Even if it did, by the time their next meeting came about, Laurel would most likely be Mrs. Todd Parson—and beyond his reach. Connor knew it would hurt too much to see her again after she married.
“Well, looks like it’s hello and goodbye,” Phillip said to Connor. “Bet it brought back memories for you, coming here.”
“It did,” Connor replied evenly. Though not all of them pleasant, he did not add. “Good night, Phillip,” he said.
Then turning to Laurel, he gazed into her eyes and smiled. “Thanks for our dance,” he said in a voice for her alone. She smiled at him, but before she could reply, he leaned down and quickly, lightly kissed her cheek. “Good luck, Laurel. I’m sorry I didn’t come home to visit sooner,” he added. “I would have given Parson a run for his money.”
“Good night, Connor….” He felt Laurel’s fleeting touch and heard her voice trail off as he continued to move away from her.
He strode across the patio with determined steps, weaving his way around the hired help who were now busily cleaning up the party debris. Finally, he was away from the bright lights, on a path through the garden that led to the front grounds, where he had parked his car.
The darkness and sudden quiet offered some comfort. He felt numb and empty. He felt as if his heart was breaking. How could he leave her? How could he just go without letting her know how he felt? This was his last chance. His only chance.
Still, he did not see that there was anything more he could do.
Maybe it was all for the best, Connor thought as he saw the lights at the end of the path. She didn’t feel the same. The thought stung painfully, and yet, it had to be true.
If she did feel the same—if she felt even half of what he felt for her right now—she would have given him some sign. She would have figured out some way to see him again. Even if she had to sail to the Vineyard tomorrow.
Even if she had to sail to China.
Was he fooling himself? Did he merely want what he couldn’t have? He didn’t think so. He wasn’t that way about women usually. He wouldn’t be that way about Laurel.
Laurel. Just as he’d come to realize what she meant to him, she was snatched out of reach. God, it hurt so much.
How long would he feel like this? Months, probably. Years, maybe.
Forever?
Connor found his car, one of the few left at the end of the long curving driveway. Even the valets, hired for the night, had gone home by now. His vision blurred, he fumbled in his pocket for the keys, then dropped his key ring on the gravel. Damn, he wasn’t actually crying, was he? He hadn’t cried since…he couldn’t remember when.
He brushed his hand across the back of his damp eyes and took a deep, calming breath. He had to get away from here. He had to get off the Cape tomorrow, as early as possible. Maybe he’d pack up the car when he got home, rest a few hours and leave at dawn. Before Laurel even met up with her sailing party.
Deep in thought, Connor did not hear the light footsteps running down the driveway toward him. He didn’t notice a sound until Laurel stood just steps away.
“Connor…wait,” she called to him in a breathless, urgent whisper.
He turned and saw her, running toward him. He moved to meet her and instinctively opened his arms, his hands coming to rest on her slim waist. She stepped into his embrace, placing her hands on his broad chest and, for a moment, as she caught her breath, leaned her head down so that it fit just under his chin. He felt his lips and cheek brush against her silky hair before she lifted her head again. Thankfully, she did not move away.
“Laurel, what it is? What’s the matter?”
“Thank goodness I caught you.” She was winded from running, and holding her so close, he suddenly felt breathless, too. “I couldn’t let you just go like that, Connor. It felt so…final,” she tried to explain. “Too final,” she added.
He nodded. He knew exactly what she meant. There was no need to explain. “I think we should talk. How about down at the beach?”
“But I’m busy tomorrow. That stupid sailing date with Phillip’s future in-laws,” she reminded him.
“Not tomorrow, tonight.” His hands moved up to grip her smooth shoulders. “Right now,” he said urgently.
As she gazed at him, he could read the flux and flow of indecision in her beautiful face—anticipation, desire, hesitation and guilt all flashed before his eyes. Her wide azure eyes studied him. Could she see that he’d been crying? God, he hoped not.
Finally, she nodded. “Wait for me by the dock. I’ll be there in a little while.”
He said nothing, just stared down at her as inexpressible feelings washed over him—relief, gratitude and then, a sweet rising wave of anticipation. She tenderly cupped his cheek with the palm of her hand. Then an instant later, she turned and ran back up the driveway toward the dark shadow of the Sutherland mansion.
Connor made his way to the beach on a sandy path overgrown with bramble and vines. If he hadn’t known the path existed, he would have never found it.
It was slow going. Luckily, a full moon had risen high in the clear night sky and the moonlight illuminated his steps. Finally, he came out at the Sutherlands’ stretch of private beach. He slipped off his jacket and shoes and rolled up the cuffs of his trousers. He spotted a long driftwood log and sat on it, staring out at the sea, as good a place as any to wait. The waves moved toward the shore in a smooth, regular rhythm, the blue-black water rippling in the distance like a skein of satin.
He’d often come down here after dark with Laurel when they were young. They’d build a fire and tell spooky stories. More often than not, Charles Sutherland would come looking for Laurel and sit with them, telling stories of his own. He had some good ones. And just as they’d never given a thought to the future back then, right now, Connor could think of nothing but the past. A simpler time. A time when the golden summer days seemed to stretch on endlessly, without beginning or end, and every day was a new adventure.
And along with the images of the cloudless blue skies and long sunny days, always came the image of Laurel. Laurel, laughing, joking, confiding her secrets, her troubles, her dreams. Her tanned, slender arms and legs gracefully swinging as she strolled beside him on the smooth wet sand, her golden hair waving behind her like a flag, her turquoise-blue eyes sparkling, the way the sun danced on the waves. Her wide, warm smile so accepting, so understanding. So loving.
She still had that smile. She was still the same, exactly, as she’d been—yet, now, so much more. He swallowed hard, and looked up at the house. The yellow squares of light in each window had all gone black. The caterer and cleanup crew were gone for the night. Everyone in the mansion had gone to bed.
Laurel would be here soon.
He could barely wait to feel her in his arms. To hold her and kiss her. To press his face into her soft hair and tell her how beautiful she was. How he’d never let her go now that he’d found her again.
He stood up, rubbing his hands together, searching the ragged line of trees and brush for some sign of her. He checked his watch. Barely ten minutes had passed. It felt like ten hours.
He stared out at the water again, his hands on his hips. The sound and motion of the surf was a soothing distraction, calming him a bit.
Finally, he heard her soft footsteps on the sand behind him. He spun around just as she stood about an arm’s length away. Still dressed in her glamorous gown, she’d removed all her jewelry—including her engagement ring, he noticed—and her shoes. She’d also removed the dressy clip that had held back the side of her hair, and her wavy golden mane was now blown back from her face by the breeze off the ocean.
He didn’t say a word. Couldn’t speak. He stepped toward her and cupped her bare shoulders in his hands. He pressed his cheek against her hair, breathing in the