Honest Betrayal by Dara Girard Page A

much more dangerous, but infinitely more fulfilling.
    “Who’s Byron?” Hunter asked suddenly.
    The sound of his name chilled her, shattering her calm. She kept her tone light. “One of the major English Romantic poets who—”
    “A more recent Byron,” Hunter said with a knowing drawl. “Your mother said there hasn’t been anyone since him.”
    “He’s a man of my past.”
    “Did you love him?”
    Brenna wanted to say no. To save her pride. To protect the memory of him that still beat in her heart. To sound more sophisticated and worldly, but she’d done enough lying this evening and was tired. “Yes. Very much.”
    “What happened?”
    She smiled sweetly. “None of your business.”
    Hunter leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I was trying to make conversation.”
    “Then choose another topic.”
    He turned to her. “I don’t think you understand your mother very well.”
    She looked at him stunned. “Do you always like to start conversations with explosive topics?”
    He sat up. “I’m being honest.”
    “And you’ve made this assessment after only a few hours?”
    He nodded. “Yes. It’s hardly unusual. Most mother and daughter relationships are based on—”
    “Don’t lecture me.”
    He touched her arm in a soft, fleeting gesture. “She wants you to be happy.”
    Brenna shook her head. “No, she wants to show others that I’m happy. Unfortunately, that means having a man.” Or a woman . The thought of Bette still made her groan.
    “She loves you and I believe that if she didn’t know deep down that you wanted to get married she wouldn’t bother you.”
    Brenna clenched her hands. He was wrong. She was like every other mother who wanted to see her child wed so they could start nagging about grandkids. It was the natural order of things. But if he was wrong, why did his words upset her? Was there a hint of truth she couldn’t ignore? No, it was his arrogance that upset her. He could think whatever he wanted to. She knew the truth. “You’re very insightful for a man,” she said casually, tucking her anger away.
    His eyes twinkled. “No, not really. She told me.”
    “And you fell for the ploy.” She patted his leg. “Poor boy. I don’t blame you. She’s very good. The truth is she feels guilty that I was ever born.”
    Hunter’s voice hardened. “I don’t believe that.”
    “You don’t have to, it’s the truth. She thinks that if I had the appearance of a normal settled life then everyone would forget how different I am. Do I blame her? No.”
    He watched a robin dart through the sky. “Marriage isn’t so bad.”
    “That’s an odd thing for a divorced man to say.”
    “No, it’s not. I had a bad banana once that didn’t put me off the whole bunch.” He met her eyes, the expression dark, pulling her to him. “You have to stop being afraid.”
    Of what? She stared at him unaware that her question was a silent one.
    He heard it anyway, his reply soft, “Whatever you’re afraid of.” He stood before she could reply, effectively ending the conversation and the sensuous connection between them. He held out his hand. “Come on. We have to end this evening and have them begging for an encore.”
    ***
    His words proved prophetic. Diane approached them as they stepped into the house. Lauren stood behind her with a dreamy expression directed at Hunter. Stephen looked suspiciously pleased with himself. In the distance, the rest of the family waited with expectant looks.
     “Ah, there you are!” Diane said as though they had returned from a long journey. “We’ve decided that you must join us at the craft festival.”
    “We have a booth every year,” Lauren explained looking eagerly at Hunter. “It’s really a fair with rides and games, but they also have artisans. Aunty Gwen and I sell placemats and dolls.”
    Brenna held up her hands. “Mom, wait—”
    Diane ignored her, focusing her attention on Hunter. “It’s tomorrow and we’d love to see