by Nancy Warren
He had excellent table manners, her new dining partner, she’d give him that. Also, he kept up an easy flow of conversation as though they’d known each other for years. While she sat there, half dazed, he chatted about current events, the weather, a movie he’d seen that she’d been reading good reviews about.
He moved seamlessly onto books and she was shocked at how similar his tastes were to hers. He spoke like a sensible man and she thought how much she’d enjoy his company if she actually knew him.
“Oh, this beef is fantastic,” he said. “You have to try it.”
“No, really,” but a forkful was suddenly in front of her mouth and it did look good. She leaned forward and, as he slipped the food into her mouth, their gazes connected. Too sexy for his own good. Or hers. But she chewed the beef and agreed that it was delicious.
He nodded approvingly at her. “That’s better. My mother always says soup and salad is a lunch, not a dinner.”
“My mother said it was thoughtless of me to lose weight before my wedding.” When he raised his eyebrows she explained, “They had to take in my wedding gown.”
He leaned back and regarded her, “So, tell me your story.”
She swallowed. She wasn’t the sort of person who joined a stranger for dinner, and she certainly wasn’t a person who told her story to someone she’d never met. “Why don’t you tell me yours?”
He shrugged. “Not much to tell. I’m in town on business, but it’s a Friday night. I called an old friend and made a date for dinner. My friend didn’t show.”
“A little black book kind of friend?”
“Something like that.”
“What kind of business are you in?” Not that she cared, but talking about him kept the conversation clear of revealing anything about her.
“Insurance.”
“Ah.” She’d assumed he had an angle. “I’m fully insured.”
His eyes gleamed with mischief. “That’s excellent news, but I don’t handle individuals. I’m in the corporate end.”
“Oh.” She could do easy small talk as well. “You said you’re from out of town. Where’s home?”
He helped himself to a forkful of her salad without asking. “Seattle.”
She wanted to ask him if he was married, but he wasn’t wearing a ring and it might seem as though she was interested. She wasn’t.
“Your turn. What’s your story?”
“Why would I tell you my story? You’re a complete stranger.”
“That’s exactly why. Haven’t you ever told your deepest secrets to the person sitting beside you on an airplane? Knowing you’ll never see them again and they don’t even know your name?”
“No.” Who swapped secrets at 30,000 feet? Did people do that?
He shook his head. “For a woman getting married in a few weeks it seems to me you haven’t taken many risks.”
“Because I don’t bore some poor person sitting beside me on a plane with my problems?”
“No.” He settled back and looked at her. Really looked at her as though he wanted to see all the way inside her. A shiver of reaction disturbed the surface of her calmness. “In my business you need to understand people. What makes them tick? What are they afraid of? Do they take risks or avoid them? In my professional opinion, you avoid risk. I’m giving you a chance to unbutton a little.” He made a motion under his chin. “One button.”
Clearly he was referring to the fact that her blouse was fastened to the very top. What he didn’t know was that she’d got a slight sunburn on her chest. After that awful dress fitting she’d needed to get out in the fresh air. She’d gone for a run without putting on enough sun screen. If either Ted or her mother saw the burn she’d be lectured about carelessness, premature aging, skin cancer. It was easier to button up.
But everything about Nick from Seattle, from his scrutiny to his confident assumption of Ted’s seat, his meal and his wine, appealed to something deep inside her— an imp of mischief she’d spent most of her life trying to quell.
“Your story,” he prompted.
Oh, and it was tempting. Maybe he was right and she should spill her secrets and fears, get them out of her system. But years of breeding couldn’t be overcome so easily. She said, “I work for a foundation that provides an after-school program for inner city girls. We try to teach them job skills, about birth control, provide mentors and a chance to choose the life they want.” She took a breath.
He looked genuinely interested. “Wow. I’m impressed. I pictured you working part-time in an art gallery or something. Must be rewarding work.”
Nobody ever asked her about her work. She felt as though it was slightly embarrassing to her friends and family. “It is.” She nodded. “Heartbreaking sometimes, but oh, when you can see that a girl gets it. That she’s on the path and she’s willing to do the work? Yeah, then I feel like what I do really matters.”
“Good for you.” He leaned back. “Are you one of the mentors?”
“Yes, but my main job is fundraising. Not glamorous, but important.”
“What else?”
“And I’m getting married. That man I was with is my fiancé.”
“As you keep reminding me,” he said, regarding her with amusement. “That’s not your story, it’s your resume. Who are you, Kate? Who are you when you’re not playing it safe?”
“Who are you?” she challenged him right back. Playing it safe? Who was he to make judgments about a complete stranger?
“Do you really want to know who I am?”
On reflection, she found she did. “Yes.”
“Okay. In no particular order. I’m a man who likes to see justice done. I think we should put all the money that’s being spent on space tourism into fixing the planet we’re on. I love Rocky Road Ice Cream and baseball and hockey but I cannot stand football. I believe in serving your country when called on and that apple pie should be served with ice cream, not cheese.” He swirled the wine in his glass, watching the red liquid. “I am always faithful to the woman I’m with, for however long it lasts. I believe in personal freedom, global warming, the right of every person to clean water and enough to eat. I believe every woman deserves an orgasm. Every time.”
When he got to the orgasm part she felt a quick electric surge in her most secret parts. His gaze challenged her as though he somehow knew that Ted wasn’t quite as committed to that particular agenda item. And that made her irritable. Who was this complete stranger to make insinuations about her sex life?
She said, “It’s like somebody shook up a box filled with ideas and you pulled out a handful at random.”
He laughed. It was a low, sexy sound that made her want to join him. “Stream of consciousness; it’s what happens when you don’t plan what you’re going to say ahead of time. Try it.”
She put down her knife and fork. “You want me to open my mouth and simply start talking?”
“Sure. Why not?”
She sipped her wine.
The women at the table of fun suddenly laughed in unison, like someone had told a funny story and they were uninhibitedly enjoying it. Oh, why the hell shouldn’t she give up some of her rigid politeness for five minutes? What could happen?
She pulled in a deep breath, as though she were about to dive underwater and might need to hold her breath for a long time. “Okay. I’ve never done this before so forgive me if I’m not as slick as you are.”
“Let her rip.”
And so she did. She opened her mouth and started talking. “My life is ruled by politeness. Which is why I am currently sitting across from a man I do not know, letting him eat my boyfriend’s meal. I take good manners seriously and think the world would be a better place if everyone did.” She paused. She wasn’t as good at this stream of consciousness thing as her dinner companion. What more did she want to say?
“I do not like my wedding dress.”
She was shocked at her own admission and felt her eyes widen so she stared across the table. “I do not like my wedding dress
,” she repeated. “It cost a fortune and the designer pretty much demanded I audition before she’d even design the dress. I had no say in the design. It’s not what I wanted and I don’t think it’s particularly flattering.” She didn’t tell him about the gel pads to plump up her boobs. Oddly, she also didn’t tell him about the curse. It was an amusing anecdote to tell Ted, but if she mentioned it to Nick, who didn’t know her, he might think she took it seriously. She was modern, American, she did not believe in curses.
Nick sat listening as though she were fascinating. He was a good listener.
She tapped her fingers on the table, feeling the words start to gather, as though a damn were about to burst. “Today, I signed a prenup. I am going into a marriage with a contract already signed setting out what my rights are in the event of divorce, what my children can expect.” She sucked in a breath finding she’d suddenly run out of air. “And only a few weeks before my wedding, my fiancé dumps me at dinner because he’s called into work. If that’s how he treats me now, what will my life be like in a few years?”
Nick didn’t say a word. He simply watched her. He didn’t appear particularly sympathetic, but she felt she had his full attention. She was so shocked at her own words that she clamped her lips shut, wishing she could call her rash sentences back. The world didn’t stop. The dinner chatter, the discreet scrape of cutlery on china, the hushed progress of waiters across the room, all of it continued. “I shouldn’t have said those things,” she murmured.
“Why not? They’re true.”
“Because I also believe in loyalty.”
A waiter hovered. Her companion glanced at her. “Do you want more wine?”
She shook her head, shocked to find the bottle empty. As was her salad plate. She’d eaten more tonight than she had in days. Strangely, the burning in her stomach had stopped. It was as though this guy who pushed his way into her evening and asked her impertinent questions had taken her mind off her stress.
The waiter offered, “Coffee? Tea?” as he dropped off dessert menus.
“I would like coffee,” Nick said. He glanced up. “Will you join me?”
If he’d tried to ply her with more booze or manipulated her into staying for coffee, she’d have left, but the way he presented her with the option of staying or going made her decide to stay. She needed to explain that her foolish statements about her wedding dress and, even worse, her groom, were the products of pre-wedding jitters.
“Herbal tea,” she said. “Ginger if you have it.” Ginger was supposed to be good for the stomach.
“Ginger lemon?”
“Fine.”
“Dessert?” Nick asked.
“I never eat dessert.”
He made a movement with his mouth that looked like a grin hastily suppressed. What? So she never ate dessert. Did that make her seem repressed or something? Too rigid? Well, too bad.
The waiter disappeared and the man across the table gazed at her once more with his full attention. His eyes were an interesting shade. Gray with green flecks scattered in them. She knew the term was hazel, but the color reminded her of the ocean in winter. “Why don’t you buy another dress?”
She pushed her engagement ring around her finger, then caught herself and stopped. “A wedding dress is not a pair of socks.” She imagined for a moment the shock and fury and criticism if she even tried and shuddered. “I was lucky that the designer even condescended to design my dress. She’s very hard to get.” Then she sighed. “You don’t understand.”
“Okay. Then why don’t you talk to your guy?”
“My guy?” Her dress designer was a woman.
“Your fiancé. Maybe you should tell him how you feel.”
She rolled her ring all the way around her finger. The large diamond bumped her middle finger, stretching the space so she could be doing the Star Trek salute. “I never should have told you how I feel. I don’t know what came over me. Really, I’m suffering from pre-wedding nerves.”
There was something honest about his face. And he looked at her as though he was sorry for her. “If I ever get married I hope I’ll be happy about it. At least, three weeks before the ceremony.”
Once more their gazes connected. She felt an attraction to this man that was so strong it made her drop her gaze to her tea. She took a hasty sip. Put the cup down.
She rose suddenly. “I’m sorry, I really need to get going.” And, because she was always polite, she added, “Thank you for an interesting discussion.” And then she strode toward the exit, pretending she didn’t hear him asking her to just wait a second.
“How was everything?” a cheerful voice asked as she strode past the hostess.
“Fine, thank you.”
She was out on the street before she remembered she didn’t have her car and that she’d meant to get the restaurant to call her a cab. Naturally, there wasn’t a cab in the vicinity and she had no intention of going back in that restaurant.
For a moment she glanced up and down the street in Santa Monica as though a cab might magically appear or, even better, Ted, might come back for her. Apologizing for dumping her like that.
When neither miracle occurred, she decided to walk a bit, clear her head, and then find a cab.
She set off, thinking some exercise might help calm the strange mess of emotions. She’d barely gone half a block when a familiar voice called, “Hey, I’m sorry.”
She grit her teeth. Really? He had to follow her? “It’s fine.”
He was beside her now, and she realized he was tall, not as tall as Ted, but over six feet, broad of shoulder and far too attractive. A woman passing on the street eyed him the way a very thirsty person might eye a drinking fountain. Please, she wanted to call out, take him.
“Let me give you a ride home.”
As if. “No, thank you.”
“Can I call you a cab?”
“I can get my own cab, thank you.”
He fell into step beside her. “I love how you say Thank You after every statement even when you’re pissed off.”
“Thank you.”
“Kate!” He grabbed her arm. “Don’t marry him.”
Chapter Three
