fair. Instead I’ve been leaning toward a cream taffeta with a sash at the waist—”
Catching herself, Lindsay offered a sheepish smile. “Sorry, Ryder’s already warned me I tend to go into wedding overload on even the most unsuspecting victim. The other day, I talked a poor waitress’s ear off and all she asked was if I wanted dessert. If there’s something else you need to do, you don’t have to stay—”
“No! Daddy, don’t go!” Hannah’s hands tightened in a death grip around his as she pressed closer to his side.
Lindsay’s expression morphed into one of sympathy that Jamison had seen too many times and had grown to despise over the past two months.
But not as much as he hated the tears in his daughter’s eyes. “I’m not going anywhere,” he vowed, disappointed but not surprised when his promise didn’t erase the worry wrinkling her pale eyebrows.
“Pinkie promise?” she finally asked, holding out the tiny, delicate digit.
Jamison didn’t hesitate as Hannah wrapped him around her finger. Love welled up inside him along with the painful awareness of how many times he’d let her down in her short life. His voice was gruff as he replied, “Pinkie promise.”
“Your daddy can stay with you the whole time,” Lindsay reassured Hannah gently. “I bet he can’t wait to see you try on some pretty dresses.”
Jamison had thought Hannah might enjoy being a flower girl, but the truth was, he didn’t have a clue what would make his little girl happy anymore. Sweat started to gather at his temples along with the pressure of an oncoming headache. “Look, Lindsay, I appreciate you thinking of Hannah and wanting her to be part of the ceremony, but I don’t—”
“Sorry I’m late!” The cheery voice interrupted Jamison’s escape, and every muscle in his body tensed. That need to run raced through him once more, but his feet felt frozen in place. Still, he couldn’t help turning to glance over his shoulder, bracing himself for the woman he could feel drawing closer.
The wedding coordinator.
Ryder and Lindsay had introduced them not long after he’d checked into the sprawling Victorian hotel. He’d been exhausted from fourteen-hour workdays, worn out from the long drive from San Francisco and far more overwhelmed by the idea of taking care of Hannah on his own than he dared admit even to himself.
That was the only logical explanation he’d been able to come up with for why that first meeting with Rory McClaren had sent a lightning bolt straight through his chest. Her smile had stopped him dead in his tracks and her touch—nothing more than a simple handshake—had shot a rush of adrenaline through his system, jump-starting his heartbeat and sending it racing for the first time in...ever, it seemed.
But logical explanations failed him now. One look at Rory, and Jamison was blown away all over again.
Big blue eyes sparkled in a heart-shaped face framed by dark, shoulder-length hair. A fringe of bangs, thick lashes and arched eyebrows drew him even deeper into that gaze. A sprinkling of freckles across her nose kept her fair skin from being too perfect, and cherry-red lipstick highlighted a bright smile and a sexy mouth Jamison had no business thinking about again and again.
A white sundress stitched with red roses revealed more freckles scattered like gold dust across her delicate collarbones. The fitted bodice hugged the curves of her breasts and small waist before flaring to swish around her slender legs as she walked.
She looked as fresh and sunny as a summer’s day, and Jamison almost had to squint when he looked at her, like he needed sunglasses to shield him from her stunning beauty.
He sure as hell needed some form of protection, some barrier to establish a safe distance from this woman and the unexpected, unwanted way she made him feel. If his disastrous marriage had taught him one lesson, it was that he far preferred being numb.
“Mr. Porter, nice to see you again.”
Her smile was genuine, but Jamison couldn’t imagine her words were true. He’d been abrupt the day before, unnerved by his reaction and bordering on rude. “Ms. McClaren. I didn’t know you’d be joining us this morning.”
“All part of Hillcrest House’s service as an all-inclusive wedding venue,” she said with a smile to Lindsay before turning that full wattage on Jamison. “But we are a hotel first and foremost, so I hope you enjoyed your first night under our roof.”
He’d heard his share of come-ons in his lifetime. There was nothing the least bit seductive in her smile or her voice. But his imagination, as suddenly uncontrollable as his hormones, had him picturing an intimacy beyond sleeping under her roof and instead sleeping in her bed...
Jamison didn’t know if his thoughts were written on his face, but whatever Rory saw had enough color blooming in her cheeks to rival the roses on her dress. Her lips parted on an inhaled breath, and Jamison felt drawn closer, captured by the moment as the awareness stretched between them until she dropped her gaze.
“And Hannah!”
That quickly, the enticing image was banished, but not the pained embarrassment lingering in its wake. He wasn’t some gawky teenager lusting after the high school cheerleader. He was a grown man, a father...a father with a daughter he was terrified of failing—just like he had her mother.
“How are you this morning?” Undeterred by the lack of response, Rory’s lyrical voice rose and fell, and Jamison didn’t want to think about the slight tremor under the words. Didn’t want to think she might be as affected as he was by the chemistry between them. “Do you like your room at the hotel? You know, the Bluebell has always been my favorite.”
The Bluebell...
What kind of hotel designated their rooms by a type of flower?
“It’s all part of Hillcrest’s romantic charm,” Rory had explained.
He had no need for romance or charm or bright-eyed brunettes. He wanted logic, order. He wanted the normalcy of sequential room numbers, for God’s sake!
But the Bluebell was one of the hotel’s few two-room suites and, while small, it offered a living space and tiny kitchenette. The comfortable room was subtly decorated in shades of blue and white.
If only it wasn’t for the name...and the reminder of flowers that had him thinking far too often of Rory’s dark-lashed, vibrant blue eyes.
“I like purple,” Hannah answered, surprising him too much with her willingness to talk to a virtual stranger for him to point out bluebell wasn’t a color.
“Me, too,” Rory agreed as she caught on to his daughter’s twist in the topic.
Hannah’s forehead wrinkled. “You said you like blue.”
“Actually, Hannah, rainbow is my favorite color...” The wedding coordinator bent at the waist so she and Hannah were almost eye to eye as she shared that piece of nonsense with the little girl. “That way I never have to pick just one.”
A lock of her hair slid forward like a silken ribbon and curved around her breast. The dark strands were a stark contrast against the white fabric, but it was the similarities that had Jamison sucking in a deep breath. Soft cotton, soft hair, soft skin...
Realizing
