by Noelle Adams
“Shut up.”
“I’ll shut up if you’ll let me get you drunk.”
“What? Why do I need to get drunk?”
“We both know why.”
Damn it. He did know. She could see it on his face. She had no idea how, and it was strangely frightening that he could see into her like that. But beyond the fear was something gratifying. That he’d seen her. For real.
That she mattered enough for someone to make the effort.
“I don’t even like you,” she said.
He gave a little shrug. “What does that have to do with anything? Let me get you drunk.”
It was definitely a sign of her emotional vulnerability, but it was the best offer she’d gotten in ages.
So she blinked. Then nodded. Then said, “Okay. Fine. Get me drunk please.”
Robert chuckled softly. “It would be my pleasure.”
two
AN HOUR AND A HALF later, Amanda was feeling fine.
Just fine.
Really fine.
So fine she could barely remember what she’d been so upset about earlier.
Even the cheaper champagne tasted good, and she couldn’t seem to stop giggling. She’d never been much of a giggler, so it felt like a treat to have so little control of her laughter.
She’d finished off another glass of bubbly wine, so she set it down on the table with impressive emphasis. The tablecloth kept it from making a satisfying click of sound, but still... She gazed at the glass with bland gratification.
“What is it?” Robert asked from beside her. He hadn’t yet finished the scotch in his glass. He’d had a couple of rounds but not nearly as much as her.
“I finished my champagne.”
“I can see that. Are you thinking you might be finished for good?” His voice had a warm, pleasant texture beneath the crisp intelligence. She wasn’t sure why she’d never noticed it before. It gave her a little shiver that was impossible not to enjoy.
But she had enough wits about her to recognize the significance of his question. She turned her head slowly away from her empty glass and blinked at his handsome face and dark brown eyes. “No,” she said primly. “Why would I be finished for good?”
“You’ve had quite a bit of champagne so far. I thought it might be enough for you.”
She sniffed. “Well, it’s not. You said you were going to get me drunk. I’m not drunk yet.” After a pause, she added in a different tone, “Am I?”
He chuckled, his unexpected smile creating delicious little lines around his mouth and eyes. He had one of those faces that was interesting as well as good-looking. One that changed from moment to moment. That surprised you with new ways to be attractive. “Well, I’m thinking you might be getting close. You did just spend an inordinate amount of time admiring your empty glass.”
“Ha!” she scoffed. She’d always thought she was particularly good at scoffing, although this might not have been her best effort.
Robert chuckled again.
Since his laughter wasn’t bitter or insulting, she didn’t mind his doing it. She gave him a slow, dignified smile and reached over to pat him on his jacket sleeve. “You’ve got a very nice laugh.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She nodded to emphasize her point and then kept nodding. She wasn’t sure why. It just felt like the right thing to do.
Robert’s eyes were very warm, but he didn’t say anything as he raised his glass to his lips for another swallow.
She frowned. “Aren’t you going to give me a compliment?”
“Why?”
“Why? Because it’s basic civility. I gave you a very nice compliment, and a decent man would give me one in return. Who taught you manners?”
“Evidently no one.” There was a new smile on his face now. Just a little one that looked like it wanted to burst into something bigger but wouldn’t.
She waited. It felt like she waited forever, but in reality it might have just been a few seconds. Her frown turned into a scowl. “Well?”
He cleared his throat. “You’re delightfully bossy even under the influence of alcohol.”
She gasped indignantly. “That’s not a compliment!”
“Why not?”
“No one wants to be called bossy.”
“I thought you’d like it. Don’t you like to supervise things?”
“No! I like to keep things running smoothly, but I don’t like super... supervision.” She tsked her tongue and raised her glass for another sip, forgetting there was nothing left in it. “I’m a behind-the-scenes kind of person.”
“Are you?”
“Yes. Don’t you know that?”
“I guess not.”
“Well, you should. I’m just a simple girl who likes to work behind the scenes to keep things running smoothly.”
“Oh, okay.”
“I do so much work that no one appreciates.” For a moment all her woes rose up inside her unexpectedly, making her shake, making her mouth wobble dangerously. “I planned this whole wedding.”
“I know you did.” His tone had changed. The quiet acknowledgment was strangely reassuring, soothing her wounded psyche. “You did a great job.”
Vaguely conscious that her words weren’t fit for public consumption, she leaned over to say in a stage whisper, “I didn’t even want them to get married, but I planned it anyway.”
“You did a good thing.”
She nodded, her heartbreak fading in the warm, slow blur of the champagne. “I did do a good thing. I’m a good person. You should remember that.”
“Why do I need to remember that?”
The question befuddled her for just a moment until the answer came to her in a flash of insight. “Because you might forget.”
Since that was a particularly good example of her witty repartee, she decided it was a good opportunity to leave things on a high note in this conversation. She turned toward the dance floor, where there were a couple dozen people dancing.
“I want to dance,” she announced.
Robert raised his dark eyebrows. “Seriously? I thought we were having a good time in this corner.”
“We were. And there’s little I enjoy as much as hearing your snide remarks about the world at large. But now I’m ready to move a little bit. I want to dance.” She stood up and extended a hand toward Robert.
Since she wanted to dance right now, it hadn’t occurred to her that Robert wouldn’t want the same thing.
His eyebrows went even higher. “If you want to dance, have at it. But I’m not a dancer myself.”
“What?” Her mouth fell open in stupefaction.
“You heard me.”
“Why don’t you want to dance?”
“Because I don’t like dancing.”
“But why not?”
“I could give you a long list of reasons, but none of them would change the fact that you want to dance and I don’t. So if you want to dance, find someone else.”
She huffed indignantly, her hand still stretched out toward him.
Robert just shook his head.
“I can’t believe you!”
“What can’t you believe?” The coolness of his voice was an affront to the pleasant whirling of her mind.
“You won’t dance with me?”
“No.”
“Don’t you like me?” She didn’t intend to sound quite so pitiful, but she couldn’t control the way the words were coming out.
“I do like you. And I’d like you even more if you’d sit down next to me and drink a glass of water.”
She stuck her tongue out at him since it was the only gesture that could embody exactly her mood at the moment. “You just want me to not be drunk.”
“You said you weren’t drunk.”
“I’m not. But I’m a little bit buzzed, and I like it. So I’m going to dance.”
Having given him an appropriately blistering denouncement, she turned on her heel and stomped off, wishing the chiffon in her dress didn’t billow quite s
o dramatically as she flounced.
Billowing chiffon didn’t match with her dignified rejection of Robert and all that he stood for.
Wouldn’t dance with her.
Disgraceful.
She’d find a man who would. That would show him.
She saw Charles Kensington sitting at a table alone across the room, reading something on his phone. When she reached him, she said, “Will you dance with me, Charles?”
She’d known Charles most of her life. They’d gone to the same school. He was a few years older than her, but they’d traveled in the same circles for a long time. He’d moved out of the city last year since he wanted peace to work on writing a novel, so she hadn’t seen him in a while. But she’d always liked him well enough. And he was an available man with whom to prove her point to Robert.
Charles looked surprised as he lowered his phone. “I’m not much of a dancer.”
“That’s okay. I’ll do all the work. You just need to stand there if you don’t mind.”
He gave a little laugh but stood up without hesitation. “All right. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She was giggling as she took Charles’s arm.
She was going to dance.
And Robert would have to sit there and watch.
Served him right.
Her mind was a little blurry, but she knew Robert had done to her a great indignity, and he deserved to be punished for it.
So there.
ROBERT WONDERED IF he’d made a mistake.
Maybe he should have danced with Amanda.
He’d told her the truth. He wasn’t a dancer. He’d never been one of those people who could stroll out onto the dance floor and feel comfortable. He’d assumed it was just a tipsy whim of hers since she’d never appeared particularly predisposed to dance much herself. He’d been enjoying the evening, drinking enough for a pleasant buzz but not enough to lose his judgment or inhibitions. He’d had a good time talking and laughing with her and making ironic observations about the wedding attendees.
He’d thought they were having a good time, but she’d seemed so offended when he’d told her he wasn’t going to dance.
Not that he’d ever been too concerned about sparing other people’s feelings. He tried to be a decent man and not hurt others if he could help it, but he said what he thought most of the time, whether or not the other person wanted to hear it. But beneath her clever insouciance—fueled by the champagne—there was something fragile about Amanda tonight.
He had the strangest impulse to protect it. Protect her. So maybe he should have agreed to dance.
He hadn’t. And now she was on the dance floor with dull Charles Kensington.
What the hell was she doing with him?
At least it wasn’t a slow dance. The music was a silly, upbeat pop song, so there wasn’t much touching involved in the way they were moving together. But still...
It made him want to scowl to see her swinging her hips and laughing with the other man.
He’d obviously drunk more than he should if he was resenting something like that. Amanda wasn’t his. She’d never been his, and she never would be. He had absolutely no right to feel this possessive jealousy regarding her.
He shouldn’t be feeling anything of the kind. She’d agreed to get drunk with him because he was there when she’d been feeling vulnerable. Now she’d recovered from the moment and was back to her normal self, which wanted nothing to do with him.
Just as well.
The things he’d been feeling tonight had not been safe or logical or characteristic of him. No sense in encouraging that in himself.
Better to go back to normal where he stayed on the periphery of life and occasionally watched Amanda from afar.
When the song changed to something slower, Robert scowled again. Now Amanda had her arms around Charles and was moving against him in an undeniably sexy way.
For a moment Robert imagined she was doing it with him and got hard from his own imagination.
Shit.
This was no good.
Maybe he should just leave before he did something he’d regret.
He was waging an internal debate when the song ended and Amanda returned to where he was sitting.
She was definitely worse for wear from the alcohol. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes were vivid blue but not focusing very well. Her neckline was askew, showing a little too much of luscious cleavage he couldn’t seem to move his eyes away from.
She was gorgeous and sexy and still bright as sunlight.
And drunk.
“Come dance with me now,” she said, leaning over to grab his arm. “If Charles can do it, you can too.”
At least she hadn’t forgotten about him. He shook his head and said dryly, “I better not.”
“But why not? I’m a good dancer. You’ll have a good time. I promise.” Her voice pitched lower. Husky. Undeniably erotic.
His whole body went tight with a wave of hot lust. But he managed to keep his voice cool as he resisted her pull. “I don’t have any doubts about that, but I’m still not going to do it. Go find someone else to dance with.”
He was a fool. Had he really just told her to find another man to grind against in that sexy way?
“But I want to dance with you.” She moved her hand from his arm to his chest, edging aside his jacket to stroke his shirt.
He moved her hand before she got too low. “No means no.”
The words stopped her. She withdrew her hand like she’d been stung. Then she made a face at him and collapsed onto the chair beside him with a loud huff. “You’re not fun at all.”
“That’s undeniably true.”
“Why won’t you dance with me?”
“Because I’m not a dancer. And if you hadn’t had so much to drink, you wouldn’t have even asked me.”
That appeared to stump her. She sat frowning and thinking it over for a minute. “I don’t think that’s true.”
“Have you ever asked me to dance before?”
“No.”
“So that proves my point.”
“No, it doesn’t. It just means I didn’t realize you’d be good to dance with before. But now I do.” She turned wide eyes up toward his face and batted her thick eyelashes.
She was quite unjustly beautiful.
“Please?” she asked.
“No.”
“Pretty please?”
“I said no.”
“You’re an asshole.”
He chuckled at the abrupt shift in mood. “Guilty as charged.”
Still pouting, she slouched down in her chair and crossed her arms over her stomach. But she didn’t get up again. She didn’t try to dance with him or anyone else. And she didn’t ask for another drink.
He slid a glass of water over toward her. The ice was mostly melted now, but it was still cold.
She stared at the glass. Then sneered up at his face.
He arched his eyebrows.
“Asshole,” she muttered as she picked up the glass.
“I already admitted to the charge. What else do you want from me?”
“I want you to not be an asshole.”
“I’m sorry, sunshine, but some people are just born that way.”
DAVE AND STACEY LEFT the reception for their honeymoon about twenty minutes later. And after that, the rest of the evening faded into a vague, fuzzy darkness for Amanda.
She was still aware enough to understand where she was and what she was doing, but the details blurred. It was just as well. If she could think more, she’d recognize the significance. She’d lost Dave. Forever. Before she’d ever really had him.
But it was fine. Just fine. It had always been nothing but a soft daydream for her anyway. The aching hole in her chest was nothing more than exhaustion after four weeks of constant work and preparation and then drinking too much at the reception with Robert.
Robert.
He was still there. Beside her. He’d never left. It felt like he�
��d been sitting in the chair beside her forever.
It was strange. His presence was a comfort as well as a provocation. A security as well as a mystery. On a different day, she would have pondered the ironies, but right now she was trying not to fall asleep in her chair.
Her one saving grace was she wasn’t a throw-uppy drunk, so she hadn’t humiliated herself in that fashion. After drinking the three glasses of water Robert kept pushing at her, her mind was a little clearer. But she was having trouble keeping her eyes open, and with clarity came a heavy ache of loss that she’d successfully been holding back.
“I need a drink,” she whispered. Maybe to Robert or maybe to herself.
He looked like an old-fashioned movie star with his bow tie undone and his collar open. He’d been slouched down in his chair, holding a whisky glass that had been near empty for almost an hour now. He hadn’t taken the final sip. He reached out to slide a half-full glass of water toward her.
She curled up her lip. “Not water.”
“If you drink more champagne, you’ll start groping me again.”
Her huff of indignation was half-real and half-feigned. “I never groped you!”
“We’ll have to disagree on that conclusion.”
“Well, I won’t do it again. I was just trying to get you to dance.”
“I know that. I’m not fool enough to think you meant it, which is why I didn’t reciprocate. But I thought we’d gotten past the sloppy-drunk part of the evening. Do we really need to backtrack?”
It was the fact that he’d used the word sloppy. That was what kept her from insisting. She didn’t mind being a lot of things, but she couldn’t tolerate his thinking she was sloppy.
“I’m not sloppy.” Her voice quavered slightly. “I’m just...”
“Sad. I know. But drinking can only do so much to stop that.”
Once again, it felt like he could read her completely. All the way down to where her deepest secrets lurked. “I’m not sad. You don’t know anything about me.”
“If you say so.”
She didn’t even have the energy to argue with him, although he definitely deserved it. She took a couple of gulps of water. More than half the guests had left the reception now. Only four or five energetic couples were still dancing, and scattered small groups were sitting at tables, nibbling on remaining goodies or talking.
