As Rory started talking about the history of the hotel, Alexa jabbed an elbow into Griffin’s side. “Would you stop?” she muttered from behind her smile, voice low enough for only Griffin to hear.
“What? It’s true. By April, you’ll be—”
“I know. I know. But don’t you feel at least a little bit guilty going through with this tour when it’s doubtful we’d get married here anyway?”
“Naw, it’s kinda fun.” Griffin tipped his golden blond head toward the wedding coordinator. “It’s like getting a tour from Snow White...”
“Behave,” she warned him, though past experience told her it would do little good. Besides, he was right. Their guide did resemble the Disney princess, but beyond that... Alexa frowned, a memory tugging at her mind like an elusive song lyric she could almost but not quite capture.
“As much as I love this place’s history,” Rory was saying, “it’s the air of romance that brought me back here.” Leaning closer, she confided, “My cousin, Evie, wouldn’t like hearing me say this, but I have to tell you that Hillcrest is, well, special. People have a way of finding their own happily-ever-after here.”
Griffin made a sound Alexa hoped the wedding coordinator would believe to be an indulgent laugh. “Hear that, sweetheart, our own happily-ever-after.”
Alexa didn’t want to think about romance in the air or happily-ever-after. For almost as long as she could remember, she had been one to play it safe. Her jet-setting parents had loved action and adventure—skiing in St. Moritz one day and sunbathing in the Bahamas the next. They’d let life take them wherever the wind had blown, sweeping in and out of her childhood like a hurricane.
After they died, her grandmother had provided Alexa with the stability she craved. No more wondering. No more worrying. No more whirlwind.
Not until that night almost four months ago when she’d hosted a fund-raiser for one of the many charities her grandmother supported. When she’d met the striking blue-eyed gaze of the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Her heart had stopped, her breath had caught and she’d been swept up in something beyond her control.
Even in that first electric connection, she’d known. There would be consequences. She couldn’t cast aside years of living each day with a carefully laid out plan and then expect to pick up where she left off like nothing had happened. Not when Chance McClaren had happened.
In those first few weeks following the charity auction, he’d played constantly on her mind. Laughing and teasing her thoughts as if he’d stood right beside her, whispering in her ear. After all, he had promised he’d be in touch, and Alexa had jumped at every call, scrambled for her cell phone at every text, scoured her email every few minutes over calls and texts and emails that weren’t from Chance.
By the time he did call, some five weeks later, she’d already come to a decision. What they’d had was a fling. Nothing more, and it was over. She’d sensed his surprise. No doubt there were dozens of women who would be thrilled to hear from him no matter how long it had been since he’d called. But in the end he’d agreed and abided by her wishes.
She hadn’t heard from him again and did her best not to think of him.
Alexa told herself the mental roadblock would eventually work...right up until the moment she realized she’d missed her period. She was pregnant, the father of her child a man she barely knew. A whirlwind who’d stormed in—and out—of her life with a recklessness that left her head and heart spinning.
How was she supposed to tell a man who lived out of a backpack that he was going to be a father? Alexa had rehearsed what she would say dozens of times as she made dozens of calls, trying to reach him.
And then fate seemed to take the decision out of her hands as she woke one morning to see the headline scrolling across a national news channel.
Photojournalist Chance McClaren killed in bomb attack in Kabul.
* * *
“How long have you worked here, Rory?” Griffin asked their guide as she led them back to the lobby after showing them the elegant ballroom. The hotel’s old-fashioned feel filled the room from the dark, carved check-in desk, to the wall of small cubbyholes for guest messages, to an actual phone booth and its replica of an early 1900s phone.
But like any modern hotel, the lobby was a busy spot with families coming and going, bellhops pushing packed luggage carts, and employees offering advice for things to see and do in the nearby Victorian town of Clearville.
Rory stopped to allow a chatting couple to wheel by with a stroller. And as she had for the past few months, Alexa locked in on the baby strapped inside. Her breath caught at the sight. An infant with her eyes closed, her chubby cheeks pink with sleep, her head slouched to one side. So sweet, so small...
She wrapped her arms around her waist. Before she’d gotten pregnant, she hadn’t understood that she wouldn’t need to wait for her baby to be born to feel such a deep connection with the new life inside her. She was amazed by how much she already loved the child growing in her womb. How she loved the idea of a little boy or little girl with dark hair and startling blue eyes like—
No, she wouldn’t think about the baby’s father. She wouldn’t.
She watched with a combination of anxiety and anticipation as the mother stopped for a moment to adjust the lacy pink sock barely clinging to the toes of the tiniest foot she’d ever seen.
“Well, I’ve worked here as a wedding coordinator for the past six months or so,” Rory was saying, “but my family has owned the hotel for decades. My Aunt Evelyn runs the place now, but the McClarens have—”
“What—” Alexa stopped so suddenly, Griffin almost knocked her over. “What did you say your last name was?”
“McClaren.” Rory’s blue gaze—her familiar blue gaze—swung back and forth between Alexa and Griffin. “Didn’t I say that earlier?”
“Alexa?” Griffin’s arm tightened around her shoulders as she swayed against him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Everything...
It wasn’t easy to spot the resemblance between masculine, rugged features and this delicately feminine woman, but Alexa must have subconsciously noticed the similarities. The rich, almost black hair, the high, sculpted cheekbones, those blue eyes...
The thick, patterned carpet swirled beneath her feet as the room spun. “I’m not feeling very well. I think I need to lie down...”
“Of course. I’ll walk you back to the suite.”
To the suite. Alexa fought a hysterical laugh. That wasn’t nearly far away enough to escape the dizzying thoughts whipping through her mind.
The McClaren family hotel... Chance’s family’s hotel?
And before she could make her escape, the hotel’s carved entry doors opened and in walked the father of her child.
Chapter Two
At first he thought he was imagining things.
It had happened before, after the explosion. The blast that shattered his leg had also left him with a serious concussion—one that had him drifting in and out of consciousness for days. In that confused state, he’d seen Alexa at his side. Heard her voice. Smelled the honey-lilac scent of her skin.
He hadn’t stopped to think that her presence made no sense. The wealthy granddaughter of one of California’s biggest and most generous philanthropists might raise money for victims of war-torn countries, but she didn’t travel to war-torn countries.
She certainly wouldn’t have belonged in a crowded field hospital where understaffed doctors and nurses did their best to care for those injured in the series of bombings.
But he’d been so sure of her presence that he’d nearly gotten in a fight with one of the doctors once he reached semiconsciousness, unable to understand why the man refused to let him see Alexa. Why he was keeping her away when she’d been right there?
Later, as the uncertainty clouding his mind star
ted to clear, he realized it had all been some kind of delusion. He’d been embarrassed to have been so fooled by his own mind. Unsettled that a woman he barely knew—a woman he’d spent no more than a weekend with and one who wanted nothing more to do with him—had been the person he’d reached for, clung to, even in such a confused state.
And so even though he’d thought of calling since he’d returned to the States, he’d purposely not picked up the phone.
Now, as the color drained from her face, he wished he had.
She looked as beautiful and ethereal now as the night they’d met. That night, she’d been wrapped in gold, her blond hair intricately woven on top of her head, her smooth bangs held in place by the jeweled butterfly hairpin. Today, she was draped in silver, her shoulder-length hair caught more sedately in a ponytail at her nape. As he watched, she hugged her arms around her waist, her blue-gray eyes huge in her gorgeous face.
“Chance—” his sister’s expression brightened as she caught sight of him “—come meet two of our guests. Alexa Mayhew, Griffin James, this is my brother, Chance McClaren.”
He didn’t remember moving, but he suddenly stood in front of Alexa, inches away from the woman who’d been on his mind and under his skin for months. “Alexa...”
“Chance.”
She reached out, her hand hovering in the air between them as if she wasn’t quite sure that he was truly there, and his heart clenched. The uncertainty in her expression hit hard as he grasped her hand in his. The soft skin, the sweet scent, all of it real this time.
“Alexa,” he said again, a whisper of sound beneath his breath.
“Chance. I—It’s...” Her throat worked as she swallowed. “So good to meet you.”
Meet him? Meet him! She’d done a damn sight more than met him in a hotel room in Santa Barbara almost four months ago.
Shock held him motionless, Alexa’s hand still in his, until the man at her side spoke. “If you’ll excuse us. Alexa isn’t feeling well.”
The man—Chance couldn’t even recall what his sister said the guy’s name was—had a protective arm wrapped around Alexa’s shoulders. Chance had barely spared him a glance earlier, but summed him up now with a quick look. Wealthy, sophisticated, handsome. Someone very much a part of Alexa’s world.
The swift slice cut deep, but Chance had endured worse pain. That was one lesson he could thank Lisette for. Finding his fiancée in bed with another man had cured him of any belief in love, marriage, or even whatever the hell it was he thought he and Alexa had found in a five-star hotel penthouse suite.
But cured or not, he couldn’t help taking a few shots of his own. “You look so...familiar. Are you sure we haven’t met somewhere before?”
“I, uh, don’t think so.”
“No? So we didn’t meet—I don’t know, parasailing along the Waterfront? Or maybe bungee jumping off the Bridge to Nowhere?” Chance wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Alexa turned even paler, and he really started to feel like an ass. He stopped himself before he mentioned her last whispered wish.
Making love under the stars.
“Alexa is hardly the type to go bungee jumping,” the golden boy at her side said drily.
“Maybe someday she’ll have the opportunity to take that chance.”
Her turbulent blue-gray eyes met his. Their gazes lingered, clung, like they had that night in Santa Barbara.
Come on, Lexi, he’d whispered, take a chance.
And she had. For a weekend. And no, they hadn’t had time to fulfill her wild and thoroughly facetious bucket list wishes of parasailing or bungee jumping. But he’d flown high enough and fallen hard enough that for a moment he thought he could have died happily in her arms...
But it was just a moment. One weekend, and Chance had never met a woman that he couldn’t forget once he moved on. Maybe that was the problem. Ever since the explosion, he hadn’t been moving. Not on to a new job, not on to a new assignment, not on to a new country across the world. He was stuck. And like some kind of shark, if he didn’t keep in constant motion, he couldn’t breathe.
That was the only reason why his chest hurt as he gazed at Alexa.
The man by her side glanced between them before murmuring, “Something tells me that’s not happening anytime soon.”
Chance opened his mouth to argue like the fool he was when his cousin, Evie McClaren, spotted the group from across the lobby. “Chance, there you are. I’ve been looking for you.”
“If you’ll excuse us,” Alexa murmured to Rory.
“Oh, of course. We can finish the tour later.”
“Thank you for taking your time with us this afternoon.”
Always so polite, always so damn proper, Chance thought with a twist of a smile that had Alexa’s elegant head lifting to an even higher angle when she caught sight of it. “Mr. McClaren.”
“Ms. Mayhew... It’s been a pleasure.”
He drew out the word long enough for a riot of color to storm her cheeks before she turned away. Her golden boy kept his arm around her shoulders as he turned her toward the hallway leading to... Her room? His room? Theirs?
Chance shoved his hands in his pockets, fists clenched tight enough that the hairpin gouged into his palm. He didn’t care about women—any one woman—enough to be jealous. Not anymore.
“Chance? Hello, Chance?”
His cousin waved a hand in front of his face to capture his attention. “Your doctor’s office called about moving your therapy appointment.” She gave him a stern look. “They said they tried your cell, but you weren’t answering.”
“Oh, Chance.” Rory frowned at him, her blue eyes so similar to his own darkening in concern. “You really should have your phone with you especially when you go out by yourself.”
Chance sighed. “Yes, Mom.”
His cousin’s arch expression wasn’t nearly as concerned as his sister’s. “Not your mom. Also not your secretary. Answer your own darn phone calls.”
“Yes, Evie.”
At the moment, the very thought of therapy exhausted him. Dammit! He used to run for miles, and now just a twenty-minute walk on the beach left him weak, winded...and in a hell of a lot of pain.
Something that must have been more obvious than he wanted to consider as Rory said, “Speaking of Mom... She says she hasn’t heard from you lately and is talking about making a trip down to check on you.”
Chance’s jaw tightened. “You can tell her I’m fine, Ror.”
“You can tell her yourself,” his sister chided. “And are you so sure about that? You look...” She hesitated, biting her lower lip, her soft heart clearly worried about hurting his feelings.
“Scary,” Evie interjected.
“Evie!”
“What?” His sharp-witted, sharp-tongued cousin flicked a slender hand in his direction. “He’s frightening the guests. I thought that poor woman was going to faint at the sight of him.”
“Oh, I don’t think that was about Chance,” Rory argued. “It’s a big decision, you know. Choosing where to get married.”
When he first woke after the explosion, a dull roar had filled his head, the pain making it almost impossible to think. With that bomb his sister dropped, a second wave hit like an aftershock.
Alexa. Married. At Hillcrest.
* * *
“Chance...are you sure you’re okay?”
He ran a hand down his face, several day’s growth of stubble scraping against his palm. “When?” he asked, his voice sounding just as rough.
“What?”
“When’s the wedding?”
“Oh... Well, they haven’t picked a date yet either. Why?”
“I was just wondering if I’d still be here when it happens.” Hell, he needed something to make him forget about the woman. Maybe seeing Alexa marry another man would do the trick. So far nothing else ha
d worked.
“Don’t they make the cutest couple?” Rory sighed.
“Adorable.” And watching them exchange vows, promising to love each other until death did them part and sealing the words with a kiss... Chance’s jaw locked tight. He’d just as soon stick that hairpin into his eye.
“Seriously, Chance,” Evie interjected, tucking a strand of straight, chin-length hair behind one ear, “we both know I’m nowhere near as love-stupid as this one—”
“Hey!” Rory protested as their cousin waved a hand her way.
“—but if you’re going to photograph the weddings around here, you need to get on board with this whole happily-ever-after crap.”
“Oh, lovely,” his sister muttered. “We’ll be sure to put that in one of our brochures.”
“I’m on board, Evie.”
Her pointed gaze raked him from the tip of his too-long hair, to his faded to gray T-shirt, to his rumpled khakis. “Frightening the guests,” she repeated.
“I’ll get a haircut. And shave,” he added when her look didn’t change. He all but groaned, “And go shopping.”
“Before this weekend?” Rory asked, catching her lower lip between her teeth once more.
“This—” He choked back a curse. This weekend was his first official Hillcrest House event.
Chance McClaren—wedding photographer.
“All right. All right. Before this weekend. You know, the two of you really should be nicer to me,” he said without thinking. “After all, I almost—”
He cut himself off before he could finish the old joke, one going back to a serious injury when he was a kid. A skateboarding accident had left him in a coma followed by months of physical and occupational therapy.
Rehab had been hell, not so different from what faced him now, and he’d pushed himself as hard as he could, determined to get back to the reckless, daredevil kid he’d been before the accident. Not that he hadn’t pulled out the sympathy card every chance he got.
Work his tail off to get back on a skateboard? Sure thing.
Pick up his dirty socks? Come on! Didn’t everyone know he was, like, seriously injured?
How to Be a Blissful Bride Page 2