Prologue

If Mason Rossi had to listen to the “Wedding March” one more time, he’d flat-out lose it. Like, he’d seriously go troppo, as his Aussie coworker Wyatt Hollister might say. In other words, he’d end up blowing a freaking gasket.

He had nothing against the tune, per se, but he’d suffered through a whirlwind of weddings the last few weeks that would test even the most romantic soul and he was so over it. First Olivia Larrson and Alex Mylonas tied the knot, then Talia Cohen and Hunter McGrath. Next came Hillary Billings and Reed Steele, followed by Grant Colton and Melody Franklin. The latest had been a blowout wedding of epic proportions. Sawyer Oldham and Harlow Duquesne’s nuptials were an over-the-top affair that featured the President of the United States—also known as Harlow’s grandmother—and about a thousand of their closest friends. All nice events, all, thankfully, ancient history.

He’d walked down the aisle before and one time was more than enough for him. He’d loved Abby once, or he thought he had. They’d met while serving in the military. The connection had been instant, and they landed in bed soon after. They’d been deliriously happy, so tying the knot had been an easy decision. But marriage turned out to be nothing like he’d expected. Abby hadn’t been faithful, and he’d been miserable.

I do’s were fine for his coworkers. He just never planned to partake again. Hell, the song said it all: Dum, dum, da-dum. He translated that into: marriage—dumb, dumb, da-dumb idea.

He’d endured plenty of the pitying looks at each of the ceremonies, especially by the women in attendance. It was as if his friends were afraid he’d fall apart or something. Yes, his wife had died tragically. Actually, she’d been murdered by the stalker targeting Kaitlyn Colton Bradley. But his marriage had been over long before her unexpected passing.

Though he didn’t love her anymore, Abby’s death still left a hole in his heart. Just because he didn’t want to be her husband any longer didn’t mean he wanted her gone from the earth. He was reasonably sure they wouldn’t have remained friends if they ended the marriage, but he didn’t wish her any ill will. She’d cheated on him. Repeatedly. But his answer to that was divorce, not death.

He’d dated several women since Abby. Slept with more than a few. But he had no desire to risk putting his heart out there again. In his experience, love hurt. A big slashing sword through the chest cavity, leaving a gaping, exposed wound. Wasn’t worth it.

He smiled at Martha, the elderly woman with a silver cap of hair who handed him a ticket for his tuxedo. She didn’t ask questions, but she had to wonder why he was dropping it off to be dry cleaned once a week. Maybe she thought he was a male escort or something. It’d explain the salacious winks she kept sending his way that he studiously ignored.

He hoped to heck he didn’t need to wear the tux again for a very long time. He felt like an imposter each time he donned the penguin suit. He wasn’t tuxes and champagne. He was t-shirts and beer.

Tucking the receipt into his pocket, he waved to Martha as he turned to leave the shop. A little bell chimed when he opened the door. Slipping on his sunglasses, he stepped into the fresh Autumn air. Though it was early, the humidity was already creeping up the charts. It’d be a scorcher today.

He noticed a woman walking his way, her long, blond hair flowing around her shoulders like a golden cape. Her stride was both graceful and powerful. She looked like a conquering heroine. Her attention was focused on the cell in her hand, which she apparently used as a speaker phone. She was totally oblivious to the world around her. He appreciated her tone legs, her thighs sleek and muscular beneath a floral combination of a skirt and shorts. He thought they might be called skorts. Though she wasn’t overly tall—he’d estimate five-four or five-five—her legs looked a country-mile long.

A noise caught his attention. The deep, pounding beat of a radio cranked full volume. The ground seemed to shake with the reverberations. His eyes rounded when the car jumped the curb and careened onto the sidewalk—directly towards him. Though he was in the flight path, he wasn’t worried about himself. All his focus was on the gorgeous blond with her back to the rapidly-approaching threat.

“Look out,” he called, lurching forward. He wrapped his arms around her and jerked her out of harm’s way at the last second, flattening them both against the side of a building. She gasped as her phone flew from her hand and judging by the crunch, it was now flatter than a pancake beneath the car’s front tire. Another crunch. And rear tire.

“What the hell are you doing? My iPhone!”

He winced at the words screamed directly into his ear canal. Damn, he was afraid it might’ve shattered. Then the woman slammed a solid fist against his chest. The car brushed past them, too close for comfort and he crowded her against the brick wall, shielding her from about four thousand pounds of angry machine. He tried not to notice the feel of her supple breasts pressed against his chest. He really did. But it was impossible. It was only after the car bumped off the sidewalk and sped away, leaving a sickening stench of burnt rubber in its wake, that she realized the danger. All the fight left her in an instant and he stepped back, giving her room.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed. “That car…the sidewalk…” She abruptly broke off, her long, elegant throat working as her hand covered her heart. She shoved a lock of flaxen hair from her face with a shaking hand. “It was coming right at me?”

No sense in lying. “Yes. It was.”

“I had no idea. You saved my life. Thank you.”

#

Cassidy Swain’s heart was about to explode right out of her chest. One minute, she’d been talking to her mother, trying to describe the space she’d found that would be perfect for her dream dance academy. She’d said goodbye and disconnected and the next thing she knew, she’d been tackled by a muscular giant. Her beautiful rose gold iPhone flew from her hand and crashed to the sidewalk. The shell casing might’ve protected it from the fall, but not from the thick rubber tires that squashed it as flat as a fly beneath a swatter. It was only after she felt the breeze from the car that barely missed them that she realized what had happened. She’d almost been run over, and that muscular giant had saved her life.

The man had forced her against the wall of a building and then plastered his body over hers, protecting her. He didn’t even know her, yet he didn’t hesitate to put his life on the line to save her. Thank you seemed too insignificant for what he’d done.

Thank goodness she’d disconnected the call with her mom, a world-class worrier. She’d have been out of her mind wondering what happened. It wasn’t like Cassidy could call her back right away and explain, either.

She stayed propped against the rough brick, trying to regain her bearings and her breath. She was afraid her legs were too shaky to hold her. Lifting her head, she took her first good look at the muscular giant and gasped. Goodness, he was stunning. Dark hair cut military short. Square jaw with chiseled features. Laser blue eyes that focused on her intently. Heavily muscled with not one ounce of fat. She was five-five and he was at least a foot taller. The man was absolutely magnificent. She’d felt his strength first-hand when he’d effortlessly lifted her off the ground. Though she’d been outraged at the time, she’d also felt protected. Weird.

“Do you want to call the police?”

It took a moment for her brain to process the question. She’d been so engrossed in cataloguing his impressive assets: tall, dark hair, beautiful eyes, full lips, smokin’ hot body. What was the question again? Oh, right, did she want to deal with the cops? She pushed off the wall, glad to discover her legs held. “No. I doubt there’s anything they could do, and I didn’t get a good look at the car.”

“I did.”

He said it with such authority, she had no doubt he’d memorized the make, model and license plate number as well. “Thanks, but I have an appointment I can’t miss.” She glanced at the jagged pieces of plastic littering the sidewalk and winced. “And I need to replace my phone.”

“Sorry about that.”

She jerked her gaze to his. “I wasn’t complaining. A crushed phone is better than crushed bones.”

He smiled and she stumbled until her back met the brick again. Good Lord, she thought he was handsome before, but when he smiled he was almost too pretty to look at, like gazing at the sun. Straight white teeth and dimples. He had dimples!

The smile fled as quickly as it appeared, replaced with apprehension. He took a step towards her. “Do you feel okay? Are you dizzy?”

She shook her head, brushing away his concern. “No, I’m fine. I don’t know what else to say but thank you, though it seems inadequate.”

“No thanks necessary.”

With a tip of his head and one last smile, he was gone. She watched him stride away, the back view just as fine as the front. She fought the irrational urge to call out to him. She didn’t want him to leave.

It wasn’t until he disappeared around a corner that she realized she didn’t even ask his name.