Kelsey tried to swallow. Once, twice. Finally she gave up and croaked out, “Mr. McClane?”
“Yes?” He stopped to look at her, and Kelsey’s only thought was that she still didn’t know the color of his eyes. Brown, maybe? To match the mahogany of his hair and tanned skin. Or blue? A bright, vivid contrast to his coloring.
A dark eyebrow rose above his mirrored sunglasses, a reminder that she had yet to answer him. A rush of heat flooded her cheeks. “Uh, Mr. McClane—”
“We’ve already established who I am. Question is, who are you?”
“My name’s Kelsey Wilson.”
He flashed a smile that revved her pulse. His head dipped, and she sensed him taking in the red hair she struggled to control, the freckled skin she tried to cover, and the extra pounds she sought to hide beneath the khaki skirt and boxy shirt. She saw her reflection in his mirrored glasses, a much shorter, much wider version of herself, like a carnival funhouse distortion.
Kelsey didn’t feel much like laughing.
Had she known her aunt was going to assign her this mission, she would have worn something different—like full body armor. The image of what Emily might have worn to meet her former boyfriend flashed in Kelsey’s mind. She shoved the pointless comparison away. Too much like trying to force Strawberry Shortcake into Barbie’s wardrobe.
“Well, what do you know?” Connor stood in the middle of the corridor, mindless of the sea of people parting around him. “The Wilsons sent out a welcoming party. Heck, if I’d known I’d get this kind of reception, I might have come back sooner.”
“I doubt that,” Kelsey muttered.
Connor McClane had planned his return perfectly, coming back to ruin Emily’s wedding. Aunt Charlene was certain of it. Kelsey knew only one thing. Her cousin had nearly thrown her future away once for this man, and she could see how Emily might be tempted to do it again.
“Don’t underestimate your appeal,” he told her, and though she couldn’t see beyond the reflective sunglasses, she had the distinct impression he’d winked at her.
Kelsey straightened her spine to the shattering point. “My appeal isn’t in question. I’m here to—”
Keep him away from Emily, Kelsey. I don’t care how you do it, but keep that man away from my daughter!
“To do what, Kelsey Wilson?”
His deep voice made her name sound like a seduction, and suddenly she could think of all kinds of things to do that had nothing to do with her aunt’s wishes. Or did they? How far would Aunt Charlene expect her to go to keep Connor away from Emily?
“To give you a ride from the airport,” she answered with a saccharine smile. “Baggage claim is this way.”
Connor patted the duffel bag slung over one shoulder. “Got everything with me.”
Eyeing the lumpy bag, Kelsey wondered how dress clothes could survive such careless packing. Maybe he planned to ride his motorcycle up to the church in leather and denim, the same way he’d ridden out of town ten years ago? Unless—
“You didn’t bring much with you. You must not plan to stay long.”
Something in her voice must have given away her hope, because Connor chuckled. He adjusted the duffel bag and headed down the corridor, his strides so long Kelsey nearly had to jog to keep up.
“Oh, I’ll be here as long as it takes,” he told her with a sideways glance, “but I won’t need more than a few days.”
A few days. Did she really want to know? Did she really want to throw down the verbal gauntlet? Kelsey took a deep breath, partly to gather some courage, partly to gather some much needed oxygen. “A few days to what?”
“To stop Emily from marrying the wrong man.”
Connor hadn’t known what to expect when he stepped off the plane. He’d given Emily his flight information with the hope she might meet him at the airport. He’d wanted a chance to talk to her away from her family and her fiancé. He was realistic enough to know the whole Wilson brigade might be lined up at the gate like some kind of high-fashion firing squad. But he hadn’t expected a petite redhead. He’d never imagined the Wilson genes could produce a petite redhead.
“So who are you anyway?” he asked, only to realize the woman was no longer at his side.
He glanced back over his shoulder. Kelsey Wilson stood in the middle of the corridor, her brown eyes wide, her lips adorably parted in shock. She didn’t look anything like the other Wilsons, and curiosity stirred inside him. He couldn’t picture her at the elegant country-club settings the status-conscious family enjoyed any more than he’d imagined himself there.
A Wilson misfit, he thought, on the outside looking in. Their gazes locked, and the momentary connection rocked him. Shaking off the feeling, he circled back around and asked, “You coming?”
The flush of color on her cheeks nearly blotted out her freckles. “You don’t actually think you can come back here after ten years and expect to take up where you left off?You weren’t right for Emily back then, and you aren’t right for her now!”
As far as insults went, the words were pretty tame, especially coming from a Wilson. And it wasn’t as if he had any intention of taking up where he and Emily had left off. He’d made his share of mistakes, and some—like thinking he and Emily had a chance—didn’t bear repeating. Emily had been looking for someone to rescue her from the life her parents had planned for her, and he’d been young enough to think of himself as a hero.
Connor knew better now. He was nobody’s hero.
Still, Kelsey’s reminder stirred long-buried resentment. Worthless. Good for nothing. Troublemaker. Gordon Wilson had shouted them all when he’d discovered his younger daughter sneaking out to meet Connor. After being knocked around by his old man during his childhood, he knew a thing or two about male aggression and had arrogantly faced down the older man.
But Charlene Wilson’s clipped, controlled words had managed to pierce his cocky facade. “From the moment Emily was born, she has had nothing but the best,” Charlene told him with ice practically hanging from her words. “We have given her the world. What could you possibly give her?”
He’d tried to give her her freedom, the chance to live her life without bowing to her family’s expectations. If someone had given his mother that same chance, things would have been different, and maybe, just maybe, she would still be alive. But when Emily made her choice, she didn’t choose him. She took the easy way out—and in the end, so did he, Connor thought, guilt from the past and present mixing. But he wasn’t going to fail this time. He was here to help Emily, no matter what the redhead standing in front of him like a curvaceous barricade thought.
“Look, whoever you are,” he said, since she’d never explained her relationship to the Wilsons, “you didn’t know me then, and you don’t know me now. You don’t have a clue what I’m good for.”
He ducked his head and lowered his voice, not wanting to attract attention, but the words came out like a seductive challenge. He stood close enough to catch a hint of cinnamon coming from her skin. The color faded from her complexion, and her freckles stood out clearly enough to play a game of connect-the-dots. He shoved his hands into his pockets rather than give into the urge to trace a five-point star over one cheek. He tried to imagine Kelsey’s reaction if he touched her. Would she recoil in shock? Or would he see an answering awareness in her chocolate eyes?
Right now, sparks of annoyance lit her gaze. “I know all I need to know. You’re no good for Emily. You never were—What are you doing?” she demanded when Connor leaned around to look over her shoulder.
“Amazing. You can’t even see the strings.”
“What