Heart of Stone. Lenora Worth
onto the gazebo bench, he realized she had been in the wedding party. One of the bridesmaids, maybe? She wore pale baby blue, something slinky with a gathered skirt flowing to just at her knees, and obviously with hidden pockets just right for a cell phone. Her light-blond hair was swept up in an elegant chignon that begged to be shaken and rearranged. And she wore a dainty pearl choker around her slender neck.
Stone hadn’t paid much attention to any of the attendants before. But he was paying attention to this one now.
“Hello,” she said into the silver-etched phone, her voice as silky soft and sultry as the magnolia blossoms blooming all around them. She was backing up as she talked, but Stone didn’t bother to move out of her way. “Yes, I understand. Tomorrow morning. I’ll be there. Finally, a face-to-face meeting. Thanks.” Her long sigh of relief filled the flower-scented air.
Glancing up the path, she hung up the phone, placed it carefully back in the tiny pocket of her skirts, then turned and ran right smack into Stone.
“Hi there,” he said, his gaze hidden behind the safety of his shades.
“Oh, hello. I—I didn’t see you there.”
“Obviously not.”
Surprised, and looking guilty, she grabbed up her flower and stumbled on the wooden gazebo step, but Stone reached out a hand to steady her. “Careful now.”
Putting a hand to her hair, she glanced around. “I suppose you think it strange—carrying a cell phone during a wedding.”
Stone held up his own phone. “A necessary evil.”
She nodded. “Very necessary. I was expecting an important phone call and well…I discovered this dress had pockets, so…”
“So you tucked your phone close because you can’t stop working, even for a wedding.”
“Even my sister’s wedding,” she said, a trace of what might have been anger at herself causing her to emphasize the words. “I told my assistant not to call during the wedding, at least. And I did just turn it back on.” That same anger made her look him square in the face, as if daring him to dispute her right to carry her phone. And that’s when he saw her eyes, up close for the very first time. They were almost the same blue as her dress. And wide and round. And defiant.
A defiant, blue-eyed, workaholic blonde. A blonde who felt fragile to his touch. Stone was immediately captivated. And cautious. Realizing he was still holding her bare arm, he helped her down the step, then registered what she’d just said. “Your sister is the bride?”
“Yes. Ana Hanson—well, now she’s Ana Dempsey—is my sister.” She stopped, adjusted her hair again. “I’m Tara Parnell.”
Tara Parnell.
Stone was very glad the woman couldn’t see his eyes. If she had, she would have seen the shock and recognition he was sure he couldn’t hide. He knew all about Tara Parnell. At least, he knew all about her on paper. He hadn’t had an inkling, however, about how beautiful and young she was. Stone had pictured a middle-aged, hard-to-deal-with widow.
She wasn’t middle-aged, but he knew she was a widow, and he had a distinct feeling she was going to be hard to deal with even more once she found out why he was here. But then, she didn’t have a clue as to who she was dealing with either, obviously.
“I’m Stone. Stone Dempsey.” He could tell her his name, since he knew beyond any doubt that she didn’t know who he really was. He’d been very careful up until now.
“You’re Rock’s brother.” It was a statement, given with a look that hovered between shock and suppressed interest.
Okay, so she now knew that much at least. “One of them. The one who wasn’t asked to be a member of the wedding party.”
“And the one who was apparently late getting here. Your family gave up on you even coming.”
“My family gave up on me a long time ago,” he said.
She frowned, then went blank. “Oh, I doubt that. But you were just running late, right? Business?”
“Guilty,” he said, without giving any apologies or explanations. “I slipped in the back way.”
She studied him then, giving him a direct blue-eyed look that become disconcerting in its intensity. Stone stared down business opponents every day, but he almost wanted to look away from this woman’s all-encompassing blue eyes. And yet, he didn’t. He couldn’t.
“It’s all true,” he said by way of defense.
She tilted her head up. “What?”
“Everything you’ve heard about me, and everything you’re wondering about me right now. All the bad stuff about the black sheep of the family. True. Every bit of it.”
She smiled then, a soft parting of her wide full lips that made Stone’s stomach do a little dance. “Oh, I’ve heard a lot, that’s for sure. But I don’t listen to everything I hear.”
He touched a hand to her arm, then took off his shades.
“You should listen. And you should get away from me as fast as you can.”
Summing him up with a sweeping look that told him there was no doubt she wanted to be away from him, she nodded. “Probably a good suggestion, since I’m sure my sister is wondering what happened to me.” Then she pushed past him and hurried up the path, her high-heeled strappy sandals crunching against shell and rock.
Stone was glad he’d scared her away, glad she’d had the good sense to heed his warning. Because come tomorrow morning, she would hate him.
Tara Parnell was the business that had brought Stone Dempsey back to Sunset Island.
“He’s very…intense.”
Tara turned from the long table where the almond-flavored wedding cake and tropical fruit punch had been set up in the front parlor of Ana’s Tea Room, her gaze scanning the intimate group of family and friends that had congregated here after the wedding. Eloise Dempsey reclined on a swing out on the porch, chatting with Tara and Ana’s parents, Peggy and Martin Hanson. Clay Dempsey, handsome in a boy-faced way, was sitting on the steps regaling Ana’s assistants Tina and Jackie with tales about being a K-9 cop. And that society newspaper columnist, Greta Epperson, was busy taking it all down for next week’s Sunset Island Sentinel.
Then she saw the man she’d just described as intense, standing apart from the crowd. And she remembered how he’d told her to stay away from him. Or rather, how he’d warned her away from him.
Stone Dempsey stood off to one side of the long front porch, his hands tucked into the pockets of his expertly tailored cream linen pants, as he looked out past the oak trees and sand dunes at the sunset-tinged ocean. He’d taken off his navy sports coat and rolled up the sleeves of his cream-and-blue striped oxford shirt. Even in the middle of the crowd, he seemed alone, aloof, but very much aware that Greta was dying to get some exclusive comments from him. He continued to ignore everyone around him, however, including the inquisitive local social reporter.
Ana whirled in her lovely flower-sprinkled wedding dress, a gift from her new husband that had been handmade by eighty-year-old Milly McPherson. Her gaze followed the direction of Tara’s stare. “You mean Stone, of course?”
“Of course,” Tara replied, reliving how her heart had fluttered when he’d taken off his sunglasses and she’d seen his eyes for the first time. She’d never seen such eyes on a man. They were gray-blue, at once both harsh and gentle, like cut crystal, or perhaps more like shattered crystal. And dangerous. But it wasn’t just his eyes.
Stone Dempsey exemplified the kind of controlled power that automatically attracted women. It was a power that spoke of wealth and civility and manners, but it was also a power that held a tempered kind of unleashed energy, a wildness that no amount of designer duds could hide.
“He seems as if he’s