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grateful he’s marrying you. He’s the type who could have talked you right into bed without bothering with the ring. Call me when you get back from your honeymoon.“
    „Well?“ McCord had asked, not appearing overly concerned. „What's the verdict?“
    Pru had cleared her throat. „She says you sound slicker than a greased hog on ice and that I should be grateful you’re marrying me because otherwise you might easily have ruined me.“
    McCord had winced. „Ouch. The woman does have a narrow view of the world, doesn’t she?“ Then he
    ’d grinned wickedly. „Are you grateful that I’m marrying you, Pru?“
    She’d batted her eyes in mock admiration. „Oh, yes, terribly grateful. Words can’t begin to express my gratitude.“
    McCord had laughed and wrapped one large hand around the nape of her neck. He’d pulled her toward him and dropped a kiss on her nose. „As if I had a choice.“
    She hadn’t known how to take that comment, but decided he’d meant it as a joke.
    After the ceremony, McCord had driven her up the coast past Ventura. They’d checked into a beautiful, rambling inn near the ocean and Pru had been delighted with the fireplace, the huge bath and the luxurious furnishings of the small suite. The perfect honeymoon hotel, she’d decided exuberantly.
    But now she was unaccountably nervous, and she didn’t know why. One thing was for sure – the longer she delayed going out into the bedroom, the more anxious she got.
    She took one last look at the flowing lines of the pale yellow, low-necked negligee she had bought for her honeymoon and then straightened her shoulders and opened the connecting door.

    McCord was standing in front of the window, gazing out over the darkened sea. He was stripped to the waist, and he had taken off his shoes. The jeans he’d put on after dinner rode low on his hips, and his broad, smoothly muscled shoulders gleamed a faint gold in the dim light of the bedside lamp.
    He’d opened the bottle of champagne he’d ordered earlier from room service, and two fluted glasses stood on the table beside him. When he heard the sound of the bathroom door being opened, he turned to confront his bride. His eyes were endlessly dark and unfathomably deep, but the shimmer of possessiveness in them was unmistakable. Pru halted in the doorway, a little disconcerted by the directness of his gaze.
    McCord smiled faintly and reached for the bottle of champagne. He filled the two glasses, picked them up and came deliberately across the room to offer one to Pru. She took it with fingers that trembled ever so slightly and managed to return his smile.
    „I know,“ McCord said with a soft reassurance as he stood looking down at her. „I’m a little nervous, too.“
    „I suppose that’s one of the advantages to having lived with a man before you marry him,“ Pru murmured. „He knows you well enough by the wedding night to guess how you’re feeling when you come out of the bathroom.“
    „There is a certain comfort in familiarity, isn’t there?“ McCord tipped the champagne to he r lips and urged her to take a sip.
    Pru thought of all the current advice that encouraged pregnant mothers not to drink and contented herself with barely wetting her tongue. Then she wrinkled her nose as she realized she really didn’t care for the taste. Odd. Normally she enjoyed good champagne.
    „If we’re so familiar to each other, why are we feeling nervous?“ Pru asked, looking up at McCord.
    He shrugged. „Probably because, when all is said and done, it’s different being married.“
    Pru felt a wave of unease go through her. Her eyes widened in the soft light, the underlying anxiety plain in them. „McCord, are you very, very sure this is what you wanted?“
    He took the unfinished glass from her fingers, set it down beside his own and then wrapped his strong hands around her shoulders. She was fascinated by the masculine certainty that blazed out at her from his eyes.
    „Oh, yes, my