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‘You stayed because other people told you it was the right thing to do. Because you knew it was what your father would want and you’ve always, always done what he wanted.’
He took a breath. ‘But mostly you stayed because you were too scared to trust your own desires. To trust what was between us. To trust me.’
The air whooshed out of Thea’s lungs. ‘That’s what you believe?’
‘That’s what I know.’
‘You’re wrong,’ she said, shifting slightly away from him.
Angling his body towards her, Zeke placed one hand on her hip, bringing him closer than they’d been in eight long years. ‘Prove it.’
‘How?’
‘Tell me you don’t still think about us. Miss us being together. Tell me you don’t still want this.’
Thea started to shake her head, to try and deny it, but Zeke lowered his mouth to hers and suddenly all she could feel was the tide of relief swelling inside her. His kiss, still so familiar after so long, consumed her, and she wondered how she’d even pretended she didn’t remember how it felt to be the centre of Zeke Ashton’s world.
A Groom Worth
Waiting For
Sophie Pembroke
SOPHIE PEMBROKE has been dreaming, reading and writing romance for years—ever since she first read The Far Pavilions under her desk in Chemistry class. She later stayed up all night devouring Mills & Boon® books as part of her English degree at Lancaster University, and promptly gave up any pretext of enjoying tragic novels. After all, what’s the point of a book without a happy ending?
She loves to set her novels in the places where she has lived—from the wilds of the Welsh mountains to the genteel humour of an English country village, or the heat and tension of a London summer. She also has a tendency to make her characters kiss in castles.
Currently Sophie makes her home in Hertfordshire, with her scientist husband (who still shakes his head at the reading-in-Chemistry thing) and their four-year-old Alice-in-Wonderland-obsessed daughter. She writes her love stories in the study she begrudgingly shares with her husband, while drinking too much tea and eating homemade cakes. Or, when things are looking very bad for her heroes and heroines, white wine and dark chocolate.
Sophie keeps a blog at www.sophiepembroke.com, which should be about romance and writing but is usually about cake and castles instead.
For Emma, Helen & Mary.
Contents
‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN, he’s coming here?’ Thea Morrison clasped her arms around her body, as if the action could somehow hide the fact that she was wearing a ridiculously expensive, pearl-encrusted, embroidered ivory wedding dress, complete with six-foot train. ‘He can’t!’
Her sister rolled her big blue eyes. ‘Oh, calm down. He just told me to tell you that you’re late to meet with the wedding planner and if you aren’t there in five minutes he’ll come and get you,’ Helena said.
‘Well, stop him!’
No, that wouldn’t work. Nothing stopped Flynn Ashton when he really wanted something. He was always polite, but utterly tenacious. That was why his father had appointed him his right-hand man at Morrison-Ashton media. And why she was marrying him in the first place.
‘Get me out of this dress before he gets here!’
‘I don’t know why you care so much,’ Helena said, fumbling with the zip at the back of the dress. ‘It’s not like this is a real wedding anyway.’
‘In two days there’ll be a priest, a cake, some flowers, and a legally binding pre-nup saying otherwise.’ Thea wriggled to try and get the strapless dress
