You are hallucinating from jet lag.
Shaking off the sensation, Tess stepped onto the patio, registering that someone else had arrived. The air began to back up in her lungs even as broad shoulders and a blond head turned in her direction and familiar, beloved hazel eyes met hers.
Mitch’s heart simply stopped. Because Anna—his Anna—was standing in the doorway, looking pale with fatigue and maybe a little shock.
Impossible. How could she have found him? This had to be some kind of waking dream. He hadn’t been sleeping for shit since he got home.
The vision opened her mouth and took a single step toward him before her body jerked and she pitched forward on a yelp. Mitch didn’t think. He simply leapt, scooping her up before she could tumble to the flagstones. Her body—the long, slim lines of it, settled against his, warm and real.
Not a dream. She was really, truly here.
His heart exploded with fireworks and angel song and all the other ridiculous expressions of joy he’d heard people talk about and considered hyperbole. He didn’t know how she was here and didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was that she was here, and he wasn’t letting this second chance pass them by.
Her hands, those perfectly-manicured hands that had explored every inch of his body, pressed against his chest. A flush crawled across her cheeks and those gorgeous brown eyes dilated as she stared up at him, breathless. His gaze dropped to her mouth and he realized it was twisted in pain. Mitch clutched her tighter. “You okay?”
“I—Jet lag and heels don’t mix. I think I twisted my ankle.”
Mitch tore his gaze away long enough to see what she’d tripped over. “Actually, looks like it was the sliding door track.”
“Oh.” She was shaking, a plea in her eyes. For what? Did she think he wouldn’t forgive her for slipping out on him? Was she worried about her reception? Give him five minutes—or five hours—without an audience and he’d allay those fears.
The noise of the family all talking over each other was a roar in his ears. He didn’t register much until Trey appeared at his shoulder.
“Tess, baby, are you okay?”
A flash of…something crossed her face. For anybody just glancing, they might have taken it as a wince. “I’ll be fine, Dad.”
Dad? Tess?
“Mitch, go set Tess down on the sofa. I’ll get some ice,” Aunt Sandy ordered.
Tess. As in Trey’s daughter, Tess. The one this whole dinner was for.
Holy. Shit.
Apparently no last names had also meant no real name for her at all. As he absorbed that, Mitch registered something else. She hadn’t expected to see him. She was here to visit her father. Which meant…she wasn’t here for him at all. Suddenly the plea made sense. She didn’t want to reveal they knew each other.
Mitch sucked in a breath, riding the wave of disappointment. Well, that was fine. He wasn’t keen on explaining how he’d been intimate with the only daughter of his very protective, very connected new uncle. Shit. If Trey found out, Mitch might end up in a body bag, family or not.
On autopilot, he moved into the living room, his brain cycling through every moment he’d spent with this woman, analyzing and questioning everything he’d believed for the last month and change. What else hadn’t been real?
Mitch settled Anna—shit—Tess on the sofa. Though her face had gone carefully neutral, she skimmed a hand over his arm as he pulled away. Gooseflesh rippled along his skin in its wake. He cut a glance at her, absorbing the apology of her touch and nodding once. They sure as hell needed to talk, but he’d table his assumptions and the temper that had snapped to a simmer until he had answers.
“Let’s see what we’ve got here.” He gently slipped off the heels. She hadn’t worn power heels during their week together. “Which foot?”
“Left. Thanks. I’m sure playing doctor isn’t quite the meeting you imagined.”
Well damn if that thought didn’t shoot straight to his groin. Mitch shifted to hide the erection and picked up her foot. He didn’t miss the faint shiver that ran up her leg at his touch. At least she was still affected by him. “Not so much, no.” As he probed the ankle, he figured two could play at this game of crosstalk. “So you mentioned jet lag. Where are you flying in from?”
“London. I’ve been over there the past five months.”
“She’s been managing some of our European concerns,” Trey explained. “And doing a helluva job.” Pride dripped in his tone. “She was a fifth year MBA from Yale.”
Tess jerked a shoulder, looking uncomfortable. At the reveal of something real about her? Or was it something else?
“Get a chance to travel much while you were over there?”
Her gaze came back to his. “Not a lot. There wasn’t much time to play.”