The Secret Son's Homecoming. Helen Lacey

mouth twisted. “I like girls.”

      Connie chuckled. “I meant, no girlfriend?”

      “Haven’t we already established that I came to this wedding stag? Remember how I forgot to RSVP?”

      “I thought you did that simply to stick it to the O’Sullivans,” she suggested. “You know, to prove that they don’t own you.”

      His mouth curled at the edges. “I really do have a bad reputation.”

      “Yes,” she said. “You do.”

      “You know, Connie, I’m not all bad.”

      The way he unexpectedly said her name again made her toes curl. He had seduction imprinted in his DNA, she was certain. “Time will tell, I suppose. And I really need to get back to the party.”

      “Hoping to catch the bouquet?”

      Her breath hiked up. “No. Have to give the band their final payment.”

      “So, doing O’Sullivan bidding right until the end?”

      Her temper quickly returned. “Doing my job. See you later. Or not at all. Either would suit me just fine.”

      By the time she made it back down the hallway, Connie had slowed down her breathing and calmed her nerves. Other than that crazy night, it was the longest and most in-depth conversation she’d had with him in ten months. He tried so hard not to fit in with his family, when the truth was that he was actually more like them than he’d ever admit. Particularly Liam and J.D., who were both confident and self-assured and strong. Jonah possessed those qualities in spades. And something else...an aura of don’t mess with me arrogance that, rather than having her running for hills, was sexy and thrilling and somehow a powerful turn-on. She secretly liked that about him, that he didn’t roll over and do what was expected. While her allegiance would always be with the O’Sullivans, she admired his determination not to take the easy route and try to fit in without complaint. Of course, her feelings were illogical. He openly resisted getting close to his family and her loyalty to them made it impossible for her to excuse his behavior.

      But her dreams were a different story. In them, she could want him without explanation. She could watch as he slew dragons with his indifference and determination to remain aloof and apart from the people with whom he shared blood and birthright.

       I’ve read way too many romantic novels.

      But didn’t every woman have the right to fall for a Heathcliff every now and then?

      It wasn’t as though he was marriage material. It was a fantasy. A secret longing for a man who possessed brooding sexiness in abundance, and probably had ice water in his veins. And Connie tended to doubt she’d ever get married, anyhow. Maybe marriage wasn’t in her makeup. She’d become a career woman through necessity and felt safe in her cocoon of work, home, friends...and the O’Sullivans. Working at the hotel since she was sixteen had shaped her path; being Liam’s assistant for the past five years and working for J.D. before that had given her purpose and strength and empowerment—everything she’d so desperately needed. Jonah was wrong—she wasn’t a doormat. She did everything with a measure of control and commitment, obliging others because that was her choice.

       My choice to say yes.

       My choice to say no.

      Survivor’s code, ingrained into the very fiber of her soul. Without it, she would have frayed at the seams until there was nothing left of who she’d been before that terrible day when her life had irrevocably changed.

      “What are you doing, hiding out in here?”

      Connie swiveled on her heels, realizing she’d ended up in the kitchen and that J. D. O’Sullivan was hanging out behind the countertop, drinking what appeared to be antacid. A lot of people considered him to be loud and blustery and arrogant—and perhaps he was—but Connie also knew he was compassionate and generous and kind, even if he didn’t always allow the world to see it. He had a reputation for speaking his mind and had no tolerance for fools. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Yes, Jonah Rickard was more like his father than he would ever willingly admit.

      “I could ask you the same thing,” she said and winked.

      “Damn ulcer is acting up,” he admitted and held up the glass. “I thought this might help.”

      It occurred to her that it probably wasn’t something he’d openly acknowledge, but Connie had arranged for more than one specialist appointment for J.D. over the years.

      “Spicy food, stress and alcohol,” she reminded him. “You know the drill...they’re all off the menu.”

      He shrugged his giant shoulders. “Well, the food and booze I can easily give up. The stress is the hard one.”

      “I don’t imagine being back in this house is helping,” she offered gently, recalling how he’d been kicked out of the ranch by his very angry wife over ten months earlier. Now he lived permanently at the hotel, despite both Liam and Kieran offering to have him come live with them. But Connie knew J.D. was too proud and stubborn to hang on to the fringes of his son’s lives. “I know Kieran is happy you are here today.”

      “I wouldn’t let my son down,” he said and then smiled ruefully. “I’ve done enough of that lately.”

      “Kieran has a big capacity for forgiveness. So does Liam,” she added gently.

      “But not Sean and Jonah,” he said. “Right?”

      Connie half shrugged. “I don’t know either of them as well,” she replied and figured it was the truth. Sean had lived in Los Angeles for over a decade, and Jonah was, well...Jonah. “But I’m sure they’ll all come around.”

      “Maybe Sean,” he said hopefully. “Jonah, however, is another story altogether.”

      “I’m sure he’s not as difficult as he makes out.”

      J.D. laughed and it crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Ha, you’ve met my youngest son, right?”

       Met him. Touched him. Kissed him. Dreamed of him.

      Connie swallowed hard. “Sometimes people say and do things they don’t mean to cover up how they really feel, and so they don’t appear vulnerable. Perhaps that’s it. Maybe he’s afraid to show you how he really feels.”

      “I know how he really feels,” J.D. said and winced. “He hates me.”

      “I’m sure he doesn’t.”

      “He does,” J.D. said. “And there’s nothing I can do about it.”

      “You’re right about that.”

       Jonah.

      Connie turned her head and saw him standing in the doorway. She noticed that J.D.’s broad shoulders sagged slightly and saw sadness in the older man’s expression. There was nothing but resentment and bitterness emanating from Jonah, and it was aimed directly at his father.

      And at her.

      * * *

      Jonah was so furious he couldn’t stand being in his own skin. J.D. and Connie, talking about him in hushed voices behind his back as though it was everyday conversation. And maybe it was. Maybe he was the usual topic of conversation for the whole damned family, or the whole damned town!

      But that didn’t mean he had to like it, or allow it. J.D. had done enough damage over the years.

      “Have you both finished dissecting me?” he demanded.

      “We were just—”

      “I know what you were doing,” he shot back, glaring at the other man, not daring to look toward Connie. “And I want it to stop.”

      The