peppered every visible inch of her skin? He’d notice the same thing about any other female within the vicinity. He was a man, after all. It didn’t necessarily mean he was attracted to her.
“I was just thinking,” he began, searching for an explanation that would keep him safely out of reach, yet make some sort of sense. “You went to G.W.U., didn’t you?”
Her instant answering smile yanked on something inside his chest. He told himself it was relief. “I’m surprised you remember.”
His brows budged upward. Her response indicated she had some memory of him being there as well. “I have to say I’m surprised you do too.”
She looked down at her glass. “Yeah, well, it’s hard to forget a guy who would be taller than me even when I’m in high heels. There aren’t many out there.”
“I remember noticing your height too—and that red hair,” he said.
She leaned back against the bar. “I have to give you credit. You’re the first guy I’ve met who hasn’t asked me inside of a minute if I’ve ever modeled.”
“That’s because I know you’re with the U.S. attorney’s office.”
Her laugh was mature, deep and throaty.
“I could say that you’re the first woman at this wedding who hasn’t asked me to dance inside of a minute.”
Bronte O’Brien looked at strapping Connor McCoy from beneath her lashes, trying to figure out if he was trying to make small talk, or if he was just plain conceited. Oh, she could imagine that lots of women asked him to dance. That wasn’t the problem. In a room full of men dressed to the nines, he was the one who stuck out, tempted women’s attention with that clean-shaven, good-guy look and brooding expression. He was the type of guy a woman spotted and instantly a flashing alarm went off: Grade-A heartbreak ahead.
Well, at least that’s how she saw him. Other women might be inclined to try to tempt him from his commitment-phobic ways. Of course she’d passed that masochistic phase years ago, thank God. The simple truth was, no woman could change a man like Connor. The more she’d try, the more he would resist. Until finally she’d be forced to walk away—or worse, he would send her packing and she’d be left to make fast friends with a carton of tissues.
Anyway, her problem wasn’t being attracted to commitment-phobic guys. In fact, it was the complete opposite. She’d settle for one who wasn’t already married.
She frowned into her beer, forgetting for a moment why Connor was staring at her. The she realized he was waiting for some sort of response. “Did it cross your mind that I didn’t ask you to dance because I’m not interested in dancing with you?” Her smile took some of the bite out of her words, then grew genuine when he smiled back. “Okay, that’s not really the reason. I didn’t ask you to dance because I don’t dance.” She shrugged, wondering why she’d volunteered that little piece of trivia from the life and times of Bronte O’Brien. Still, no matter how many years went by, or how many men she dated, the memories from her wallflower days tagged along on her heels like a long piece of unnoticed toilet paper. Until events like these reminded her. Speaking of which… She looked down at her shoes just to make sure she wasn’t trailing any t.p. The way today was going, she wouldn’t be surprised to find an entire roll hanging on. “I don’t know. I guess it’s one of the drawbacks of having a foot on the guys in school. For some reason, they never ask girls taller than they are to dance.”
His eyes darkened with something shared and elemental, throwing her for a second. “I bet they regret their actions now.”
She laughed. “I doubt it.”
She caught herself staring into those same eyes, now tinted with enigmatic shadows. She’d come across Connor several times in the past few months and he’d never given her the time of day, much less made an effort to talk to her. There was something different about him tonight, though. Something almost…human.
She forced herself to turn and watch the people on the dance floor, realizing she probably sounded like she was looking for a pity dance. She slanted him a covert look, relieved to find he was staring out on the dance floor much as she was. She let out a quiet, shaky breath. She should have known better. Through Kelli’s dealings with the McCoy family of rebels-without-a-clue, she’d learned that while they had to be the best-looking bunch of men on the eastern seaboard, they weren’t exactly the brightest when it came to women. Kelli, herself, had nearly halted her wedding plans at least three times because of some stupid stunt or other that David had pulled both on and off the job.
Her gaze was drawn to the good-looking couple, swaying to a slow, sultry song about lost loves, and her own heart gave a gentle squeeze.
This whole night had been harder on her than she would have ever imagined it would be. It was more than the loss of her heel before the ceremony that an application of Wilhemenia Weber’s quick glue had fixed; the spot of brisket drippings on her dark dress she hid with the strategic placement of her gauzy wrap; the fact that, aside from Kelli and Connor, she didn’t know anyone in the large room. No, what really bothered her was that she’d caught herself looking at the happy couple in a way that could be nothing but envious. Wishing it were her on that dance floor leading off the celebration with Thomas Jenkins, the man she had planned to marry. The only man who had tempted her to glimpse past her dedication to her career, made her think that maybe there was something else out there, perhaps even a white picket fence and two-point-two children. Enough to become engaged to him. At least until nine months ago, when she’d discovered he’d never had any intention of marrying her. Because he was already married.
A mixture of sadness, regret and guilt gathered in her chest, making it almost impossible to breathe as she caught herself looking at her left hand for the engagement ring that used to be there.
She tried to shake off the unwanted feelings and focus her thoughts on the man next to her, warning herself not to focus too intently. Taking on another man to get over the one before was the mode of operation the old Bronte would have employed—a mode she’d long ago chucked out the window.
“They make a cute couple, don’t they?” she quietly asked Connor.
David dipped his new wife then took a whack in the arm for his efforts once Kelli had her feet back under her. “I guess.”
She wondered at the tension that suddenly emanated from Connor. Did he object to Kelli’s marrying his youngest brother? She found it impossible to believe that anyone would object, but she knew only too well that what she believed and what was really the truth often were two completely different things. “She loves him, you know,” she felt the need to point out.
He nodded slowly. “I know.”
“And he loves her.”
“I know.” He squinted at her, as if trying to figure out her motives.
“Then why the long face?”
He appeared suddenly uncomfortable, an emotion she would never have attributed to him. Ever. She knew her reasons for not wanting to be here, in this hall, watching two people so obviously in love with each other, but what were his?
“Would you believe me if I said I hate these things?” he asked, putting his beer bottle on the bar.
Now that she could understand. “Yes, I would.”
“Then I hate these things.”
She tilted her head to the side, considering him. “I guess that’ll do. For now.” She placed her beer next to his, then straightened the swath of gauzy material that had been resting in the curve of her elbows. “What’s say we blow this joint for a while? Take a walk or something? I could do with some fresh air.”
She slowly turned and began walking toward the doorway. She didn’t know what she expected, but she was surprised when she glanced over her shoulder to find Connor following her.
CONNOR WASN’T CERTAIN WHY he’d instantly accepted Bronte’s offer of a walk.