his mouth at the thought of the somewhat supercilious groom facedown in the frosting.
He made his voice calm and reassuring. ‘I know you must be nervous.’
Pre-performance nerves. He knew all about them. There was nothing more nerve-wracking than stepping out onto the centre court at Wimbledon with the world watching him defend his title.
‘Nervous?’ Her cheeks flushed and her eyes glittered. ‘I’m not nervous. I’m mad as hell.’ She brandished the cascade of white roses as if it were a weapon. Max ducked. ‘The wedding is cancelled.’
‘Why?’ At the rehearsal she’d seemed to be floating on a cloud of happiness. For one long, secret moment he had envied her groom his gorgeous, vivacious bride-to-be. Despite his success at the highest rank of his chosen sport, and all the female attention that came with it, at age thirty Max was still single.
‘You want a reason?’ She raised her perfectly shaped brows. ‘How about four reasons? His two ex-wives and two children.’
Max frowned. ‘You knew Alan was divorced.’
‘Divorced once. With no children. He lied.’ Her voice ended on a heart-rending whimper. ‘One of the reasons I fell for him was that he told me he was longing for children. Like...like I was.’ Her face seemed to crumple; all the poise Max had admired melted away to leave only wide-eyed bewilderment.
‘How did you find out?’ he asked.
‘His first ex-wife called to warn me off Alan. Didn’t want to see me get fooled and hurt by him like she had been. He called her a vindictive witch. Then the second ex-wife wife called to tell me about their three-year-old twin sons and how he’d deserted them. Oh, and warned me he was on the verge of bankruptcy now that he’d gone through all her money.’
Max gasped. The dad hissed. Nikki was a successful businesswoman. Being both beautiful and wealthy made her quite the catch—and vulnerable to a fortune hunter.
‘You believed her?’ said Max.
She shook her head. ‘I trusted my fiancé. But I had her investigated. Definitive proof she was telling the truth came just as I waved off my bridesmaids and was about to get into the limo.’ Her breath caught on a hitch, dangerously close to a sob. ‘I can’t marry a liar and a fraud.’
‘Go in there and tell him that,’ said Max.
‘I couldn’t bear the humiliation.’ She looked up at him, her eyes pleading now. ‘You know all about humiliation.’
Max grimaced. Of course he did. Evidence of his disastrous final game where he’d injured his elbow so badly still circulated on the Internet: the thrown racket, his writhing in pain on the grass court surface of Wimbledon. People had even made memes of it.
‘Yes,’ he said through gritted teeth, not appreciating the reminder.
‘Please help me get away. I can’t run down the street to hail a cab dressed like this.’
Tears glistened in her brown eyes, making them luminous. Max had a weakness for female tears. But he was also a man of his word. He was the best man. An honourable position with duties he took seriously. It would take more than tears to recruit him to Team Bride. As she looked up at him, a single teardrop rolled slowly down her cheek. He had to fight an impulse to wipe it gently away with his thumb. She was another man’s bride. She sniffed and her voice quivered as she spoke. ‘You say you’re not pond scum, now prove it to me.’
* * *
Nikki held her breath as she looked up at Max Conway for his answer. She hadn’t expected to find him standing guard outside the church, ready to corral her inside. In fact, she hardly knew the guy. Just was aware he was a celebrity athlete and had a well-publicised love life.
The first she’d known that her groom’s best man was the world’s golden boy of tennis—featured in countless ‘sexiest men alive’ media round-ups—was when she’d met him at the rehearsal. Just another of her former fiancé’s secrets, she thought with a twist of bitterness.
She could read the struggle on Max’s face—with his spiky light brown hair and blue eyes, he was every bit as handsome as his photos. Duty warred an obvious battle with gentlemanly instincts to help a bride in distress. The media did not consider him a gentleman. She didn’t care. All she wanted was his help to get away. The clock was ticking. Her father had reluctantly gone to tell everyone that the bride would be a no-show. If she was going to escape, she’d have to do it now.
‘Are you quite sure you want to do this?’ Max said.
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ she said, unable to keep the impatience from her voice. At any moment Alan might come raging outside. She shuddered at the thought.
‘There’ll be no going back. It’s Alan who’ll be humiliated.’
‘Huh! Finding out the truth about him from his ex-wives rates high in humiliation. Being foolish enough to have believed his lies even higher.’
She clutched Max by the sleeve of his dark best-man suit. Looked with trepidation across to the Gothic-style arched wooden doors that led to the interior of the church. People were beginning to spill out down the steps. Ahead of the pack was the wedding photographer, brandishing his camera aimed at her. Forget Max. She gathered up her skirts. Got ready to run. Risked a final glance up at him. ‘Are you going to help me or not?’
‘I don’t like liars.’
‘Is that a “yes”?’
In reply he took her by the arm. Through the sheer fabric of her sleeve she could feel the warmth and strength of his grip. ‘My car is around the corner. We’ll have to run.’
She started to run but only got a few steps before she stumbled. The combination of bumpy pavement, long skirts and high, skinny heels wasn’t conducive to a speedy escape.
‘Ditch the shoes,’ he said tersely. She kicked them off. One after the other they flew into the air and landed side down on the pavement. ‘And the flowers.’ The white flowers landed near the white shoes with a flurry of petals, forming a tableau of lost dreams on the grey of the tarmac. She didn’t look back.
They had rounded the corner from the church when she heard the first shout. More outraged bellow than civilised protest. She cringed at the anger in Alan’s voice. Max’s grip on her arm tightened as he hurried her along. ‘We’re not going fast enough,’ he said.
She wished she could tear away her long skirts. ‘I’m moving as fast as I—’
Her protest ended in a gasp as he effortlessly swept her up to cradle her in his arms. ‘Hold on tight,’ he said as he broke into a run—at twice her speed.
Max Conway was a tall, powerfully built man famed for the relentless power of his serve. Instinctively Nikki looped her arms around his neck and pressed herself close against a solid wall of muscle.
‘You...you don’t have to carry me,’ she managed to choke out.
‘I do,’ he said. She noticed he wasn’t the slightest bit out of breath even while running at full stride weighed down by the burden of a bride. ‘That is, if you really want to escape from your groom.’
