Excerpt of Forgotten Father by Carol Rose

Delanie Carlyle looked across the crowded room and fell in
love with Mitchell Riese.

At least, that’s what it felt like, though she told
herself not to be silly. How often did love at first sight
actually happen?

Still, when his hot blue gaze met hers, she registered
a shiver of sensation down to her toes, as if some
long-missing piece of her heart had suddenly clicked into place.

It seemed natural that he looked away from her only
long enough to murmur something to the man on his left,
putting his unfinished drink on a nearby table, before he
began to make his way toward her through the glittering
cocktail crowd.

With an arc of electrical current running between them,
Delanie held Mitchell’s gaze as he came steadily closer, her
breath suddenly tight in her chest. Lithe and powerful in
his Armani tux, he seemed a dark-haired knight out of her
fantasies, a tall, purposeful hero with eyes only for her.

Who knew Donovan Riese’s grandson would be such a hunk?
Even the formal portrait in his grandfather’s study hadn’t
done him justice. Mitchell’s gaze bored into hers now, a
sensual twist to his lips.

Delanie felt the tiny hairs on her arms lift as if a
breeze stirred the air in the stuffy, crowded room. Despite
the illusion, she knew she stood some distance from the
French doors opening onto the wide veranda. Beyond the
room’s polished décor, in which she took great pride, lay a
twilight panorama of forested hills and shimmering blue lake.

Nearly as blue as his eyes.

Breaking free of the last cluster of chattering guests, he
came to a halt before her, the half-smile still on his face,
a stomach-curling heat in his eyes.

She loved him then, before he spoke a single word. It
made no sense, but she knew it with a certainty that defied
logic.

“What took you so long?” she murmured, the words coming
out with a husky flavor.

“I got here as soon as I could,” he said, the smile in
his eyes deepening.

He stood looking into her face with an intensity that
left her trembling inside. Though he never overtly scanned
her body in the annoying way some men had, Delanie would
have bet he registered every detail about her. The standard
little black dress, the nearly-full glass sweating in her
hand, the pulse fluttering at her throat.

“Have you been waiting long?” Mitchell asked, reaching his
left arm out to lean against the wall where she stood.
Feeling bracketed between the white, wainscoted wall and the
powerful, tux-clad man in front of her, Delanie met his
stare. “I guess that depends on what you mean by long.”
His smile widened. “Truthfully, any length of time in this
crowd seemed long…until now.”

Glancing away from him with a sudden, unaccustomed flash of
shyness, she pretended to look around the room, most of
which was blocked by his body. “I don’t know. They seem
like a pretty friendly bunch of people.”

“Possibly,” he said, reaching out to lift her left hand in
his, “but no one else here particularly interests me.”

Jolted by the heat of his touch, the sense of latent
strength there, Delanie made no protest as he turned her
hand over, palm down, and stroked his thumb along her bare
ring finger.

His gaze lifted to meet hers, satisfaction glimmering in his
face.

“If no one here interests you, why have you stayed?” she
asked, the words intentionally sultry. Flirting came as
natural to her as breathing, but both were difficult at this
moment. Everything felt different.

“I thought I was here to accommodate my elderly grandfather
who requested my presence at the re-opening of his resort,
but I realize now, I’m here to…meet you.”

Delanie caught the glimmer in his eyes, the lust held in
civil check. A hungry, sexual man on the make.

Still, there was something else in those midnight eyes,
something in his face that won its way past her easy social
banter. As if he, too, knew loneliness, knew loss and
disenchantment.

In that fractional second, she wanted to draw him closer, to
press her mouth against his until they merged into one
complete being. Somehow she knew his soul was as incomplete
as was hers.

“And is coming all the way out to the wilds of New Hampshire
worth…meeting me?” Delanie asked with an upward sweep of her
lashes.

“Yes.” The answer came with uncompromising swiftness, a
decisive commitment to the moment hovering between them.

She looked up at him, studying the forceful face, the
sensual lips, the banked fierceness in his eyes. He would
do everything that way, completely with no hesitation, no
wavering in uncertainty.

A thrill ran through her at the thought. No halfway
measures for him. Here was a man to make her dreams come true.

His broad-shouldered body blotting out the rest of the room,
she felt enclosed. Surrounded. He held her wrist still in
a loose clasp, his fingers warm on her pounding pulse.

Delanie drew in a breath of the scorching air between them,
raising her gaze to his again.

“What are you doing here?” he asked softly, those eyes still
devouring her.

She laughed, the sound breathless. In her years of adult
singlehood, she’d learned to play the dating game, had even
found a talent in herself for delicately pursuing men who
interested her, though she enjoyed being pursued as well.
Never before, however, had a man leveled his sights on her
so completely, never before had she felt so completely desired.

Dragging her attention back to his question, Delanie ran the
tip of her tongue over suddenly dry lips and released a
lighthearted laugh. “Like everyone else, I’m here
celebrating the re-opening of The Cedars Resort.”

“Donovan’s Folly?” Mitchell asked with the faintest hint of
mockery as he lifted her hand again in his, his thumb strong
in the center of her palm.

Her heart pounding in her throat, she struggled to stay
focused on the words between them. “Don’t you like
beautiful, old historic hotels?”

“It keeps Donovan busy,” Mitchell replied absently, his hand
drawing hers closer to his chest. Still braced on the wall
beside her, he stood before her with no self-consciousness,
no hint of uncertainty in his bearing.
So close, so hungry,…so perfectly right for her.

Someone passed behind him then, the chattering crowd making
movement difficult. Mitchell shifted closer to her, placing
her hand against his chest.

They stood in the nook between the white wall and a potted
palm, his arm still propped on the wall beside her, her hand
splayed across the whiteness of his shirt.

Delanie stared at his chest, her hand seeming small.
Beneath her fingers, she felt the starched cotton of his
dress shirt and hard, heated man. His heart pounded a heavy
rhythm, strong and steady, the pace matching her own pulse’s
erotic tempo.

Glancing up, her gaze tangled again with his as he bent
nearer. She drew in a soft gasp of air as he leaned in,
blotting out everything else. Isolated here amidst a
heedless, celebratory crowd, he was going to kiss her.
She leaned forward infinitesimally, closing the gap between
them. His mouth, so firm, hovered above hers.

“Mitchell!”

A man behind him, clapped a hand on Mitchell’s shoulder,
breaking the moment as he drew him around.

“Mitchell Riese! By God, I haven’t seen you in years,” the
other man said, pumping the hand he’d grasped when Mitchell
swung round.

“Arnie, good to see you.” Mitchell’s words seemed automatic.

Delanie leaned against the wall as the men greeted each
other. Dazed and overwhelmed by the emotions rioting
through her, she waited for him to turn back to her.
She’d always known it would be like this when she finally
met the right man. One look, one glance of recognition, and
all the world’s confusion fell by the wayside.

This was it. She’d met her fate in Donovan Riese’s grandson.

Now if only the old windbag pumping Mitchell’s arm would
evaporate, they could go somewhere and…start the rest of
their lives together.

* * *

“It’s been great seeing you again, Arnie,” Mitchell said
again, acutely conscious of the delectable woman beside him.
“Let’s get together for drinks when you get back to town,”
the older man said, as the crush of the cocktail crowd drew
him away.

“Call me,” Mitchell said, lifting a hand in final salute.
Turning back to the redhead waiting for him by the potted
palm, he saw her lips moving and leaned closer to catch her
words.

“What?”

She drew in a breath, her mouth-watering cleavage rising
slightly. “I said, maybe we should go out on the veranda.
I’m sure it’s less crowded.”

“Great idea,” he agreed, congratulating himself for snaring
such a tempting morsel. Of all the women in the room, she
stood out, her copper hair falling smooth and straight to
her shoulders. But it was more than the color of her hair,
he acknowledged, taking her hand again in his as they
negotiated their way through the packed room.

He’d come up from the city to attend to a family
responsibility, to ascertain just how involved his
grandfather was with the designing strumpet currently moving
in on the old man’s bank account. But that didn’t mean
Mitchell couldn’t squeeze in a little personal enjoyment, as
well.

Something about this woman drew him. The way she’d stood
there near the wall chatting, her green eyes sparkling, a
confident smile curling her lips. She radiated whatever it
was that made men go to battle and wage war for the price of
a kiss.

Not that he’d ever done anything so stupid for a woman. Nor
did he intend to, but this particular woman heated and
intrigued him with one look. He’d seen her standing there
in a small group of people and had given himself permission
to follow the powerful urge to investigate the redheaded,
long-legged beauty.