Ten Brides for Ten Hot Guys

by Donna Fasano

  ~*~

  Andrea parked her car and hurried up the steps of Pamela's apartment building. She was late and her heart was racing.

  She pressed the buzzer and waited. She didn't know what this evening had in store. Even though she was hurt and angry with Ian, she had to remember that he'd inadvertently been responsible for her and her father's budding understanding. Ian's enlightening words had been like a huge hammer that chipped away at the wall between her and her father, and she wanted to thank him for making her see how wrong she'd been.

  With that in mind, she'd decided to keep Pamela's check and let Ian's secret remain just that, a secret. That way, Highland Academy would get the extra money for the equipment and Ian and Pamela's business relationship wouldn't be jeopardized.

  Pamela opened the door. "Hi," she said. "I'm glad you could come."

  Andrea handed her the bouquet of spider mums, roses and daisies. "Thank you for inviting me."

  "Everybody's in there," Pamela said, ushering her through the foyer. "I'm going to put these in water." She buried her nose in the beautiful blooms and went off toward the kitchen.

  Ian met Andrea at the living room doorway, and the sight of him filled her with an odd array of emotions. She was angry that she'd had to goad him into making his promised donation. She was afraid that they might spoil the party with another quarrel. Yet, at the same time, her heart was bursting with the happy news about her conversation with her father, and she felt the need to tell Ian. And woven among all these feelings was that same steady rhythm of desire that sang through her every time she was near him.

  "I'm glad you decided to show up," Ian said. "I was about ready to come get you."

  "There was no need for that." Her words were clipped by her nervous tension. "Ian, you don't have to worry. I plan to keep your secret."

  "What secret?" he asked. "What are you talking about?"

  "The—"

  "Miss O'Connor," Denise called from across the room, "look what I won!"

  Denise ran over and handed Andrea a small trophy, a replica of the one Harry received at the first Wilmington Challenge.

  "I took third place in my age division," Denise told her.

  "That's wonderful, Denise." Andrea ran her eyes over the trophy with pride, turning it around in her hands. She looked up at the teenager. "I saw the painting you did for your grandfather. It's perfect."

  "I'm so proud of that girl." Harry's smile lit up his wrinkled face.

  Andrea smiled a greeting at the old man. "I am, too," she said.

  "The same goes for me." Ian gave his daughter a quick hug.

  "Did Ian offer you a drink?" Pamela asked Andrea when she returned from the kitchen.

  "No, but I'd like one, please." Andrea followed the woman over to the small bar. "Pamela, I want to thank you for the donation you made to the school. It was very generous."

  "It was for a good cause." Then Pamela grinned. "It would have been much more fun to get another raise out of Ian, but—" she shrugged "—that's the way the mop flops."

  As Pamela handed Andrea a glass of white wine, the timer sounded in the kitchen.

  "Oops, the lasagna's ready to come out of the oven. Excuse me just a minute." Pamela disappeared again.

  Andrea turned and saw Ian sitting at the opposite end of the room, staring at her. She avoided him, joining Denise and Harry as the two of them discussed the race.

  "I thought I was going to pass out," Denise said.

  "But you didn't," Harry commented. "You kept right on running until you crossed that finish line."

  Denise shook her head and looked up at Andrea. "That last mile was a killer."

  Andrea chuckled. "It always is."

  Harry nodded knowingly, then shot a question across the room at his son. "How about you, Ian? How do you feel about finishing the Wilmington Challenge?"

  "I feel really good about it."

  "Good enough to take the challenge again next year?" Harry raised his eyebrows.

  Ian shook his head, and Harry laughed.

  "I plan to stick with the running," Ian said. "But only short distances. To keep myself fit." Ian moved to the bar and set down his empty glass, then looked directly at Andrea. "I'm not cut out for those long runs, but I'd hate for my body to regress to the pitiful shape it was in before Andrea found me."

  Andrea's cheeks flamed.

  "I have something for you," Denise said to Andrea, presenting her with a small painting.

  Andrea remembered the mauve-and-pink flowers depicted on the canvas as the painting she'd admired in Denise's studio.

  "I thought you were going to sell it," Andrea said.

  "I changed my mind." Denise handed her the framed painting. "I want you to have it. You've done so much for me—training me for the run, talking to Dad about the school."

  At the mention of the boarding school, Andrea looked at Denise questioningly.

  "Dad and I have compromised." Denise smiled. "We won't make a decision until we've seen the school together. We're going to Connecticut next weekend."

  "I'm glad," Andrea said.

  "Are you disappointed that I didn't pack her bags and ship her off, handcuffed?" Ian's dark eyes bored into her.

  Again Andrea felt heat color her face. Why is he taunting me? she wondered.

  "Dinner's ready."

  The four of them followed Pamela's summons into the dining area. A chair had been removed from one end of the table to allow Harry easier access. Pamela sat at the other end, Denise beside her father, which left Andrea to sit facing Ian.

  The gooey lasagna was delicious and the aroma of the garlic bread made Andrea's mouth water.

  But her appetite didn't last long as Ian took full advantage of the first lull in the conversation. He put down his glass of water with meticulous care and pierced Andrea with his gaze.

  "So," he said, his voice low and mischievous. "What are you going to do with all that money?"

  Andrea stopped chewing and lowered her eyes. Why had he brought up the subject? She'd thought he would have avoided it like the plague. He must be thoroughly disgusted with her and the fact that she'd made him feel guilty enough to write that check. Well, he couldn't make her feel bad about taking his money. It was money that he'd promised, money the school needed. She deserved that money.

  She eyed him boldly. "I'm going to buy gym equipment with it. Lots of gym equipment."

  "Were you surprised when you opened the envelope?" Denise asked. "Dad's been excited for weeks about his great surprise. He knew you needed more money than what he could afford to give, so he egged Pamela into making that little bet." She giggled. "He knew he could win all along."

  Andrea stopped chewing and looked at Denise, then her gaze swung back to Ian. His eyebrows rose in a mocking gesture, and his slight nod made the color slowly drain from her face. She swallowed the lump of cheese that was stuck in her throat.

  Oh, my God! The words echoed in her head so loudly she was afraid she'd uttered them aloud. What had she done?

  Ian had never meant to get out of paying the money. She inhaled, letting the thought sink in. Suddenly, the clouds in her brain parted and Ian's comforting words the night of the PTA meeting came floating back to her. He'd told her that things would work out. He'd insinuated then that she would get the money she needed.

  She'd thought that he was only consoling her. But he'd been planning all along to get the additional money needed for the equipment. He'd gotten Pamela to make a donation so Andrea would have double the amount of money.

  "I was very surprised," she admitted to Denise. She glanced at Ian and said softly, "I wish you would have told me, Ian."

  "But it was a surprise," Denise explained simply. "Only Dad and I knew."

  Andrea gave Denise a weak smile. "And it was a nice surprise."

  She lowered her eyes to her plate again and picked up her fork to toy with her food. She stuck a small crust of bread into her mouth, but it didn't fill the emptiness that consumed her as she reali
zed the horrible mistake she'd made. Over and over again she'd misconstrued Ian's motives. Over and over again she'd misjudged him. How could she ever find the words to apologize?

  "How nice was my little surprise?"

  Ian's taunting question made her choke on the bite of bread she'd just swallowed. She grabbed for her goblet of water and gulped.

  "Now don't ride her, Ian," Harry chided his son. "You had me fooled, too. I thought you'd finagled your way out of paying up even after all the expert training Andrea gave you."

  "She certainly did give me expert training, Dad," Ian said.

  "Yes," Pamela agreed. "And Andrea should be awarded a medal of honor just for taking you on."

  "That's true," Ian responded, but the look in his eyes told Andrea that he thought she should be choking on a plateful of crow feathers rather than the delicious meal Pamela had prepared. Andrea knew from the glint in his eyes that he was playing with her, and she deserved everything he dished out.

  When they'd finished eating, the Powers family retired to the living room while Pamela and Andrea cleared the table.

  Andrea stood at the sink, rinsing dishes and handing them to Pamela, who stacked them in the dishwasher.

  "I don't know what's eating Ian," Pamela commented. "He's positively brooding."

  Andrea took a deep breath. "It's me."

  "I thought so." Pamela smiled at her. "You've kept him in turmoil since he first met you."

  "What?"

  Pamela's light laughter tinkled like a wind chime. "I knew from the moment I saw you that you'd give Ian a run for his money." She looked up at Andrea. "Pardon the pun."

  Rinsing the remaining dishes in silence, Andrea thought of all the times Ian had tried to get close to her only to have her push him away. She'd let the doubt that was crouched in the corner of her mind keep her from believing in him. And his mocking behavior toward her this evening told her that nothing she could say or do would make things right again.

  But she had to at least let him know what he'd done for her and her father. She had to tell him of the wonderful turn of events that he'd put into motion.

  "I need to speak with Ian," she told Pamela, drying her hands on a tea towel.

  She went into the living room and saw only Harry and Denise. "Where's Ian?"

  "Out there." Harry pointed toward the French doors that led to the balcony.

  Andrea followed his direction, skirting the table where they'd just eaten, and slid open the glass door.

  Ian stood at the railing and didn't even turn when she stepped outside and slid the door closed.

  She stood there a moment, looking at his back, as she wondered how to begin.

  "Ian," she said.

  He turned and glanced at her before returning his gaze to the horizon.

  "Ian, I'd like to talk with you." She went to stand beside him, grasping the wrought-iron barrier with both hands.

  "So, talk," he said.

  "Ian—" she inhaled deeply "—I've been wrong."

  He turned his head toward her, one eyebrow lifted. "Oh?" The word was filled with sarcasm.

  "About my father."

  "Oh." His facial muscles relaxed.

  "I wanted you to know that I called him."

  Ian nodded. "I'm glad," he said, turning his stony expression toward the city skyline.

  "We talked for over an hour." She brushed her hair behind her ear. "That's why I was late." Her mouth was dry as she tried to find the words to express how she felt. "Ian, we talked. Really talked. For the first time in years."

  "That's nice, Andrea. I'm happy for you." Ian stood, unmoving, like a cold marble statue.

  Andrea placed her hand on his forearm. "I have you to thank for that," she said.

  "You're welcome, Andrea."

  She couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw the hard look in his eyes soften a little.

  "It was good to hear my father's voice," she told him. "We didn't do much to break down the wall between us, but we've started and that's what counts. He's coming to visit."

  She smiled at Ian and was rewarded when he smiled back.

  Brushing at her hair again, she said, "You were right about my father. And some other things, too."

  He turned his body toward her, his hip resting on the railing.

  She lifted her hand and smoothed it down along the lapel of his jacket. "You were right about my being frightened of my emotions. I was." She let her gaze drop. "I am."

  Ian stood stock still, and she let her hand drop to her side.

  "You were right about what was between us," she said, tilting her head. "It was there, strong, alive. I felt it from the very beginning." She hesitated. "But I've messed everything up..."

  Ian's chest expanded as he took a deep breath. "I was so hurt today hearing what you thought of me, how low you thought I'd stoop."

  Andrea's eyes misted with understanding. "I know, and I'm so sorry. You were also right when you said I let my feeling about my father color—" she hesitated "—the most important thing in my life." She searched his eyes, hoping he understood all that she was feeling. "Ian, my faith in you was like a big, leaky bucket. Every time I filled it up, it somehow drained empty again."

  "I knew that the holes in that bucket of yours were your memories of your father," he told her. "Every time you compared the two of us, the holes only became bigger." He studied her face. "But, now that you've started talking to your dad, I'm sure you'll be able to plug them up tight."

  "I promise you, I'll work hard at it."

  Ian lowered his gaze. "But you aren't the only one who messed things up." He took hold of her wrist. "I'm guilty, too." Shaking his head, he laughed harshly. "And all because I wanted to surprise you."

  Then he gave her a rueful smile as he tried to explain. "The night of the home-school meeting at Highland, you were so damned disappointed about the board cutting your allowance out of the budget. I wanted to find some way to get you what you needed."

  "I know that now, Ian." A single tear slid down her cheek. It was joined by another as she was once again engulfed by the feeling that she'd wronged him. "And I thought you were trying to avoid your end of our bargain."

  "I should have told you," he said, his taut expression full of regret. "I should have known better than to spring a surprise on someone who jumps into everything headfirst."

  "I'm sorry about that, too."

  "Don't be," he told her, tipping up her chin with his fingers and wiping away a tear with the pad of his thumb. "That's one of the things that makes you so irresistible."

  She rested her hand on his shoulder and gazed up at him sadly. "If only things had turned out differently."

  "Why do you say that?" he asked, moving close and pulling her into his arms.

  She lifted her questioning eyes to his.

  "We've already made all the mistakes," he said. "Let's just hope we've learned from them." Then he grinned. "You can bet I'll never throw you a surprise party."

  She was suddenly filled with a radiant happiness when she realized just what he was saying. Her lips tipped up in a tentative smile and after an apprehensive pause, she slipped her arms around his neck. "You can bet I'll never compare you to anyone else. Ever," she promised. Then she lifted her glinting eyes to his and said, "And I'll never prod you when you're down."

  "Prod? You kicked me, woman," he growled teasingly. "I still have the bruises to show for it."

  She laughed softly and pressed her body against him, her heart swelling with happiness at knowing they were getting a second chance. "I should have come barefoot tonight as penance."

  It was his turn to laugh, and he kissed the tracks of her tears dry. "I wish you had," he whispered. "Then I would have given you my gift earlier."

  "A gift?" Andrea loved presents and couldn't hide her pleasure. "I love you," she whispered, planting a kiss on his firm chin.

  "I know it's a surprise, but don't beat me over the head with it." He picked up the box off the glass-topped patio table and
handed it to her. "After our talk this afternoon, I thought there was no way you'd accept it."

  "Oh, Ian." She smiled, ripping open the bright wrapping paper. "It's a pair of running shoes, isn't it?"

  "A replacement," he said.

  She lifted the lid off the box and pulled out the white running shoes, a pair identical to the ones he'd taken from her earlier.

  "They're perfect! Thank you, Ian."

  A flash of green caught her eye and she looked more closely at the shoes. Tied in the middle of one of the bows, a square-cut emerald flanked by two triangular-shaped diamonds glittered at her.

  "Ian," she breathed, "it's beautiful."

  "I thought I knew how you felt about us even though you were saying the exact opposite. It was a big risk," he said, grinning. "But taking risks is what any businessman worth his salt does."

  Untying the shoelaces, he slipped the ring on her finger and asked, "So how about it? Will you run through life with me?"

  Tears filled her eyes once more. But these were enchanted tears of rapture as an unspeakable joy flowed through her. She reached up on tiptoe to kiss his lips and then she smiled. "I'd love to." Her smile widened as she added, "We'll stick to short distances, so you can keep up."

  He laughed and kissed her, a fierce, fevered kiss that lasted until they were both breathless. "Andrea, my love," he said, "with you beside me, I could run to the ends of the earth."

  About the author

  USA Today Bestselling Author Donna Fasano has written 35 romance and women’s fiction novels. Her books have sold 4 million copies worldwide and have been translated into nearly 2 dozen languages.

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