Again, she refused to wait out the applause. “Bachelor Number Three?. . .W-women?”
Plenty of them, she was thinking. Darin would have to reply, if he was in any way honest, that he loved being with more than one woman at a time. That he was a lousy, two-timing schemer.
I’m waiting, Darin! Let’s hear it!
“What I like most about women,” Darin answered from behind the screen, “is their innate curiosity and their sense of adventure. I love their sensitivity, their creativity, and their unusual capacity for forgiveness.”
Forgiveness? Was he kidding?
The response from the audience to Darin’s reply was deafening. Angie was back at the curtain, eyes like saucers, mouth hanging slightly open in sort of a stupefied expression. Angie had apparently viewed the stallion full-on, and she was impressed.
Barbie sent silent thoughts through the airwaves to Angie. Okay, already, I know he’s a stud, and so does the blonde babe who snuggled up to him in the moonlight. A little perspective here would be good, and some more sympathy.
“We have a final round of questions now,” the host announced in a very good rendition of a practiced sales “closer.” However, Barbie couldn’t concentrate on that final question. She could feel Darin’s body heat right through that flimsy screen, and was sure he was doing something magical to her, because—to use Angie’s phrase—she felt her pan ties knotting. Moreover, she felt a wave of sultriness down there, as if Darin had liquified something.
This was totally unacceptable. Darin Russell was a guy to be wary of. A loser, Barbie reminded herself. A big loser. A cheater.
“Bachelor Number One,” she began hesitantly, twisting the cards, squeezing her knees together so hard that they hurt. As soon as this stupid show was over, she was out of there. They could give the winner his money back. The game was rigged. No way was she going to wait around for Darin to walk from behind that screen. She’d not come face-to-face with him under any circumstances. She was too weak. He had, for all his lies and useless drivel about shopping and eternity, turned out to be bad news.
“Bachelor Number One,” Barbie began anew, ditching the cards and her well-thought-out questions, winging it now. “What do you think of men who cheat on their girlfriends, wives, or significant others?”
There came a hush from the audience, then several people clapped. Women, Barbie imagined. They wanted to know the answer to the question.
Bachelor Number One took a minute to think this over, possibly thrown for a loop. Would he be assessing his own loyalties?
“I think cheating is a crime,” he replied, though not as cockily as before. “If people are truly committed, their hearts should be closed to others. Period.”
Much response rose from the audience. The women liked this. The men with the women had to appear as though they liked this reply as well. So far, so good, Barbie concluded. Bachelor Number One had rallied splendidly, though the question was really aimed at that third chair, and the louse sitting in it.
“Bachelor Number Two, same question if you please. What do you think of men who cheat?”
When Barbie stole a glance her way, Angie cringed. She might even have gone pale around the lips.
Bachelor Number Two also took a minute to reply. “I’ll go along with Bachelor Number One,” he said finally, somewhat uncreatively, in Barbie’s opinion. “Commitment is just what it sounds like. Cheating should, for both parties in a relationship, be totally unacceptable.”
Applause from the audience, though not as enthusiastic as previously. Angie had her eyes closed and her hands together in prayer. Barbie’s own dander was rising. Neither of the men had answered her question, really. The question had been about what they thought of men who cheated. Men. Who cheated. Words were needed, like slimeballs, nitwits. Words like Lord strike me down if I ever cheat on a woman I am involved with.
“Bachelor Number Three,” Barbie said, staring at the screen. “Would you please tell me what you think of men who cheat?”
Darin answered immediately. “Tarred and feathered,” he said. “Beheaded. Strung up by their fingers or feet.”
Gasps from the audience, then some scattered applause.
“Unless, of course,” Darin continued, “the woman only assumes the guy was cheating. In any case, I would hope a woman might first be sure the guy actually was cheating before any lynching begins. I’d hope she might give him a chance to explain his position on the matter before jumping to conclusions. She might give him a chance to exonerate himself if she suspects he was dishonest. Especially”—he emphasized this—“if the woman, the accuser, knows she is prone to moments of heightened imagination.”
A moan came from Angie backstage. The host’s impeccable smile faltered. Nevertheless, the audience clapped again, slowly at first, then picking up steam. The men, Barbie thought. The men were applauding Darin’s reply. And then, strangely enough, the women joined in, having taken the time to think this answer over, Barbie guessed. The sound in the auditorium grew and grew. It continued for a very long time.
Finally, the show’s host approached Barbie, his smile back in place. He urged the clapping to cease, which took some doing, and gestured for Barbie to stand. When she had, he said very clearly, “Those were some interesting and thought-provoking questions, Miss Bradley. Having heard the answers, have you made your choice? Who is it going to be? Which of these outstanding men is going to be the lucky winner of a date with you? Bachelor Number One?”
The audience showed their appreciation for Bachelor Number One’s replies, and no doubt his appearance.
“Bachelor Number Two?”
Audience response was somewhat lighter, though still fairly robust.
“Or will Bachelor Number Three be the lucky winner to night?”
The audience went wild. The room thundered. Several people got to their feet to show their enthusiasm for Bachelor Number Three. Heads poked up above the makeshift footlights.
Barbie’s heart did a somersault. Darin had mesmerized them all, men and women alike. They wanted her to choose Bachelor Number Three, but she couldn’t. She could not go there. Not again. Not ever. No way. No matter how slick his answers had been. No matter how much he had paid to be there. No matter how much she wanted to take his answers to heart. She’d been sick for a month over him. A full month. She hadn’t slept and had barely eaten. She’d been snappish and difficult. No one deserved this kind of grief.
“Again, Miss Bradley,” the host recapped, trying to urge her on. “Bachelor Number One, Bachelor Number Two, or Bachelor Number Three? Who is to plan that date?”
Barbie’s heart thundered louder than the applause. She wanted to choose Darin. Who wouldn’t want to? Only Darin had answered the questions correctly. Only he made her visualize a parallel universe where picket fences and castles went hand in hand. She’d have given anything for the blonde incident never to have happened. But it had.
In addition, the guy had a seat-ripping monster dog that was bigger than her apartment. She didn’t dislike dogs, but for the sake of adding fuel to an already-kindled fire, she’d try to believe she disliked them. At least his. Because every bit of negativity helped.
“I’ve made my choice,” she said over the ongoing uproar, swallowing with difficulty, trying to be heard. “Though it was a very difficult decision, and I’m sure all the gentlemen are superb, I’ve decided on Bachelor Number. . .”
Chapter Twenty-seven
“One.”
The riotous uproar faded, trickled to a near stop, then started up again as the host raised his hands in praise of her decision. Clearly they weren’t going to judge her negatively, but she was going to faint. The signs were clear: ringing in her ears, lightheadedness, the room spinning madly beneath the lights.
The host had hold of her arm and was gesturing for her to look toward the screen. Barbie couldn’t make herself. What if the other two guys appeared? The unpicked? What if Darin contested her choice?
“Barbie Bradley, allo
w me to introduce you to Bachelor Number One. John James.”
Amid the lingering applause, a man walked around the screen toward her, waving at the audience, smiling. Bachelor Number One was handsome, tall, and built. He had light-brown, curly hair, nicely-proportioned features, lawyerly wire-rimmed glasses, and he wore a dressy dark suit with matching shirt and tie. A lawyer for sure. Stockbroker would have been Barbie’s second guess; he had indoor-profession pale skin.
He was, of course, everything she had thought she wanted in a male, everything she had hoped for from an early age. Looks. Security. Class. Apparently, money. Angie had always teased her about her longing for peace and normalcy, since Angie’s own dream included a more take-charge type of guy. Topping Angie’s list would have been someone in a dangerous job like the FBI. An animal trainer, maybe, specializing in tigers and bears.
Bachelor Number One took Barbie’s hand in his and smiled warmly. His hands were soft, on the cool side, and very un-Home-Depot-ish. She enjoyed his touch, but also knew she should wait for the room to stop spinning before speaking. It didn’t. She waited for a zing. None came.
Trying to hold it together, and with her fingers interlacing those of her chosen bachelor, Barbie faced the crowd.
“Now, let me tell you what’s in store,” the host announced. “First, a romantic dinner at Chez Français. After that, a shopping spree at Nordstrom. Then we have a surprise. We have you booked on that cruise! Five nights aboard the Stardust! Plenty of spending cash. Tons of romance on the high seas! No phones, no distractions! Come on, folks. Give it up for our happy couple!”
The audience again went ballistic, only now it all seemed like white noise to Barbie. Static. Incomprehensible sound. She was beginning to fade. There were ringing sounds in her ears. Her stomach turned over. In front of God and Miami’s finest, on this very stage, she was going to pass out.
Her last thought was that she should have worn pants.
Barbie drifted, eyes closed, taking refuge in the sudden darkness. Faces with smiles dissolved. White noise dissipated. Then there was nothing.
Well, almost nothing. Barbie had a sense of cooler air on her face, and of people waiting for her to do something to let them know she was okay. Sighing, feeling depressed, she opened her eyes. A face came into focus. An unfamiliar face. A cry of alarm caught in Barbie’s throat. Events came rushing back. When the clapping started back up, she supposed she might puke. Instead, she stared wide-eyed at the unfamiliar male looking down at her—the male that was fanning her with cue cards.
“Where am I?” she asked.
“The floor,” the guy said, offering his hand.
Both Bachelor Number One and the game-show host quickly helped Barbie to her feet. God help her, she was still on that stage, beneath the lights. No darkness was here to be had. No wind on her face to dry the sweat on her forehead.
The audience showed their appreciation of her recovery with whoops and shouts. Angie hopped up and down anxiously in the wings, held back by the show’s producer.
Looking out over the lights, Barbie smoothed her skirt with her free hand, wondering how, with a skirt this snug, she had managed to faint gracefully. Had she sagged or plunked? Only when her legs regained some feeling did she venture a glance past her date to see who else waited by the white screen.
Clang!
Darin had closed in but was unable to reach her. Bachelor Number Two, a tall, lithe Brit with spiky auburn hair, held on to Darin’s arm. Both he and Darin looked tense. The expression on Darin’s face could have done it for Barbie right then and there. Concern. Hurt. And something else? Possessiveness, maybe?
She clenched her jaw so hard it ached. What was up with that look of his? He wanted a harem? Girls of all hair types?
Damn him. After all this time, he was still dark and majestic in a suit that fit him as if he were in an Armani ad, his facial angles were still chiseled, his long hair lusciously shiny, his green eyes trained on her. The man was eye candy, and she was recovering from a bad sweet tooth.
Thing was, she just couldn’t get over the idea that the connection they had went way beyond the obvious physical attraction, and she had only begun to discover reasons why she’d felt so strongly about him right off the bat. They’d only had one dinner, for Pete’s sake, and not even that, really. Nevertheless, his expression, the way he looked at her. . .it all made her want to rush into his arms.
Remember those secrets of his? The lies? Remember the pain?
With great effort, feeling the intensity of Darin’s gaze even over the lights, Barbie made herself turn. Taking a deep breath, waving her free hand toward the audience, she allowed Bachelor Number One, the man she had chosen in Darin’s place, to lead her off the stage. With one more glance over her shoulder, one more twinge in her nether regions, she witnessed Darin being led in the opposite direction.
“You’re all right?” Bachelor Number One asked, as if he might be afraid she had some secret and communicable disease that made fainting a habit.
“I’m fine,” Barbie said as Angie finally reached her side. “That was pretty embarrassing, huh?”
“You got that right,” Angie said.
“Doesn’t matter, if you’re okay,” Bachelor Number One corrected. “Can I drive you home?”
“To night?” This was said by Angie and Barbie in unison.
“No time like the present to get a jump on things,” Bachelor Number One said.
A jump on things? Barbie and Angie shared a look.
“I can get home by myself,” Angie muttered quickly. “No need to worry about me. You go ahead, Barb. I think I have a hankering to chat up one of those bachelors you rejected.”
Barbie eyed her pal with an expression that had traitor written all over it.
“Good,” Bachelor Number One said. “Because I’d like to hang on to you”—he grinned at Barbie—“in case you decide to hit the floor again.”
He made her little incident sound so charming.
“It was the heat from the lights,” she told him. “I’m better now.”
“In that case, fresh air might do some good. My car is right outside, and it’s a convertible. Do you have everything?”
No, I most certainly do not have everything, Barbie wanted to shout. She’d lost both her wits and the man she’d once wanted desperately to get to know better. Her real choice of dates was a jerk.
“I’ll get your purse,” Angie offered.
“Bring it over later,” Barbie said pointedly, glaring at her pal.
“I’ll bring it over later,” Angie repeated, understanding the request for backup. “On my way home. Shouldn’t take me too long.”
Thanks, Ang. Barbie meant it.
Barbie allowed Bachelor Number One to lead her toward the main entrance to the club, telling herself this was the perfect ending for a night that seemed totally unreal. She didn’t look at the guy beside her, though, because she was still riding out the leftover internal buzz from the shock of seeing Darin. She was trying for the thousandth time to reason out why a guy she hardly knew had so gotten under her skin. A guy with personality issues. Bachelor Number One was a viable alternative, surely. Everything in the right place, concern on his face.
“I’ll get the car,” he told her, propping her against a pillar with a helping hand on her elbow, dangling his keys in the light from the country club’s grand portico entry. “All right to leave you here for a minute?”
“Sure.” Barbie tried to smile as she slumped. But as soon as her bachelor had gone, she acknowledged the lump in her throat and the unusual wetness in her eyes with real surprise.
Who was she kidding? She wasn’t ready for a new guy. Bachelor Number One was nothing more than a feeble attempt at a rebound. This entire game show event had been traumatic. She’d get Angie for this. Payback, big-time. Just now, however, all she wanted was to go home and sulk. Alone.
“Hello, Barbie,” a voice whispered in her ear.
Clang!
Revolving
slowly, drawn to the sexy puff of air on the back of her neck, Barbie gazed disbelievingly at her angelic-faced nemesis. Her heart sputtered. Her lips parted in a silent moan.
“You okay?” Darin asked.
“Fine.”
“It’s good to see you.”
She could not even respond to that.
“Why didn’t you return my calls?” he asked.
“You didn’t live up to my expectations.”
“Oh? I thought we hit it off famously.”
“If you thought so, you might have made an error in your reasoning.”
Her speech was good, she thought, though her treacherous body was wagging all over like a lovesick puppy and already leaning toward him. She drew herself back.
“I agreed to go shopping,” Darin said.
“Men often say things they don’t mean in order to get women into bed.”
She was, Barbie decided, being very adult about this, now that she was facing him. The anger she’d built up over the past month had flattened considerably. Darin’s closeness, though sending ripples of remembered pleasure through her, was to be put into perspective.
First, there had been Liar Bill. Now Cheating Darin. The knot in her stomach was the size of a doughnut.
No karate chops were attempted, to her credit, although she had dreamed of a good sucker punch or two. She didn’t yell, plead, or whine. She could hardly muster any cynicism at all. Lust just wasn’t reasonable.
“I want to date you,” Darin told her softly, seriously, earnestly, in a voice that caused Barbie’s knees to bobble. “I want you all to myself,” he added.
“That’s very interesting, Darin, since you had your chance and blew it.”
“I tried to explain. You wouldn’t let me.”
“Heavy breathing on the phone doesn’t explain anything. Dog at my door didn’t work either.”
“I couldn’t face you, Barbie, in person.”
“That’s flattering.”
Did Darin’s expression seem more tender than she remembered, as though he really missed her? As though he might also be in pain? Could she honestly dismiss the fact that the zings and the longings were piling up the longer he remained in her breathing space?
Barbie & The Beast Page 19
