Never Say Never Again. Tori Carrington

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      Connor couldn’t help a smile. “No. Your…eyebrows are just fine.” As was everything else about the outgoing college student turned savvy junior U.S. attorney.

      He snapped upright, moving from his startlingly relaxed position.

      He’d be well-served to remember what else he knew about Bronte O’Brien. Particularly that she went through men faster than a shopaholic could max out a new credit card. He narrowed his eyes. Funny, he hadn’t seen her with anyone lately, though. Not at the bar when he’d first crossed paths with her again outside the district courthouse. Not during her occasional visits out to the McCoy place with Kelli.

      Not that he’d been paying close attention, mind you. The last thing on his mind was women.

      Bronte pushed from the bar and visibly straightened her shoulders, jolting him from his thoughts and making him realize he’d been staring. “Okay, after that thorough inspection, I know something is wrong. It’s my makeup, isn’t it? I forgot to put mascara on one eye. No, wait. My blush doesn’t match my lipstick.”

      Connor looked down at his glass, fighting a half smile. “I’d be the last person to notice either thing.”

      She considered him warily. “Then why are you staring at me?”

      He shrugged. Why was he staring at her? He already knew that such steady attention only garnered unwanted interest. And while he wasn’t opposed to bedding the occasional female every now and again, Bronte wasn’t going to be one of them. “Just thinking.”

      “Uh-huh…you were just…thinking.”

      He put his glass on the bar. “Something wrong with that?”

      “I don’t know. Depends on what you were thinking.”

      He fastened his gaze on her face. But rather than the flirtatious look he expected, he instead found she wore a guardedly curious expression. Was that because she wasn’t attracted to him? Found his company…wanting?

      He frowned. What was he thinking? He didn’t want her to be attracted to him any more than he wanted to be attracted to her. And he wasn’t. He was merely appreciating her beauty, that’s all. He wasn’t any more attracted to her than he was to any of his sisters-in-law. So what if he noticed the way her breasts pressed against the thin fabric of her dress? How the slit up the side of her ankle-length skirt flashed glimpses of her long legs when she walked? How pale freckles peppered every visible inch of her skin? He’d notice the same thing about any other female within the vicinity. He was a man, after all. It didn’t necessarily mean he was attracted to her.

      “I was just thinking,” he began, searching for an explanation that would keep him safely out of reach, yet make some sort of sense. “You went to G.W.U., didn’t you?”

      Her instant answering smile yanked on something inside his chest. He told himself it was relief. “I’m surprised you remember.”

      His brows budged upward. Her response indicated she had some memory of him being there as well. “I have to say I’m surprised you do too.”

      She looked down at her glass. “Yeah, well, it’s hard to forget a guy who would be taller than me even when I’m in high heels. There aren’t many out there.”

      “I remember noticing your height too—and that red hair,” he said.

      She leaned back against the bar. “I have to give you credit. You’re the first guy I’ve met who hasn’t asked me inside of a minute if I’ve ever modeled.”

      “That’s because I know you’re with the U.S. attorney’s office.”

      Her laugh was mature, deep and throaty.

      “I could say that you’re the first woman at this wedding who hasn’t asked me to dance inside of a minute.”

      Bronte O’Brien looked at strapping Connor McCoy from beneath her lashes, trying to figure out if he was trying to make small talk, or if he was just plain conceited. Oh, she could imagine that lots of women asked him to dance. That wasn’t the problem. In a room full of men dressed to the nines, he was the one who stuck out, tempted women’s attention with that clean-shaven, good-guy look and brooding expression. He was the type of guy a woman spotted and instantly a flashing alarm went off: Grade-A heartbreak ahead.

      Well, at least that’s how she saw him. Other women might be inclined to try to tempt him from his commitment-phobic ways. Of course she’d passed that masochistic phase years ago, thank God. The simple truth was, no woman could change a man like Connor. The more she’d try, the more he would resist. Until finally she’d be forced to walk away—or worse, he would send her packing and she’d be left to make fast friends with a carton of tissues.

      Anyway, her problem wasn’t being attracted to commitment-phobic guys. In fact, it was the complete opposite. She’d settle for one who wasn’t already married.

      She frowned into her beer, forgetting for a moment why Connor was staring at her. The she realized he was waiting for some sort of response. “Did it cross your mind that I didn’t ask you to dance because I’m not interested in dancing with you?” Her smile took some of the bite out of her words, then grew genuine when he smiled back. “Okay, that’s not really the reason. I didn’t ask you to dance because I don’t dance.” She shrugged, wondering why she’d volunteered that little piece of trivia from the life and times of Bronte O’Brien. Still, no matter how many years went by, or how many men she dated, the memories from her wallflower days tagged along on her heels like a long piece of unnoticed toilet paper. Until events like these reminded her. Speaking of which… She looked down at her shoes just to make sure she wasn’t trailing any t.p. The way today was going, she wouldn’t be surprised to find an entire roll hanging on. “I don’t know. I guess it’s one of the drawbacks of having a foot on the guys in school. For some reason, they never ask girls taller than they are to dance.”

      His eyes darkened with something shared and elemental, throwing her for a second. “I bet they regret their actions now.”

      She laughed. “I doubt it.”

      She caught herself staring into those same eyes, now tinted with enigmatic shadows. She’d come across Connor several times in the past few months and he’d never given her the time of day, much less made an effort to talk to her. There was something different about him tonight, though. Something almost…human.

      She forced herself to turn and watch the people on the dance floor, realizing she probably sounded like she was looking for a pity dance. She slanted him a covert look, relieved to find he was staring out on the dance floor much as she was. She let out a quiet, shaky breath. She should have known better. Through Kelli’s dealings with the McCoy family of rebels-without-a-clue, she’d learned that while they had to be the best-looking bunch of men on the eastern seaboard, they weren’t exactly the brightest when it came to women. Kelli, herself, had nearly halted her wedding plans at least three times because of some stupid stunt or other that David had pulled both on and off the job.

      Her gaze was drawn to the good-looking couple, swaying to a slow, sultry song about lost loves, and her own heart gave a gentle squeeze.

      This whole night had been harder on her than she would have ever imagined it would be. It was more than the loss of her heel before the ceremony that an application of Wilhemenia Weber’s quick glue had fixed; the spot of brisket drippings on her СКАЧАТЬ