“Shit.” Large, warm hands wrap around my bare upper arms as I lift my gaze up and up to eyes a shade of blue that are so uniquely beautiful they remind me of one of my favorite paintings by Vincent van Gogh. My eyes leave his, and I quickly scan the rest of his features: blond hair that is a touch too long, square jaw, full lips, and heavy brow. I don’t know him, but I swear there is something familiar about him. “You okay?” he asks.

“Just soaking wet?”

“Sorry.” An attractive half-smile forms at the edge of his lips. “I normally use a little more finesse when getting a woman to that point.”

It takes a moment for what he just said to register in my head, and when it does, I go wide-eyed and gasp, my hand landing on his warm, hard chest. My head falls back to my shoulders, and I laugh harder than I have in a very long time. He must not be from around here or know who I am. None of the men at this party tonight would ever make such a crude joke—not to me. They’d save that kind of talk for when they were locked in with my dad in his office, along with his box of Cuban cigars and expensive whiskey.

This man is refreshing.

“I hope you at least know their names,” I get out through my laughter, and he grins.

“Most of the time.”

Shaking my head, still smiling, I step back from him and hold out my free hand. “Franny.”

“Dayton.” His hand engulfs mine as it wraps around it, and an odd tingle spreads up my arm. “It’s nice to meet you, Franny.”

“You too. Now, if you don’t mind…” I wiggle my fingers so he’ll let my hand go. “I’m going to go get myself cleaned up.”

“I’ll come with. I was just in search of a bathroom when I bumped into you.”

“You’re in luck. I know where one is.”

“You’ve been here before?”

“A few times.” I lead the way through the living room to the doorway on the opposite side but take a left around the corner instead of a right, which goes to the large, covered back patio, where I can hear people talking and music playing. At the end, I open the door to the part of the house my parents actually use. Unlike the living room that we just walked through, the one we step into is warm and lived-in, with cozy couches, thick blankets, lots of pillows, and a large TV over the fireplace.

“Should we be in here?”

“My parents won’t mind.” I go down another hall to the half-bath, and the light comes on automatically when I step into the small room with him right behind me.

“You’re Barrett’s daughter.”