Dylan stepped into the suite. His green eyes were glued to her, and the reverent expression on his handsome face was completely unexpected.

“Wow,” he breathed. “Claire, you look…wow…you look so beautiful.”

It took a few dumbfounded seconds for her to fathom that he wasn’t being sarcastic. Since he’d never looked at her with anything other than annoyance or scorn, his visible appreciation compelled her to glance at the mirror again and really study her reflection this time.

A different woman was looking back at her, a woman in a gorgeous satin-and-lace gown with a sweetheart neckline, full skirt and short train. Her auburn hair was arranged in long, flowing waves, slightly pulled back with tiny white flowers threaded through it. Her minimal, shimmery makeup gave her skin a radiant glow, and the heirloom diamond bracelet around her wrist caught the light and sparkled whenever she moved.

God, she did look beautiful.

The realization dimmed some of her panic. If Dylan, a man who disliked her, could appreciate the way she looked right now, then clearly she was about to knock her groom’s socks off.

“Thanks,” she said, keeping her gaze on her reflection.

“Um…” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I came by because I needed to tell you…uh…”

The agitation in his normally confident tone had her turning to face him. Okay, weird. Dylan was shifting around as if he couldn’t get comfortable. His hands slid into the pockets of his black trousers, then back out. His black dress shoes tapped the carpet a couple of times, and then he edged backward toward the door, his expression downright pained.

For the first time in three months, Claire was able to look at Dylan without blushing or visualizing the intensely erotic scene she’d witnessed between him and—nope, not going there.

She shoved the memory right out of her head and focused on the odd tension thickening the space between them.

“What’s going on, Dylan?” Fear darted through her. “Is everything okay? Is Chris all right?”

“He’s fine,” Dylan said quickly.

“Then what is it?”

He shuffled awkwardly, raking a hand through his short blond hair.

“Look,” he started, his voice a tad hoarse, “Chris is…um…aw shit, there’s no easy way to say this, okay? So I’m just going to do it, and I want you to know that doing this brings me no pleasure. You and me…we don’t really get along, and then there was that whole visit thing and…you know, what you saw at my place…which you never brought up again, and I’m really grateful for that, by the way—”

“Oh for the love of God,” she interrupted. “Quit babbling and say what you came here to say.”

“Chris left.”

Claire blinked. “What?”

“He left.” Misery flashed across Dylan’s face. “He couldn’t go through with the wedding. He…uh, he doesn’t think you two are right for each other.”

Shock slammed into her, so powerful she nearly keeled over.

Chris was calling off the wedding?

A rush of humiliation joined the unwavering shock. Oh God. The groom backing out at the last minute was definitely not part of her childhood fantasy.

As tears filled her eyes again, she looked at Dylan with dismay. “I can’t believe this.”

He looked upset. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be the one telling you this. My brother is a bastard for running away, and I promise you, I tried to get him to do the right thing. I told him it was his responsibility to talk to you, but I guess he thought it would be too painful or something.”

“Wait a minute,” she burst out, as something suddenly registered. “What do you mean, he left?”

Dylan’s throat jumped as he gulped. “He left. As in, no longer here.”

“You mean he left the country club?” Her mouth dropped open. “He just drove away?”

There was a quick nod.

Her pulse careened into cardiac-arrest territory, her throat tightening with horror when she realized what that meant. “He’s going to make me face all those guests by myself?” Her breathing went shallow. “I’m the one who has to tell everyone there won’t be a wedding?”

Shock flitted through Dylan’s eyes. “What? No, of course not. Don’t worry, my mom will make the announcement.”

Agony and embarrassment heated her cheeks as she pictured Dylan’s sweet mother getting up there in front of hundreds of strangers and telling them they’d wasted their time in coming here.

“You can’t put that on Shanna,” she moaned. “Oh God. This is so humiliating!”

“Claire. Hey, calm down, honey. Take a deep breath.”

She ignored him, her brain continuing to run over all the mortifying implications of Chris’s cowardice.

“I have to tell my parents,” she mumbled between unsteady breaths. “And Father Thomas. Oh gosh, do you think Frank Lowenstein will expect us to reimburse him for renting out the Lavender Ballroom?”

Her hands started shaking again. More and more thoughts flew into her head. “My boss is out there, and all my colleagues. I can’t go out there and have everyone feeling sorry for me.” Her gaze darted toward the mirror again. “Oh shit, I can’t be wearing this gown when they see me.”

The next few minutes were a blur of irrationality, a heart-pounding, panic-induced daze that somehow ended with Claire’s wedding dress turning into a pool of fabric at her feet. She had no recollection of getting undressed—and apparently no sense of modesty, either—but suddenly she was wearing nothing but a strapless white bra and matching thong, completely on display for her runaway groom’s brother.