Return of the Runaway Bride (5 page)

Water burst from the pipe, striking her full in the face with force enough to cause her to drop the wrench and shield herself. The wrench whacked the top of her foot, and the resulting stab of pain made her suck in a breath. She lifted her foot and made to grab it only to be rewarded with another smack in the jaw with the spray of cold water.

Turn it off!
her
mind screamed. She moved in that direction and promptly tripped on the wrench, slipped on the wet floor and went down onto her hands and knees. She couldn't prevent the whispered curse that escaped from her lips.

If the main water valve wasn't shut off, the basement would become flooded. She should
have thought of that before taking a wrench to the plumbing. How could she have been so stupid?

As she pushed herself up from the concrete floor, she realized the water was no longer shooting from the pipe. She swiped the rivulets of water from her eyes and cheeks. The silence of the basement was broken only by the dozens of drips coming from the overhead rafters, the copper piping, the shelving units and everything else that had been drenched by the torrent of water. Even she was dripping—from her elbows, her earlobes, her chin.

"What on earth...?" She murmured the question, bewildered as to how the water had stopped.

A sound came from the far side of the basement, shoes scuffing on concrete. She stopped breathing in order to listen, and again she heard the noise.

Every muscle tensed. She bent and snatched up the wrench that was lying at her feet. Clutching it tightly, she called, "Who's there?"

The shadowy figure straightened and then stepped from behind the water heater, the light from the bare bulb illuminating his face. Savanna blinked, once, twice, unable to believe her eyes.

"Danny," she whispered.

Chapter Two

"I didn't mean to frighten you."

His voice was as rich as aged brandy and Savanna found hearing it just as intoxicating.

Say something, Savanna
, her mind instructed.
Say anything
. But it was as though her brain waves couldn't connect with the facial muscles that made her mouth function.

"I knocked, but didn't get an answer," he said.

Savanna barely heard him, so intent was she on feasting her eyes on the sight of him. He'd changed in the six years she'd been gone. Age had altered him in small, subtle ways.

Laugh lines had always parenthesized his mouth, but they were etched deeper than she remembered. The planes and angles of his face had become more defined, more rugged. His dark hair was tinged at the temples with a few strands of premature gray. That familiar strong jaw that she'd kissed so often in her youth looked even stronger, even more kissable.

Her breath caught in her throat at the thought.

"When I heard you scream," he said, "I let myself in. I followed the sounds down here. You looked as though you could use some help." He pointed toward the dark corner from which he'd emerged "So I turned off the water."

"Thanks," she murmured. Warring emotions overwhelmed her. He looked so good.

I need time
, she thought.
Time to think
.

His mahogany eyes seemed to pierce right through her, and slowly, as though awaking from a deep sleep, Savanna became aware of her body's reaction to this man whom she'd left behind so many years ago.

Her heart was hammering in her chest so hard that she could feel it pounding against her rib cage. Blood surged through her body at a dizzying speed. Her chest rose and fell at an abnormal rate, and she felt the need to suck great quantities of air into her lungs. Her throat constricted and her knees felt wobbly.

"Danny, I..." Her voice trailed. This wasn't anything remotely close to the reunion she'd imagined she would have with him.

She watched his eyes close; she watched his jaw clench; she watched his nostrils flare as he inhaled quickly. She knew the action, remembered it as though it were only yesterday. He was upset.

When he finally looked at her, his gaze was cold and empty. His expression revealed an icy restraint that she'd never witnessed in him in all the years they'd been together. She searched her memory for some clue to what he might be thinking, but found none. What
she did discover was the stark realization that this man was a stranger.

"You're wet to the skin," he finally said. "And it's damp down here. You should get into some dry clothes."

The advice was given in a cool, detached tone that was so different, so alien, from the Danny she used to know. There seemed to be a wall between them. A wall that was invisible, intangible, yet nonetheless solid.

She nodded numbly and moved toward him and the stairway he blocked. He stepped back to let her pass, but when she was within reach of him, she stopped. Some unseen force compelled her to look up into his face. Her throat was tight with the emotion that continued to explode inside her.

"It's so good to see you." The statement flowed from her like clear water gushing from a spring. Honest, candid, without thought.

She was surprised by what her words did to his features. A wrinkle formed between his brows as they drew together in what she took to be annoyance. His gaze darkened, erasing the cool reserve that had been there just a heartbeat before. His tight, white lips confirmed the fact that he was clearly displeased. She could see him fighting to control it.

"Go get changed," he ordered.

Her head dipped away from him and she hurried up the steps, confusion fogging all thought. The whole scene was like a bad dream. But that was wishful thinking. Having a nightmare would have been preferable to this. She couldn't make this situation go away by waking.

Moving into the hallway off the kitchen, she raced up the steps leading to the second-floor bedrooms. She
snatched a towel from the linen closet and went into her room, closing the door behind her.

She dug through the dresser drawer, snatching out dry underclothes, a shirt and a pair of shorts. Stripping off her wet things, she fought the urge to ponder on the change in Danny Walsh. But the odds were against her.

She may not have spent more than two minutes with him, but she was certain of the change. He wasn't the man she remembered. He wasn't the man she'd come so close to marrying six years ago.

That Danny had been open, friendly, caring.
Someone who was quick to smile.
This man seemed cold and hard... and full of anger.

But then what had she expected? She'd left Danny to face their family and friends on what should have been the most important day of his life. Of course he'd feel angry with her. What else could she expect?

"Okay," she muttered, knowing the thing to do now was to face the situation at hand. "Danny's downstairs. He's upset and angry."
Deal with it
, she told herself.

After tucking the tails of her blouse into her shorts, she slipped into a pair of
strappy
sandals. She went into the bathroom, drying her hair with the towel as she went. After running a brush through it, she quickly braided her hair into a single, fat rope and secured the end with a bright yellow ribbon that matched her blouse.

As she descended the stairs, her muscles balked with every step. She wanted desperately to hug him, talk to him, ask him a million and one questions about his life, but she also wanted to run out the front door, hop into her car and drive away from him and the cold glare
he'd leveled on her a few minutes ago. She had to face him; she knew it as surely as she knew her own name. She only wished she had more time to think about what to say. She wasn't eager to experience his hostility, or his cool reserve. Then she had to admit that she also wasn't eager to endure the overwhelming sensations that rocked her body when she was near him. Those very physical reactions had taken her completely by surprise.

Wait a minute! She halted on the staircase. How did she know it was Danny who had caused her blood to pound and her heart to race? She'd felt a rush of adrenaline when the pipe had burst. She'd been wet. The cellar had been damp and chilly. Maybe her body's responses had been quite natural, given the circumstances.

She continued down the steps and almost had herself convinced when she rounded the corner into the kitchen and collided with Danny as he came through the doorway. She heard his sharp intake of breath. Her own surprised inhalation filled her lungs with his cologne, a dark and sensual scent, and
an immediate
warmth began to build in her chest.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Raising her hands to brace herself, she grasped his hard biceps, but couldn't seem to steady her shaky knees. Her legs felt as pliable as warm clay. And the feel of his taut, knotted muscles made the warmth inside her grow hot and prickly.

His arms went around her protectively, keeping her from collapsing, and she felt her blood course through her veins like a runaway roller coaster. The wild rhythm of her heart proved in no uncertain terms that it was, and had been, Danny who caused her body's wild response.

She planted one hand firmly against his chest with the intention of pushing away from him, but as soon as she'd made contact, the pounding of his heartbeat made her eyes fly to his. She saw a flash of something in his gaze. Panic or passion, she couldn't tell which. But as quickly as it had come, it was gone.

The next instant his expression became shuttered, unreadable. But Savanna knew that he'd been as rocked by their contact as she. Well, she thought with a flash of stubbornness, if you can deny your reaction, Danny Walsh, then so can I.

"I'm okay," she murmured breathlessly.
"Really."
She stepped out of his embrace and grabbed hold of a spindle-back kitchen chair as nonchalantly as possible in an effort to brace her rubbery legs. She tried to smile, but the look in his eyes told her it was a wasted effort.

Then he inhaled deeply and rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. He seemed to visibly relax now that there was some distance between them. The tightness around his mouth softened; one corner even lifted a fraction. His dark eyes cleared a bit as he said, "I mopped up some of the mess. The floor's still pretty wet, though."

"You didn't have to do that," she said.

He stared at her for another silent moment.

"You look good, Savanna." He said the words as though he'd tried his damnedest not to and had finally relented.

Pure nervous tension forced her to laugh at his strained tone. "I guess I'll take that as a compliment."

He offered a small smile, and like the sun chasing away the grayness of a cloudy day, the uneasiness that had been be
tween them since he'd arrived vanished without a trace.

"That's how I meant it." His deep voice was soft with meaning now and conjured up all the old feelings of happiness and security that she remembered.

"You've changed," he commented. Reaching out, he took the tips of her fingers in his own and rubbed the pad of his thumb across her long, manicured nails. "You've broken some old habits, I see."

She nodded. "That one was the hardest to break."

Gazing down at her fingers in his, she went on, "It's hard to command professional respect with your fingers in your mouth. Nail biting isn't a very ladylike habit."

"I suppose not," he said. "But there's nothing about you now that isn't ladylike."

His eyes traveled down the length of her as he spoke and Savanna felt her face flame. She tightened her grip on the chair. If she let go now she was afraid she just might sink to the floor.

When his gaze lifted to hers, he asked, "How have you been?"