“Not at all.”
“The desserts were delicious by the way. I think Mr. Ford ate at least a half dozen and I bet if you check his jacket pocket there’s one wrapped up for later.”
Cassie beamed. “Tell him I’ll fix him up a box to take home.”
“That’s very sweet, dear.” She gave a delicate laugh. “And a savior to our dry cleaning bill. Thank you.”
The two women set off in search of the photographer leaving Cassie alone with what was left of her wine. She took a sip as she scanned the dance floor but there was no sign of Aunt Maeve or her handsome dance partner. She was about to turn away when she saw him standing just beyond the crowd in the shadow cast by one of the haylofts. He was sipping a beer, watching her, and when their eyes met there wasn’t even a hint of remorse at being caught staring. He enjoyed watching her and more than that, he wanted her to know it.
The scrutiny was intense, exhilarating, and more than a bit unnerving. Cassie’s gaze dropped as heat flushed her cheeks. She took another sip of her wine but when she looked up, she saw only darkness in the shadows. Her handsome stranger was gone.
* * *
Hank could have watched her all night. And if it wasn’t for an overwhelming urge to touch her, he just might have. But as much as he loved the sight of his sexy chef, he liked the feel of her even more. Which is why he found himself crossing the wooden floor within minutes of catching her eye.
Perfect, he thought, as the band began to play a slower song. It was still up-tempo but something that would allow him to hold her rather than swing her. He stepped to the side, allowing a few couples to pass in front of him as they made their way onto the dance floor, then skirted the edge of the barn until he came up behind her.
Hank tapped her bare shoulder and she turned around. “Have I told you how lovely you look tonight?”
She smiled over the rim of her glass. “You may have mentioned it.”
“Well it bears repeating.”
She took a sip of white wine then her tongue darted out to lick her lower lip. The tiny gesture had him wanting to suggest they make a fast getaway, someplace secluded where that tongue could be put to better use. But he was a man on a different kind of mission, at least temporarily, so instead of whisking her away Hank straightened his shoulders and stayed the course.
“Might I have a dance?” He stepped closer and let his fingertips drift down her arm until he reached her hand, taking satisfaction at the tiny shiver elicited by his touch.
“I’d love to,” she said in a sultry voice that shot straight to his cock. Down boy, we owe this pretty lady a dance. He let his fingers entwine with hers then lifted Cassie’s arm over her head and spun her into the middle of the dance floor. She was near breathless when they came to a stop.
“You sure know how to make an entrance.”
He chuckled as he pulled her into his arms. “Years of practice.”
One eyebrow quirked up. “Square dancing?”
“Something like that.” More like walking into a room to a trumpet fanfare, but the distinction was irrelevant. Hank was used to having all eyes on him, but at the moment he only had eyes for her.
“Well I bet you never thought you’d be dancing in a hundred-year-old barn.”
“Ah yes, a long time in the scheme of U.S. history, but barely a blip to those of us across the ocean.”
She reared back to look at him. “You’re not some elitist snob are you?”
“Not at all.” Hank tried his best to laugh off a question that was clearly meant as a joke, although in reality his family had been called exactly that, and far worse. “But I once heard someone say that a hundred years was nothing to Europeans, while a hundred miles was nothing to Americans.”
“That’s actually quite true.” She glanced to where her brother and his fiancée were swaying in what was more dopey canoodling than an actual dance.
“So I know you went to college with Matthew in the UK—”
“Uni,” he corrected.
She narrowed her eyes. “What was that about not being an elitist snob?”
“Point taken,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh. “You were saying?”
“I was just curious where you’re from? I never asked and your accent is a bit hard to place.”
Definitely not the direction he wanted the conversation to take. “I’m afraid my accent is something of a hybrid.” That part at least was true. “Product of not spending much time in any one place growing up.”
She nodded. “It’s hard on kids when their parents relocate for work. I had a friend who’d gone to four different schools before she was twelve.”
To a certain extent, she was right on the mark. While technically Prince Edgar never relocated for work, he traveled on official business nearly every week. For the most part he took Henry with him. And while he was traveling with a private tutor rather than transferring schools, the effect was quite similar.
“Have you been to the states before this trip?”
“Mmm, a few times. But all on the east coast. Never to the south.” Hank guided them effortlessly around the plank floor all the while debating how best to divert the conversation from the topic of his past. A giggle from above drew his eye to the hayloft where several of the happy couple’s nieces and nephews had gathered to no doubt make fun of their elders.
“Truth be told,” he said, “when I found out Matthew was marrying in the south, I had visions of a tryst with a bridesmaid in a hayloft.” He glanced around at the barnful of guests. Nearly a dozen couples had joined them on the dance floor while others stood in small groups around the various bars, engrossed in animated conversations while drinking beer from long-neck bottles or cocktails served in mason jars. “I must admit I envisioned it to be a tad more private. Although to be fair, if there weren’t currently a gaggle of children in said hayloft, I’d be game to give it a go.” A wicked grin lit his face. “Assuming of course we could find a way to keep you quiet.”
A rosy blush spread across Cassie’s face causing Hank to wonder if perhaps he wasn’t the only one who had imagined a proverbial roll in the hay.
“Are you all right, luv?” he teased. “Your face is a bit red.”
She blinked up at him and a look crossed her face that he was beginning to know quite well. It was one that said she was game for anything. “Rather warm in here, don’t you think?”
“You’ve read my mind, Little Vixen.” He slid his hand to the small of her back and eased her against him. Her sharp intake of air told him she felt the effect she had on him pressing insistently into her soft curves. “Shall we take a walk?
She looked up at him, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she gave an almost shy nod. The sight of her, so seemingly innocent and yet so utterly open, was nearly enough to make him lose it right then and there. The hayloft might not have been available but he was sure as hell going to find someplace to bury himself inside this beautiful woman. Sooner rather than later.
Chapter Eleven
The scene couldn’t have been more perfect had Hank designed it himself. Behind the barn was a narrow path, lit with more of the same copper lanterns they had seen when they arrived. Only instead of welcoming them to the hoe down, these flickering lights beckoned them away from the crowd toward a small pond flanked by a curtain of weeping willow trees.
“Beautiful,” Cassie said when they reached the water’s edge.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Hank said, never taking his eyes off her.
She turned to face him and that shy smile returned. Goddamn, she was the perfect combination of sexy and sweet. What he wouldn’t give to be alone with her, miles and miles from anyone else. Just the two of them, snowed in at a chalet or in a cabana on a private island. Hell, he’d even settle for a log cabin in the woods. But while stumbling across an empty cabin was about as unlikely as actually finding one owned by three porridge-eating bears, surely there was a nice patch of grass somewhere close by? Perhaps if they walked along
the water’s edge.
“Shall we?” he said, gesturing toward the winding path.
She stepped forward then stopped. “Did you hear something?”
Hank cocked his head to one side, focusing on the sounds coming from the darkness, but all he heard was the distant chirp of crickets mingled with the lapping of the water against the shore. “You mean the crickets?”
“No, it sounded more like a clicking noise.” Cassie hesitated a second before joining him, but when they reached the path, she stilled. “There it was again.”
“Maybe it was my mobile.” Or Clayton, he thought. “The bloody thing has had a mind of its own since I landed.” And so did the head of his security detail. “Give me two secs to turn it off.” Hank pulled his phone out of the pocket of his trousers and fired off a quick text to the man who was supposed to be keeping his distance, not following him around a lake. They were on the outskirts of a small town and he was in the company of a lovely woman. The only danger he was in was dying from a case of blue balls. Clayton, on the other hand, was in considerably more.
PRIVACY was all Hank typed, but he knew it would be enough for him to get the message.
“At least it’s not the paparazzi,” Cassie said with a laugh.
Hank nearly dropped his phone. “Pardon?”
“Hadn’t you heard? There was a celebrity on the guest list.”
“Is that so?” As far as Hank was aware, none of the other wedding guests even knew he’d been invited. From the very beginning he’d suggested that Matthew and Emily keep his possible attendance a secret. They’d agreed, even going so far as to keep the information from their families.
“Yep. But I guess he couldn’t make it. Schedule conflict or something. Good thing, could you imagine what a circus this would have been with the press camped out all over this sweet little town?”
“Mmm.” Hank hummed his agreement, but the fact of the matter was he could absolutely imagine the level of insanity that would have ensued. For him it was the norm, but Matthew and Emily hadn’t been born into his world and the last thing Hank wanted was to thrust it upon them by mere association. The members of the so-called press who tracked his every move would have descended on this quaint town like locusts if they got even a whiff of a planned trip to the United States. Which was why he’d convinced the bride and groom to keep his invite and R.S.V.P. under wraps. Taking it a step further by going incognito for the weekend might have been all his idea, but either way, his possible attendance was top secret. So how in the world had Cassie heard that a celebrity might be there?
“Although to me that’s using the term ‘celebrity’ a bit loosely,” she said, accenting the word with air quotes. “He’s really more of a boy behaving badly, but the press seems to love him.”
Nothing like a dose of reality right between the eyes. Although to be fair, it was a pretty accurate description. At least the bad behavior part. At twenty-nine, he was far from a boy. “Moves their papers I suppose.” Did it ever. Sales of those daily rags doubled whenever Hank graced the cover. Tripled if the photo in question featured a scantily clad woman or a bottle of booze.
“Well I find the whole thing ridiculous. I mean, I get that he’s some sort of football phenom but—”
“Wait.” Hank’s head snapped up. “He’s a what?”
“Sorry, my bad. American football, not soccer,” she clarified. “Brody Dixon. Have you heard of him?”
“Indeed.” You didn’t have to follow American football to know Brody Dixon. He was one of those celebrities known as much for his activities off the field as on it. Supermodels, fast cars, and a love of blackjack. Safe to say, Hank could relate. The two men had met several times at various events and had actually become friends.
“My brother handles his investments and I guess they hang out. But like, just on the golf course and stuff,” she was quick to clarify. “Em would have a stroke if Matthew hopped on a private jet for a weekend in Monte Carlo.”
“For the life of me I can’t picture your brother doing that either way.” Which would explain why they’d never crossed paths. Separate worlds really, day and night quite literally. Hank had no idea that Matthew and Brody knew each other, let alone that Brody had been a potential wedding guest, but he breathed a sigh of relief over whatever conflict prevented him from attending. Brody would have surely recognized him, and even if he’d persuaded him to keep silent, the media attention that followed his entourage would have definitely blown Hank’s cover.
Cassie shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t really see what the big deal is. Everyone is good at something, why does society elevate someone to a deity just because their particular talent involves a ball?”
Or birthright , Hank thought. He picked up a rock and skipped it across the tranquil water. The moon reflected off the ripples, giving them the look of liquid silver.
“Were you the sporty sort growing up?” She flashed him a teasing grin. “Aside from golf.”
“Careful, luv, or you might end up in that pond.” He cut his eyes at her then matched her grin with one of his own. “But to answer your question, I guess so. No more or no less than the rest of my mates though. A bit of what you call soccer when I was younger, some rugby at boarding school, but mostly polo.”
“You mentioned that before. Are you any good?”
“Depends on the mood of my horse. She can be a bit temperamental.” He chuckled. “Let’s just say it’s an ongoing relationship.”
“I bet you have no problem sweet-talking her into doing your bidding.”
“Sometimes. But you know women, they often have a mind of their own.”
Cassie raised a brow. “Careful luv, or you’ll end up in that pond,” she said, mimicking his earlier threat.
“Ah, but if I go, you go.” All at once thoughts of a naked swim filled Hank’s mind. He could almost feel Cassie’s slick, wet skin sliding against his as they sank into the water, cool at first but the chill soon forgotten as she wrapped herself around him. He could almost see her with her arms clasped around his neck and her head thrown back, the moonlight reflecting off her pale skin as his teeth grazed the tender spot just below her ear. And he could almost hear the soft moans of pleasure that would escape her sweet lips when he brought them together in a slow, unhurried rhythm that perfectly matched the lapping waves. Hank couldn’t imagine a more perfect way to spend the evening. He was about to suggest they find a private spot to do just that, when she spoke again.
“I was never one for organized sports,” she said.
He’d been hoping for a change in topic but the night was young and to his surprise, Hank found talking with her nearly as enjoyable as fucking her. He knew it made him sound like a royal douchebag, but he honestly never knew a woman could be so enthralling with her clothes on. To be fair, most of the women he spent time with chattered on about ridiculously inane subjects. Fashion Week was about as far down his list of interests as The X Factor, both of which seemed to occupy an exorbitant amount of brainpower among the twentysomething females in his social circle. But Cassie was different. He didn’t feel the need to shut her up with a cocktail or drown her out with loud music. On the contrary, he actually wanted to hear what she had to say. She was engaging and intriguing and made him think about the world in ways he never had before. So instead of letting his dick control the conversation, he let her.
“No softball or field hockey for young Cassandra?” he asked, following her closer to the water’s edge.
She wrinkled her nose then laughed. “Field hockey?”
“Or lacrosse?”
“None of the above.”
“Volleyball?”
She rolled her eyes. “At my height?”
“What about soccer?” He’d never get used to calling it by that name, but when in Rome . . .
“Nope.”
“Really? I thought it was a mandatory weekend activity for every child age four to twelve?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you basing that
on a Will Ferrell movie?”
He laughed. “Perhaps.”
“Well not me. I was much more of an indoor girl.”
“Not even swim team?” he asked, setting up what he hoped was the perfect segue into the topic of skinny-dipping. He might have enjoyed speaking with her, but he was, after all, a red-blooded male and at the moment the majority of that blood was all headed in one direction.
But when Cassie replied all trace of humor was gone from her voice. “No, I wasn’t a swimmer.” Her voice grew quieter as she added, “That was more my sister’s thing.”
Sister? In all the years he’d known Matthew he’d never once mentioned having more than one sister. “Forgive me, but I thought it was just the two of you. You have a sister?”
She nodded. “Clare. She was the oldest.”
The use of past tense was impossible to miss.
“She died when I was seven.” Her eyes grew glassy as she stared out across the pond. When she finally spoke it was only one, somber word. “Cancer.”
“I’m sorry, Cassie.” And truly he was. Hank was all too aware of the toll that hideous disease could take on a family, not to mention the grief felt by those left behind.
“After that my mom sort of launched into hyperdrive. She went from your average overprotective mom to a micromanager.”
“Like keeping you in sight would keep you safe?”
“Exactly,” she said. “I mean, I get it, one daughter is taken from you . . . it’s sort of logical I guess that she would latch on to me. But—”
“It can be a bit smothering.” It was a feeling Hank knew all too well. His family just used bodyguards and high-tech security measures to get the job done, but the result was still the same: a teenager who felt as though he couldn’t breathe without someone watching.
“Sometimes I would lie in bed thinking about being as far away from there as possible. Like I could sprout wings or something and just fly right through the ceiling, weightless and carefree.” She turned to look at him. “Have you ever felt that way?”
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