Ready for Romance

by Debbie Macomber

  “No,” she told him, hoping he heard the sincerity in her voice. She understood how passionately Evan had loved the woman, and how deeply the pain of their parting affected him still.

  More than ever, after hearing Evan talk about losing the woman he loved, Jessica knew she couldn’t allow the same thing to happen to her. She couldn’t continue to mislead Evan by letting him believe their relationship would evolve into something it was never meant to be.

  A WEEK PASSED. Every time she was with Evan he told her more about his relationship with Mary Jo. She soon realized that every invitation to dinner or a show was an excuse to talk. Every outing was followed by coffee and a long heart-to-heart. It was as though a floodgate had opened inside him, and the need to release the pent-up emotion was too strong to ignore.

  They were friends, nothing more, and Jessica was comfortable with their relationship. With their frequent talks, she was able to open up to him, as well, in little ways.

  “Have you ever been in love, Jessica?” he asked her unexpectedly one night.

  “I think so,” she said hesitantly as they strolled through Boston Common. “Yes,” she amended quickly. “And it isn’t what you’re thinking.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s not you, so don’t get a big head.” She didn’t realize until she spoke how insulting she sounded, and she immediately sought his pardon.

  Evan laughed off her apology.

  The night was lovely. The stars were like twinkling rows of sequins that hung so close they seemed draped over the upper limbs of the trees.

  “You know when it’s love, don’t you?” he asked after a few moments.

  “Oh, yes,” she whispered.

  “Does this mystery man feel the same way about you?”

  “I…I don’t know. I like to think so.” Although there were more signs to the contrary.

  For Damian continued to avoid her. Other than that brief moment when he’d come into her office, she hadn’t talked to him once.

  He arrived at the office promptly at eight each morning and left at five. She guessed that his involvement with his father’s campaign dictated his hours. That meant if she wanted to see him, it had to be during working hours. With his hectic schedule it was easier getting an audience with the pope. Jessica didn’t know how Damian managed to cram all he did into a single workday. She’d tried to talk to him, but hadn’t found the opportunity when there weren’t other people around.

  Jessica was fast losing her patience. And then, just when she was about to throw her hands in the air and scream with frustration, it happened. Quite by accident, and where she’d least expected it.

  Whispering Willows. His family’s home.

  Evan had learned from Jessica’s mother that she’d played on her college tennis team; he’d been intrigued, and challenged her to a game. It had sounded like an entertaining way to spend a Saturday afternoon, and she’d agreed. Since he’d neglected to schedule time on the courts at the country club, they drove to his parents’ home to play.

  They smacked the ball back and forth for a solid hour, and Evan soundly defeated her. Not that his athletic ability surprised her, but in her effort to impress him she strained her knee. It wasn’t anything serious, but Evan insisted they stop playing.

  They made their way to the house, laughing and in a good mood, her knee long forgotten, to discover Evan’s mother anxiously attempting to start her car, without success. She needed to be at campaign headquarters within the hour and was fretting about what she should do.

  “Not to worry, Mom,” Evan said, affectionately kissing his mother’s cheek. “I’ll drive you.”

  “Nonsense,” Lois protested when she viewed Evan’s two-seater sports car.

  “Didn’t you tell me you gave Richmond the day off?” Evan said, opening his car door. “No more excuses, Mom.”

  “But what about Jessica?”

  “I’m perfectly capable of entertaining myself,” Jessica assured her. She stood in the driveway until the car had disappeared, then wandered back into the house, wiping the perspiration from her brow with the back of her forearm. She walked into the kitchen and, finding a cold soda in the refrigerator, helped herself.

  She was humming a show tune when the kitchen door swung open. “Mother, what in blazes are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at—” Damian stopped when he saw her. “Jessica,” he said, his surprise evident.

  “Your mother’s car wouldn’t start, so Evan drove her over to campaign headquarters,” she explained. Her face was red with exertion, and her hair fell in damp tendrils about her face.

  “Evan drove her.” Already Damian was physically withdrawing from her. “I’d better go see what’s wrong with Mom’s car.”

  “Damian…” Cathy’s suggestion about faking an injury came into her mind like a stone from a slingshot. She was injured—well, only slightly—but there was no better time than the present to make use of it.

  She concentrated her efforts on her right foot and limped toward him. She hated resorting to such an underhanded method but she was desperate to talk to him. Surely he’d forgive her once he learned the truth.

  His gaze went to her knee, his concern immediate. She was wearing a white top and a short tennis skirt. “You hurt yourself,” he said, moving toward her. The kitchen door swung in his wake.

  “I’m fine,” she whispered.

  “Sit down,” he ordered, his voice none too tender. “Does Evan know about this?”

  “Yes, but it’s not all that bad,” she mumbled. He pulled out a kitchen chair and eased her into it. His hands at her shoulders were gentle but firm. She closed her eyes at his touch. Lord, how she’d missed him! For days she’d waited for the opportunity to be alone with Damian, and she wasn’t about to waste it now.

  “We need to talk,” she said. “Listen, I—”

  “We’ll talk after I’ve seen to your knee. What in God’s name possessed my brother to leave you like this?”

  “Damian, please listen to me.”

  “Later.” He was busy at work packing ice into a bag.

  She was irritated now and leapt off the chair. “My knee will be fine. I strained a muscle or something. It’s no big deal.”

  “You’d better have a doctor check it out,” he insisted, positioning her back in the chair, raising her leg and resting it against the seat of a second chair, then balancing the ice pack on the knee.

  “I need to talk to you about Evan and me,” she said, refusing to be put off any longer. “I’m not in love with Evan and he doesn’t love me. We’re friends, nothing more. He’s in love with Mary Jo and I’m in love with—”

  “Keep that ice pack on your leg for a good twenty minutes, understand?”

  Infuriated, Jessica rose to her feet and tossed the ice pack into the sink. “You’re going to listen to me, Damian, if it kills me! I realize I’m making a mess of this. I should never have used my knee to keep you here, but I was desperate.”

  “Did you or did you not twist your knee?” he demanded.

  “Yes, a little, but it’s nothing. I want to talk about the two of us. About you and me.”

  “Jessica,” he said with ill-concealed impatience. “You’re dating my brother.”

  “Your brother and I are friends, nothing more. How many times do I have to say it?”

  “There’s a change in Evan,” Damian insisted heatedly. “Do you think I haven’t noticed? For the first time in months, he’s his old self. My brother’s back again and it’s all due to you.”

  “Maybe, Damian, but not in the way you think.”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think,” Damian said angrily. “You’re dating my brother, so there can’t be a you and me. Do you understand?”

  “No!” she cried. “No, I don’t!”

  “It has to be this way, Jessica.”

  “But why?” Hot tears blurred her vision.

  He didn’t answer her for several time-shattering seconds. “That’s just the way it is.”

/>   “Is…is that the way you want it?” Swallowing became impossible. She knotted her hands into fists at her sides.

  “Yes,” he said after a moment, the longest moment of her life. “That’s the way I want it.”

  Jessica turned away from him, grateful to the very depths of her soul that she hadn’t declared her undying love for him. This humiliation was bad enough.

  “Jessica.” Her name was a plea on his lips.

  She hung her head, knowing he would abandon her the way he always did—but he didn’t. Instead, his arms came around her and turned her to face him. His touch was as if he had to experience holding her, as if the feel of her was the one thread keeping his sanity intact. And then his mouth came down on hers.

  This kiss was hungry and hard, unlike the kisses they’d shared previously. Jessica clung to him, mindful only of this man and the sheer joy she experienced in his arms. She caressed his face with wondering fingers as the intensity of their need increased. He angled her head to one side for a series of short nibbling kisses down her cheek, her throat.

  “No more,” he moaned, then jerked his head away. But she refused to release him, hugging him around the neck and burying her face in his shoulder. “Jessica, please.” When he tugged her hands free, she realized he was shaking as badly as she was. His hands closed around hers and his head fell forward.

  The sound of the front door closing echoed like a clap of thunder. Damian moved away from her and had his back to her when Evan strolled into the kitchen, whistling. He stopped when he saw Damian.

  “Damian, hello. I’m glad to see you kept my best girl company.”

  With something less than a curt nod to his brother, Damian strode out of the kitchen, muttering about seeing to his mother’s car.

  Jessica thought her heart would break.

  Eight

  “Thank you,” Evan said when he dropped Jessica off at her apartment half an hour later. “By the way, there’s a formal dinner with three hundred of my father’s closest friends Monday night,” he said casually. “I’d like you to attend it with me.”

  Jessica looked up at Evan, realizing she hadn’t heard what he’d said. She hurt too much. Damian didn’t love her, didn’t want her. She’d all but blurted out her love for him, and he’d rejected her, insisted Evan needed her, and then walked away. As he always did.

  “Jessica, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” How easily the lie came, even though she was falling apart on the inside.

  “I was asking you about the dinner party.”

  She blinked. Dinner party?

  “Monday night,” he said slowly, waving a hand in front of her face. “You’d better tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Would it be all right if I go in now?” she asked, instead. She wasn’t in the mood to explain anything, least of all what had happened between her and Damian.

  “Of course.”

  Evan insisted on escorting her into her apartment. He placed her tennis racket in the hall closet and stepped into her kitchen to get her a glass of ice water.

  Jessica sat at the table and smiled her appreciation. “I’m fine,” she said, and this time it was a little less of a lie. Yes, she hurt but it was a clean cut, deep and swift. She knew now what she’d suspected all along. Damian didn’t want her, didn’t love her.

  “Thank you, Jess,” Evan said again, and although his words were casual, Jessica sensed a deeper meaning.

  “For letting you whop me in tennis?” she asked, knowing it was much more than that.

  The smile faded from his eyes. “For that, too, but mostly for listening to me these last few days. Talking about Mary Jo has helped clear my head. It’s shown me what went wrong between us and helped me realize how much I still love her.” This was issued with a pain-filled sigh.

  “That isn’t a sin, Evan.” Any more than her loving Damian was a sin.

  “Talking is what’s helped me. Perhaps you should take note and tell me what’s troubling you. You can’t fool me—those are tears glistening in your eyes.”

  Instinctively she lowered her gaze, focusing her attention on the water glass. “I…I’m not ready to talk just yet. Don’t be upset with me. I have to sort through my own feelings first.”

  His hand covered hers. “I understand. You will attend the dinner party with me, won’t you?”

  Jessica’s first inclination was to refuse. Instead, she nodded. “All right.” Sitting home feeling sorry for herself would solve nothing. Nor would she give Damian the satisfaction. From here on out, she was going to kick up her heels and enjoy life. Even if it killed her, and that was what it felt like just now.

  “Damian will be there,” Evan said as if he expected her to comment.

  She nodded. After this afternoon it made no difference.

  “He’ll be bringing someone, too,” Evan added. “You won’t mind if we share a table, will you?”

  “I won’t mind in the least,” Jessica said brightly. “The more the merrier.”

  “I THOUGHT WE’D LOOK through your wardrobe before dinner,” Cathy said as she entered Jessica’s apartment. Jessica realized her mistake the moment she’d mentioned the dinner party to her friend. From that point on, Cathy had insisted she choose the dress.

  “I’ve managed to dress myself without a problem for several years now,” Jessica felt obliged to say.

  Cathy was sorting through the dresses in her closet, shuffling them from one side to another as if this was a mission of great importance. She paused and tapped her foot impatiently. “I can’t tell you how disappointed I am in Damian. You’re sure you didn’t misunderstand him?” She sounded as though the fault was Jessica’s.

  “There was no misunderstanding,” Jessica said firmly, wishing she’d never mentioned the incident to Cathy. She wouldn’t have except that her friend had been on virtually every phase of this…this mess. “He doesn’t want anything to do with me. He couldn’t have made it any plainer.”

  “I don’t believe it. There’s something very wrong here, and it’s up to you to figure out what it is.”

  “I know what it is,” Jessica protested. It wasn’t necessary to dissect the problem when the answer was so simple. If Damian did care for her, he would have found a way to make things right. He didn’t, and he hadn’t.

  “You’re coming to my opening night, aren’t you?” Cathy asked as she continued to examine the contents of Jessica’s closet.

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Jessica was proud of Cathy’s big career break. She’d gotten the plum role of Adelaide, after all, in the local production of Guys and Dolls. Jessica also thought Cathy was sweet on the director, David Carson. Her friend had mentioned his name several times in passing, and Jessica thought there’d been a small catch in her voice each time.

  “I think I’ll invite Damian to my opening,” Cathy suggested nonchalantly. “After all, I have met him.”

  Jessica wasn’t likely to forget. Cathy’s eyes shifted in her direction. “You don’t have anything to say.”

  “Do what you want, Cathy.”

  Cathy’s laugh was short and telling. “You can’t fool me, Jess, I know you too well. I don’t know what’s wrong with Damian, but trust me, he’ll soon come around.”

  “I sincerely doubt it.” Jessica hated to be so pessimistic, but she couldn’t stop herself.

  Cathy took three dresses from the closet and laid them across her friend’s bed. Her hands on her hips, she circled the bed, then returned two of the dresses to the closet.

  Jessica studied Cathy’s selection. It was a full-length black dress, sleek and shiny with silver highlights that sparkled in the overhead light.

  “Try it on,” Cathy insisted.

  Mumbling her discontent, Jessica slipped out of her clothes and into the dress, lifting her hair so Cathy could close the zipper properly. Then she regarded herself in the full-length mirror. Her shoulders drooped as she released a slow, defeated sigh.

  “I look like Natasha from t
he Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoon show,” she muttered.

  “Nonsense,” Cathy said. “The dress is perfect.”

  “For consorting with spies maybe,” Jessica muttered. But then again, maybe it was right. If she was destined to sit at the same table as Damian and his date, she wanted to be darn sure he noticed her—and knew what he was missing.

  EVAN ARRIVED to pick her up for the dinner party five minutes ahead of schedule, just as Jessica was putting the finishing touches to her makeup. “Beautiful,” he said, taking both her hands in his. “You’re absolutely beautiful.”

  His appreciation lent Jessica confidence—until they reached the table where Damian and his date were sitting. The woman was tall, regal, blond and gorgeous. Every woman’s basic nightmare. So much for the best-laid plans.

  “Nadine Powell,” Damian said. “My brother, Evan, and Jessica Kellerman.”

  Jessica’s gaze moved to Damian, and she was gratified to discover he was staring at her the way a child gazes into a store window at Christmastime. Cathy had been right—the dress was perfect. Damian abruptly looked away as if angry with himself for being so obvious.

  “Nadine,” Evan said, taking the other woman’s hand and holding it several moments longer than necessary.

  Dinner was a drawn-out affair, with speeches from several long-winded politicians. Jessica lost count of the number of speakers and the number of courses served, but they seemed to be running neck and neck. The speeches made dinner conversation almost impossible, but Jessica did manage to learn that Nadine was a longtime friend of Damian’s. Friends and nothing more, Nadine went on to explain, reading the situation with amazing accuracy. As for Damian, well, he pretended she wasn’t there. He didn’t say one word to her the entire meal.

  When the dessert dishes were removed, a ten-piece orchestra began to play on a low stage behind the polished oak dance floor.

  “You game?” Evan asked, holding out his hand to Jessica. The music was from the forties, the big-band sound she particularly loved. Evan was tapping his foot and swaying his shoulders.