BRIDAL JEOPARDY by REBECCA YORK Page A

comfortable chairs and sofas, and whimsical decorations.
    She must like animals, because she had a lot of little ceramic, glass, wood and metal figures on the shelves among her books. He picked up a cat that looked as if it came from Mexico, stroking his fingers over the smooth, painted surface, half hoping that he’d pick up some impression of the woman herself. But he got no mental connection to her by touching any of her things.
    He walked upstairs to her bedroom and stepped inside the room, loving the cool blue-and-white color scheme that reminded him of a beach cottage. His eyes zeroed in on the neatly made bed. Had John Reynard slept there with Stephanie? The thought of them naked in bed together made his throat close, and he fought to banish the image from his mind.
    He wanted to linger in the bedroom, but he knew that was an invasion of her privacy.
    A laugh bubbled inside him. An invasion of her privacy? Like getting into her mind? Well, that contact had invaded his privacy, too. A fair and equal invasion. He wouldn’t start off their relationship by looking through her underwear drawer.
    The word relationship stopped him. He was making assumptions. But he knew they were valid. They were going to mean something to each other. Really, they already did.
    Forcing himself to turn away from the bed, he went back to the living room and sat down in one of the easy chairs to wait for her return.
    Forty minutes later, he heard a car pull up outside. When he heard the lock click, his whole body tensed, and he focused like a laser on the door.
    Some part of him wondered if he had imagined the intimacy between them in the dress shop. The minute she stepped into the room, he could feel the air crackling between them. If she crossed to him...if he got up and crossed to her...
    He ordered himself to put away that thought.
    “How did you get in here?” she demanded.
    “It was easy.”
    He saw her lick her lips and knew that her mouth must be as dry as his.
    The words she spoke weren’t the ones he wanted to hear. “Don’t touch me.”
    He felt his gaze sharpen. “Afraid?”
    “Yes. You should be, too.”
    “Why?”
    “Because...” She lifted one shoulder, apparently unwilling to put a warning into words.
    He stayed where he was, but he knew that at any second he could change the rules between them by crossing the room to her, and there would be nothing she could do about it.
    He felt tension course through him as he asked, “Where were you?”
    “Like that’s any of your business,” she shot back.
    When he kept his gaze fixed on her, she answered, “Visiting my father.”
    “To ask if he was gambling again?”
    She answered with a small nod.
    “What did he say?”
    “He denied it.”
    “Which leaves you in an interesting position.”
    Probably she’d been considering the same thing. Instead of pursuing that line of thought, she said, “I don’t appreciate finding you in here. Is this how you operate as a detective?”
    “You’ve done some research on me?”
    “Yes. I suppose you know that John Reynard has men following me around.”
    “Yes. I came in here after they took off after you.”
    She looked toward the closed venetian blinds. “They’re outside now. How are you going to get out of here?”
    “I’ll worry about that when the time comes.” He cleared his throat. “Did they show up at your father’s?”
    “Yes.”
    “Did you wonder how they knew where to pick you up?”
    She swallowed. “I thought they might have some idea where I was going.”
    When he stood, she tensed, obviously bracing for him to come to her and put his hands on her, which was what he’d longed to do since she walked into her house. But he was going to restrain himself, at least for now.
    “Maybe we’d better have a look at your car.”
    “My car?” she asked, obviously struggling to refocus.
    “Yeah.” He stood up and crossed to the door from where she’d just entered. Looking back over his shoulder, he said,