by Robyn Thomas
“Yeah, we lived together, but when your dream wedding is approaching and you both want every detail to be perfect, you accept that it will take over your lives. We hardly had time to eat or shower.”
Ethan’s eyes dared her to set the pretty version of her story aside and spill the real dirt, except there wasn’t any. Gabe had simply changed his mind.
“How did he propose?”
She blinked at the unexpected question. “Um, video. He went through my dream wedding file and picked out the things he liked, and then he had friends and neighbors film him with similar items or at the locations I’d chosen. It was an amazing preview of our wedding day, and almost everyone we knew was in the video. He went to so much trouble. I couldn’t have asked for anything better.”
Ethan was silent for so long she began to worry. He didn’t know Gabe, and he barely knew her; it shouldn’t matter what he thought.
They collected their food and found a vacant table without exchanging another word. When Ethan cut into his crepe her patience snapped.
“Why have you stopped analyzing my ex?”
“I don’t want to put you off your breakfast.”
That bad, huh? She briefly considered arguing before deciding she’d rather eat than know. The forkful of crepe and moist, juicy raspberries never made it to her mouth. “You could be wrong. Gabe’s always been somewhat restrained. I think it’s because I’m not exactly—”
“Gorgeous? A lingerie designer? The kind of woman who’d melt into a puddle of need in a queue at an upscale bakery?” He made a low growling sound when she opened her mouth to protest his summary. “You said your whole town was involved in your wedding preparations. It’s my guess that being the groom in such a big production” —he smirked when she rolled her eyes— “gave him a sense of distinction. It sounds as if the wedding was where your lives were headed.”
She nodded slowly.
“But as it drew closer, he started to wonder if he wanted what would come afterwards?”
Damn, that fit surprisingly well with Gabe’s recent behavior. He’d stopped wanting to talk about when they’d start a family, renovate their house, and update their cars, yet he was all about their wedding. She’d seen how obsessed he was, but that was only because he was supportive of her dreams, right? She racked her brain for clues that he’d ever been interested in her outside of their wedding plans. She drew a blank. Their first official date had been after a dinner party where her girlfriends had dragged her wedding file out and made fun of it. Man, why hadn’t she put that together at the time?
“Sara?”
Aware that her hands were shaking, she set her fork down carefully and stared at her uneaten food. Make an excuse and leave. “I need to get my car.” She got to her feet, white knuckles gripping the back of the chair. “Excuse me.”
It wasn’t until she’d hit the pavement outside the hotel that she realized she didn’t know where to go. Nothing was familiar. Her car was in a garage…somewhere. Her fingers closed automatically around something that was pressed into her hand. It was a stupid move, but it turned out to be a white monogrammed handkerchief with the initials EM.
“It’s clean.”
Ethan. I should’ve known he’d follow me.
“Blot your lips then take a couple of deep breaths. We’ll get you a comfortable pair of flats.” His eyes made a lightning head-to-toe assessment. “And maybe a jacket. Then you can give the lecture on tact and boundaries that you’re dying to launch into.”
Her lips quirked but she hid the movement behind the handkerchief. “Remind me why I’d want to shop with you?”
“You don’t.” He slipped his hand into hers and led her toward the shopping plaza adjacent to the hotel. “What you do want is a pared down outfit more appropriate for daywear. And you probably want to braid your hair.”
Smacking him one was looking better by the moment. How did he know all this stuff? “What you want to do is practice being quiet,” she said. “The last thing I need right now is a glitzy shopping trip. I’m going back upstairs to put on yesterday’s travelling clothes and then I’m going to spend the day alone.” She hesitated. “What you said back there—”
“Was wrong.”
Or so damn accurate you should get an award. “I need a chance to process it properly before I decide one way or the other.”
A weird sense of energy lurked beneath his calm exterior. She had the feeling he’d follow her unless she gave him a better alternative.
“If you’re free for dinner at six, call the concierge for my room number. We’ll make a plan.”
…
Sara moaned in contentment as the massage therapist worked the last remaining knot out of her back. Last night over bowls of pasta, her comfort food of choice, Ethan quizzed her on what things her schedule would have held if her wedding went ahead. Then the bastard excused himself for a moment, returning with a smug smile and a booking for a comprehensive spa package. Not for himself, for her. She should’ve been too upset with him to keep the appointment, yet here she was.
“Keeping to your schedule wherever possible will help you,” he’d said.
“Is that what you’re doing? Maintaining your usual nine to five grind in the lead up to your parents’ divorce?”
“Sara.” His voice was weighted with frustration. “Vegas is my home away from home. I live alone, so when I’m not working, I bore easily.”
“That’s what hobbies are for. If yours don’t hold your attention, they might not be the right ones.”
“I collect vintage surfboards.” His quiet admission was the last thing she’d expected. “Surfing at dawn is one of my favorite things, but I run into trouble when I try to fill the rest of the day.”
She tuned back in to her surroundings as the background music changed from light classical to nature sounds. Distant thunder and steadily falling rain were the perfect accompaniment to her lazy day of pampering.
Sending her here had been a good call, but she’d spent most of last night trying to discredit Ethan’s theories about her and Gabe’s relationship. Oddly, his parting words were the most troubling.
“Enjoy the practice run at the spa, Sara. Next time you indulge in a full day of treatments you’ll have a shiny new ring on your left hand.”
He’d sounded so confident. Did she really seem like the kind of woman who’d fall for the same mean trick twice? Pinning her hopes on a perfect man, a fairytale wedding, and a long and happy marriage had never seemed childish, until now. Maybe the combination was universally appealing, the stuff of legends, because it was unattainable? Nobody was perfect. Even the most sensational parties ended. And if happy marriages were commonplace, Ethan’s profession wouldn’t exist.
“Try to relax,” the therapist said. “Your man is planning a big night. Trust me, he’s stressed enough for both of you.”
Ethan was stressed? Over her? That was funny. She let her eyes drift closed and her thoughts scatter. Forever had passed since she’d had a worry-free day. If this was her chance, she’d be a fool to waste it.
“Time to wake up, sweetie.”
Sweetie? Sara’s eyes popped open and memory flooded back. She lifted her head and smiled sheepishly. “Sleeping is the highest compliment, right?”
The therapist laughed. “From you? Yes. You were wound pretty tight when you first arrived. When you’re ready, get up and put the robe on. There are clothes waiting for you in the next room, but you’ll want to apply your makeup before you dress.”
Had Ethan had the foresight to arrange for her suitcase to be brought down from her room? That was good, although her clothes were all casual. “Wait,” she squeaked. “Am I doing my own makeup?”
The woman paused with her hand on the door. “We have strict instructions not to interfere.”
Sara stared after her, wondering if Ethan had any idea what to expect. He’d seen her without any polish the other night at the pawnshop, but she’d had a massive upgrade prior to dinner. There was only
so much she could do tonight with concealer, lipstick, and mascara.
Oh, who cared? If standard Sara didn’t meet with his approval, he could eat solo.
She applied light makeup, and then stepped into the locker room next door. She gasped at the sight of a bejeweled masquerade mask and two beautiful, silvery dresses. Both were long, one with a flowing skirt and the other with a narrow silhouette, one made of chiffon and the other of velvet. How could she possibly choose? And how freaky was it that he’d chosen silver, her favorite color, the one that would’ve tied all the elements of her wedding together?
A small envelope attached to one of the hangers drew her closer. She ripped it open. Apparently Ethan had anticipated her dilemma. She read most of the note before her limp fingers dropped it. The text landed upright so she didn’t bother retrieving it from the floor—where it belonged.
Sara, I trust you’re enjoying your non-wedding preparations. The outline you gave of your engagement calendar was detailed enough for me to set an impromptu agenda. Last night was supposed to have been your bachelorette party, followed by your rehearsal dinner tonight. We’ll swap the order of those events, starting with a decadent degustation dinner this evening, and then a night of gambling, drinking, and dancing tomorrow. Dress for fine dining tonight, and save the dress you want to dance in for tomorrow evening. I have tickets to a ball at the Masquerade Hotel tomorrow night—hence the mask.
Your wedding has been rescheduled, but you don’t have to miss the all-important lead up to your big day, Ethan.
She was so angry she could almost feel steam radiating from her body. The jerk was doing exactly what he’d accused Gabe of doing—getting caught up in the excitement of a well-planned event. She pulled on the faded jeans and threadbare T-shirt she’d arrived in, jamming her feet back into the spa slippers for added effect. This was the perfect outfit for staying in and ordering room service.
Vegas abounded with prospective brides. Ethan could search among them for another dinner date and dance partner.
Chapter Six
Sara didn’t exit the spa as Ethan expected, but he wasn’t disappointed. She looked fresh and clean, her glorious hair gathered into a loose ponytail that swayed as she walked. Beautiful. He stepped away from the potted Ficus where he was standing, utterly unprepared for the anger she directed his way.
“For a man who’s so good at reading everyone else, you’re pretty clueless about yourself.”
Slender, ringless hands framed Sara’s hips, subtly emphasizing their shape. “If you’re so eager to get married that you’re willing to ride the coattails of someone else’s pre-wedding festivities, then for heaven’s sake man up and get in the game. Hiding behind your profession, pretending you don’t envy what your clients once had together, is beneath you.”
She was wrong in every way that mattered, yet all he could think was wow. Gone was the sweetly vulnerable country girl he’d felt obliged to help. Here was a woman who knew her mind and wasn’t afraid to speak it.
“I don’t believe in marriage. Occasionally it works out, but I know myself well enough to recognize that I wouldn’t fall within that small percentage.” He fixed her with his most intimidating look. “You do.”
She shook her head, her hands falling from her hips. “Not anymore.” Her words were hard to hear over the crowd of people queuing for a nearby restaurant. “Good marriages are based on trust. That’s something I may never do again.”
He reached for her hand and led her toward a bar where a jazz band was setting up. She didn’t ask why. The irony made him smile. On some level, she trusted him. When the bartender caught his eye, Ethan gestured at a drawing of the featured cocktail and held up two fingers. He steered Sara into a quiet corner booth, placing his hand over hers on the table to discourage her from giving him another piece of her mind. “Tell me you couldn’t use a drink right now.”
“I’d rather drink than go to a stuffy, overpriced restaurant,” she said beneath her breath.
Amusement curled through him, a common occurrence when she was around. He allowed himself the luxury of wondering what kind of man she’d go for. People watching was a guilty pleasure of his. He often calculated the odds of a flirting couple leaving a bar together, a smarmy waiter getting a decent tip, or the time a seat would remain vacant beside a single woman. He’d never shared this activity before, but Sara didn’t know that. If he sold it well enough, she’d think he was helping her. His tolerance for other people’s company usually lasted a couple of hours, at most, and only if they were hot. Sara fit that bill, but she was also entertaining in a way he hadn’t encountered before. He wanted more.
Their drinks arrived and he watched her return the bartender’s practiced smile. Hm, apparently he wouldn’t be able to cross smooth talking players off her future-husband wish list. Her taste ran toward the unexpected, but tonight could be an absolute scream if she loosened up and let him take his people-reading skills out for a test run on her behalf. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to look around and see only the best in everyone—nice, probably—but Sara was going to get screwed over again if she wasn’t careful. He didn’t want to see that happen. By the end of the night she’d have a far better idea of who to consider, and who to avoid, when she was ready to start dating again.
She took a cautious sip of her drink then screwed her face up and pushed the glass away. “It tastes like cough medicine, and not in a good way.”
There’s a good way? He assessed the shallow glass and estimated the volume at about five ounces. How bad could it be? Holding her gaze, he downed it in one swallow, and barely resisted the urge to splutter. “Ugh, what is that?”
Her laughter soothed him. He’d gladly drink a dozen more of the bitter concoction if they continued to amuse her.
“Wait here. I’ll get something…else,” she said with a grin.
She approached a different bartender, dazzling him with charm, if the improvement in the guy’s posture was anything to go by. She performed some kind of charade to explain what she wanted, nodding several times when he held up items for her approval. Her focus remained on the bartender, but as Ethan scanned the surrounding area he saw that multiple gazes had followed her long ponytail all the way down to where it rested against her shapely backside. She bobbed her head, setting her ponytail in motion in a way that ought to be illegal. Holy God, what had possessed her to wear those jeans? The way they cupped her, accentuating her curves, made him want to stand behind her. To shield her from view, sure, but also to find out if she felt as good as she looked. If she leaned forward, rested her forearms on the bar… He shifted uncomfortably, struggling to bring his thoughts under control.
When she turned away from the bar, he saw what she’d bought, and burst out laughing. The glasses were shaped like a hula dancer’s body. The drinks consisted of bright layers of red and yellow, and they were garnished with skewers of fresh fruit. She couldn’t have chosen anything less appropriate for him if she’d tried.
He waited till she got close enough to hear him. “You bought me a Mai Tai?”
“Nope, it’s a Tequila Sunrise. Don’t knock it till you try it.”
He accepted one of the glasses and touched its rim against hers with a satisfying click. “Last to finish buys the next round?” Before she could answer, he discarded the straw and garnish, and drank deeply. It was surprisingly good. He set the glass down and lounged back in his seat. He closed his eyes, savoring the sweetness, the tang, and the soft kick of alcohol. The tastes would forever be linked to Sara. He found himself contemplating a mass purchase of OJ, tequila, and whatever else lurked in his glass. He liked the idea of winding down each evening “with Sara” after he returned to LA.
Sara broke into his thoughts. “Looks like you’re buying the next round.”
Her empty glass mocked him. Man that was quick. He studied her face, searching for signs of deception and finding none. “Can I buy you dinner instead?”
“Not if it has strings attached.
If what you have in mind has anything to do with my wedding, fancy silver dresses, or you acting like a stand-in groom, you’d best leave now.”
She was sexy when she stood up for herself. “I’m only offering food. Do you want it?”
She smirked. “I’ll consider eating with you, after you’ve taught me to gamble.” Her teeth closed gently around a chunk of pineapple then slid it off the skewer. She moaned ecstatically. “It’s so good.”
The carnal sound hit him like a freight train. Sara was in a bad place emotionally. She was off limits. Unless— “Time to go.”
If his gruff order bothered her, she didn’t show it. She waved her skewer at him.
“Soon. I’ve got to get my fruit fix. You need to finish what would have been my drink of choice if I’d made it to my bachelorette party.”
Right. That. Her particular blend of innocence, sensuality, and backbone scrambled his brain, making him forget what their night was supposed to be about. It was time he got his head back in the game. Tomorrow, or Sunday at the latest, he’d have to head home. He didn’t want to leave before Sara had a plan that extended beyond her proposed wedding date, so making tonight count was imperative.
Within seconds he’d slid the fruit off Sara’s skewer onto a paper napkin, drained his glass, and stood up. “C’mon, even though we’ve missed our dinner reservation, we’ve got a schedule to keep.”
…
Sara sipped her champagne refill as she watched Ethan win another hand of poker. She’d never played before, but being on “Team Ethan” made her feel involved. He was good at including her, she realized with a start. His attention always seemed to be partly on her. Even now, while concentration mattered, he flicked a glance at her, checking on her in a way Gabe never had. For a man who didn’t do relationships, he was awfully attentive.
She set her glass of bubbles down, happy to blame the champagne for her sudden interest in Ethan. Despite his career and the situation with his parents, he didn’t seem like the kind of person who’d have an inability to commit. She could understand him wanting to safeguard his assets, and his heart, but not at the expense of his future happiness. Didn’t he want more from life than corporate success, the company of attractive, shallow women, and access to a surf beach at dawn?
