Dreaming Of You: Bachelor Dad on Her Doorstep / Outback Bachelor / The Hometown Hero Returns. Margaret Way
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He held fast to that. He tried to relax his hold on his champagne flute. She didn’t crane her neck over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of Sam. She didn’t push her glass of champagne into his hand and rush off to embrace her former lover. The tightness in his chest eased a fraction.
Which sent warning bells clanging through him. He didn’t want Jaz for himself, but he didn’t want other men having her either?
Or was it just Sam Hancock?
He tested the theory, tried to imagine Jaz with some other man in the room—any man. His teeth ground together. No, it wasn’t just Sam Hancock.
Charming. He was a dog in the manger.
Only…he did want her for himself, didn’t he?
‘Connor!’
He snapped to.
‘I thought we were supposed to be schmoozing. Stop glaring around the room like that. You won’t win any votes with that look on your face.’
He laughed. He didn’t mean to, but her words— the scolding—the warmth deep down in her eyes eased his tension. ‘Come and meet the Barries.’ He’d enjoy the night for what it was and nothing more.
Connor found that he did enjoy the evening. Jaz conversed easily with everyone he introduced her to. The Jaz of old hadn’t had that kind of confidence or social poise. The Jaz of old would’ve held back and spent most of the night hiding behind him. The Jaz of old had been nothing more than a girl. This Jaz—the here and now version—was a strong, confident woman. Something told him she’d earned that self-possession.
It made her ten times more potent.
She ate dinner at the table beside him. They danced the first dance…and the second…and Connor almost breathed a sigh of relief when she excused herself to go and powder her nose. He needed oxygen—big time.
It didn’t stop him from watching her as she made a circuit around the room, though. Along the way, people stopped her. Here and there, she stopped of her own accord. Then she stopped by Sam Hancock, who was sitting on his own, and Connor gripped a handful of linen tablecloth. Sam leapt to his feet and said something that made her laugh. She said something back that made him laugh. Then she kept walking.
She kept walking.
He released the tablecloth. If he hadn’t been sitting he’d have fallen.
It hit him then—Jaz hadn’t flirted with a single man here tonight. Frieda would’ve flirted with every man in the room. He saw the defence behind that tactic now too—by flirting with every man present, Frieda had managed to keep them all at arm’s length. About the only man she hadn’t flirted with was Gordon Sears.
His heart started to burn. Jaz was not made in the same mould as her mother. Had he got it wrong eight years ago?
He remembered the sight of her in Sam Hancock’s arms, the words she’d uttered that had damned her. They still proved her guilt, her infidelity.
But, suddenly, he found he wasn’t quite so sure of anything.
Jaz returned from the powder room to take her seat at the table beside Connor again. All the other couples from their table were dancing. She gulped. She prayed Connor wouldn’t ask her to dance again. She wasn’t sure how much more of that she could take, especially now they’d dimmed the lights.
‘Enjoying yourself?’
‘Yes.’ And she meant it. ‘It’s been lovely meeting up with people again.’
He set a glass of punch down in front of her. ‘Nonalcoholic,’ he said before she could ask. ‘I know you’re working tomorrow.’
‘Thank you.’
She didn’t reach out for the drink because her fingers had gone suddenly boneless. He looked so sure and…male in his dinner suit. His body had grown harder in the eight years she’d been away. His shoulders had become broader, his thighs more powerful. And he still created an ache of need deep down inside her like he’d always done.
She hoped he wouldn’t push the stay-in-Clara-Falls-for-ever-and-make-it-your-home thing again. She couldn’t stay for ever in the same town as Connor Reed. It just wouldn’t work.
One corner of his mouth kinked up but it didn’t warm his eyes. ‘You’ve schmoozed beautifully.’
She raised her eyes at the edge in his voice. ‘Is that supposed to be a compliment?’ she asked warily.
He frowned. ‘Yes.’
‘Sorry.’ She hadn’t meant to misinterpret his mood. ‘I am having fun, but this really isn’t my favourite kind of do.’
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