A Bride's Tangled Vows Read online

  So this was what was holding Aiden’s attention the past few days. Christina had been avoiding her husband, and memories of that embarrassing confrontation in the bar, for almost a week. Nights had been even more excruciating, but one or the other of them seemed to weasel out of being in the room at bedtime and wake-up time. Christina curled into a ball on her side to keep herself from brushing against Aiden in her sleep. Aiden, on the other hand, was more of a sprawler.

  But she’d do anything to avoid a repeat of their wedding night. Aiden had entered the room just as she left the bathroom. He’d allowed his gaze to sweep over her sleep shorts and overlarge T-shirt with uncomfortable speculation. She’d scurried over to the bed and claimed her preferred side. But closing her eyes like a squeamish spinster had left her listening to the rustle of clothes as he undressed, her mind whirling with heated questions about just how much he’d left on.

  Needless to say, she wasn’t getting a lot of sleep. The days were only a little better. While Luke had been here, he’d served as a bit of a buffer, but she’d been glad when he went back to North Carolina because the speculative looks were killing her—she got enough of that when she dared go out in public. Considering the complicated web they were now living in, she couldn’t blame Aiden for planning to spend a lot of time here. He probably needed one place that was solely his own. She wished she had one.

  Noting the fence line indicating the end of Blackstone Manor’s property and the beginning of mill land, she couldn’t help but notice this was as far away from her as he could get. The realization lowered her confidence.

  She knocked, then waited a moment or two. The music blared loudly enough to pound inside her head. After another knock, she forced herself to grasp the knob and turn.

  Stomach churning, she stepped inside. Aiden stood in the far corner with his back to her. A back so smoothly muscled her mouth watered. His shirtless torso was magnificent. Sweat meandered down the indention of his spine and disappeared beneath the waistband of his loose khaki shorts. Muscles bunched and shifted in his arms and back as he wielded a chisel and hammer.

  Before him rested a block of some kind of stone that he chipped away with focused intent. To her surprise, several other half-finished sculptures sat on other waist-high tables as if awaiting their turn. A cabinet in the middle of the room had various tools scattered across the top. Christina took it all in with a sense of wonder. She’d known Aiden powered a very successful import/export art business, but had no idea he created pieces himself. A twinge of sadness streaked through her that he hadn’t shared this. But then, why should he? Just because she wished she knew him, didn’t mean he felt the same.

  Watching him move was like art in motion, the clench and release of his body mimicking the orchestrated roll of the ocean. Feeling awkward, she called, “Aiden.” No response. Not even a twitch. She called his name again, raising her voice above the blare of Nirvana, but he still didn’t turn.

  She walked over and placed light fingertips on his bare shoulder. It was just meant to be an “I’m here” touch, but her fingers trailed down the slick skin of their own volition.

  He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes faraway in a haze of glittering darkness. Several moments passed before he turned toward the stereo to shut it off. The slight frown between his brows confirmed her fears.

  Her cheeks flushed, guilt creeping in as if she’d done something wrong. Not that she had, but words rushed out, anyway. “I called your name, but—” She gestured toward the player.

  He set the tools on the table in front of him, then turned to give her a full tempting view. The chiseled muscles weren’t confined to his back. His chest and arms suggested he was capable of some serious work without the bulk of heavy weight lifting, while his stomach gave washboard abs a new meaning.

  She hadn’t realized what those sophisticated clothes had been hiding.... She swallowed, drawing her eyes up before they strayed too far.

  “No problem,” he said, his voice even, reserved. “What can I do for you?”

  She glanced around, distracting herself from all that skin by perusing the cluttered work surface.

  “I, um, Marie needed to get a message to you, but she said there’s no phone in here.” She glanced back at his still features. “Didn’t you bring your cell?”

  He shook his head, reaching for a clean towel from a stack. “Too distracting.”

  He wiped the sweat from his face with a towel, then started on his arms. She swallowed hard, once again inspecting the tools and blocks of rock.

  “I didn’t know you sculpted. Lily never mentioned it.”

  He reached around her for the tools, putting them into a nearby box. “She’s never seen my work. I didn’t start until after her accident. It’s great stress relief.”

  And Lord knew this was extremely stressful for them both.

  She turned away from his intense stare, attempting to hide her trembling. She motioned to the horse he’d been working on. “I’m no art expert, but these look professional to me.”

  She felt, rather than heard, his approach. “It is. I sell my own work as well as other artists’.”

  He gestured at the blocks. “I had these brought over from the quarry so I could work until my assistant and I can arrange for a shipment.”

  Ah, a forceful reminder that he’d had a life before he came here. Unlike her. She should cut him some slack. Adjusting to a resented future was difficult. Even knowing that, she couldn’t stop thinking he was standing awfully close....

  “I’m glad you’ve got this...” She gestured forward. “I want you to feel at home—”

  She clamped her mouth shut. That made him sound like a visitor. He wasn’t. And she didn’t want him to be. But after a lifetime of trying to appease and put people at ease, she simply had a hard time turning it off. And with him standing next to her, half-naked, she was only capable of reacting on autopilot.

  “I’ll never feel at home here.” He shifted away, leaning back against another workbench, putting himself unknowingly on display. “But I’m finding ways to make it work.”

  Did he mean his sculpting? Something of his own, uniquely his, to help him relax, relieve tension? Or something more? She should be thrilled that he was trying. Staying despite circumstances he hated.

  Aiden broke into her thoughts. “What was the message?”

  “What?”

  “You said Marie had a message. From?”

  Even those thick brows, simply raised in query, aroused her. “Bateman, the day foreman, called the house. He’d like to meet with you about things at the mill,” she said.

  “Did he really?” Aiden asked. “When?”

  “This evening after shift.”

  His finger started tapping against his biceps. “So he wants to do this at the mill?”

  She frowned at the odd note in his voice. “Yes.”

  The tapping accelerated. He was so different today. Normally, he walked around with emotions boiling beneath the surface like a volcano, but today he seemed to have mastered all that volatility. What was he keeping so locked down?

  She found herself wanting to know more, to push deeper to places he’d say she didn’t belong.

  “The blocks,” she said, grasping a subject from thin air. “How do you know what to sculpt? Client choice?”

  She crossed to a half-formed block of black rock with goldish flecks. The top of a human head, thick with hair, had been roughed out, but for now all the fine details appeared below the chin. No features graced the face, granting no life to the form.

  Reaching out, she traced the outline with her fingertips, noting how cool the rock was despite the heat in the room as the air conditioner slowly lost its battle. The texture was rough, but she could imagine the smoothness of such an elegant medium and form when it was complete.

  Aiden had t
aken so long to answer, she thought for a moment he wouldn’t. When he finally spoke, his voice seemed gruff.

  “It’s easy, really. You just have to listen.”

  She looked over her shoulder to find him watching her, or rather her hands. “Listen? To the stone?”

  He trailed his gaze up her body before meeting her eyes. That turbulence of his seemed to be making a return. “Sort of. It’s different for every artist. Most of the time I have a general idea of the goal. But the details change with the stone’s intricacies and composition.”

  By now, she was sampling the textures with both palms. She could imagine Aiden chip, chip, chipping away, studying the angles until he found just the one that worked for him. The same way he approached life.

  He wasn’t the type to listen and work with an outside element. She smirked, her hands stilling. Of course, this was an element he had ultimate control over.

  Suddenly, she was aware of that masculine heat at her back, blocking her in. Aiden’s hands slid down her arms to cover her fingers where they curved around the rock.

  His breath accelerated, stirring the hair lying heavy against the back of her neck. Tingles of fear and excitement made her heart race.

  People might say he was a stranger, but he didn’t feel like one. The aching need she felt around him had grown familiar. She’d spent long days thinking about him, long nights beside him feeding her fascination. Dangerous as it was, she didn’t want to stop.

  He leaned forward, trapping her between his hard length and the workbench. His arousal was unmistakable, subtly rubbing against her backside. She barely restrained herself from arching back against him. The need to respond grew despite her fears.

  He pressed closer. With a groan, he nuzzled through the thickness of her hair, his movements slow, as if he acted against his own will.

  The reluctant need echoed inside her, pulling down more of her barriers. She let her head tilt away, exposing vulnerable skin to his questing lips.

  She shivered as moist heat slid along her neck, his open mouth sucking and nipping its way down. She lifted onto her toes. She was no longer thinking, just aching. For more feeling, more sensation, more Aiden.

  His arms encircled her stomach, increasing her sense of security in the face of danger. Reaching the crook between her neck and shoulder, his teeth joined in play, his bite teasing, gentle. She jumped as the sensation shot straight to her core. Her body melted in surrender.

  His hands slid upward, pausing just inches below her breasts.

  Please, please don’t stop. She wanted to cry out, but bit her lip, not quite ready to voice her desires. Her nipples tightened in anticipation. When he didn’t move, she shifted, rubbing herself against him, an age-old move conveying her willingness for more.

  Abruptly, his hands clamped onto her hips, holding her still. Her body and spirit froze in his grip as she realized it stemmed from something other than desire, despite the hardness still nestled against her.

  All movement ceased except their breath. Christina fought the urge to move. As his mouth left her shoulder, she tracked his breath to her ear. Somehow, she knew she wouldn’t like what he was about to say.

  “Christina.” Just her name in his rough tone sent shivers chasing across her skin. What would it be like if they were naked?

  “Christina, you need to go.” He shook his head against hers. “Now.” More breathing. “Go. Now.”

  His hands tightened once more before freeing her, but she couldn’t move. He might have told her to leave, but his body still cradled hers. He couldn’t move away, either.

  She should be humiliated at his rejection, but the evidence of his arousal bolstered what little feminine power she had buried deep down inside. Even knowing he would leave her far behind when given the chance, she wanted to risk getting burned, if it meant he would make her feel. She wanted him to let go and love her in a way she hadn’t let a man do in, well, ever.

  She turned her head and gathered every last ounce of courage to whisper, “What if I don’t want to go?” Long moments lingered as her heart pounded in her ears.

  Finally, he pulled away. “Then I have to be strong enough for the both of us.”

  * * *

  Aiden drove to the outskirts of town in silence, Christina seated next to him in the cab of the estate’s pickup truck. The awkwardness of their near miss in the studio earlier clouded the atmosphere between them.

  But they both ignored it as he followed the newly installed signs pointing the way to the massive factory. Though mill property adjoined the grounds of Blackstone Manor, the roads leading there wound around and through the miles of land owned by the family. The drive took them along Mill Row, a sort of subdivision built on the border of mill land with houses for workers to rent, then through the fields behind Mill Row, which were used to grow cotton that provided a large portion of the mill’s raw materials.

  The closer they came to the actual plant, the slower Aiden drove. He’d dreaded this moment from his first step back inside Blackstone Manor. But he wouldn’t allow himself to think about why. He certainly wouldn’t explain his reluctance to the woman sending questioning glances his way. She had too much power over him already.

  Besides, explaining his trepidation would require explaining why he’d asked her along. And what man wanted to be viewed as a wuss who couldn’t face the site of his childhood traumas?

  There were changes since he’d last been here. The parking lot had been widened and repaved. A new chain-link fence enclosure had been installed, along with a guard shack. But Aiden still viewed the metal buildings and now nonfunctioning smoke stacks with anger. To him, they would forever embody the oppression of his grandfather, even if they did keep the town viable.

  They paused at the shack, but were waved through by a man Aiden didn’t recognize. He didn’t miss the surprise on the guard’s face.

  Once he had parked the truck, Christina got out and started forward but Aiden hung back. Each step was an effort of will. Either his body or his mind did not want to enter the massive building before him, but he refused to examine the source too closely.

  Christina glanced back, her own steps slowing. “Aiden, are you okay?”

  He didn’t answer, but focused on moving one of his concrete-block feet one step at a time. He shouldn’t stop, because he might not start walking again. But then his steps slowed to a standstill, anyway. His gaze strayed to the office building adjacent to the factory. His mind screamed at him to be quiet, but Christina’s soothing, questioning presence pulled the answer from him.

  “I haven’t been here since the day my father died.”

  Her quiet voice reached him through the whirl of turbulence inside his brain. “I think you’ll find a lot of people here remember your father. He did great things for the mill.”

  He would want you to do the same. Aiden gradually picked up the pace, forcing himself to focus on his purpose. Not the images from the past crowding into his brain.

  As they stepped through the entrance, they were met by a welcome committee of two. A man in a black jacket, looking more like a scientist than factory worker, stepped forward. “Mr. Blackstone, Mr. Bateman sent me to meet you. If you’ll follow me, sir, I can drive you to his office.”

  Aiden waved him aside. “That’s okay. We’ll walk,” he said, wanting to get an updated look at the operation. If this postponed his trip to the other building, that was no one’s business but his.

  The man blinked behind his round glasses as if he didn’t know how to proceed now that his plans had been thwarted. At least he didn’t seem inclined to argue.

  The female half of the duo stepped calmly forward with her hand out. “Welcome, Mr. Blackstone. I’m Betty, Mr. Bateman’s assistant. If you want to walk the mill floor, I’d suggest some earplugs.”

  Aiden accepted two pairs, handing one t
o Christina, who smiled at Betty in thanks. Then Aiden led the way out onto the mill floor, Christina, Betty and the little man trailing behind. The skin across Aiden’s back tightened as he felt the eyes of their audience tracking their progress. He hadn’t been out enough around here to realize he was living in a glass bowl. Christina’s uneasiness reminded him that she was now living there with him.

  But he forced himself not to hurry, strolling along the floor, occasionally asking questions of Betty. He spotted a production line undergoing some maintenance and spoke extensively with both employees about it. After exiting the factory floor, they wound through corridors for quite a ways. Aiden felt himself tense as they journeyed from the main action to the second story of the administrative building.

  “This was built while my father was here,” Aiden said, trying to moisten his dry mouth.

  Betty answered, surprise in her tone. “Why, yes it was.”

  As soon as they crossed the heavy double doors into the administration building, Aiden felt his body’s stress ratchet up a notch. His shoulders stiffened. He stared straight ahead, not looking down the little corridors they passed on each side. Finally, they reached the glass door marked Management. Betty led them through an outer office into a bigger room with casual office decor.

  “Aiden, Christina, thank you for coming,” Bateman said, shaking their hands.

  Aiden watched as his wife was met with a warm hug, but his own greeting was more reserved.

  “Betty had someone radio that you were walking the mill floor. What did you think?”

  Aiden detected a note of pride, but also concern in Bateman’s voice. “Everything looks good. The equipment has been updated.”

  Bateman nodded. “In the long run, it’s more cost-effective to do so.”

  Aiden nodded, consciously tightening down on the grief hovering at the back of his mind. “How long have you been in charge?” He’d met a lot of men during his time here with his father, but Bateman’s face wasn’t familiar.