Chapter 13 13
Stefan looked at his father — really looked — and for the first time in years, the distance between them felt a little smaller. He wanted a better relationship with his child. He wanted to be in his daughter's life completely, and he'd do anything to make that happen.
The question now was how to get on with it and what exactly was he willing to give up to achieve it. What exactly did he have to do to get Alana Jackson to say yes to being his wife? What exactly would it take to woo her?
He'd gotten her attention once before, hadn't he?
Fifteen months earlier…..
The wedding was over.
His sister had just married the man she loved and, as of a few minutes ago, both of them had gotten into a limo and went off to start their life together.
He thought of the maid of honor, Alana Jackson. Just being near her was enough to make his mind fog. He didn't want to think about what she did to the rest of him. He'd been fighting it for more than 336 hours. Since he'd first laid eyes on his sister's best friend.
He'd suffered through about forty snags in what he considered a well-thought-out plan for his sister's wedding, yet through it all there was Alana. Calming Emily, running errands and running Stefan ragged.
Leggy, opinionated and so damn sexy he thought he'd burn up with his need to touch her.
When he wasn't fixing a problem that threatened to ruin his little sister's big day, he was with Alana, talking to her long into the night, sailing on the river with her when they could grab a moment from the chaos of the wedding. When she wasn't near, he was thinking about her, waiting till he could get the sassy redhead someplace private and dark. And find out if she tasted as good as she looked. He'd bet a month's pay she did.
He wasn't alone in this. He knew that for certain, or he'd have mentally shut down his libido and kept far away from her. They were subtle, the hints coming from her, and caught him dead in the chest. They made him want her even more.
As the limo rolled away from the officers' club, he waved to his sister and looked at Alana. She was holding the hem of her gown, bending down to pick up a ribbon-tied pouch of birdseed. The officers' club wouldn't let them throw rice, and Alana had convinced them that birdseed was environmentally safe. She only wanted the tradition for Emily, she'd said. No bride should leave without the wish of prosperity from those who loved her.
And no man should have to stand here, look at a woman like that—and behave, Stefan had thought.
"Alana?"
She looked up, smiled, then straightened. "Hey, Detective. Did I tell you how very dashing you look?"
"You can start now."
"A private investigator with an ego," she teased. "How rare."
He held out his hand for hers. She dropped the pouch of birdseed into it. He glanced down, then stuffed it into his pocket.
"Sentimental?"
"No, I'll have the bills to remind me of this."
She laughed and said, "So, the cynic emerges. I knew you weren't all patience and knightly duty."
Around them, the caterers began cleaning up. The band still played one last song, and while the guests departed, Stefan pulled Alana into his arms and onto the dance floor.
"You looked great this morning."
"As opposed to right now?"
He smiled. She kept him on his toes, he'd give her that, and found himself wanting to give her a hell of a lot more. "The belle of the ball."
"Thank you, and I won't tell your sister you said that."
He pulled her more firmly against him, and the single touch of her hand in his, her body to his, set off fireworks under his skin.
She inhaled a soft breath. "Stefan..." She tried to ease back.
"Shh," he murmured, sweeping her across the dance floor like a duke at a summer ball. "You feel it too, don't you?"
"Oh, yeah," she breathed, and held on to him, laying her head on his broad shoulder. “I do,”
He loved it, the feel of her; she fit perfectly in his arms. And he knew they'd be a perfect fit elsewhere. "Good. I was hoping I wasn't in this torment alone."
"Not a chance, sailor." Her arms tightened around him, her hands moving up his back in a heavy caress.
He wished they were on his skin. Wished the two of them were naked and rolling across his bed. "You've been driving me crazy, you know," he whispered close to her ear, and sent gooseflesh cascading over her skin.
"You'd never know it."
"It wouldn't be nice to go after the maid of honor while Emily was falling apart over those flowers, would it?"
"You're to be commended for your restraint, then, Detective."
"With what I've been thinking about, I should be court-martialed.''
Alana lifted her head from his shoulder. Her gaze moved over his handsome features and under-stood the message she saw there. Heat, hunger. Need. She'd been receiving it for more than fourteen days. Stefan Maynard had walked into Emily's living room, and one look had struck Alana with the force of charged lightning.
It wasn't so much that he was good-looking, which he was, or that the sight of him would make any woman weak-kneed. It was his eyes, eyes that shouted his emotions, as well as hid them from the world.
She remembered the way he'd looked at Emily this morning, in her gown, the picture of a fairy princess, and she'd seen those deep-blue eyes gloss with tears. Of love and pride. Who'd have thought such a strong man with a dangerous job could melt at the sight of a bride? But just as easily, she recalled the stare he'd delivered to the florist who was going to ruin his sister's big day, and the words "If looks could kill" came to mind in an instant.
"What have you been thinking?" she asked suddenly.
"Dangerous territory," he warned, his blue eyes smoldering as they raked over her.
"I'm up for the adventure."
"With me, right now?"
She slid her arms to his shoulders, the fingers of one hand sliding up the back of his neck and tipping his head down. It was as if she'd done it a hundred times before, as if she'd known him for a thousand years.
"I was wondering when you'd get busy," she whispered, and pulled him closer.