Ten Brides for Ten Hot Guys

by Donna Fasano

"Why would he want to send me away?" Denise's words sounded young and frightened.

  "Send you away?"

  Denise jostled her books and pulled out a pamphlet from among them and handed it to Andrea.

  On the front cover was the name of a prominent cultural-arts boarding school located in Connecticut. Andrea's eyes narrowed with perplexity, and she turned the booklet over in her hand, not really reading it.

  "I don't understand," she said, looking up at Denise. "Your dad wants you to live here?" She indicated the picture of the prestigious school. "To go to school here?"

  Denise nodded slowly, her features grave.

  "Okay," Andrea said, rubbing her fingers back and forth across her forehead. "Let's just take a minute and assess the situation." She opened the information pamphlet and scanned its contents.

  "It looks like a good school, Denise." She read further. "A very good school."

  "I know," Denise said. "Dad read it to me, and I read it, too." She heaved a sigh. "I'm just not sure I want to live so far away."

  "I can understand that." Andrea glanced at Denise. "What did your father say when you told him that?"

  "I didn't. I couldn't! He was so excited about it, I couldn't tell him that it was a lousy idea." She shook her head. "I'm not even sure it is a lousy idea."

  Andrea lifted her eyebrows questioningly.

  "I mean," Denise continued, "if he wants me to go..."

  "But what you want is important, too," Andrea pointed out.

  Denise's posture seemed to deflate. "This had to happen just when Dad was spending more time at home." She lifted her eyes to Andrea's. "Is it dumb of me to want to make him happy? Make him proud of me?"

  "Of course, it isn't," Andrea said. "And from what this information says, you could get some wonderful art instruction."

  "Well," Denise said, shrugging one shoulder, "my painting's only a hobby, anyway."

  "Denise, you know it means more to you than that." Andrea's expression was gently chiding.

  "But not more than being with Dad and Pops!" Denise blurted.

  Andrea rested her elbow on her desk and planted her chin on her fist.

  "Well, what would you like to do?" she asked. "And how can I help?"

  Denise's face brightened perceptively. "Would you talk to Dad? See how set he is on my going away to school?"

  Andrea's heart dipped a little. She knew that this subject would more than likely cause an argument between herself and Ian. But she stared at Denise and nodded anyway.

  "Sure, I'll talk to him."

  ~*~

  Andrea stroked powdered blush lightly on her cheeks with a small feathery brush, then looked into the mirror to study her reflection. A touch of lipstick and she'd be ready for her dinner date with Ian.

  She'd teetered back and forth between excitement and apprehension so many times when thinking of tonight that her stomach was twisted in jittery knots.

  The kisses they'd shared on the athletic field the night of the school meeting had provoked many a daydream. And, with her conscious mind unable to control them, her night dreams had been wildly abandoned, her and Ian's caresses becoming more and more intimate each time she closed her eyes in slumber.

  The excitement over seeing him again made her giddy.

  Leaning into the mirror, she smoothed rich color on her lips. She brushed her blond hair until it fell around her face in a shining cap. She set the brush on the counter and seeing the tiny frown between her eyes, she turned away from her image.

  Why would Ian want to send Denise to school in Connecticut? Why did he want his daughter to live apart from him for ten months of the year?

  She inhaled deeply, trying to calm her twittering insides.

  Had she been wrong in thinking that he'd been enjoying his new relationship with Denise? She'd been sure he'd worked hard to attain the closeness they now shared. Why this sudden suggestion that Denise go to boarding school? she wondered.

  Slipping her feet into a pair of azure stilettoes, Andrea pressed her hands against her midriff and took another deep breath.

  How would he react to her probing the issue? That was the question that had caused her such turmoil. Her desire to see him, touch him, had wobbled on a rickety seesaw with the dread of their impending argument about his sending Denise away.

  She tossed a deep blue scarf over one shoulder. The gossamer fabric floated down her back, and she fastened it at the belt of her pale yellow silk dress.

  She'd thought that maybe she'd wait until another time to discuss the situation with him, hoping to spend this one evening without disagreements. But she knew she couldn't put it off. She'd promised Denise.

  Besides, she knew what Denise was feeling. Andrea had spent most of her teenage years in a constant state of confusion because other people took it upon themselves to make decisions that concerned her and her life. Andrea's father was more guilty of this than anyone.

  She remembered one particular occasion when she was just about Denise's age. Her father had been home for several weeks because he'd had the flu. When he'd found out that she'd been staying after school to attend Future Teachers of America meetings, he'd had a fit.

  He'd told her there was no way he was going to let a child of his devote herself to one of the lowest-paying fields in the job market. He'd forced her to drop her membership in FTA, and he'd made her change her classes to a business-oriented curriculum.

  After one year of college, she'd gotten her nerve up to tell him that teaching was what she wanted to do with her life. Again her father had had a fit, refusing to pay for her tuition if she persisted in studying education. But that hadn't daunted Andrea. She'd had to take a part-time job and several student loans to get her degree, but what she'd been most pleased about was the fact that she'd started making her own decisions, started being responsible for her own actions.

  Those had been lean, lonely times, but she wouldn't change them for the world. Those experiences molded her into the person she was today. Everyone had to endure some bad moments in order to grow as a person. And this situation with Denise was, to the teenager at least, a very bad moment. If Andrea could smooth some of the roughest spots by talking to Ian, then she would.

  The doorbell rang and Andrea heard Gunther's bark. She picked up her handbag on her way out of the bedroom and went to answer the door.

  Her heart constricted at the sight of Ian. She feasted her eyes on the planes and angles of his handsome face. Her gaze dropped from his dark hair and eyes, not missing that little scar on the side of his chin, to his navy dinner jacket, crisp white shirt and dark tie, then lower still to his camel-colored trousers and oxblood loafers.

  It wasn't until her gaze returned to his that she realized she'd been holding her breath.

  "Hi." That one tiny word, slipping out with a rush of air, expressed every emotion she was feeling— pleasure, hungry passion, trepidation. She longed to throw her arms around him and tell him how much she'd missed him, but her anxiety tied her arms to her sides.

  "May I come in?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with a teasing glint.

  "Of course," she gushed, embarrassed that he perceived her longing.

  She closed the door and turned to find herself wrapped in the warm cloak of his arms.

  "I missed you," he whispered.

  His spicy scent was heady, and she breathed deeply of it, letting the aroma conjure a multitude of intimate images in her head.

  He leaned back and kissed her cheek.

  "Miss me?"

  She gave him a stiff little nod.

  He chuckled.

  "Andrea, what is it?" he asked, brushing his fingers along her jaw.

  She shrugged out of his embrace.

  "Nothing," she said. "I'm just not comfortable...."

  He laughed outright this time and caught hold of her arm, running his hand up to cup her elbow.

  If only he weren't so bent on touching me, she thought. The feel of his hands on her turned her skin into a tingling mass of nerve
s.

  "You're not comfortable with what? This?" He pulled her to him and hugged her tight.

  "Ian." She tried to wiggle away from him.

  "Or this." He kissed her jaw and then her ear.

  "Ian!" she squealed, struggling even more.

  Gunther barked and Ian released his hold on Andrea.

  "It's okay, boy," Andrea soothed the dog. "Go lie down."

  "Andrea," Ian said, his voice soft with concern. "What is it?"

  "It's nothing, really." She brushed her hair away from her face. "I want to talk, but we can do that over dinner." Lifting her eyes to his, she asked, "How was your trip? Did you get everything straightened out?"

  "It was great," he said. "Two of the people who had been hurt are back to work already. The third is still in the hospital, but he's much better."

  "I'm glad," she said, smiling.

  He reached for her again, sucking his breath in between clenched teeth. "I missed you, woman." He lifted her off her feet and twirled her in a tight circle.

  She couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled inside her.

  "I missed you, too," she admitted.

  "I'm glad to hear that." He put her down and held her face between his hands. "Because you're going to be seeing a lot of me."

  Andrea's smile faded and she pulled away from him. She picked up her purse where she'd dropped it onto the chair.

  "We'd better be going," she said, trying not to notice the frown creasing his brow.

  She opened the door and stood waiting for him.

  "What are you in the mood for?" she asked.

  One eyebrow raised provocatively and she was suddenly sorry she'd asked. But then he brightened and shouted, "Pasta!"

  She shook her head and laughed.

  Ian parked on Union Street, one of the busiest in Wilmington, two blocks from Andrea's favorite Italian restaurant. The rays of the setting sun gifted the city skyline with a blazing backdrop of fiery orange.

  When Ian pushed open the door and ushered her inside, she smiled at the restaurant's homey interior and felt some of the tension melt from her shoulders.

  En route to dinner, she'd babbled about how the human body converted food into energy. She realized it was only a vent for her anxiety. The incessant prattle was also something to focus on, something that dimmed her overwhelming urge to touch him.

  When they were seated at a corner table, she watched Ian rest his elbow on the table and cradle his chin in his palm while she extolled the virtues of pasta.

  "Pasta, potatoes, breads. There's no better food for a runner." Her words came in a rush. "People think they're fattening, but..." She stared at Ian's grin. "What is it?" she asked.

  "I really hope there's something on your mind that's causing this intense biology lesson."

  She felt her cheeks flame and was grateful that the dining room was dimly lit. Her eyes lowered, her fingers dropping to her lap to play with the deep red napkin that lay there.

  "Andrea."

  She lifted her eyes just enough to find the hand that had cupped his chin was now extended in a silent invitation.

  And she answered it, sliding her fingertips over his, along the length of his fingers, over his palm and farther, until the fleshy part of her palm covered his wrist. Wrapping her fingers around it, she felt his pulse, warm and reassuring.

  She watched his thumb draw lazy circles around her wrist bone and noticed how his tanned skin contrasted with her own. Her heart beat erratically, and she couldn't bring herself to look at him.

  "Talk to me."

  His voice was a silken appeal, and she lifted her chin to gaze into his dark eyes. She felt a wonderful sense of calm flow through her, as though she could tell him anything and he'd make it all right.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but the waiter chose that moment to take their order.

  Ian ordered an entrée and salad for them both at her nod of approval. He asked for a carafe of red house wine and then turned his full attention back to Andrea.

  He must have noticed her hesitation because he said, "I was only gone for four days. What happened?"

  She gave him a tiny smile, not knowing where to begin.

  "It's about the surprise you brought Denise."

  His face virtually lit up. "Did she tell you about it?" He leaned toward her in his excitement. "Andrea, I talked to the headmaster and toured the school. It's perfect. Denise'll get a good education and the best art instruction on the East Coast."

  She watched his eyes dance, and he clasped her hand in both of his. Her wariness started to grow again.

  "She'll be close enough that I could visit her often," he continued. "The location is perfect—skiing in the winter, horseback riding in the spring." He stared at her, beaming, waiting for a response.

  How could she present Denise's case without snuffing out the flame of delight he'd built around this idea?

  She squeezed his hand. "Ian..."

  "She doesn't want to go?" His shoulders slumped and he frowned.

  "It's not that she doesn't want to go," Andrea quickly assured him. "It's just..." Her voice trailed off again.

  "For God's sake, what? Something's been bothering you all evening, spit it out."

  She took a deep breath and decided to just dive in.

  "When I was Denise's age, my father—"

  "Robert." Ian spoke the name as though it left a bad taste in his mouth.

  "Yes—" Andrea nodded "—Robert. He constantly made decisions for me without asking how I felt about them. By the time I had the guts to take the reins of my life out of his hands—" her eyes filled with deep emotion "—it was too late to bridge the chasm that had separated us. It's something I'll always regret."

  He squeezed her hand. "Andrea, the chasm is never too wide to bridge." When she turned her head away, pointedly ignoring his statement, he sighed and returned to their original topic.

  "So, Denise did tell you she doesn't want to go, and you're saying I shouldn't force her."

  "That's not what I'm saying." She swiveled her head toward him, her eyes pleading with him to understand. "I only want you to talk to her, make sure this is something that she wants."

  Ian shook his head in exasperation. "Why wouldn't she want it? Her education is important. And I want to give her the best I can."

  "But... what's best isn't always... what's most expensive." Her words were spoken haltingly.

  "I don't understand what you're trying to say here." Ian slowly shook his head. "That's a damn good school I want to send her to. And her painting is more important to her than anything."

  "Not as important to her as you are, as Harry is."

  His face screwed up in confusion at her words.

  "Ian, these weeks you've been home have meant so much to Denise," she explained.

  "And they've meant a lot to me, too. But this is the way things are going to be from now on, my working from home, I mean."

  Andrea looked at him doubtfully.

  "Andrea, when you first met me, you pointed out some flaws in my relationship with my daughter." His gaze was sharp, intense and held her spellbound. "And I took immediate action to rectify those shortcomings. I'm letting Pamela do my traveling, I bought an expensive computer and I put a second phone line into the house. I can do everything from home now."

  Andrea sat back, gently pulling her hands from his, and stared at him. She hadn't realized to what lengths he'd gone to improve his relationship with his family. How could she have compared the man sitting before her with the overbearing, uncaring man her father had been? Ian's character was so far removed from her father's that it made her wonder how she'd ever seen a similarity to begin with.

  "Denise's going to school in Connecticut isn't a decision that's been chiseled in stone. It's an option, a choice. One that Denise and I will make together." He smiled at her. "Don't worry, I'll talk to her."

  "I'm sure you will," Andrea said softly. She picked up her fork and stabbed a sliver of red pepper from her salad plate,
then raised her eyes to look at the man who'd just taken possession of her heart.

  Chapter 9

  Andrea watched Ian and Denise stretching together and her heart swelled with happiness. During the weeks that Andrea had spent training Ian, Denise had often joined them, and Andrea had witnessed father and daughter growing closer. It made her happy to see the radiant smile Denise was bestowing on her father at some humorous remark he'd just made.

  Glancing out at the gathering crowd on the Market Street Mall, Andrea could see that the Wilmington Challenge was going to be well attended this year. She saw Harry up on the platform in deep conversation with the race's coordinator.

  Her eyes darted back to Ian as he lifted his foot onto a concrete seat. And when he straightened his leg and bent forward to extend his calf muscle, she didn't fight the warm desire that began to grow inside her. The powerful muscles of his back rippled under the thin fabric of his white singlet. His maroon running shorts covered tight buttocks, and Andrea's gaze traveled appreciatively down the well-defined muscles of his legs.

  These weeks of training had done wonderful things to Ian's body. He'd been trim and fit before, but the running had sculpted the muscles that now flexed under his sun-bronzed skin.

  Ian's eyes found hers and he flashed her a grin that told her he was aware of her admiring scrutiny. Andrea couldn't help the heat that colored her cheeks.

  It never ceased to amaze her how her feelings for Ian had changed since they'd met. That first afternoon at the school, she'd pegged him as an overbearing, domineering brute. She smiled at the memory, thinking she hadn't been too far off the mark. Ian was overbearing and domineering. But as she'd taken the time to get to know the man underneath the dynamic personality, she'd found he was also kind and caring, warm and witty, understanding and slow to anger, a trait that went well with her often misguided snap judgments.

  The weeks they'd spent together made her realize that she liked the man that Ian was. She liked being with him, talking with him, sharing her life with him.

  But she still couldn't shake the cloud of doubt that would sometimes fog her brain with wary questions. Would Ian want to continue their relationship after he'd finished the run today? Or did he think that their dating was just an extension of the business deal they'd made?