Love, Unexpectedly

by Susan Fox

  “Ooh, how arty and highbrow. It’s great. I am so happy for you. This is going to launch your career, I just know it. You’re going to sell to hotels, office buildings, designer shops, private collectors.” Her eyes glittered with enthusiasm. “And I’m going to be able to say ‘I knew him when.’”

  Nav chuckled. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

  Kat hopped lithely up on the closest washer, catlike, living up to her nickname. Sitting cross-legged, she was roughly on eye level with him. “You’re a fantastic photographer and you deserve this. You’ve made it happen, so believe in it. Don’t dream small, Nav.”

  If only that would work when it came to winning Kat.

  “Believe in how great you are.” She frowned, as if an interesting thought had occurred to her, then stared at him with an expression of discovery. “You know, you really are a great guy.”

  It didn’t sound as if she was still talking about his photography, but about him. Nav’s heart stopped beating. Was this it? The moment he’d longed for? He gazed into her brown eyes, which were bright, almost excited. “I am?” Normally he had a fairly deep voice, but now it squeaked like an adolescent’s.

  Her eyes narrowed, with a calculating gleam. “You know how unlucky I’ve been with my love life. Well, my family blames it on me. They say I have the worst taste in men, that I’m some kind of jinx when it comes to relationships.”

  “Er…” Damn, she’d changed the subject. And this was one he’d best not comment on. Yes, of course she had crappy judgment when it came to dating. The actor, the international financier, the Olympic gold-medal skier, the NASCAR champ? They swept her off her feet but were completely wrong for her. It was no surprise to him when each glittery relationship ended, but Kat always seemed shocked. She hated to hear anyone criticize her taste in men.

  “Merilee said I could bring a date to the wedding, then got in this dig about whether I was seeing anyone, or between losers. I’d really hate to show up alone.”

  He’d learned not to trust that gleam in her eyes, but couldn’t figure out where she was heading. “You only just broke up with NASCAR Guy.” Usually it took her two or three months before she fell for a new man. In the in-between time she hung out more with him, as she’d been doing recently.

  Her lips curved. “I love how you say ‘NASCAR Guy’ in that posh Brit accent. Yeah, we split two weeks ago. But I think I may have found a great guy to take to the wedding.”

  Damn. His heart sank. “You’ve already met someone new? And you’re going to take him as your date?”

  “If he’ll go.” The gleam was downright wicked now. “What do you think?”

  He figured a man would be crazy not to take any opportunity to spend time with her. But…“If you’ve only started dating, taking him to a wedding could seem like pressure. And what if you caught the bouquet?” If Nav was with her and she caught the damned thing, he’d tackle the minister before he could get away, and tie the knot then and there.

  Not that Kat would let him. She’d say he’d gone out of his freaking mind.

  “Oh, I don’t think this guy would get the wrong idea.” There was a laugh in her voice.

  “No?”

  She sprang off the washer, stepped toward him, and gripped the front of his rugby jersey with both hands, the brush of her knuckles through the worn blue-and-white-striped cotton making his heart race and his groin tighten. “What do you say, Nav?”

  “Uh, to what?”

  “To being my date for the wedding.”

  Hot blood surged through his veins. She was asking him to travel across the country and escort her to her sister’s wedding?

  Had she finally opened her eyes, opened her heart, and really seen him? Seen that he, Naveen Bharani, was the perfect man for her? The one who knew her perhaps better than she knew herself. Who loved her as much for her vulnerabilities and flaws as for her competence and strength, her generosity and sense of fun, those sparkling eyes, and the way her sexy curves filled out her Saturday-morning sweats.

  “Me?” He lifted his hands and covered hers. “You want me to go?”

  She nodded vigorously. “You’re an up-and-coming photographer. Smart, creative.” Face close to his, she added, eyes twinkling, “Hot, too. Your taste in clothes sucks, but if you’d let me work on you, you’d look good. And you’re nice. Kind, generous, sweet.”

  Yes, he was all of those things, except sweet—another wimp word, like doll. But he was confused. She thought he was hot, which was definitely good. But something was missing. She wasn’t gushing about how amazing he was and how crazy she was about him, the way she always did when she fell for a man. Her beautiful eyes were sharp and focused, not dreamy. Not filled with passion or new love. So…what was she saying?

  He tightened his hands on hers. “Kat, I—”

  “Will you do it? My family might even approve of you.”

  Suspicion tightened his throat. He forced words out. “So I’d be your token good guy, to prove you don’t always date ass-holes.”

  “Ouch. But yes, that’s the idea. I know it’s a lot to ask, but please? Will you do it?”

  He lifted his hands from hers and dropped them to his sides, bitter disappointment tightening them into fists.

  Oblivious, she clenched his jersey tighter, eyes pleading with him. “It’s only one weekend, and I’ll pay your airfare and—”

  “Oh, no, you won’t.” He twisted away abruptly, and her hands lost their grip on his shirt. Damn, there was only so much battering a guy’s ego could take. “If I go, I’ll pay my own way.” The words grated out. He turned away and busied himself heaving laundry from his washer to a dryer, trying to calm down and think. What should he do?

  Practicalities first. If he agreed, would it affect the exhibit? No, all she was asking for was a day or two. He could escort her, make nice with her family, play the role she’d assigned him. He’d get brownie points with Kat.

  “Nav, I couldn’t let you pay for the ticket. Not when you’d be doing me such a huge favor. So, will you? You’re at least thinking about it?”

  Of course he’d already accumulated a thousand brownie points, and where had that got him? Talking about roles, she’d cast him as the good bud two years ago and didn’t show any signs of ever promoting him to leading man.

  He was caught in freaking limbo.

  The thing was, he was tired of being single. He wanted to share his life—to get married and start a family. Though he and his parents loved each other, his relationship with them had always been uneasy. As a kid, he’d wondered if he was adopted, he and his parents seemed such a mismatch.

  He knew “family” should mean something different: a sense of warmth, belonging, acceptance, support. That’s what he wanted to create with his wife and children.

  His mum was on his case about an arranged marriage, sending him a photo and bio at least once a month, hoping to hook him. But Nav wanted a love match. He’d had an active dating life for more than ten years, but no matter how great the women were, none had ever made him feel the way he did for Kat. Damn her.

  He bent to drag more clothes from the washer and, as he straightened, glanced at her. Had she been checking out his ass?

  Cheeks coloring, she shifted her gaze to his face. “Please, Nav? Pretty please?” Her brows pulled together. “You can’t imagine how much I hate the teasing.” Her voice dropped. “The poor Kat can’t find a man pity.”

  He understood how tough this wedding would be for her. Kat had tried so hard to find love, wanted it so badly, and always failed. Now she had to help her little sister plan her wedding and be happy for her, even though Kat’s heart ached with envy. Having a good friend by her side, pretending to her family that she’d found a nice guy, would make things easier for her.

  Yes, he was pissed that she wanted only friendship from him, but that was his problem. He shouldn’t take his frustration and hurt out on her.

  He clicked the dryer on and turned to face her. “When do you need to know
?”

  “No great rush, I guess. It’s two weeks off. Like I said, I’ll probably leave Monday. I’ll take the train to Toronto, then on to Vancouver.”

  “It’s a long trip.”

  “Yeah.” Her face brightened. “It really is fun. I’ve done it every year or so since I moved here when I was eighteen. It’s like being on holiday with fascinating people. A train’s a special world. Normal rules don’t apply.”

  He always traveled by air, but he’d watched old movies with Kat. North by Northwest. Silver Streak. Trains were sexy.

  Damn. He could see it now. Kat would meet some guy, fall for him, have hot sex, end up taking him rather than Nav to the wedding.

  Unless…

  An idea—brilliant? insane?—struck him. What if he was the guy on the train?

  What if he showed up out of the blue, took her by surprise? An initial shock, then days together in that special, sexy world where normal rules didn’t apply. Might she see him differently?

  If he analyzed his idea, he’d decide it was crazy and never do it. So, forget about being rational. He’d hustle upstairs and go online to arrange getting money transferred out of the trust fund he hadn’t touched since coming to Canada.

  It had been a matter of principle: proving to himself that he wasn’t a spoiled rich kid and could make his own way in the world. But now, principles be damned. Train travel wasn’t cheap, and this was a chance to win the woman he loved.

  Unrequited love was unhealthy. He’d break the good buddy limbo, stop being so fucking pathetic, and go after her.

  But first, he had to set things up with Kat so she’d be totally surprised when he showed up on the train. “Yeah, okay.” He tried to sound casual. “I’ll be your token good guy. I’ll fly out for the wedding.”

  “Oooeeee!!” She flung herself into his arms, a full-body tackle that caught him off guard and almost toppled them both. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She pressed quick little kisses all over his cheeks.

  When what he longed for were soul-rocking, deep and dirty kisses, mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue. Groin to groin.

  Enough. He was fed up with her treating him this way. Fed up with himself for taking it. Things between them were damned well going to change.

  He grabbed her head between both hands and held her steady, her mouth inches from his.

  Her lips opened and he heard a soft gasp as she caught her breath. “Nav?” Was that a quiver in her voice?

  Deliberately, he pressed his lips against hers. Soft, so soft her lips were, and warm. Though it took all his willpower, he drew away before she could decide how to respond. “You’re welcome,” he said casually, as if the kiss had been merely a “between friends” one.

  All the same, he knew it had reminded her of the attraction between them.

  She would be a tiny bit unsettled.

  He had, in a subtle way, served notice.

  Token good guy? Screw that.

  He was going to be the sexy guy on the train.

  Chapter 2

  The buzzer on Nav’s dryer went off, but he hadn’t returned to the laundry room yet.

  He’d said yes to coming to M&M’s wedding, then just when I’d been gushing thanks all over him, he’d taken off, saying he needed to do something upstairs.

  Well, first, he’d given me that look. The one that downright sizzled. Then he’d kissed me and I’d almost expected…almost wanted…I touched my lips, still burning from that one brief brush of his.

  No, that was crazy.

  What Nav and I had was perfect just as it was. Though I’d always had lots of friends, I’d never felt as connected to any of them as to him. Other women said boyfriends come and go, but it’s your friends you can count on. I’d never understood what they meant because I’d never had that close a friend. Now that I did, I wasn’t risking our friendship, not when every romantic relationship in my life had ended in disaster.

  Besides, while I was looking for a husband, Nav’s dating behavior was pure player. He hadn’t got serious with anyone in the two years I’d known him. Every month it was someone new: a female smorgasbord. He gave lip service to believing in marriage, but whenever I commented that his revolving-door policy wasn’t the best way of finding a wife, he’d say—wink, wink—he was holding out for the perfect woman. Yeah, right.

  He still hadn’t returned and his laundry would be getting wrinkled, so I opened the door of his dryer and got to work. I folded sweatpants, jeans, T-shirts. Nary a designer label. Nav’s clothes sense was pretty much “starving artist” even though I kept telling him about reasonably priced consignment stores that carried stylish outfits.

  Into the hamper went the running shorts that showed off his lean, muscular legs and awesome butt. Faded rugby jerseys with their Cambridge red lion crest. A Cambridge man. How cool was that?

  Boxer briefs. Black and navy, plain old Stanfield’s. Soft cotton that hugged his private parts. Damn, it would be so much easier if my best friend was a woman.

  I shouldn’t be thinking about Nav’s package, but the thing was, he had an excellent one. In fact, his whole bod was pretty fine, as I’d discovered bit by tempting bit. Like, when I hugged him. Or when he ran down the street for his morning jog, and I just happened to be at the window when he left. Or when he stretched up to hang my new light fixture, or hefted my new desk, or fixed the plumbing under my kitchen sink…No, I wasn’t creating I need a man chores; it was just so much nicer to have his help than to figure things out on my own.

  The view didn’t hurt one bit, either. He had strong shoulders, firm pecs, and a breathtakingly tight butt, as well as the aforementioned package.

  Which I shouldn’t be thinking about. None of it. Not that, nor the drop-dead sexy English accent, nor that gorgeous skin the color of cinnamon. I should focus on the unstylish clothes, the shaggy hair that always needed a trim, the beard and mustache that hid half his face.

  Even if he hadn’t been my best friend, and even if he had been into marriage, Nav wouldn’t be my type. I went for the polish of a successful, cosmopolitan man mixed with the edgy excitement and unpredictability of a bad boy. A man who’d grab me and kiss me senseless rather than give me a brotherly peck on the lips.

  So, I was glad Nav had only done the peck thing. Of course I was. Because if he’d really kissed me, I might have kissed him back. And if we’d done that, we’d have crossed a line I had no intention of crossing.

  Once, a few years ago, I’d fallen for a neighbor. When we broke up, I’d moved out of the building because I couldn’t stand seeing him. I wasn’t about to repeat the mistake and risk ruining the best relationship in my life.

  All of which meant the size of Nav’s package was utterly irrelevant to me, and no way was I going to think about it.

  “Kat, what are you doing?”

  I swung around, boxer briefs in my hands, to see their owner, still clad in those skimpy shorts. Fighting back a flush, I said, “Folding your laundry.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.” He tilted his head, studying me. “You’re blushing.”

  Damn. I folded his undies and put them in his hamper. Totally casually. And lied. “I was thinking about the wedding. My family.”

  “Ah.” He turned toward his dryer. “They really get to you.” Muscles flexing in his forearms, he heaved the rest of the dry items on top of the ones I’d folded, guaranteeing wrinkles.

  Distracted by his muscles, I tried to remember what he’d said. “Yeah. Isn’t that what family’s for?” I gave him a rueful grin. “In my family, love’s unconditional, but it sure isn’t nonjudgmental. There’s a reason I don’t visit more than every year or so.”

  Home was no longer the family house in Vancouver. It was my apartment in this renovated brownstone off St. Catherine near the heart of vibrant Montreal, where I lived side by side with my best friend.

  “I know exactly what you mean.” He leaned against a washer, all casual male strength and grace, albeit with faded running clothes and sha
ggy hair. Not that I, who hadn’t expected to see anyone this early in the morning, looked much better, though at least my sweats were Lululemon.

  “Got another e-mail from Mum,” he said, “pressuring me to move to New Delhi. Since she and Dad moved back there, they’re getting more and more traditional.”

  “Uh-uh.” I shook my head vigorously. “You’re not allowed to.” We’d repeated this exchange three or four times over the past year, and I knew—almost—that he’d never move. But I also realized that living in Canada was a bone of contention between him and his parents. Nav was continually getting flack for being a disrespectful son.

  His face tightened, and I tensed. Surely he wasn’t considering moving. My apartment, Montreal, my life wouldn’t be the same without him.

  Slowly he shook his head, his glossy black curls catching the light. “No, I won’t move to India. I love my family, but having half a world between us is a good thing.”

  I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Great. How would I survive without you?”

  “You couldn’t,” he teased back. Then his gaze gentled. “Kat, you’ll always survive. You’re a strong woman.”

  “Yeah, that’s me. Tough girl,” I joked. But he was right. I’d survived growing up in my weird family, moving to a new province, working in French, and I’d survived having my heart broken more than a dozen times. But I didn’t want to have to survive being without Nav.

  One of my dryers went off, and I turned to deal with my load of delicates. As I was folding things neatly, my second dryer buzzed.

  Nav opened the door and hauled out a pair of cotton pants and a tee. When he started to toss them on top of my careful pile, I grabbed them out of his hands. “Thanks, but I believe in folding clothes. Unlike some people, I’m not overly fond of wrinkles.”

  One side of his mouth kinked up. “Some people put too much weight on appearance, material goods, all that crap.”

  “Some people like to make a good impression.”