Read Online 02_Groom of Her Own by Irene Hannon - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Irene Hannon
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seated in his car, Sam had regained her composure, and they chatted about inconsequential things during the drive into the city. As they entered the opulent lobby of Powell Hall, Sam looked around appreciatively, overwhelmed as always by the elaborate crystal and gilt decor, red carpet and sweeping grand staircase. “I always forget how gorgeous this place is,” she remarked.
When Brad didn’t respond, she turned to look at him. He was frowning slightly, and his eyes seemed troubled. Sam assumed he was thinking about his last visit here, with Rachel, and she reached over to touch his arm.
“Brad?” It took a moment, but at last he looked down at her. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t easy for you,” she said gently.
He sighed. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I don’t want to put a damper on our evening. It was just a jolt, coming through the door. I’m okay now.”
“Are you sure?” she asked worriedly. “We don’t have to stay.”
“I’m fine, Sam. Really,” he assured her. Then he smiled and reached for her hand. “But just stay close. That will help.”
“Sure.” A tingle ran through Sam as Brad’s fingers closed over hers, engulfing them in a firm grip that gave her a comforting sense of protection and security. Okay, so he was only holding her hand to give him courage to see this evening through. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy it She could even pretend for a little while that he was really holding her hand. What could it hurt?
When they reached their seats, Brad helped Sam off with her sweater, then reached for her hand again as the music started. A couple of times during the concert he absently rubbed his thumb across the back of her knuckles, and Sam felt her pulse rate quicken each time. She knew that he probably wasn’t even consciously aware of the gesture, which made her reaction absurd. But she didn’t seem to be able to control it
When the last notes of the final piece died away, Sam turned to Brad and smiled. “Well, you made it,” she said.
He returned the smile. “Yeah. Thanks to you.”
“What do you mean?”
He lifted her hand, which he still held, and stroked his thumb across the back of it—consciously this time, she knew. “This helped a lot”
Sam flushed. “I didn’t do anything,” she protested, her heart rate once again quickening.
“Letting me hold your hand helped more than you know,” he told her with quiet sincerity. “Sometimes a simple human touch goes a long way in giving people courage, in letting them know they’re not alone.”
Sam stared at him. She had faced her greatest crisis alone, so she knew what he meant. A simple caring touch, a choice offered in compassion, would have made a world of difference to her once. It could have changed her whole life, in fact. But there’d been no one there for her.
Her throat constricted and she squeezed Brad’s hand. “You’re not alone,” she said softly, her voice uneven. Then she tried to smile, forcing a lighter note into her tone. “After all, what are friends for?”
Brad gazed at her speculatively. “You know, Sam, I think—” He stopped, and Sam looked at him curiously.
“You think what?” she prompted.
Brad cleared his throat. He’d been about to say that at the moment friendship was the furthest thing from his mind. It was true that at the beginning of the evening he’d sought her hand for courage. But she had nice hands-soft, with long, tapering fingers—and by the end he held on to it because it simply felt good. But that remark would surprise her. Good grief, the realization surprised him! And he sensed that now was not the time to reveal emotions he himself didn’t understand. He glanced down toward their entwined hands with a frown, debating how to answer her question.
Sam followed the direction of his gaze, which seemed to be resting in the vicinity of her hemline, and removed her hand from his to tug self-consciously at her skirt. “You think my skirt’s
When Brad didn’t respond, she turned to look at him. He was frowning slightly, and his eyes seemed troubled. Sam assumed he was thinking about his last visit here, with Rachel, and she reached over to touch his arm.
“Brad?” It took a moment, but at last he looked down at her. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t easy for you,” she said gently.
He sighed. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I don’t want to put a damper on our evening. It was just a jolt, coming through the door. I’m okay now.”
“Are you sure?” she asked worriedly. “We don’t have to stay.”
“I’m fine, Sam. Really,” he assured her. Then he smiled and reached for her hand. “But just stay close. That will help.”
“Sure.” A tingle ran through Sam as Brad’s fingers closed over hers, engulfing them in a firm grip that gave her a comforting sense of protection and security. Okay, so he was only holding her hand to give him courage to see this evening through. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy it She could even pretend for a little while that he was really holding her hand. What could it hurt?
When they reached their seats, Brad helped Sam off with her sweater, then reached for her hand again as the music started. A couple of times during the concert he absently rubbed his thumb across the back of her knuckles, and Sam felt her pulse rate quicken each time. She knew that he probably wasn’t even consciously aware of the gesture, which made her reaction absurd. But she didn’t seem to be able to control it
When the last notes of the final piece died away, Sam turned to Brad and smiled. “Well, you made it,” she said.
He returned the smile. “Yeah. Thanks to you.”
“What do you mean?”
He lifted her hand, which he still held, and stroked his thumb across the back of it—consciously this time, she knew. “This helped a lot”
Sam flushed. “I didn’t do anything,” she protested, her heart rate once again quickening.
“Letting me hold your hand helped more than you know,” he told her with quiet sincerity. “Sometimes a simple human touch goes a long way in giving people courage, in letting them know they’re not alone.”
Sam stared at him. She had faced her greatest crisis alone, so she knew what he meant. A simple caring touch, a choice offered in compassion, would have made a world of difference to her once. It could have changed her whole life, in fact. But there’d been no one there for her.
Her throat constricted and she squeezed Brad’s hand. “You’re not alone,” she said softly, her voice uneven. Then she tried to smile, forcing a lighter note into her tone. “After all, what are friends for?”
Brad gazed at her speculatively. “You know, Sam, I think—” He stopped, and Sam looked at him curiously.
“You think what?” she prompted.
Brad cleared his throat. He’d been about to say that at the moment friendship was the furthest thing from his mind. It was true that at the beginning of the evening he’d sought her hand for courage. But she had nice hands-soft, with long, tapering fingers—and by the end he held on to it because it simply felt good. But that remark would surprise her. Good grief, the realization surprised him! And he sensed that now was not the time to reveal emotions he himself didn’t understand. He glanced down toward their entwined hands with a frown, debating how to answer her question.
Sam followed the direction of his gaze, which seemed to be resting in the vicinity of her hemline, and removed her hand from his to tug self-consciously at her skirt. “You think my skirt’s
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