Table for Two (33 page)

"No."

Eric lifted the lids, knowing his brother needed a little urging to begin. "Aren't you going to eat it?"

Drake met his brother's gaze, still stunned, but unable to articulate his feelings. "I'm not sure." Since his mother's death he hadn't been greeted with a homemade meal. He even remembered what she'd last prepared for him—saltfish with scrambled eggs because there was no ackee. He stared at the puffy yellow of the omelet as the cheese and green peppers peeked through the soft layers. How would he remember this moment? Why wasn't she here with him to enjoy it?

Eric handed him the fork. "You would be shaming her if you didn't eat it. Not to mention wasting a good meal. At least try it."

"Right." He took the fork and twirled it between his fingers before tucking into the omelet and taking a bite. He pushed a container toward Eric, handing him one of the plastic forks he kept in his drawer.

Eric took a bite, then rested his head back and closed his eyes. "We have to convince her to marry you."

"Hmm." He didn't want to damper the moment by thinking about that.

Eric glanced in the bag for napkins and saw a note. He held it up between two fingers. "I think your answer is here."

"Throw it away." He turned back to his messages.

"At least read it."

"I know what it says." He didn't care that she wouldn't marry him. For now this was enough.

"Can I read it?"

Drake nodded.

He tried to work as Eric read, but instead listened for a sign of his brother's response to the note. He heard him softy swear and tear it up. Drake felt his last hope crumble to his feet.

"I'm glad you didn't read it." He stretched his legs out. "The woman tries so hard not to hurt your feelings that she doesn't get to the point."

"Hmm."

"I mean she goes on about how much she loves you and the reason why she'll marry you, but doesn't—"

Drake leaped out of his seat and grabbed Eric by the lapels of his jacket. "And you tore it up?"

"I thought you didn't want to read it," he challenged.

"I could break your fingers." He returned to his seat and pointed at him. "You'd better not be lying to me about what she wrote."

"I wouldn't do that. Here." He tossed the note on the table. "Read it yourself."

Drake glared at him. "Bastard."

Eric shrugged good-naturedly. "Sorry, I couldn't resist teasing you."

Drake read the letter, then placed it down almost afraid to believe the words she'd written. She'd said she loved him and would marry him. At last she would belong to him.

* * *

She should have said yes in person, Cassie thought, staring at the phone as if she could make it ring. Why hadn't he called yet? Had he changed his mind now that he had what he wanted? Maybe the day had given him a chance to think as well—to change his mind. She had not been able to sleep last night, her mind running with all the reasons to say no to his proposal. A failed first marriage, her need for space, her convictions, Drake's feelings about love. Yes, she was certain to say no, but somehow this morning as she had prepared breakfast she thought of Drake munching on one of his disgusting breakfast bars. Before she knew it, she had his breakfast in hand and was heading to his main office.

She could have waited to see him, but a part of her was still unsure that he knew what he was doing. Now that he had achieved his goal, would the prize lose its potency? She couldn't sit and wait anymore. She went into the kitchen, grabbed a bag of oatmeal cookies, and indulged. Of course the phone rang when her mouth was full. She raced to it and picked it up on the second ring.

"Hmph?"

"Cassandra, I hope you're not answering the phone with your mouth full."

Cassie fell into the couch like a lead doll and tugged on her shirt like an awkward teenager. She swallowed and said, "Hello, Mother. How are you?"

"Just wonderful. I went to the spa yesterday and treated myself to a delightful mud bath. So how are you doing? Are you seeing anyone?"

Just what she needed, her mother prying into her life and injecting it with her negativity. How could she tell her mother she was planning on marrying a man she'd known only a few months? That she loved him but that he might be a big mistake? Thankfully, someone knocked on the door, giving her the needed reprieve. "Just a moment, I have to get the door." She put down the receiver, prayed that it was some sort of emergency—a fire perhaps—and opened the door.

Her big mistake was leaning against the door frame like a sexy rogue, dressed in a black turtleneck and trousers, his amber eyes lazily sensuous and his smile even more so. "Hello, Mrs. Henson," he said.

"I'm on the phone," she replied stupidly.

His smile grew. "Don't let me stop you. I'll be in the kitchen."

Drake piled the containers in the sink. He planned to go look at engagement rings once she got off the phone. He had been able to squeeze in an appointment for them that afternoon. Breakfast in the morning and ring shopping in the afternoon. His patience had paid off. It was a good day. He tried not to listen to Cassie's conversation, but found himself eavesdropping anyway. He wanted to make sure it wasn't someone bothering her.

Just when he was about to turn on the tap, he heard Cassie say in a low voice, "No, I'm not seeing anyone special, Mom. Of course I'd tell you. Adriana said what? Uh-huh. Yes, well, he's not important. He's just a close friend. Uh-huh. No, he's not like Timothy." A heavy sigh. "I know you liked him, too bad you didn't marry him. No, I'm not trying to be facety. Uh-huh. That's right. No one. Talk to you later. Good-bye." She hung up.

Drake felt ice spread through his stomach, then shatter as if someone had kicked him. Had he misunderstood her? Had he misread how she felt about him? He took out the note he had carefully folded and tucked in his pocket. He reread the words he had begun to memorize. She had said she loved him, and for a moment he had let that mean something even though he knew she was just being romantic. But her words had been a lie. He crumbled the note in his fist.

"Whew. I'm glad that's over," Cassie said with evident relief as she entered the kitchen. She halted when she saw him. She'd never seen such a look of anger floating in his eyes before. "What's wrong?"

He gestured to the phone. "That was your mother, right?"

"Yes," she said slowly.

"Why did you tell her you weren't seeing anyone important?"

She dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand. "It's just a ruse. If she knew you and I were close, she'd start asking questions and then want to meet you."

"Would that be so bad?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"It would be dreadful. Trust me on this one." Cassie knew her mother would spend the entire time comparing him to Timothy or ask him what he saw in her daughter.

Drake shook his head as if finally solving a riddle that should have been obvious. "You really had me fooled." He laughed without humor. "I actually believed that your insecurities about weight was what kept us apart, what kept me from meeting your family, having you introduce me to your friends, or kept me at a distance in public. But now I know the truth." His intense eyes held her still. "You're ashamed of me."

Cassie glanced skyward. "Don't be ridiculous."

His eyes flashed but his voice remained level. "You really expect me to believe that you didn't want to introduce me to your family and friends because
I'll
be embarrassed to be with you?" His accent thickened his words. "I used to be that stupid, but now I know it's the other way round. You're scared people will ask about my background or that I'll do something to make you ashamed. I'm good for the back room, but not the front. I don't have Timothy's elegance and polish."

"That's not true. I said I would marry you, didn't I?"

"Through a note. Heaven forbid you would tell me in person where someone else might hear."

She walked toward him, her eyes pleading. "You don't understand."

He stepped back. "I'm tired of going through hoops for you."

"I don't expect you to go through hoops for me."

He walked to the door. "This isn't working."

"I never expected it to," she muttered to his back.

He whirled around, pinning her with his eyes. "Yes, that was the problem from the start. No matter what I did, I was never good enough for you. You never expected me to be around for long and that's why you didn't want to marry me." He stormed to the door.

She grabbed a rolling pin and followed. "You're not leaving until I get a chance to explain."

He opened the door. "I am tired of your explanations."

"You're not leaving."

He lifted an eyebrow in challenge. "How are you going to stop me?"

She slammed the door shut and held up the pin.

He sent her a cool, dark glance. "What are you planning to do, Cassie? Roll me into submission?"

"I'm planning to make you listen," she hissed. "And I don't care how. I won't have you leave thinking that—"

He opened the door again; she closed it. He took a deep breath, fighting a losing battle with his patience. "I'm not in the mood for games and you know I can't hurt you. Let me pass."

"I spent all morning preparing that breakfast for you because I wanted you to know what you meant to me." She threw up her hands. "Didn't it mean anything to you?"

His cold glare left her face and focused on an area above her head. His reply was a whisper. "It meant everything."

"Then is it just me or don't we have something worth fighting for?"

"What exactly do we have? I can't even hold your hand in public and I am continually introduced as your friend even when we're supposedly engaged."

"Let me explain. I—"

He held up his hands. "I don't want an explanation. All you give me are words. You have an explanation for everything."

"If you don't want an explanation, what do you want?"

"I want you to call your mother and tell her that you want her to meet your fiancé."

Cassie shook her head. "That's asking too much. You see—"

"Yes, I do see. I tried to prove myself at the reunion. I tried to show you that I could be cordial and civil when needed. That I wouldn't humiliate you in social situations, but that wasn't enough, was it? I'll never be good enough for you. You tried to warn me, but I was too stupid to listen. So now I'm listening. You wanted to get rid of me from day one. Congratulations, you've succeeded." He bit his lip as if stopping himself from saying more, then walked out the door.

Mr. Gianolo peeked his head out as Drake headed for the elevators. "So when's the wedding?" he asked.

"There isn't going to be one," Drake replied and headed for the stairs.

Chapter 14

He was back where he had started. In Eugene's Bar with a half-empty mug of beer, the background buzz of voices and the enthusiastic shouts of a sports announcer on TV. He inhaled his cigarette, feeling the smoke burn his lungs.

"You can't keep this up," Eric said. "Since your breakup I haven't seen you without smoke coming out of your mouth."

Drake slowly exhaled, lifting his beer. "What's your point?"

"You need to talk to her. Okay, you've ignored her calls and notes for over two weeks; she's been suitably punished, now mend things."

"I have another date with Brenda tomorrow night."

"Brenda isn't the marrying type."

He tapped his cigarette against the ashtray. "That's fine because I'm not interested in marriage."

* * *

Drake's eyes trailed over the informal elegance of the restaurant. The evening had been pleasant as usual, but for some reason he just wanted it to end. He shouldn't have come... the ghost of Cassie seemed to float around everywhere.

"This place is everything you said," Brenda gushed.

"Hmm."

"The food was fabulous."

"Hmm."

"And the atmosphere—"

"You don't have to go on. This isn't my restaurant."

She smiled and touched his hand. "I know. I'm just so happy that we've had the chance to become reacquainted. I'm sorry about your impending divorce."

Drake inwardly winced at the lie. For some reason he hadn't been able to admit the truth.

Her finger made a slow circle on the back of his hand. "You know I have a place in San Diego where you could relax for a while."

"I—"

She raised the finger to his lips. "Don't say no yet. Just think about it." She glanced up briefly at something, then leaned forward and kissed him—softly but effectively. She wiped her lipstick from his lower lip and stood. "I'm just going to the ladies' room."

Drake paid the bill, then glanced around the restaurant. His eyes stopped on a large crowd listening enraptured to a woman dressed in a cream sweater and red scarf—Cassie. His heart began to race and his fingers itched for the feel of a cigarette. He hadn't brought any with him since Brenda couldn't stand smoking. He turned away, but his eyes involuntarily slid back to her.

She would be here, he thought, mentally kicking himself. This was the same place she had taken his class. The place where he'd flirted with her like a schoolboy with a crush. His eyes fell on one guy who mirrored what his expression had once been. He tapped his fingers against the table trying to forget the feel of her scarf or the warmth of her skin. He had been a fool to think he could claim her when he had been one of many. He scowled and turned away.