The Tycoon's Virgin Bride. Sandra Field

to the christening, she risked him remembering their long-ago encounter. Maybe in the next three weeks she’d come down with pneumonia. Or break a leg.

      He held out his hand. “Someday you’re going to tell me about the guy who made you so afraid. Then I’ll go and punch him out for you.”

      If only he knew how ironic his offer was. Reluctantly Jenessa placed her hand in his, searingly aware of the latent strength of his grasp and the heat of his palm against hers. His grip tightened. Her heart banging against the cage of her ribs, she said evenly, “Goodbye, Bryce. Safe journey.” Then she tugged her hand free.

      She heard his footsteps cross the floorboards in the living room, and then the front screen squeak on its hinges. She should oil every door in the place, she thought. But house repairs never had been her strong point.

      A minute or two later, Bryce’s car drove away down the lane. Jenessa sagged against the studio door. For the space of three weeks she was safe.

      It didn’t feel like very long.