Strategically Wed Read online

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered….”

  Maggie tried to follow the preacher’s words and ignore the fact that her hand was tucked in next to Griff’s powerfully muscled arm, inches from his heart.

  She found herself turned, facing Griff, her hands swallowed in his warm grip. His shadow blocked out the sight and sound of everyone around them, his musky scent filling her senses.

  Gooseflesh rose along her arms as she saw both intent and purpose engraved in his hard face and felt the force of his personality.

  “You’re not going to faint on me, are you?”

  Before she could respond, an authoritative voice echoed through the room. “Freeze! Put your hands in the air and don’t move!”

  Dear Reader,

  Once again we invite you to enjoy six of the most exciting romances around, starting with Ruth Langan’s His Father’s Son. This is the last of THE LASSITER LAW, her miniseries about a family with a tradition of law enforcement, and it’s a finale that will leave you looking forward to this bestselling author’s next novel. Meanwhile, enjoy Cameron Lassiter’s headlong tumble into love.

  ROMANCING THE CROWN continues with Virgin Seduction, by award winner Kathleen Creighton. The missing prince is home at last—and just in time for the shotgun wedding between Cade Gallagher and Tamiri princess Leila Kamal. Carla Cassidy continues THE DELANEY HEIRS with Matthew’s story, in Out of Exile, while Pamela Dalton spins a tale of a couple who are Strategically Wed. Sharon Mignerey returns with an emotional tale of a hero who is Friend, Lover, Protector, and Leann Harris wraps up the month with a match between The Detective and the D.A.

  You won’t want to miss a single one. And, of course, be sure to come back next month for more of the most exciting romances around—right here in Silhouette Intimate Moments.

  Enjoy!

  Leslie J. Wainger

  Executive Senior Editor

  Strategically Wed

  PAMELA DALTON

  Books by Pamela Dalton

  Silhouette Intimate Moments

  Who’s Been Sleeping in Her Bed? #1020

  Strategically Wed #1150

  Silhouette Romance

  The Prodigal Husband #957

  Second Chance at Marriage #1100

  And Baby Makes Six #1234

  PAMELA DALTON

  believes in happily-ever-afters. She fell in love with her husband, Mark, through the letters they exchanged while he was stationed in Fort Knox, Kentucky, and she was attending college in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. When he finally flew back for their first “official” date, he popped the question twenty-four hours later, and Pamela said yes. Married to her hero for more than twenty-five years, she cherishes her quality family time with her two adult children, Betsy and Peter.

  To Lori Handeland,

  Your friendship and support mean so much.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Maggie Bennington had never had a case of the jitters in her life. She’d always lived her life by her late father’s philosophy “show no fear,” no matter what was at stake. But then, she’d never been in this position before.

  Staring through the short lacy veil covering her face, she glared across the long church aisle to the man waiting at the other end.

  It wasn’t fair, she thought as she battled another attack by renegade butterflies strategizing for position in her stomach.

  For never having done this before, Griff Murdock looked too comfortable in the traditional setting. Too at ease. A man’s man. A cop’s cop. Nothing could change Griff from what he was. Nothing.

  Not even his own wedding with a number of welldressed guests seated on ribbon-decked pews, watching every move he made.

  Dressed in the stark black tuxedo that fit his six-foot-two broad-shouldered frame almost to perfection, Griff was primed and ready, his steel-gray eyes seeing too much and revealing so little. It was part of his attraction. Part of the danger.

  That grated, too. Maggie clutched her bouquet of mums. It would have soothed her a bit to witness some sign of agitation on his stoic face, if only to see him rake fingers through his crisply groomed dark hair where tips of gray were starting to appear. Why couldn’t he be shifting from one foot to the next or trying to loosen his collar?

  She, on the other hand, kept tugging on the neckline of her dress that was threatening to strangle her. Years of training kept her from turning into a hysterical fool. But she wasn’t sure how much longer she was going to hold up under the pressure.

  “Hey, Maggie,” Sergeant Jameson whispered a protest, trying to loosen the death grip she had on his comforting arm. “I still have some use for that particular limb. How am I going to perform my duties if you’ve blocked all the blood from my arteries?”

  “Sorry, Wylie.” Maggie tried to unclench her stiff fingers from the solid, reassuring muscle that had been her only anchor on reality since she’d arrived at the church. Berating herself for being such a coward, she shook off her uneasy thoughts and turned to eye the older man at her side.

  Wylie, her father’s dearest friend and her godfather, had been the logical choice to escort her down the aisle following her father’s death a year ago. His wavy silver hair neatly trimmed and gleaming in the muted light, Wylie appeared to be every inch the father of the bride in his elegant wedding attire.

  “You look plum scared out of your wits,” Wylie said, his shrewd eyes flickering over her pinched features.

  “Me? Why should I be scared with a room full of Pendleton’s finest surrounding me?”

  A bit of deviltry tipped the corners of her godfather’s grin. “You’re a lucky woman. What other woman has an entire police department watching over her at her wedding?”

  She knew Wylie was trying to reassure her and keep her calm. He had always been more of a father to her than her real parent.

  For Wylie’s sake, Maggie made a serious attempt to raise a smile. Her godfather certainly had enough on his mind right now. He didn’t need to worry about her getting cold feet, yanking out all the pins that clamped her wayward red hair into an uncomfortable position and hightailing out the closest door. “Guess I must be having an allergic reaction to wearing high-heeled shoes.”

  “Getting anxious, are you?”

  “Anxious to get out of here.”

  His blue eyes twinkled down at her. “It’ll be finished in an hour or so. That’s not so long.”

  Her designer wedding dress, made up of acres of satin and adorned with hundreds of tiny pearls, didn’t make any allowances for breathing. Reaching up, Maggie yanked on the constrictive high neck of her gown again. “This dress should have come with a warning label. I feel as if I’m wrapped in jewel-studded cellophane.”

  Wylie clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Serves you right, kitten.” Even though the use of his personal nickname for her was said with affection and warmth, the sound lacked any kind of sympathy. “That dress looks like a suit of armor. A little cleavage might have loosened you up a bit.”

  Conscious of Griff’s brooding presence just across the room, Maggie wasn’t about to explain her real reason for being cloaked in a dress that shrouded every inch of her figure. “I’ve provided enough entertainment
for the Pendleton Police Department recently without having my bosom on display for everyone to leer at,” she said with a shudder.

  Wylie chuckled. “Don’t get your back up.” The gravelly rumble in his voice tried to coax a smile out of her. “We’ve just been having a bit of fun. You and Griff. Fire and ice. Who would ever have thought we’d see you two march down the aisle together?”

  “Yes, who would have thought?”

  Fire and ice. She’d overheard the comparison being bantered around the Pendleton Police Department. There had been plenty of other jokes tossed about their supposed mismatch.

  It was no wonder the department was gripping their sides with laughter. She couldn’t believe it herself.

  Maggie wore her heart on her sleeve, whereas Griff was a master at keeping his emotions in lockdown.

  Now they would be meeting at the end of her march down that long aisle ahead of her.

  Against her will, her gaze found Griff’s. Even from this distance, the steel-gray depths beckoned her. Her stomach twisted another half notch. Chills raced up and down her spine, despite the warm September day and stuffiness inside the church as the air between them seethed with a static she couldn’t quite categorize—and certainly didn’t trust. Could the tension of what lay ahead for them be undermining Griff’s infamous control, too? The thought made her even more nervous.

  Wylie squeezed her icy fingers. “Might as well enjoy it. A bride is supposed to like all the hype and trimmings.”

  His welcome interruption gave her the strength to tear her gaze from Griff’s. “I can’t imagine why.”

  The older man shook his head, the silver of his hair catching in the light. “Ah, Maggie, my love, where is your sense of romance?”

  “Dad always said romance was for fools.”

  “There are more than a few women who would love to trade places with you. You’re one lucky woman.”

  “And I didn’t even have to buy a lottery ticket.”

  He chuckled. “Nice try, Maggie. I know true love when I see it. Those green eyes of yours can’t hide a thing.”

  True love? Her fingers tightened around the flowers. She didn’t dare examine her real feelings for Griff, the department’s Golden Boy. Not if she wanted to make her way down that long, long aisle.

  The butterflies raising a ruckus in her stomach were already betting against her ability to go through with it.

  Who knew what could go wrong? Despite all their planning and preparation—

  Stop it, Maggie, she ordered herself. If she backed out, she’d let down not only Griff and Wylie but herself.

  And Aunt Jessica.

  Oh Lord, just thinking of Aunt Jessica’s expectations made her head throb. Her aunt, her father’s sister and the only remaining relative Maggie had, was seated at the front of the church, no doubt already dabbing her eyes with one of the three monogrammed handkerchiefs she’d insisted on bringing.

  Aunt Jessica adored Griff and always had. She had so many hopes riding on this marriage. She’d fussed over him each time she arrived from Florida for a visit. There was always a Christmas present for Griff along with all the other packages her aunt sent.

  Now that they were to be married, her aunt couldn’t contain her enthusiasm and delight.

  Maggie squeezed her eyes shut and tried to suck in a stress-relieving breath. She’d honor her word, fulfill her commitment and hope for the best. After all, she’d survived tougher situations.

  How tough could a wedding be?

  Da-a-dum-de-dum.

  The sound of the organ chiming the opening notes of the bridal march sent the butterflies inside her hurdling into kamikaze maneuvers.

  Wylie snagged her hand through the bend of his arm. “Look’s like the show is about to begin.”

  Maggie struggled against the temptation to grab the hem of the suffocating white dress and race out the door. Why hadn’t she insisted on a small wedding?

  Show no fear, her father’s voice echoed through her head.

  Maggie clamped down on her cowardliness.

  Her gaze rose and locked with Griff’s. She saw the challenge in his expression, felt the dare. He knew she was hedging. Her hackles rose as she caught his glint of amusement. Darn him.

  She lifted her chin.

  Wylie tugged on her arm, his feet moving forward in the formal wedding glide. “Come on, Maggie. Smile.”

  She didn’t respond, using every bit of energy she had to keep track of placing one foot in front of the other.

  Remember the timing.

  Listen for your cue.

  Think about what’s at stake.

  Keep your chin high.

  “Relax,” Wylie breathed at her side. “Marie Antoinette probably looked happier walking to the guillotine.”

  “Is the guillotine an option?” Her smile muscles refused to cooperate. Without looking at Wylie, she could feel his silent laughter. It was easy for him. He wasn’t going to pledge “’til death do us part” to Griff Murdock.

  Each step echoed a hammering drumbeat in her head and drew her closer to the inevitable. The weight of her fancy hairdo became heavier.

  She tried to give herself a pep talk and be grateful she only had to go through this once and then never again. Perhaps women who had their real fathers at their side, with their mothers beaming mistily at them from afar, found some kind of meaning in this pomp and circumstance, but it reeked of phoniness to Maggie. Both her parents were dead, and she was in the midst of cops—the only family she’d ever really had.

  Griff’s gaze never released hers. Seductive, deep, compelling. Always drawing more from her than she wanted to give. Always knowing. Always seeing.

  Did he suspect what she was thinking?

  She saw his gaze slip down to her lips. Her insides flip-flopped. Why Griff Murdock of all people?

  But then it had always been Griff. Griff, who had attended her high school graduation in place of her father. Griff, who’d sent her flowers after she’d gotten hurt in a sledding accident.

  Grappling with her waning courage, Maggie forced her gaze to shift to the darkly robed man standing near the pulpit.

  The unfamiliar face of the robed man took a moment to register. She frowned. “Where’s Armstrong?” she whispered the question through her locked teeth.

  “Reverend Foxworth insisted he’s the only one who performs weddings in his sanctuary.”

  Maggie stumbled. “Reverend—”

  Wylie steadied her, without losing a beat of their pace. “Don’t worry about it. This won’t hurt a bit.”

  Any argument to the contrary fled the next moment as Wylie thrust her cold fingers into the shocking warmth of Griff’s. Touching the live heat radiating from his palm nearly buckled Maggie’s knees.

  “Going to make a run for it?” Griff’s deep-throated drawl accompanied a sardonic lift to his left eyebrow.

  “Only if you do.”

  “I love a woman who will follow her man anywhere.”

  His low-pitched banter helped her relax. She tossed her veiled head, ignoring the screaming protest of her tightly bound hair. “Who’s following?” she whispered loud enough for the preacher to hear. “I’m using you to blaze the trail in front of me.”

  The pastor cleared his throat noisily and gave them both a stern look laden with disapproval before saying, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered…”

  Drawing a mask over her features, Maggie tried to follow the preacher’s words and ignore the fact that her hand was tucked in next to Griff’s powerfully muscled arm, inches from his heart.

  The thought did little to settle her uneasiness.

  A heart was not something she’d ever associated with Griff.

  “Repeat after me…”

  She found herself turned, facing Griff, her hands swallowed in his warm grip. The late afternoon sun beamed through the kaleidoscope of church windows, forcing her to squint into his face. His shadow blocked out the sight and sound of everyone around them, his musky scent filling her
senses.

  Gooseflesh rose along her arms as she saw both intent and purpose engraved in his hard face and felt the force of his personality.

  Surrealism descended over her as Griff recited his vows first.

  Then it was Maggie’s turn. Her voice sounded strange, totally foreign, a testimony to the tightness that lodged in her throat. Somehow she managed to respond, only stumbling once.

  The reverend nodded to her. “Give Griff your left hand.”

  Apprehension slithered up Maggie’s backbone. Handing her bouquet jerkily to Christine, a fellow officer and her only attendant, Maggie turned to face Griff again. Without looking directly into his face, she thrust her hand toward him.

  The ring slid smoothly into place.

  Then Christine reached over and gave Maggie the groom’s ring. Maggie tried to keep her hand steady as she recited the short vows while holding Griff’s finger and trying to maneuver the gold band.

  The ring hit a major roadblock at Griff’s knuckle.

  Before she could release his finger and let him complete the task, his warm, dry hand closed over hers and helped her slide the ring past the ridge. She forgot to breathe. Trapped close to his side, she understood how a prisoner felt when the handcuffs were snapped on and he saw his freedom slip away.

  “You’re not going to faint on me, are you?” The growl in Griff’s voice made her straighten.

  She shot him a rebuking look, noticing that while his words contained their usual teasing, his gray eyes were sober.

  Before she could respond, an authoritative voice echoed through the room, “Freeze! Put your hands in the air and don’t move!”

  Chapter 2

  Griff reacted on gut instinct.

  “Everyone down on the floor,” he shouted over his shoulder.

  He shoved Maggie behind the pulpit and came down heavily on top of her. Her outraged gasp boded ill, but he didn’t take time to apologize. He was more concerned no bullets separated their heads from their bodies.

  From the corner of his eye, he could see the pews were cleared.