Page 33 of Blind Attraction

Alana frowned and glanced over her shoulder in the hope a waitress would rescue her. She felt sorry for the elderly couple. They must be lonely.

“Alana,” she replied, rubbing the tiredness from her eyes.

“What about your father, Alana?” The woman’s voice broke.

She tensed. Time for the conversation to end. She grasped for the corner of the table with both hands and pushed herself to stand. She didn’t know where she was going, or how she would get there, but she couldn’t stay. “I’m sorry. I’m not the woman you’re looking for. Now, if you would please excuse—”

The man grabbed her wrist. “Your father is our son.”

Anger boiled her blood. He had no right to touch her.

“My father is a rapist,” she spat and waited for the gasps.

None came.

“Child, please sit so we can discuss this,” he pleaded.

Alana frowned and clung to the table as her hands trembled. Why weren’t they shocked? She shook her head, confused.

“My grandparents are dead,” she whispered. “My father was a rapist.” Those two sentences had been repeated to her as a child, over and over and over again until finally she stopped asking about her family.

“Our son has done some regrettable things, yes. But I assure you Alana, we are your grandparents.”

Bile rose up her throat. “I’m sorry.” She blinked straight ahead, unable to believe. On numb legs, she pushed her chair back and maneuvered around the table, bumping into them in her effort to flee.

“Please, Alana.” The woman choked.

She didn’t stop. With her fingers outstretched in front of her, Alana fumbled forward, colliding with tables and chairs, causing plates to rattle and people to curse. Her vision brightened with each step, leading her to the front of the store.

“Where’s the door?” she pleaded.

A gentle hand landed at the small of her back, jolting her heart. “It’s a few feet ahead.” The elderly man answered.

She jerked from his touch. They had to be con artists. They had to be. And with her sight impediment, she made for an easy target.

“Leave me alone.” She glared over her shoulder, hoping her gaze hit its mark.

The noise in the coffee shop lowered to hushed whispers before he spoke again. “Excuse me, sir, could you help this lady outside please?”

Now he wanted to help her?

Another chair scrapped along the floor.

“No problem.” The voice was younger, more comforting than the man who’d begun to truly frighten her. Maybe her mother’s fears were justified.

A soft hand gripped her wrist and she fought to hold back the terror at his touch. She’d never been so vulnerable or weak. Her mother had taught her to defend herself, how to attack an attacker. Yet right now, beside a man who sounded too old and frail to even break into a sweat, she was scared.

The man led her forward. “Watch your step.” Her head tilted in his direction as they walked into the warm breeze of day.

Cars zoomed by in the distance. The sound of women screaming Mason’s name and echoing chants of “Reckless Beat” came from her left. Heels clicked, men spoke, phones rang. Disorientation made her knees weak. Her throat dried. Instead of faltering, she tilted her lips in a smile and inclined her head to her helper. “Thank you.”

His grip dropped from her wrist. “Not a problem.”

Then he was gone. And she was left alone.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and tried to gain her bearings. The building stood tall behind her. She could take a step back, walk herself around to another entrance and ask for help. Or she could do what she should’ve done in the first place.

Being Mitchell Davies’ mistress wasn’t a role she should be playing. Once she found somewhere quiet to rest, she would call Kate and get out of here.

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