A Change of Plans

by Robyn Thomas

  She sipped her champagne as she tried to solve the Ethan puzzle. If he was so content with his life, then why was here in Vegas—with her?

  His arm curved around her waist, startling her. The heat of his hand burned through her T-shirt, the lazy stroke of his fingers sending her pulse rate up. “That’s the thing about learning,” he said. “It doesn’t mix well with daydreaming.”

  “Learning the rules would be pointless for me. I’m too easy to read.”

  “It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

  He’d begun steering her toward the roulette tables, but she stopped walking, preferring to stand still while she argued with him.

  “That’s like me singling out arrogance as my favorite thing about you. It’s part of you, but there’d be something seriously wrong if arrogance was your best quality.”

  “Sara.” His jaw clenched, and she watched, fascinated, as he slowly relaxed. “I’m familiar with backhanded compliments. I assure you that wasn’t one of them. Have you ever noticed that Barbie—”

  “The doll?” What the hell? First he’d accused her of wearing her heart on her sleeve, and now he was comparing her to Barbie?

  “Barbie is available with a lot of accessories, and presumably that’s to encourage children to role-play. Yet, her expression is fixed into a forced smile. I’ve often thought that LA takes its cues from Barbie. Everyone chases perpetual youth while hiding behind a tan and a fake smile.”

  I’m different. The knowledge gave a whole new meaning to his earlier comments. She frowned at him, knowing it would make him smile. “I’d hate to go up against you in court. I’m starting to think you could talk your way out of anything.”

  He laughed and tilted his head toward the exit, starting to walk before she’d agreed to join him. “You might want to find a husband before you start planning your divorce.”

  “You might want to take your own advice.”

  “Ah, but I don’t want a husband, or a wife. I just want dinner.”

  Actually, dinner sounded pretty good.

  “Your silence implies agreement. You’ve acknowledged that you might, one day, consider marrying.” He smirked when she expelled a frustrated breath. “I tell you what. We’ll do a sweep of the area while we eat, identifying hypothetical potential future husbands for you and comparing your impression of them with mine.”

  “Don’t even joke about it. Keep your people-reading skills to yourself or find someone else to eat with.”

  “Steak and seafood?” he asked with such an air of innocence she had to laugh.

  “Sure.”

  He’d all but promised not to matchmake, but as they meandered through the evening crowds she sensed him studying people and making silent assessments. She nudged him in the ribs as they passed a woman who looked like Barbie come to life.

  “One of your friends?”

  The tug he gave her ponytail was totally worth it. He pointed at the blonde’s companion, who was built like a linebacker.

  “Too tall for you?”

  “Too everything,” she said without thinking. “Imagine trying to feed someone like that.”

  Ethan chuckled. “Your two o’clock. Pinstripe suit.”

  Better. Less daunting.

  “Do you want to eat alone?”

  “Sooner or later you’re going to have to decide whether or not to accept a date with someone. You’ll need to think carefully, because if you accept, the guy will want another date, and another.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Sara.” He stopped walking and stared at her with an intensity that stole her breath. “You’re the reason people get married. You’re the exception, the dream wife men hope to get, yet rarely do. The very next guy who recognizes that potential in you will want to marry you.”

  “You’re the only one who’s taking notice of me. No one else is debating my marital status or pushing me to grab the next available man and marry him. I’m not what you’re used to, I get that, but I’m more than just a potential bride. If you can’t think of me as a woman, then I don’t think we should spend time together.”

  “You’re very feminine. Trusting. Beautiful. And as fabulous as you’d look in a wedding gown, you’d look better out of it.” His hand slid around the back of her neck and drew her ponytail forward, curling it around his wrist then allowing it to slowly unfurl and slide down her body. “I’d prefer to skip dinner and go upstairs.”

  “But—”

  “It’s not what you expected?” He stole her breath by repeating the slow wind up and release of her hair, the back of his hand playing over her chest. “I’m not expecting anything beyond gambling and dinner. Others will though, especially if they buy into your dreams. You’ve been on a crash course with commitment since you were five. If you want to avoid making another mistake, you need to be honest about what you want, what you need, and what’s important to you. And you need to do it now, while you’re single.”

  Chapter Seven

  Sara’s instincts screamed a host of contradictory instructions. Run. Listen. Kiss him. She spied the bar they’d been at earlier and headed for it on shaky legs. Adding alcohol to her current list of problems probably wasn’t a good idea. But it beat trying to answer Ethan.

  “One tequila sunrise,” Ethan said to the bartender who’d served her before. “And a water.”

  Sara scowled at Ethan then hoisted herself onto a barstool and addressed the bartender. “Ignore him. Two please. And a double shot of whiskey on the rocks.”

  To his credit, Ethan stood quietly while their drinks were mixed. His silence and proximity ate at her, though, and the fact that he was standing rather than sitting finally tripped her patience. She gestured out the door of the bar in the general direction they’d come from.

  “What was that about?” she asked. “Is this what you do to drum up future business? You trawl Vegas in your spare time looking for susceptible people, build them up until they think they can’t lose, and then wait around for the bottom to fall out of their world? Is it fun for you to watch them risk everything, crash and burn, and then come crawling to you, the only divorce attorney they’ve ever met, begging for help?”

  A warning flashed in his eyes. She was too wound up to heed it. She reached for the glasses the bartender set on the counter, grabbing both cocktails, because this was definitely a two-drink problem.

  Ethan peeled a note out of his wallet and tossed it across the bar, his gaze resting on her the entire time.

  “I’m being rude, I know. It’s not exactly a ‘perfect wife’ kind of thing to do, but I never expected to have to defend my right to be ordinary.” She glared at Ethan over the rim of her glass as she drank a good portion of the first cocktail. “I’m okay if all you see when you look at me is a small-town girl with a broken engagement and no college degree to fall back on. You’re right. I bet everything and lost, and now I have to start over.” The alcohol buzzed through her system, and she smiled wistfully. “I’m not deluding myself. I know I’m not glamorous or wealthy or well connected, but those things don’t count for much outside of LA society.”

  “Are you done?” Ethan made an impatient sound and shook his head. “Drink up. If you get tipsy you might be easier to reason with.”

  Enjoying a double sunrise was the easiest choice she’d made in a long time. What wasn’t to like about this moment—soft jazz playing, muted lights adding a surreal glow, two fabulous drinks at her disposal, and a silent, yet drool-worthy, man perched on the barstool beside her. She slowly stirred the last quarter of her second drink, tormenting Ethan with the delay.

  He picked up his glass and knocked the whiskey back as if it was water. “You overlooked the most obvious explanation,” he said quietly.

  “Which is?”

  “I was serious back there. You’re walking around assuming that you’re this…” He slammed his ice filled glass down in front of her. “When really you have no idea.” He nudged one of the cocktail glasses until it sat a
longside his tumbler. “Guess which one you are?”

  She hadn’t thought him capable of earning another genuine smile from her, ever. She’d been wrong.

  He growled long and low then reached out to stroke the center of her bottom lip. “And there’s the crux of your problem. You’re too quick to trust.”

  His tone, his touch, and his attitude confused her. She couldn’t tell if he was praising or insulting her, and it was starting to matter.

  “When you first met your ex, why did you go out with him? Don’t think, just answer.”

  “He was a last minute guest at a dinner party I held for a friend’s birthday. I hadn’t met him before. He stayed behind to help with the dishes, and when he was leaving he suggested we get together again.”

  Ethan’s brows dipped as if he was annoyed with her response. “And when did your elaborate wedding plans first come up? When did you mention you’d spent years planning the party of the century?”

  She shifted on her seat, toying with her empty glass and avoiding Ethan’s gaze.

  “Tell me.”

  “My friends dragged my wedding file out and made fun of it, and me, the first night I met Gabe.”

  “Honesty,” he murmured. “It’s your defining characteristic. You’re going to need it in your future partner.” He lifted his fingers off the bar a little, a subtle signal that dissuaded her from commenting. “What else? Play the game with me, Sara. It’s only hypothetical, just a bit of harmless barroom fun. If you could build your perfect future partner from the ground up, starting with honesty, what would your second ingredient be?”

  She was tempted to shut his game down. Wishing for something didn’t make it real, and setting her expectations too high would only lead to disappointment. Hell, she was already disappointed, and she’d gone into her last relationship without any hopes beyond a second date. If she’d known what to look for, which questions to ask, maybe she wouldn’t have gotten in so deep. Aware that she’d been silent too long, she glanced at Ethan.

  “I’d need him to be comfortable with what I do for a living.” The slight tilt of his head encouraged her to elaborate. Her words came out in a rush, tumbling over each other in their haste to be heard. “Lingerie is delicate and feminine and beautiful. Sometimes it’s blatantly sexy, but that distinction is generally bestowed upon it by a third party rather than the wearer. It becomes sexy when it hugs the right curves. The same could be said for evening gowns and sports cars.”

  His smile was slow and intimate, a silent invitation to lean closer and keep talking.

  “There’s nothing sordid about making ordinary women feel like supermodels. I love the challenge of designing underwear that enhances a woman’s view of herself and her body.” She broke off, trying to ignore the sudden warmth in her cheeks as she realized how long she’d gone on. “Acceptance is important to me,” she said softly.

  He nodded, his gaze lingering on her before peering over her left shoulder. He seemed to be scanning the booths for a vacancy.

  “Food?” she asked.

  “Yeah. No more drinking for you tonight. There are better ways to spend your cancelled wedding day than driving the porcelain bus.”

  She stared at him, her mouth slack.

  “You’re probably due a hangover, but if you switch to water now, it won’t be debilitating. Do you play golf?”

  Golf? He’d stopped making sense. Just how much had she had to drink?

  “No to golf, yes to food, but I want to get some air first.”

  …

  Walking arm in arm with Sara along the Strip was an experience Ethan hadn’t anticipated. She’d definitely overindulged because her non-stop chatter was punctuated with giggles, and she’d forgotten that she was wearing slippers. Seeing her this way, utterly relaxed on the eve of her non-wedding day, did him good. He’d come to Vegas looking for a diversion. He’d found it in her.

  Her view of the world differed from his in every conceivable way. Aside from being in the same place at the same time, they had nothing in common. The kicker was that he hadn’t been equipped to handle his parents’ divorce until he’d met her. Representing his mother, going up against his father, had been fine in theory, but as their first court date drew near he’d felt it choking the life out of him. Vegas had beckoned, promising a reprieve from the overwhelming negativity of his daily life. He hadn’t counted on meeting Sara. She was walking proof that marriage could work. She hadn’t actually made it down the aisle, but when she did, no matter who she married, he was certain she’d make the union a resounding success.

  “Ethan, you haven’t heard a word I’ve said. Which means” —she bounced excitedly— “you owe me, and I get to choose where we eat.”

  He forced his gaze away from all the lovely bouncing, his mouth watering when he realized she’d chosen a pizzeria. At first it looked as if all the tables were taken, but Sara smiled at a middle-aged couple and asked to join them, taking a seat the moment they said yes. Ethan hesitated, unaccustomed to second-class arrangements of any kind. Why was she sitting? It shouldn’t be hard to find another pizza place with free tables.

  When the couple offered Sara the last of their bottle of wine, he thought his head might explode. No way had he just seen her nod. “Sara.”

  She looked pointedly at the single remaining seat, smiling smugly when he dropped into it.

  “This is Ethan,” she told her new friends.

  A harried looking waiter skated to a stop at their table, his expression bordering on contempt as he realized they’d seated themselves at a table he’d already served food to. Sara beamed at him.

  “Hi.” She glanced at Ethan. “Any allergies? Anything you don’t want?” She grinned when he shook his head. “Too easy,” she said. “One extra-large pizza with the works, two glasses of soda, and a bottle of that.” She pointed to the wine on the table. “Thank you.”

  Ethan watched in amazement as the waiter scribbled down her request then departed with an easy smile.

  “What brings you to Vegas?” their female companion asked. “Pete and I try to make it here a couple of times a year just to recharge our batteries. It’s such good value, especially if you book in advance. We’re here alone this trip, but we’ll be back in three weeks to catch up with our son. Do you and Ethan have friends here? Have you caught any live shows? There’s a great one—”

  Pete covered his wife’s hand and patted it gently. “Let Sara get a word in, Ellie.”

  “I’m going to let her talk.” She added cream and sugar to her coffee in silence, although it was clear she wanted to pester Sara with further questions.

  Ethan’s gaze slid between Pete, Ellie, and Sara. The couple was obviously happy together and Sara had clicked with them on some unknown level. He felt like the odd man out, an unusual circumstance for him. Unease tiptoed up his spine as he realized his usual social banter wasn’t going to cut it here.

  He needn’t have worried. Sara angled a sweet smile his way and answered for both of them. “My life kind of imploded last week and I had to get away. I bumped into Ethan not long after I arrived, and he’s been kind enough to show me around.”

  It had been a long time since Ethan had been subjected to the “parent look”, but that didn’t stop Ellie and Pete from giving it. Apparently they liked what they saw, and he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or offended. Eating mass produced pizza, late in the evening, in a raucous and crowded restaurant, under scrutiny from random strangers, was about as far as you could get from the elegant degustation dinner he’d booked earlier. It didn’t begin to measure up, but this was Sara’s choice.

  He froze, his heart tripping erratically as he considered what eating here said about him. When had he adopted Sara’s give and take approach to life? His word was usually law. He decided on the company he’d keep and the places they’d frequent. No exceptions.

  When the waiter delivered their wine, Ethan reached for it, glad to have something to occupy his hands. He filled Sara’s glass and
watched her take a generous swallow, remembering too late that he’d told her to drink water for the rest of the night. Dammit, she hadn’t listened, and his mind wasn’t as clear as it should be either.

  Splitting the bottle beat letting her drink the whole thing. His one job tonight was to make sure she didn’t do anything she’d regret.

  Chapter Eight

  “That guy,” Ethan said several hours and two bars later. “The quiet, studious one with the sweater vest and glasses.”

  A chill permeated the air around her. She rubbed her arms to ward it off. Ethan had been suggesting possible future husbands for her all night. His latest description fit her ex a little too well.

  “Stop it. I’m never going to choose a man on looks alone. I’m not sure I want one at all, ever again.”

  Ethan spun her barstool toward him and eased her knees apart so he could step between them. He pushed her hands aside, his warm palms encircling her arms and slipping up and down. Her core body temperature catapulted from icy to overheated in the space of a few seconds. It was so easy to imagine those large, capable hands roaming all over her. How unfair was it that the only man who affected her was hell-bent on matching her with someone else?

  “Enough.” She reached for his hips, forcing herself to push him away. “This whole ‘what about him’ game is pointless.”

  “It’s not pointless. You decided what you wanted your life to look like when you were five years old. You don’t even breathe until you’re sure it won’t affect your plans.”

  “My wedding plans?” Her tone was flat, lifeless. “You’re right. I chose a man who wanted the same things I did.” She snorted. “And together we put too much emphasis on a big, showy party.”

  “You did, but it’s what was meant to come after the party that you can’t live without. You’ve built a life for two people, Sara.”