The Bridal Chase

Darcy Maguire spends her days as a matchmaker, torturing tall, handsome men, seducing them into believing in love and romancing their socks off! And when she’s not working on her novels, she enjoys gardening, reading and going to the movies. She loves to hear from readers. Visit her at www.darcymaguire.com.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

ROXANNE GRAY glanced up at the ceiling dragging in a ragged breath. The bar was crass, loud and a cliché, but it had to be at his local.

She figured she had to seem available and willing to roll between the covers with him with only the smallest effort on his part.

Oh, gawd. What had she got herself into?

It had taken her for ever to work out that she couldn’t just go anywhere to pick him up. It couldn’t be at a library or he’d think she was too smart to fall straight into bed with him. And it couldn’t be at a shopping mall because, goodness, although she’d be awfully comfortable and at home, she couldn’t wait that long until he went into one.

Roxanne toyed with the stem of her glass to still her shaking hands. It couldn’t be on public transport because he probably didn’t take it—he was the sort of guy who would have a really nice car parked somewhere…and if by chance he did take the bus or train, what was the likelihood he’d consider a woman who made eye contact? Even if it was just for sex?

She glanced around the room, taking a deep breath to calm herself, pushing the thought far from her mind. Just meeting him was all she had to worry about, for now.

His workplace had seemed a nice safe environment for her to engineer a meeting with him, but there were just too many rules for office decorum and propriety to wade through before she’d have been able to get what she needed.

She glanced towards the door, the thought of escape on her mind. She didn’t have to step this far out of her comfort zone to prove anything…or did she?

Roxanne shook herself. This had to be done. She needed a quick, efficient approach and this was it. The only logical option left to her was a club like this.

She had to smile at the cliché she made, sitting at a bar in a short black dress with a plunging neckline. She clutched her strawberry daiquiri as if it was a lifeline to sanity.

She couldn’t believe she was doing this…

Roxanne stroked the book beside her, struggling with her rising panic. It had given her a few ideas on how to do this. She’d picked it up from a little bookshop down the street. It dedicated an entire chapter to the arts of picking up a woman…she couldn’t find one on how to pick up a guy. Either it wasn’t that hard or women didn’t usually do it. Either way, she figured the book had at least given her a few hints.

She took another gulp of her daiquiri, savouring the fruity sweetness, praying the double jigger of rum she’d asked for had given her the courage to go through with this.

Gawd, she hoped he liked her and fell into her trap—hook, line and sinker.

Roxanne tried to smile at the barman, but failed. The mass of pick-up lines swirled in her head, the litany of conversation starters, and the burden of the result she was looking for was all she could cope with.

She swung around on her stool, trying to ignore the cold knot forming in her belly. The bar was filling fast with suits from all quarters of the city sector stopping in for a quick drink before the long haul homeward, most probably to partners and kids. Some just meeting up with others to take the trip with, or to join friends to go out somewhere else.

The bar was a trendy place deep in Sydney’s business sector, with just the right balance of class and approachability. The artworks on the walls were modern, the solid colours lit by bright lights shining only on them, the rest of the room bathed in the shadows and the reflected light, giving a mood of intimacy and privacy despite the lack of space.

The black faux-marble bar stretched almost across the room, with matching tables with their own chrome bar stools perched beside them, placed to maximize the capacity rather than for comfort zones. And Roxanne was as far from her comfort zone as she could get.

She didn’t want to be here, or meet him.

Cade Taylor Watson…what a name. She glanced at the photo of him that she was using as a bookmark. His large square jaw, his strong brow, his chiselled features giving his image a strength and a presence that she could feel right down to her toes.

Her hand still shook as she lifted her glass again. This wasn’t going to be easy.

She took a big gulp of her drink, scanning the room again, half-afraid she’d missed him, yet more terrified that she hadn’t.

He stood by the door.

Her heart slammed into her chest.

He was easy to spot. He stood a good six inches taller than the suits around him. His finely tailored suit was deep blue. His hair was cut short at the sides, the longer top slightly spiked, the colour an almost rusty-blond that seemed to match his eyes—a golden hazel, and his gaze careered around the room.