Riley blamed himself still. He feared he'd frightened her so badly that she'd fled in horror. Had he hurt her? She'd been so tight and so small. It was all he could do not to slam his fist into the wall every time he thought about their brief encounter, which was damn near every minute of every day. What had happened to her since? Was she sick? Alone? Frightened? Pregnant?
He'd been in control of their encounter until she'd kissed him. Now it was weeks later and he still reeled at the memory of the gentle, shy way in which she'd pressed her lips to his. He cursed how he could close his eyes and continue to taste her. How sweet she'd been. How warm and delicate. Her lips had molded to his, and her flavor reminded him of cotton candy. That alone was enough to torment him, but it wasn't all. Her fragrance continued to obsess him. It wasn't a commercial one he could name. The only way he could think to describe it was to imagine walking waist-deep in a field of wildflowers.
The woman had somersaulted into his life, sent his senses cartwheeling, and then, without a thought, without a care, had vanished, leaving him bitter and confused.
The hell with her, Riley decided rashly. He'd wasted enough time, energy and expense trying to find her. He'd return to his well-ordered life and forget her. Which was obviously what she intended to do with him.
If only he could forget her.
"Dad," Hannah pleaded softly, fighting to hold back a sob, "say something."
The truth was out, and Hannah hung her head waiting for the backlash of anger and disappointment. It was what she deserved and what she expected.
To her surprise, her father said nothing. He sat in the chair and stared into space, his face devoid of expression. Then he stood, laboriously, as if he were feeling old and beaten. Without a word he walked out the back door.