gaze locked on his wife, he was like a ballistic missile, focused solely on his target.

      Who the hell did those women think they were, talking about Margie as if she were less than nothing? As if she wasn’t good enough for him? Good enough? Hell, if she was everything she claimed to be, she was too damn good for him. What right did they have to say a word about his wife?

      The fact that he was inwardly defending the woman he’d been complaining about for days didn’t register with him. His only thought now was to get his hands on her. To make sure everyone here understood that they’d better treat her right.

      Across the room, Margie looked up and saw Hunter headed right toward her. He was hard to miss, she thought, with an inward sigh. In his white dress uniform, with the rows of colorful ribbons and medals on his chest, he looked like every woman’s fantasy. He was tall and strong and fierce and…headed right for her with an expression on his face that was a mixture of fury and determination.

      What was wrong? A woman beside her was talking, but Margie didn’t hear a word. Instead, she was caught up in the power of Hunter’s blue gaze locked on

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