him an instant before she stepped back.
Grasping his wrists, she pulled his arms from her. “I’m not sure what spurred you to reminisce right now since you don’t seem to be the type to get sentimental at weddings. But now is not the time or the place for this discussion.”
His eyebrows rose in surprise. “You’re willing to talk then? Later?”
She held up a hand. “Talk. Only. I mean that.”
“Let’s step outside—”
“No. Not here. Not tonight.”
He reached for her, sensing already she was just putting him off again. “Amie, if this is another stall tactic—”
“We’ll have our secretaries check our calendars and schedule a lunch next week. Okay? Is that specific enough for you? Now, I need to check on my grandmother.” She spun away in a swirl of peach silk.
Standing in the middle of the dance floor, he watched her walk away, the sway of her hips and those million-dollar legs peeking through a slit in the dress. Stepping off the dance floor, he wondered what the hell he hoped to gain in a conversation with her. An affair, given their work connection, was a bad idea, but he wasn’t in the market for anything long term. Not again.
He charged back to the bar for another bourbon on the rocks, ignoring a waiter’s offering of the evening’s signature beverage, a Mouton Rothschild favored by the couple. Tonight, bourbon would do just fine. Marriage hadn’t worked out well for him. At all. Just ask his ex. He was too absorbed with work, too much of a loner. After all, a boss couldn’t party with his subordinates, which put a serious dent in any kind of social life. He wanted to say that’s what had made him so susceptible to Amie that first night, but he knew it was more than that. He was a man of control. Calm. Yet, the second he’d seen Amie, he’d claimed her with that first look in an explosive chemistry that went beyond any he’d experienced before, even with his ex-wife.
No wonder his marriage had failed early on. He’d made a fortune and in the end it hadn’t made a bit of difference when things mattered most.
Rather than subject their daughter to a divorce, he and his wife had tried to hold it together for their child. But theirs had become a marriage in name only. Eventually, his ex had found someone else. She’d told Preston her new love would at least be around, which was better for Leslie than an absentee father. He’d bought into that, feeling guilty as hell and incapable of giving his child what she needed.
He’d replayed that decision a million times over, wondering if he’d fought harder for his marriage, for his child, if life could have turned out differently. Guilt piled on top of more guilt.
His baby girl had flown out of control during her teen years. Drugs, alcohol, sex. He’d tried grounding her, taking away her car, her allowance. He’d planned to take a vacation week to spend time with her, let her pick the vacation spot. She’d turned him down.
He should have persisted. He’d thought about it. Then it was too late.
Leslie ran off with her boyfriend the day after graduation, seventeen years old, pregnant. She’d ignored all offers of help and advice, determined to put her parents and the lifestyle she hated behind her. She hadn’t cared about wealth or private jets. Hadn’t wanted her own driver or a massive home. She’d even snubbed a doctor’s care.
She and her baby boy had died seven months into the pregnancy. Premature delivery. Something with the placenta presenting first. His daughter, Leslie, bled to death. The baby lived for two days before dying.
The Armstrong portfolio was worth billions and his daughter and grandson had died from lack of prenatal care because she hated him that much. So much, she wouldn’t take a penny or the most basic advice from him.
Some days the senselessness of it made it nearly impossible to hold back the rage.
The pain.
His child. Gone.
His ex blamed him. Damn it all, but he blamed himself, too.
So he put one foot in front of the other and existed.
Until that moment he’d seen Amie McNair. What was it about her? He wasn’t the type to fall for a pretty face. But she was more than that. Not that he’d known as much that night. He’d just looked into her eyes and he’d seen...
Something that scared the hell out of him. Something worth going back for.
A risk he couldn’t take again.
* * *
Pushing her grandmother’s wheelchair down the hall to the family quarters, Amie took comfort from the ever-present scent of oak and pine that permeated the main lodge at Hidden Gem Ranch. The family wing could be accessed privately from the outside, but tonight, she’d taken the easier path through the lobby, waving to the night desk clerk on duty.
Now, as they passed through double doors that required a pass code, Amie could still barely breathe after how close she’d come to kissing Preston right there on the dance floor in front of everyone. She did not need people gossiping about the two of them. Especially not now. Damn him for rattling her. She needed to keep a cool head for her grandmother’s sake.
Amie had never been known for her restraint.
She’d been sorely tempted to steal one more passionate moment with him before the inevitable conversation he’d insisted on having. But then her stomach had started churning and she’d made the excuse about secretaries and calendars before bolting.
Throwing up on his shoes would have been the worst way to tell him their night in the coat closet had created a baby.
Somehow, in spite of the condom, she was undeniably pregnant. She hadn’t been with anyone else in six months, so there was no question about the paternity. She needed to tell him soon and agree on a plan before she shared the news with her grandmother.
Amie glanced down at her grandmother’s gray head, her body frail from cancer, her once-long hair now short, just beginning to grow back from the latest round of treatments and surgeries that had only delayed the inevitable. “You overextended yourself this week, Gran.”
Amie backed into her grandmother’s suite of rooms, a decorative set of cattle horns on the door, an old joke of Gran’s from her days in the corporate boardroom when a competitor had called her bullheaded. Gran had proudly taken to displaying this set on the front of her chauffeur-driven vehicle. These days, they resided on her door, still a reminder of her strength.
“Of course I did.” Gran reached back to pat Amie’s fingers on the handle, hand trembling. “I would rather die a day or two earlier than miss making the most of my grandson’s wedding festivities.”
“Well, that’s blunt.” Amie maneuvered the chair along a Persian rug, past a long leather sofa, the fireplace roaring with a warm blaze despite the summer temperature outside. Her grandmother appreciated the ambience and didn’t mind the extra warmth in her more frail condition.
“You’re one to talk considering you are just like me, stubborn as hell.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you very much.”
Gran would be happy
