Page 63

“Come in,” Mark Hampton invited, stepping aside and spreading his arm to a masculine office lined with bookshelves, a blazing fire in an impressive fireplace, and a sofa. ’Twas like an entire living room behind double doors. “You must be the woman responsible for stealing my son’s heart. And I can see why.”

Bryce groaned and rolled his eyes, but Rihanna couldn’t help but laugh.

“Dad, be a little blunt next time.”

“If you insist—”

“No!” Bryce threw up his hands. “Never mind.”

The men shared in hearty laughter that warmed the air and lessened the nervousness she hadn’t realized had festered.

“Take a seat. Can I offer you two a drink?” the older man asked.

“Nay, thank you,” Rihanna said, settling on the sofa beside Bryce. “’Tis a beautiful home you have.”

She busied herself admiring the room, though she didn’t miss the quirked brow and curious glance Mr. Hampton shot his son.

“Your accent is intriguing. Where’re you from?”

“One of our homes in Ireland. My brother and I make trips here on occasion.”

Mr. Hampton nodded thoughtfully as he poured two tumblers of whiskey. He held one out to Bryce, who accepted with quiet thanks. “Are you sure I can’t offer you something to drink?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Hampton. I appreciate your hospitality.”

Bryce slung his arm over her shoulders as he propped his ankle on his knee and sipped his drink. Mr. Hampton angled one of the upholstered chairs toward the sofa and settled into the seat.

“I guess I should ask the basic questions. How did you meet? How long have you known Bryce? What do you do for a living? But it seems my curiosity is getting the best of me. I’d like to know why it’s taken him so long to bring you here if you’ve known each other for years.”

Rihanna shot Bryce a startled glance. He stirred his whiskey, seemingly unfazed.

“I think my situation preceding this meeting is answer enough,” Bryce answered smoothly. Mr. Hampton’s gaze shifted between the two of them before he sipped his drink. “Hard to bring another woman home to one’s parents when the circumstances don’t necessarily allow it.”

“I was aware of his engagement, and I didn’t wish to cause a rift between him and his fiancée—”

“Ex-fiancée,” Bryce corrected, holding her gaze over the lip of his tumbler.

“Ex-fiancée,” she whispered, the pull of his gaze threatening to make a fool of her in front of his father. She cleared her throat and squared herself to Mr. Hampton. The distraction was welcome. “I kept my distance. Alas, your son’spersistence is quite admirable, even if he enlisted the help of his law enforcement friend to locate my home.”

Bryce coughed, splashing whiskey onto his jeans.

“You asked Jesse to locate her?” Mr. Hampton asked. The corner of his mouth twitched as he fought a smile. His eyes twinkled. “You know he shouldn’t—”

“I asked him to run her plate because it was driving me mad not knowing where she was.” He pierced Rihanna with a heated gaze that lanced through any hope of keeping herself composed. “You have no idea what you put me through these last few months.” His fingertips brushed an airy caress over her cheek. “The agony of not knowing how to find you.”

Rihanna couldn’t look away, despite the extra set of eyes watching from across the coffee table. ’Twasn’t until Bryce broke his intense stare than she dropped her gaze, her cheeks ablaze.

“Obviously, I broke off the engagement with Kate after the stunt she pulled a few days ago. Mom has yet to speak a word to me.”

Mr. Hampton shrugged casually. “As I told you the last night we spoke, your happiness comes first. And here”—he motioned with his tumbler between Bryce and Rihanna—“even a blind man can see the happiness you share. Your mother will come around. Not everything is business and social status, and she’ll realize that soon enough.” His gaze dropped to Rihanna’s hands. “I couldn’t help but notice you have a similar mark on your palm to Bryce’s.”

Rihanna turned her palm over, exposing the renewed wound. “Aye, ’tis…special.”

“I might be a logical man, but even I have a romantic bone. And I find that pretty damn compelling evidence that there might be some such thing as Fate.” He tipped his tumbler in salute and tossed the remaining liquid back in asingle gulp. “What are the odds of someone having a similar birthmark?”

“One person, and Rihanna is she,” Bryce said.

“Well, then. I guess my arms are open to accepting you warmly into this family.”