Page 10 of Finding the One (River Rain #7)

Though, now was the time he intended to get to know Blake Charlotte Sharp.

He was about to touch her to wake her (but also just to touch her), when his phone buzzed on his nightstand.

Blake jolted and groaned, and then Dair watched in complete fascination as she moved her head to rub her face against his chest.

It was something a little girl would do.

It was sweet, cute, and since she was a grown woman, sexy as all fuck, and his morning wood agreed.

He was watching her, so he saw when she suddenly realized what she was about, and her head shot up.

She winced, and he was sure that was her hangover making itself known.

He grinned.

She focused with apparent difficulty on him.

Her eyes got huge.

He grinned bigger.

Then she rolled off him, onto her back, and slapped both her hands on her face, moaning behind them, “Oh my God.”

He turned to his side and got up on a forearm. “Guid mornin’, me wee bonny Blake.”

“Ugh.”

“How ye feeling?”

“Stop shouting.”

He chuckled.

“Stop shaking the bed.”

He chuckled more.

“Bluh.”

“Ye need to get moving, love. Ye volunteered for the fire department last night. They’ll be expecting ye to pitch up this morning.”

“Oh God . Shut up ,” she groaned.

She’d held court with Rix’s firefighter mates last night. She and Davina had them eating out of their hands. He was actually surprised his sister didn’t pull one (and this gave credence to the growing seriousness of the situationship she had going on back at home).

His close presence and Blake hanging on him most of the time was probably the only reason she didn’t.

And, aye.

Her drunkenly hanging on Dair was another indication he wasn’t in this alone.

Sure, a woman with bad manners could paw on a man when she got drunk, he’d experienced that more than once, and he didn’t like it one bit.

But Blake bragging proudly he was her “wedding assistant” and “ so very good at it ” to anyone who would listen and staring at him often like he built the entire wedding venue with his bare hands was not the same as a drunken woman pawing on him.

“Teasing ye, lass,” he said through a smile. “Ye need water. And coffee. And something in your belly.”

“I need a toothbrush.” She plopped her arms down on the bed asking, “Did you bring my?—?”

She stopped herself speaking when her eyes fell to his chest.

“What the hell?” she demanded and then gave another mild flinch as her hangover reacted to her words.

“What the hell what?”

Her eyes came to his. “I thought you retired from rugby.”

“Aye. I did.”

She flung a hand at his chest. “So how are you still that built?”

“I still play, and I’d get the shite knocked out of me if I didnae keep in shape to do it.”

She aimed her eyes at the ceiling, releasing a “Gluh.”

“And I do rugby commentary for the BBC. I’m often on camera, and I’d look like a twat if I talked rugby from behind a wall of flab.”

She tucked her chin in her neck and looked down at herself. “You didn’t take off my dress.”

He felt his smile change before he replied, “It was tempting.” Her gaze cut to him. “Though I didnae think ye’d thank me for it come morning.”

She turned her attention to his lower half. “What are you wearing?”

“My trousers.”

She squinted at him. “Oh my God. You’re a gentleman. That’s so annoying.”

Even if he knew she needed to get up, move about, hydrate and soak up some of the vodka sloshing in her stomach, and what she didn’t need was him shaking the bed, he couldn’t stop his laughter.

“You would have preferred me to strip ye down?” he asked.

“Just tell me you grabbed my tote.”

“Aye.” He tipped his head to the couch.

She looked that way and mumbled, “Thank God.” She came back to him. “You need the bathroom?”

“I can go after ye.”

She stared at him.

He took her meaning.

“How long will it take you?” he asked.

“Probably longer than you can wait first thing in the morning.”

He didn’t doubt it.

In fact, she had some sorcery going on because her makeup still looked perfect even if her hair hadn’t survived the drunken evening and passing out. That didn’t mean it didn’t look fucking smashing, long, fat, shining tendrils tangled on the pillow.

His erection had calmed down, but it was threatening to come back, so he spoke.

“I’ll go first.”

“Good call,” she said.

Dair wanted to kiss her, touch her, something.

He didn’t.

They weren’t there. Not while lying in bed.

So he rolled out and headed to the bathroom.

He did all his business, including brushing his teeth, plucking the bouquet out of the basin and putting it back in when he was done, and he strolled out only for Blake to be lugging her tote in.

“I ordered coffee and croissants to be brought up. Knock on the door when they arrive,” she bossed, then closed the door.

He smiled at it, and it didn’t fly under the radar that he was smiling a lot around Blake Sharp.

He considered himself a mellow guy. He made a point of doing what he enjoyed as often as he could.

He was born to wealth and made his own. In his mid-twenties, he’d had a short-lived, high-profile, unwise marriage to a vain, celebrity-hungry woman whose sole desire was to be a WAG, something she accomplished with him, which ended in a messy divorce, so she accomplished it again with some other poor arsehole (that one ended in divorce too).

But other than that, he had good friends, a loving mother, a close relationship with his sister, and a father he did not respect.

However, outside the man being an inveterate cheat (Dair suspected Helena wasn’t the only other woman, though he didn’t know this as truth), and too hard on Dair in the “a man’s gotta learn how to be a man” department while he was growing up, he wasn’t a bad dad.

In fact, in the times Dair could forget all that shite, Balfour was gruffly loving and intensely protective.

To put a fine point on it, Balfour was nothing like Helena.

In short, Dair had a good life. He intended to keep having one. He didn’t take it for granted. He recognized it and put the work in to nourish it.

But he still couldn’t remember the last time he smiled this often.

He hadn’t showered so Blake could have the bathroom. He’d do it after she did whatever she was going to do in there.

But he had to get these suit trousers off.

He switched them out to some track pants and went to his phone.

The text from before was from his mum.

It was to him and Davi.

He read it.

Breakfast in my suite at 9:30 . If Blake is still here, bring her as well .

Dair sighed, uncertain about taking Blake to this particular family breakfast. He checked the time (it was twenty before nine) and sat on the side of the bed to answer.

Blake’s still here . We’ll be there .

He then checked his email, deleted a bunch of them and phoned his sister.

She didn’t pick up.

She was probably still passed out.

He’d put on a shirt and go knock on the door later.

But for now, he searched his contacts, wondering if he even had the man’s number.

He did. He didn’t remember when he got it, but he had it.

So he called it.

Ned Sharp picked up on the second ring.

“How are you this morning, Dair?” he asked in greeting.

“Better than your daughter,” he told the man. “Calling to let ye know she’s safe and she’s with me.”

“I saw you all leaving together last night, but I appreciate the call. And thank you for looking after her. She delayed her celebration, but when the time was ripe, she committed to it.”

She certainly had.

A hesitation from Ned then, “I hate to bring her up, for reasons I’m sure are obvious, but I must. Do you know if Helena has been in contact with her?”

“I dinnae think Blake looked at her phone all night.”

“Again, I hesitate to discuss her, but I’m afraid you’re involved in one of her dramas now, and you should know, Helena is not good when she’s on her back foot.”

Was she good at any time?

“Noted.”

“Please find a way to share this information with your mother and sister.”

Bloody hell.

“I will,” he grunted.

“I’m very sorry, Dair.”

“She isn’t yours to apologize for.”

“I’m still sorry.”

Ned Sharp was a good man.

Dair didn’t know him all that well, but he’d always liked him.

He’d seemed solid, yet distant in the very rare circumstances when Dair had been around Ned when he was a kid.

Christmas holidays, the few times he stiltedly shared them with his wife and daughters when they were in England and Dair’s family would come down on Boxing Day.

Blake’s birthday, which was during the summer holidays, and Ned would fly out.

More when they were older. The girls’ graduations from high school.

Alex’s college graduation. Dair’s ill-fated wedding (his mother had insisted on inviting Ned, probably partly because she liked him—mostly, Dair reckoned, because she knew Helena was sleeping with her husband, Helena was invited too, and Ned drove Helena around the bend). Also, Blake’s aborted one.

Though, it was only this visit where Dair witnessed true warmth and love shared between the three of them.

Shite happened for a reason.

And he wasn’t close enough to know for certain, but it seemed like Blake’s wedding fiasco had a profound effect on the emotionally functioning members of that clan.

“Thanks, mate,” he replied to Ned.

“When do you leave?”

“I suspect Mum’s changing her plans in order to leave today. I may go with her. Though, I’d planned to stay a couple of days. I’ve never been to Arizona. Judge told me about some trails. We’ve made tentative plans to hit them.”

“This is beautiful country. I hope you have the chance to enjoy it, but I can understand you wishing to see to your mother.”

“Aye.”

“If you stay, please come to dinner. Blake’s very good in the kitchen.”

Blake could cook?

This he had to experience.

“If I stay, you can be certain I’ll be there.”

“Not surprised,” Ned said quietly, then in a normal tone, “Until then, Dair, thank you again for looking after my daughter, and I don’t envy the day you’re going to have today.”

“It’ll be had, then it’ll be done.”

“As it always is. Goodbye, Dair.”