A Groom For The Taking. Rebecca Winters
fault her life hadn’t tuned out as she’d hoped it would.
‘No, no, no!’ a familiar voice shouted at the edge of his consciousness.
He dragged himself back to the present to see Hannah, in her tight capri pants, sexy stilettos, hair tumbling down her back, with hands to her ears, mouth agape, staring into the distance.
At the sight of her—the realness of her, the nowness of her—the unbearable memory dissolved like a pinch of salt in a pool of water. It was just what he needed in that moment. She was just what he needed.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked, placing a hand on her arm. Hannah’s warmth beneath his fingers further banished the cold memories. Selfishly, he let his hand trail down her arm till it found purchase in the sultry dip of her waist.
At his intimate touch her eyes snapped from the middle distance to glance at him. Cheeks pink. Eyes bright and questioning. Confused.
But mostly curious.
His solar plexus clenched in pure and unadulterated sexual response. It hit so hard, so violently, he just had to stand there and ride it. Either that or haul her over his shoulder like some caveman and drag her back to their room. Their shared room.
The song changed key. Hannah blinked, as if coming round from a trance. Then she waved a frantic arm in the direction of the karaoke stage and yelled to be heard over the speakers buzzing nearby. ‘I’m not tall enough to see, but is that my mother?’
Her mother?
‘You mean the one singing?’
Hannah nodded frantically.
Bradley searched the hazy room to see Hannah’s mother was indeed up on stage, belting out a Cliff Richard classic while swinging her hips and waving at the small crowd who were cheering as if she was a rock star. A man joined her on stage—a man young enough to be Hannah’s brother. Though from the way they oozed over the microphone together Bradley assumed the man was not blood-related.
‘That would be her,’ he said, keeping that last part to himself.
The sad, withdrawn, silently accusing woman fading in his mind and Hannah’s effervescent mother couldn’t have been more diametrically opposite if they’d tried. But neither of them could ever have hoped to be named mother of the year.
Instinct moved him closer to Hannah still. His body protecting hers from the crush. When she didn’t pull away he slid his arm further around her waist, drawing her close enough that he collected wafts of that insanely sexy perfume with every breath. Then she leaned into him, the curves of her body slotting so temptingly into the grooves of his, and a slow, steady pulse began to throb in his groin.
Who was playing with fire now?
‘Come on, kiddo,’ he shouted above the din. ‘Let’s get those drinks.’
They hadn’t taken two steps when they were stopped by a small crowd of people and Hannah was wrenched from Bradley, leaving a chill where her sensual warmth had been.
He shoved his untrustworthy hands back in pockets, and watched as person after person grabbed Hannah in a warm embrace. She was right; her naked run down Main Street was well-remembered.
After a minute Hannah sent him a look of apology. He shook his head once to tell her it was fine. And it was. Watching someone else get mobbed rather than him was something of a novelty.
Attention always made him feel scratchy. He’d never courted it, never coveted it, and certainly hadn’t done anything to deserve it. Even if he had, the attention was so foreign he’d never been equipped to know how to deal with it bar turning to stone till the discomfort passed.
Hannah, on the other hand, took attention and affection in her stride. As if it was expected. As if it was her right.
A completely unexpected kick of something that felt a whole lot like envy tightened his throat.
He’d never cared that not one of the folk who’d been forced to take him in had ever come looking for him. Not even since he’d found some notoriety. In fact he’d been relieved. If he couldn’t put on an act for complete strangers, there was no way he could have done so for them.
But watching Hannah glow and blush and laugh, revelling in the close company of those who’d been witness to her life, gave him a glimpse at the other side of the looking glass. The sense of belonging he’d never been allowed to have.
This was what she’d walked away from. What she could have again if she ever chose to come home for good.
As if to jab the point home deep, Elyse leapt into the crowd surrounding Hannah, yanking her from the fray and back to his side. She shouted over the crowd noise, ‘I want to introduce you to someone!’
With a sweeping motion Elyse invited another man into their circle. Light brown hair, dimples, arms like a wrestler, twenty-five if he was a day. Elyse’s fiancé, Bradley assumed. They suited one another. A pair of happy-go-lucky puppies.
‘This is Hannah,’ Elyse said, wrapping her arm about Hannah’s shoulder, her gleaming eyes glancing hungrily between Hannah and … Not Tim, Bradley realised all too late, when he saw the predatory gleam in the other man’s eyes.
‘I’m Roger,’ said Dimples. ‘The best man. Elyse, you were being miserly when you described how pretty she was.’ Behind his hand he stage-whispered, ‘Your sister’s a knockout.’
Elyse laughed uproariously and pinched Hannah on the arm. Hannah did her best to pretend she hadn’t noticed. Bradley felt a distinctly non-puppy-like growl building inside him.
‘Pleased to meet you, Roger,’ Hannah said, holding out a hand.
Dimples took it—and kissed it.
Elyse clapped.
Hannah smiled politely.
Bradley stood to his full height and thought weightlifting-type thoughts.
Elyse must have noticed him filling every inch of available space, and gave a perfunctory wave in his direction. ‘Roger, this is Bradley Knight—Hannah’s boss. He’s filling in for Great-Aunt Maude.’
Bradley deflated, not sure he’d ever been given a more underwhelming introduction.
The two men shook hands. Dimples held on a little too tight. Punk. Bradley gave the kid one last ominous squeeze before letting go. He couldn’t hide his smile when the guy winced.
Lightweight.
‘I hear you’re an aerobics instructor?’ Bradley said.
‘Personal trainer,’ Roger shot back, seemingly oblivious to the intended put-down.
Hannah, on the other hand, noticed very much. In fact she gave a little cough at the exact time she stamped on Bradley’s foot with one of those damned stiletto heels. He shook out his pulsating foot, then shoved his shoe neatly between hers. Her heels slid apart on the parquetry floor, and a hard breath puffed through her lips.
As Elyse waxed lyrical about the hotel, Hannah’s hand drifted behind her to rest against his thigh. He clenched everywhere while he waited to see what she might do in retribution. As it turned out the gentle rise and fall of her pinky finger against his leg as she breathed was punishment enough.
‘And, boy, can your mum sing! Am I right?’ Roger said, giving Hannah a chummy punch on her arm.
Hannah blinked as though she’d forgotten he was even there. ‘Pardon? Oh, yeah. That she can!’
‘She was singing in a nightclub when our parents first met,’ Elyse piped up. ‘She was practising for her Miss Tasmania pageant number. He requested “The Way You Look Tonight”, which is her favourite song ever. It was love at first sight.’
‘Sounds like your father was a smart man,’ Roger said, sidling closer to Hannah.
Bradley