One Plus One Makes Marriage

by Marie Ferrarella

  “A date?”

  Lance looked at her sharply. Had he just said that out loud? From the look on her face, he knew he had. Damn, that had just slipped out.

  A date was something you had with someone you cared about, Melanie thought. She didn’t even know Bradley Shaffer. He was just in town for a few days, visiting his cousin. It had been her friend Greg’s bright idea to get them together.

  She’d had a bad feeling about it ever since she’d agreed.

  Melanie moved her shoulders in a half shrug. “In a manner of speaking.”

  He was surprised at the evasive answer. Every other question had coaxed chapter and verse out of her. Had he stumbled onto a touchy subject? The temptation to pursue it and give her a dose of her own medicine was strong, but that might give her the wrong impression. She’s construe his questions to mean he was interested in the answers. He wasn’t. All he really wanted to do was get out of the store and go home.

  “All done.” Melanie held out the package for him. When he didn’t immediately take it, she lifted his arm and tucked the package under it. Then she patted his arm into place as if she were handling a mannequin. “There.” She stepped back, satisfied. “Tell her to enjoy it in good health.”

  That was his cue to leave, Lance thought.

  So what was he doing, still standing here like some cartoon country bumpkin, his legs and his tongue immobilized by the spark that he saw in her eyes?

  It wasn’t a spark, it was...

  Humor. Was that at his expense? No, she wasn’t laughing at him. Not exactly, anyway. He didn’t know what she was doing exactly, nor, he insisted silently, did he care.

  His eyes held hers as he tried not to think how incredibly blue they were. “I told you that I want to pay for this.”

  He’d stand here all night, arguing with her, if she let him, Melanie thought. Maybe some other time.

  With determination she hooked her arm through his and almost pulled him toward the door.

  “I’ll send you a bill. Right now, I’m in a hurry.” Because she’d caught him off guard, she managed to push him over the threshold and out the door.

  Closing the door on his surprised face, she flipped the lock. Business hours were officially at an end.

  Lance was still standing there, package under his arm, as the lights in the store went out one by one. He had no idea why that generated this incredibly lonely feeling within him.

  He backed up on the sidewalk until he could look up at her windows. A couple of minutes passed before the lights came on upstairs. He stood watching, waiting to see a vague outline or a silhouette flirting with the white curtains.

  Annoyed with himself, Lance turned on his heel and strode to his car. Careful not to hurt the photograph, he placed it on the passenger side, then got in behind the wheel. He had other places to be.

  He was so preoccupied as he drove home he almost went through a red light. Stopping at the last possible moment, the end of his car fishtailing, Lance cursed roundly. It was all McCloud’s fault. Somehow she’d managed to slip in through the cracks, to prey on his mind, generating questions he told himself he didn’t really want to have answered.

  Even the music on the radio made him think of her. Fast, bouncy, catchy. Like her voice and her smile. And the look in her eyes.

  Disgusted, he shut it off.

  Lance had every intention of going home. There was some leftover Chinese food in his refrigerator that had to be eaten tonight or thrown out. One week was his cutoff point, after that, it was on its way to becoming penicillin. His plans were set. There was absolutely no reason for him to abruptly make a U-turn just as he came in sight of his block. No reason to backtrack until he had driven two miles past her shop and was turning off the engine in his car as it came to a halt in the Land’s End parking lot.

  No reason in the world except that he was curious. Curious to see what sort of man a woman like Melanie McCloud went out with.

  Once he satisfied this bit of annoying, idle curiosity, Lance silently insisted, he’d be on his way. Besides, he’d been meaning to stop by the restaurant. He’d heard two of the men at the station talking about the food here and it sounded as good a place as any to grab a meal.

  He didn’t really feel like having leftover Chinese food tonight, anyway.

  Walking in, he bypassed the hostess with the long, deep burgundy velvet skirt and hundred-watt smile and went to the bar instead. From there he had a clear view of the entrance as well as part of the dining room. If McCloud came here with her boyfriend, he would see her.

  The bartender brought him his scotch and soda with a scarlet cocktail napkin and a minimum of dialogue. Lance liked it that way. He’d had his fill of mindless chatter today, even if the voice was melodic.

  Sitting back on the stool, Lance sipped his drink and waited for her to show up.

  He didn’t wait long.

  Less than fifteen minutes into his stay, a movement by the door caught his eye, sending his blood pumping through his veins faster than he would have liked to admit.

  It was McCloud. She was with a tall, thin, well-dressed man with sharp features and hair the color of toast when it popped out of the machine too soon.

  Not bad looking, Lance supposed, in an Ivy League, bland sort of way. Maybe he’d been wrong about her having taste, he mused just before he really looked at her.

  She cleaned up nicely, he thought, studying her over the rim of his chunky glass. He’d only seen her in jeans. She was wearing a short, pink dress. One of those straight things that, while not tight, managed to show off every single curve she had. And her legs. He hadn’t realized how long they were. She hardly came up to his shoulder, yet from where he sat, she seemed to be all leg.

  Suddenly parched, Lance took another long sip. It didn’t seem to help.

  She didn’t look as if she was enjoying herself. But that could have just been his take on it, Lance mused, annoyed that it should matter.

  Nursing his drink, he watched as the hostess led McCloud and her boyfriend to their table. It was right in his line of vision.

  So he continued looking.

  She’d known. As soon as Bradley Shaffer had surprised her and introduced himself at her door, saying something about it being more gallant picking up a woman at her place, she’d known. Known that this . wasn’t going to work. It didn’t feel right. She set a lot of store by first impressions.

  Bradley might have been Greg’s cousin, but he had none of the charm that Greg possessed. And none of the quirky good humor, either. What he did have was a singularly bad case of narcissism. He was in love with the sound of his own voice, the litany of his credits. Within moments he was droning on and on, listing his accomplishments for what she could only think he believed was her astonishment and edification.

  By the time the appetizer had reached their table, Melanie had reached her limit. She’d heard, in glowing terms, all about Bradley’s incredible business acumen and how grateful his superior was to him for bringing in so many clients to the firm and keeping them satisfied. She wasn’t sure she could stand much more.

  Deep-set brown eyes looked into hers as if he were trying to hypnotize her. “You know, Melanie, if you put your portfolio into my hands, I can guarantee, right here, right now,” he tapped the table with his index finger for emphasis, sending the shrimp into the cocktail sauce, “that when you retire, you will be a very rich woman.”

  She was twenty-four. Retirement wasn’t something that she thought about with any amount of regularity. She supposed someone like Bradley would be appalled by her lack of foresight.

  She took a sip of her ginger ale. “Bradley, I don’t have a portfolio.”

  Bradley looked at her as if she’d just told him she intended to throw all her money up in the air and watch the wind scatter it. With dramatic movements befitting a turn-of-the-century Shakespearean actor, he placed his hand over hers on the table and shook his head in abject, galling pity.

  “Melanie, Melanie, Melanie, who ha
s been advising you?”

  Bradley had managed to do the impossible. His condescending tone had set her teeth on edge. “No one. I—”

  If he’d given the indication that he was about to listen, it had been in error. He wasn’t going to listen, he was going to take over. And save her from certain impending doom.

  “That’s very obvious. Lucky for you I came along when I did. Kismet,” he added, with what he probably thought was a mysterious smile. He took out a small leather-bound pad from his inside breast pocket and commenced to outline a long-term and, what he assured her was a high-yield, program for her.

  Melanie felt her entire body falling asleep. She looked around the restaurant, wondering if there were any exits she could discreetly utilize before she went completely comatose in his company.

  When she saw Lance sitting at the bar, she felt her heart literally skip a beat. And then a wide smile followed.

  Perfect.

  Lance decided there was no point sitting there on the stool, feeling like an idiot any longer. He pushed back his half-finished drink and rose. Sending one final glance in her direction, he saw a look of sheer horror on Melanie’s face.

  What the hell was wrong? He looked behind him, but there was nothing there. The terror-filled gaze was meant for him and him alone.

  Why?

  Common sense told him to leave.

  But the same iron-fisted curiosity that had urged him to come to the restaurant in the first place had him walking in her direction instead of leaving. He wanted some answers and he wanted them now.

  As he approached the table, he saw Melanie’s escort turn pale. The man was looking at him as if he’d just walked off the first space ship docking from Mars. Throwing down a handful of bills on the table, he bolted before Lance could reach him.

  McCloud’s terrified look vanished and dissolved into laughter as soon as the man’s back was turned. Lance waited a beat until she collected herself.

  He nodded at her departing date. “Want to tell me what that was all about?”

  She took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. If she laughed too hard, she was going to start hiccuping. Melanie looked up at him. Talk about showing up in the nick of time.

  “You,” she told him. “Living up to your name.”

  He shook his head, confounded. “Is there some kind of code book somewhere that I should have in order to understand what you’re talking about?” Because without one, he hadn’t a clue.

  “You came to my rescue. Lancelot was always rescuing women.” He still looked as if he wasn’t following her. “Isn’t your full name Lancelot?”

  Lance pressed his lips together. He would have been better off following his first instinct and just walking out of the restaurant. With a sigh, he nodded. He didn’t readily like to admit to the name written on his birth certificate. The choice, he was told, had been his mother’s. It was something that had earned him more than one black eye as a kid. It had been years since anyone had dared call him that.

  His mouth remained hard, unsmiling. “I don’t see what that has to do with your fleeing boyfriend.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend.” That, she thought, would have been a fate worse than death. “He was a blind date I agreed to go out with because I’m a pushover where my friends are concerned.” She could see she’d lost him again. “Bradley Shaffer is in town from New York, visiting his cousin. Greg asked me to show him around.”

  Greg, he assumed, was the friend who’d turned this headstrong woman into a pushover—not that he believed she was one for a minute. If she did anything, it was because she wanted to.

  “And?” he asked, wanting to find out why the man had looked at him as if he was some homicidal maniac.

  She motioned to the chair Bradley had all but knocked over in his haste to leave, but Lance remained standing.

  “He was about to create a retirement portfolio for me, making it in his image and likeness.” A mischievous smile played on her lips. “He was putting me to sleep,” she confided.

  Lance tried not to notice that her smile was having an unsettling effect on his stomach. He wrote it off to the fact that he hadn’t had dinner yet and those were hunger pangs he was experiencing, nothing more.

  “Maybe that’s how he gets women into his bed,” Lance commented. Impatience drummed at him with bony fingers. The woman didn’t know the meaning of getting to the point. “But I still don’t understand why he ran out like that. He looked really afraid of me.”

  “He was.” Pausing, Melanie wondered how he’d react to this. “I told him you were my ex-boyfriend. My very jealous ex-boyfriend who had come looking for me.” She watched his eyes. “I said the last man you found me with was still listed by the police as missing.” Melanie toyed with her glass of ginger ale, pleased with herself. “I guess he decided my portfolio wasn’t worth dying for.”

  That explained the man’s reaction, but not hers. “You looked really terrified.”

  “I had to convince him,” she explained, then added, “can’t hang around sound stages without picking up a few things.” Since he wasn’t quick on the uptake, she decided to stop being subtle and invite him outright. “Have you eaten?”

  He answered before thinking of the consequences his answer had. “No, I—”

  “Perfect.” Leaning over, she moved the chair out for him. “Let me buy you dinner. You did me a big favor by rescuing me.”

  He wasn’t about to have her get carried away with this. God only knew where that would lead. “All I did was walk toward you, you’re responsible for the rest of it.”

  “You were in the right place at the right time.” She looked at Bradley’s jumbo shrimp cocktail. He hadn’t touched it. “It’s a shame to let this appetizer go to waste.”

  Against his better judgment, Lance remained. He knew he was in trouble the moment she turned her smile on him.

  Chapter Five

  “Do you come here often?”

  Lance stopped pulling his chair in and looked at the woman seated across from him. “What?”

  Melanie repeated the question as innocently as before. “Do you come here often?”

  Seated, he scrutinized her face. Was that her rather unsubtle way of asking if he had specifically come to the restaurant looking for her?

  “No, why?”

  For a second Melanie had actually thought he was finally going to stop being defensive. It was going to take a little more time before that happened. She was willing to wait.

  She lifted one shoulder, letting it fall casually again. He was watching every movement as if he was looking for a clue to some great puzzle she was unaware of.

  “I thought if you did, maybe you could recommend something on the menu.” Melanie looked at him over the flickering candle on the table, watching the way the shadows played along the planes of his face. “I’ve never been here before.”

  Feeling a little foolish now, Lance lowered his eyes to the aqua-colored menu that lay, unopened, beside his appetizer. “Sorry, can’t help you.”

  This, too, she shrugged away. “Well, you’ve done enough for me for one night. Maybe even for a whole month.”

  He regarded her with suspicion. Just what was she getting at? Did she think because he was sitting here with her right now that they were on the verge of some long-term relationship? One that lasted longer than the time it took to finish a meal? It seemed improbable, but he’d already learned that she had her own way of thinking.

  Finding that she had an appetite after all, Melanie took a bite of her shrimp cocktail and savored the taste before continuing. “Bradley sounded as if he was prepared to completely reorchestrate my life by the time the evening was over.”

  By any standard Melanie McCloud was an attractive woman. Maybe even beautiful, as long as she kept her mouth shut. It didn’t make any sense to him. “Why did you do it?”

  Though she was pleased that he was actually initiating a conversation, she wasn’t sure what he was referring to. “Do what?”


  “Agree to go out with that creep.” Even as he asked, Lance told himself it was none of his business what she did or with whom. He also realized that he’d slipped when he called the man a creep. There was nothing to base the judgment on, other than a gut feeling. He wasn’t supposed to be having gut feelings about her.

  Her mouth curved in that funny way of hers, as if she were sharing an amusing secret with herself, daring him to guess what it was. Lance found it difficult to concentrate on what she was saying.

  “I didn’t exactly agree to go out with ‘him,’ I agreed to go out with Greg’s cousin.”

  Had he missed something? “But Shaffer is Greg’s cousin.”

  She looked at her appetizer and saw that she’d managed to eat the whole thing without realizing it. Being rescued certainly made her hungry. “Right.”

  She’d lost him again. He began to wonder if it was possible to have a conversation with her without feeling that way.

  “And the difference between going out with Bradley and going out with Greg’s cousin would be—” Lance waited, defying her to make sense out of this.

  Moving the empty glass aside, Melanie patiently explained. “If I’d agreed to go out with ‘him,’ that would have meant that I liked Bradley. If I agreed to go out with Greg’s cousin, then I was doing Greg a favor.”

  He supposed that made sense, in a sideways, off-beat sort of way.

  “That’s a very unique piece of logic. I’m surprised some university hasn’t snapped you up in order to conduct a long-range study on elliptical reasoning.”

  He was capable of humor. She liked that. Melanie raised her eyes to his face. It had softened a little. She liked that, too.

  “Are you offering?”

  Back to the land of the lost, he thought. Didn’t take long. “Offering what?”

  “To study me,” she prompted.

  There was an invitation in her eyes, one that was tempting him despite all his best resolutions. “Why? Would you say yes?”