Page 56 of Blind Attraction

“I’m sorry.” His hold tightened. “Allie, I’m so sorry.”

A burning tear broke free, leaving a scorching trail down her cheek. She leaned into him and grasped what he offered, the warmth, the support, the protection. He gave her what she needed without a single word.

The doorbell rang again, the dull ring like a gunshot blast through the silence. Mrs. Bowen gave an apologetic glance and moved from the room.

Alana stepped back from Mitchell’s grip. “I need to get out of here.”

He nodded and dropped his arms to his sides. She turned to Mr. Bowen who now stood at the far end of the sofa.

“I’m sorry, but I need to leave.”

He tilted his head in acknowledgement. “I understand. I’m sorry to have been the bearer of…unwelcomed news.”

The regret was evident in his sad smile and troubled gaze.

“It isn’t your fault. It seems I’ve been misled my entire life.”

Mitchell clutched her hand, entwining their fingers and led her from the room into the entrance hall. Mrs. Bowen spoke in a hushed whisper to a middle-aged man. Her tone was alarmed, her gaze panicked as it drifted back to Alana.

Words weren’t necessary. Instinct told her the stranger in the expensive tailored suit with his back to her meant something. Was he an uncle, a cousin, a high school friend of her mother’s? She diverted her gaze to the marble floor as time slowed. Each step toward the door made her pulse thud, her nerves skitter, and her stomach roll.

Mitchell’s hand came to rest on the low of her back, and she realized she’d stopped. Even though her knees threatened to fall out from under her, she glanced over her shoulder and focused on the man who now faced her.

He had a slim face, his dark brown hair a similar color to her own. But there were no mistaking the eyes. The light green irises matched the same ones she stared at every time she looked in the mirror.

Mitchell stepped in front of her, blocking her view. “We need to go, sweetheart,” he raised his hand to indicate the door.

“Alana.” The man spoke her name with reverence. From one single word she knew. Without doubt.

This man was her father.

* * *

Mitch kept his eyes trained on the man causing the palpable hostility to churn in the entryway. Mrs. Bowen seemed paused on the brink of a meltdown, her skin clammy, her hand shaking as it rose to her mouth in horror. He sensed her husband behind him and his apprehension over the unexpected visitor.

Mitch stepped toward the door, his palm still on the low of Alana’s back, and grasped the handle.

“Wait.” The man’s voice broke, and Mitch glanced over his shoulder to catch the asshole approaching.

“Back off,” he growled and felt Alana’s spine stiffen as she staggered forward.

“She’s my daughter.”

Mitch let the anger in his veins take hold. He turned, squaring his shoulders and got in the man’s face. “She’ll be your ticket to unconsciousness if you dare to touch her.”

“Mitchell.” Alana’s plea acted like a leash, pulling him back.

He glared, and his nostrils flared. Her father may seem innocent with his remorseful eyes and professional suit, but Mitch didn’t give a fuck. A man capable of rape was a man undeserving of life.

“Let’s go,” he spoke to Alana, his gaze still boring into the man before him.

Her heels clicked on the tile, and when the door creaked with her exit, he followed, striding from the house and down the front steps.

Fresh air hit him like a burst of clarity, the bright sunlight giving him perspective. This was far from his normal reality. Family drama gave him hives. It reminded him of Ryan and his miserable marriage.

“No.” Her father barreled past him, knocking Mitch’s shoulder in his effort to get to her. He grabbed for Alana’s elbow, and she turned with a gasp.

Mitch snapped—a faint mental pop signally his break with restraint. He didn’t think, didn’t contemplate. He took action, slamming his fist into the man’s cheek. The pain was immediate, the searing agony coursing through his knuckles, down to his fingers, and all the way up his arm.

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