Page 1 of Stolen Bride for the Don

CHAPTER 1

HUDSON

I don’t know about anyone else, but the way I see it, being jealous is a pathetic cry for attention. Letting the person you’re jealous over know? Disgusting. If a man can’t train his mind to be stronger than his emotions, he’ll eventually lose himself. I don’t remember where I read that quote, but it’s been my mantra for most of my adult life. And it’s never fucking lead me astray. Not once.

So, why the hell am I walking into this bar right now?

I have no reason to be jealous. Logically, I know this. I know everything about Andrea after watching her for the past two months: how many coffees she drinks in a day–way too fucking many–the kind of guys she takes home after a late shift at the bar, and I sure as fuck know that after they leave, she’s left to satisfy her own needs because the pathetic excuse of a man didn’t know what he was doing.

And I know that kid is nothing but an employee to her. So why does seeing her laugh at something he says make my blood boil and my fists clench? Enough spectating. I’m ready to join the game and take my piccolo uccello little bird home where she belongs.

I’m this close to snatching her up and taking her tonight. Mind over emotion. I inhale deeply, enjoying the mild smell of expensive alcohol in the air.

As the front door closes behind me, the nape of my neck prickles. I search the bar, and my eyes connect with hers almost immediately. Andrea Millicent Beaufort. Her deliciously long black hair is pulled into a high ponytail that grazes the small of her back. Then there are those ice blue eyes lined with black kohl and full lips glistening temptingly. She’s what my darkest fantasies are made of.

Her head tilts just the slightest bit as her gaze searches mine. Can she see the recognition in my eyes? Is that why her brows are pinching? The asshole who made me show up here in the first place touches her elbow gently and whispers something into her ear. Andrea keeps our eyes connected for one more moment, then glances at him. Fucking Keith Hartfield.

I know he’s her employee–he works the bar alongside her on weekends–and at just twenty-one, he’s too young for her…and too immature. Not that four years is that great of a difference, but he’s not a man yet. And that’s what Andrea Beaufort needs–a man– although it looks like she’s been doing pretty good on her own all this time. He has nothing to offer beyond easy smiles and quick hands behind the bar. He’s a baby. Their age gap is inconsequential as compared to the decade I have over her. Still.

I clench my teeth, my jaw popping as I watch them. Does he really have to lurk that closely just to talk to her? Mind over fucking emotion. Killing him in this town would be an inconvenience. Something about territory, boundaries, and respect. This is why I fucking hate politics. If it isn’t one thing, it’s another. I see no reason why I shouldn’t be able to take someone out that I deem deserving, then confer with the relevant authorities afterwards…if I have to. Flirting with my woman, in my most humble opinion, warrants consequences.

Once he finally leaves her side, I stride as leisurely as I can to a seat at the bar that is in Andrea’s section. She’s busy tending to other patrons a few spots away, but eventually, she’ll get to me. I can be patient. I slide onto the stool, making sure my back isn’t fully turned to the door –so I can see who’s coming in or going out–and casually glance around the bar, cataloging the patrons’ faces, noting only one other door. It must lead to the restroom and side entrance.

The place is packed, and my chest swells with something like pride. Andrea left the safety nest of her family business to venture out on her own. She reminds me of myself in that regard. The air around me shifts and becomes infused with tension a second before a feminine scent grabs my attention–warm citrus laced with the bite of coffee. Andrea. She smells fucking incredible.

I slowly turn my head to her; my chest tightens as those translucent blue eyes burn into me. “Hi there, handsome. New in town?” she asks with a sultry smile as she comes to a stop in front of me.

I discreetly inhale the tangerine aroma that I know comes from her body wash and lotion as I smirk, “You could say that.”

“There’s no two ways about it, love. I’ve never seen you before, and trust me, I know everyone in my town.” She leans forward, her smile widening the slightest bit. “I’m good with faces, and yours certainly isn’t one to forget. Not to mention that hair. How windy is it tonight?”

She reaches for my face, and my hand shoots up instinctually, wrapping around her wrist before she can make contact. Damn reflexes. Her brows raise and her eyes widen as I realize what just happened, but she doesn’t pull away. Her eyes remain glued to mine, holding my gaze longer than most would deem wise. I catch a hint of challenge when they squint indistinguishably. Interesting.

I keep my gaze steady on her as I slowly release her hand, curious where it might land. Assuming I’ve surely scared her off, I’m shocked when her hand continues its path to my face, and her palm rests on my cheek. Heat infuses my body and my eyes half close as her touch consumes me. It takes every ounce of my will not to lean into her touch. Her breath hitches, but she makes no move to pull her hand away. Instead, she runs her middle finger over my brow and slowly pushes a few errant strands of hair off my forehead.

“Yo, boss!” Fucking Keith again. Andrea jumps back, snatching her hand away. I clench my teeth as I swallow a groan of frustration. I turn my head to the boy. He pales, taking a step back as he sees the expression on my face.

Mind over emotions, damn it. I will my features to go blank, the picture of bored indifference. I’ve never had a problem keeping what I feel off my face until this woman. What the hell am I even doing here?

From my peripheral vision, I see the door swing open and the last person I want to see strides in: Alexander fucking Beaufort, Andrea’s brother. He rules this town with an iron fist, not unlike what I do in my own. But word on the street is that he’s settling down and starting to go soft.

His gaze meets mine, but, of course, he doesn’t recognize me; his eyes just skim my body with mild interest. As a man of luxury himself, I see his eyes shift over my suit, no doubt noting the expensive apparel and fine tailoring. If he’s at all intimidated by my presence, he does a good job of hiding it, which means I must be going soft too because no one. I mean no one does a once over of me and doesn’t cower. He’ll learn soon enough.

The only Beaufort who knows who I am and can recognize me on sight is Andrea’s other brother, Ezra, but he’s busy making sure things are going smoothly with his shotgun wedding. Sucker. Another good man lost to a woman. He proposed to his fiancée a week ago and insisted on scheduling the wedding as soon as possible. Tomorrow, to be exact. Must be worried about scaring her off, so he’s trying to lock her down.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say that he’s rushing because his fiancée is pregnant, but the poor fucker is actually in love. Whipped, I correct. I consider raising my drink mockingly to Alex, but Andrea hasn’t taken my order yet. Instead, I raise a sardonic brow. He frowns and turns away from me dismissively.

I chuckle silently. Moments like this solidify why I’m glad I keep my face off the internet. I like walking around anonymously. He wouldn’t be dismissing me so easily if he knew who I was.

“What would you like?”

I turn to Andrea's sweet voice. She’s leaning toward me, a slight smile playing on her lips and her elbows on the countertop. I pinch her dimpled chin between my thumb and index finger. “You,” I say in a nearly inaudible low grumble.

She inhales sharply and shifts position. I release her chin. “I meant, are you ready to order?”

I chuckle at the breathless quality of her voice. “That’s too bad. But I guess if you’re off the table, I’ll take a Glenmorangie whisky…if you have it. On the rocks.”

She glances up as she runs her hands down her apron. “You’re the first person to ask for that.” As she speaks, her eyes move to a corner of the bar where I know Alexander is sliding into a booth. Her fingers start tapping rhythmically on the countertop. A nervous habit? Before I can stop myself, I cover her hand with mine. She shudders, her hand forming a fist.

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