The Determined Groom. Kate Little
He bent to kiss her cheek and inhaled the flowery scent of her hair. He drew away and gazed down at her to find a tender smile on her lips and a knowing look in her eyes that caused his heart to shudder with awareness. He did not release her hand, nor did she make any move to break contact.
“My father told me he met you in town. He said you might come,” she said. “But I wasn’t sure you would. I remembered how much you hated fancy parties.”
Her voice sounded different, deeper, richer, and the music of it worked a special magic on him.
“Still hate parties,” he replied, flashing a grin. “But I wanted to see you.”
Maybe seeing Laurel hadn’t been Connor’s conscious reason for coming. But as he said the words aloud, he knew it was true.
When he’d met Charles Sutherland in town that day, he’d asked about Laurel, tried to picture how she’d turned out since he’d last seen her. How long had it been? Five years, since her mother had died when she was sixteen. He had attended the funeral, offered his comfort and condolences as best as he could, but had barely spoken to her after that day.
After Madeleine Sutherland’s death, there were no more summers on the Cape for Laurel and her family. His father said that Charles Sutherland found it too painful to return to the place that held so many memories for him. Connor could understand, but regretted the way Charles’s grief kept Laurel away. After that time, Laurel and her older brother, Phillip, attended boarding schools during the fall and winter and spent their summers abroad, on organized trips for wealthy teenagers. Yes, they’d lost touch completely after Mrs. Sutherland had died.
Charles had spoken proudly of his daughter’s accomplishments, how well she’d done at the Ivy League college she’d attended, her acceptance to a prestigious law school. Adding, almost as an afterthought, the news that she’d soon be married. A very nice boy she’d met in college, Charles explained. The wedding was less than a month away, in fact. Charles was hosting a party for the happy couple that very night.
“Won’t you drop by, Connor?” Charles had urged him. “I know Laurel would love to see you.”
Connor had agreed to come. He owed Charles Sutherland so much. All the opportunity and advantages in his life that now granted him such a promising future. A debt he’d vowed to someday repay. Of course he’d come to the party. It was generous, as always, of Charles to invite him. To treat Connor as a friend of the family, an equal, when in fact they both knew that Connor was no more than the caretaker’s son.
As he returned to his father’s modest cottage and prepared to visit the Sutherland estate, Connor refused to acknowledge the way his heart had clenched when Laurel’s father had told him about her engagement. But he could not push away the many images of Laurel that had drifted through his mind all day—memories of the adventures they’d shared, their squabbles and reconciliations, the secrets they had entrusted to each other. He was eager to see her. And curious to meet the man she had decided to marry.
His thoughts and feelings about her all day gave no hint to the impact he now felt, standing beside her. The flood of emotions was staggering, like a giant wave crashing down over him. It took all his self-control to keep up a polite front.
All he knew now was that he did not want to let go of her hand. Not soon. Not ever. If anything, he wanted to pull her closer, draw her slender form to his side and bury his face in her silky hair.
Could she guess? Was she feeling anything like this for him?
When he met her gaze, she appeared to have been studying him. Connor wasn’t vain about his looks, but he knew by now that women found him attractive—and told him so. They liked his thick dark hair and deep brown eyes, the cleft in his strong chin and the flash of his even white teeth when he smiled. Connor never gave much thought to his looks, but as Laurel’s appraising gaze swept over him, he hoped that she liked what she saw.
With a slight, sly smile on her lips, she craned her head back and stared up to take in his entire six foot two inches.
“My word, you got tall,” she observed lightly. “Remember how you worried that you wouldn’t?”
He laughed. It seemed a hundred years ago that he’d wasted so much time worrying needlessly about that boyhood concern. He’d forgotten he’d confided that fear to anyone. But he must have told Laurel.
“You turned out pretty well yourself,” he observed, his gaze sweeping down to take in every lovely inch of her.
She was tall. But not too tall. Just right, he thought. Long arms and legs, like a model. But without that starved-greyhound look he hated. She still looked as if she worked out, but now she had curves in all the right places.
“Well, thanks. How nice of you to notice.” The corner of her mouth twisted up in a playful grin Connor found amazingly sexy and appealing. “Is that the line you use on the girls in New York?”
“I don’t date very much,” he answered with a laugh. “Maybe I should work on my technique.” It was the truth, too. For the past six years he’d been too busy keeping up his grades and working at the part-time jobs that supplemented his scholarships.
“Maybe,” she replied quietly. She paused, looked out at the crowd then back at him, her expression dreamy, wistful. “It’s good to see you again, Connor,” she added softly.
“It’s great to see you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
A jazz ensemble at the far end of the patio started to play a torchy ballad Connor had always liked, but at that moment, the familiar song seemed to take on a special meaning.
“Dance with me?”
She smiled her assent and he led her out to the dance floor, then took her in his arms. She willingly moved closer to him, her long smooth arms looped around his neck, her head turned to the side so that her cheek nearly brushed his shoulder. He took a deep breath, inhaled her perfume and the special, unique scent of her warm skin. He felt intoxicated, drugged, cast under a powerful spell. As he tilted his head to look down at her, it was with willful effort that he suppressed an urge to dip his head just a few inches lower to drop a soft kiss on her full, berry-red mouth.
How wonderful that would feel, he thought as she swayed seductively against him. How amazingly wonderful.
But once he got started, how would he stop? It was hard enough to control himself, holding her like this. Her slender body fit perfectly next to his own, he thought. His bare palm made contact with the silky skin on her back, exposed by the low back-line of her gown, and Connor felt his heartbeat race. He had the immediate urge to run his hand up and down her bare back, to caress and explore every inch of smooth skin. To slide his hands down the curve of her hip and cup her adorable bottom.
In short, to create a scandalizing scene, right here on the patio of the Sutherland summer mansion. A scene that would be talked about in certain circles for years to come.
Laurel asked him questions, eager to catch up on the years since they’d been apart. She listened with genuine interest as he told her about his college years, his studies and the many part-time jobs he’d worked to get through school. He told her all about the new apartment in New York and his new job. He asked her questions, too, carefully sidestepping the subject of her upcoming marriage. Yet, all the while they spoke, his pulse pounded furiously, a distant part of his mind was spinning out of control with rapturous images and emotions.
Had he ever danced with Laurel before? Really danced, not just playing around with music on the radio? He could only remember one time, at a Labor Day barbecue; she was sixteen and he was twenty. They were both at an awkward stage, Connor reflected, if Laurel had ever gone through such a phase. She had the requisite braces and unruly hair, the gawky angles to her figure and a touching shyness. Some stuck-up prep-school boy she had a crush on had treated her heartlessly all night long. He’d even gone so far as to tease her when she asked him to dance. Connor had watched as the tears welled up in her eyes, and did the only thing he could do—short of socking the other kid in the nose—tug Laurel out on the dance floor himself.