Good with His Hands (12 page)

“You think we're dressed okay?” Meg asked.

“You look beautiful.” Her friend looked like a curvy, gothic take on a stained-glass window, but Dani was afraid that wouldn't come out sounding like the compliment it was. Meg's dress was see-through black lace with a handkerchief hem over a sheath of riotous colors. “Hey, if nothing else, I'll bet you have the very best underwear of any woman in the joint.” Meg had come home late last night with a big bag of inventory she'd liberated from the store, declaring that, given their lousy luck lately, the two of them had earned some frivolous goodies.

“I, on the other hand, look like a very tall crayon,” Dani joked. “Something in the ‘brick-red' family.” Most of the dresses she owned were too businesslike, so she'd gone with a monochromatic tunic and pants combo. With its high boat neck and three-quarter sleeves, her top was extremely conservative from the front. But the low drape in the back exposed a lot of skin. The billowy, wide-legged cut of the legs added some drama to the outfit, too.

Valets opened their car doors, and Dani stepped out into the sunshine. It was only four-thirty now, but the event would go into the evening.

“Danica, is that you?”

She turned to see Lydia Reynolds emerging from one of the cars behind them, accompanied by a bearded man who looked vaguely familiar. Dani realized that while she'd never met him, she'd seen his picture on promotional materials for his real-estate agency. They entered the country club as a group, with Dani making a concerted effort to discuss something other than real estate. She didn't want Meg to feel left out.

The charity event was taking place in two rooms—a formal dining room with a dance floor, and a smaller, adjacent room that was decorated with more festive flair. It had been set up to resemble a beach party, albeit a very expensive one on a private stretch of white sand, not the kind of informal bash where people roasted hot dogs over a bonfire. Unlike the tuxedoed wait staff who would serve dinner after the fashion show, the waiters circulating in here wore Hawaiian shirts and offered flutes of champagne as well as the event's signature “Hang Ten” cocktail. The room was dominated by a large runway with chairs on all sides.

Meg stared at the catwalk thoughtfully. “Think they'd ever be interested in doing a lingerie show? I could give someone my card. I'd only send the tasteful stuff,” she added when Dani raised her eyebrows.

There were some club members at a table along a side wall, giving out more information about the organization they were supporting and trying to recruit volunteers for future events. Dani quickly discovered which one was Erik's sister and asked how their mother was doing; she also made a point of saying that the room looked great.

“Thank you so much,” the other woman said. “I hate that Erik couldn't make it—I worry about him since the divorce, he needs more social interaction—but I'm glad his tickets aren't going to waste. You have fun this afternoon, and try a Hang Ten! They're yummy.”

And strong.
Dani hadn't heard all of the ingredients when a waiter gave another guest the recipe, but there were at least two types of rum, plus vodka. She suddenly flashed back to the silly game she and Sean had played, trying to pair up ideal cocktails with unlikely events.

“What are you grinning about?” Meg asked, sipping her drink. “You look like you're up to something.”

“Oh, just remembering something goofy.”

“Well, you need more goofy in your life,” Meg declared. “You have a beautiful smile, and you don't use it enough. You're very work, work, work.”

“Says the woman who put in sixty hours this week.”

“True. But Marissa and I hosted a bachelorette party at the store and I wrote an article for our customer newsletter entitled ‘If Your Boobs Could Talk.' I'm not worried
my
job will make me boring.”

“Hey!” It was hard to sound indignant when she was giggling over Meg's article. Normally Dani wasn't a giggler. She blamed the Hang Ten. “I'm not boring.”

They were still harassing each other when Lydia joined them, pointing out in hushed tones that one of the waiters was extremely hot. “He could be a male model,” Lydia sighed. Dani had already surmised that Lydia's bearded “date” for the evening was just a colleague, not an actual date.

“Makes sense,” Meg said. “Don't most aspiring models and actors have side gigs waiting tables until they get their big break?”

“I'd like to give him a break,” Lydia said. “Or at least my phone number. I suppose that would be inappropriate since he's working.”

“Have another Hang Ten,” Meg suggested, tongue in cheek. “You'll stop caring about what's appropriate.”

Lydia laughed. “If there weren't so many prospective clients and people I already do business with here, I might take that advice. As it is, I'm going to see where I can track down a soda. The circulating waiters only have booze.”

“Probably a ploy to make donors more generous,” Dani said wryly. When the other woman went off in search of nonalcoholic libations, Dani told Meg, “There goes a woman with a healthy appreciation for the opposite sex. Every time I see her, she's lusting after a different guy.”

Then again, last time they'd encountered each other, Lydia had been expressing lust for Sean.
Can't fault her taste.

Dani sighed, aggravated to find herself thinking about him for the second time since she'd arrived. It was even worse at home. Why had she put that ceramic fairy on her nightstand, where it served as a constant reminder? Two weeks had passed since her night with Sean, and she still shivered at the memory of his touch.

Since she didn't seem to be getting over him, should she try getting past his lying to her? It was possible he truly regretted his error in judgment and had learned his lesson. Or was she trying too hard to rationalize her own weakness?

“You okay?” Meg asked.

“I miss him,” Dani admitted.

Meg was such a good friend that, even though they hadn't been discussing Sean, she had no trouble following Dani's train of thought. “I know he made a mistake, but doesn't everyone? I moved in with Nolan, and that was a mistake.
You
agreed to marry Tate.”

“In hindsight, those were regrettable decisions,” Dani agreed. But that was the problem. She was afraid of making more decisions she'd have cause to regret. After only one night with Sean, he was taking up far too much of her concentration and emotional energy. Finding out he'd lied had hurt far more than it should have. If they dated and something else went wrong...

“Ohmigosh.” Lydia suddenly reappeared, grabbing Dani's arm. “Did you know he was going to be here? Standing back by the palm tree with all the lights on it. Don't be obvious.”

For a nonsensical moment, Dani thought she meant Sean but then realized Lydia didn't even know they'd been discussing him. She turned to glance casually over her shoulder. “Who am I looking for, exactly?”

“Your ex,” Lydia said, her voice full of sympathy. “And the new missus.”

* * *

I
N
THE
CURTAINED
area that served as backstage, Sean listened to the event emcee kick off the show with a few jokes. The elderly husband and wife team who'd founded Sunny Meals got ready to make their entrance. In keeping with the summer theme of their charity, the runway show was a playful look at warm-weather “fashions.”

Sean wished desperately that
his
outfit could have been the husband's red, white and blue salute to the Fourth of July, complete with gaudy novelty sunglasses. Or, hell, even the wife's tennis dress would have been an improvement.

When the woman coordinating the ensembles had first handed him the swimsuit, he'd been appalled. “I told the woman on the phone I was fine with swim trunks. These don't qualify as trunks.” The black shorts with their drawstring tie were extremely, well,
short.
“Was this Tara Blakely's idea?” Maybe participating in an event your ex helped organize was asking for trouble.

The wardrobe coordinator had beamed at him. “Actually, committee members made all decisions together. And this one was unanimous.”

He stood backstage trying to psyche himself up by reminding himself that guys on the high school swim team had worn far skimpier suits. And what about Olympic swimmers? This was practically patriotic.

About the time he made peace with going out in front of a bunch of people in the suit, the coordinator returned to complete his humiliation. “I almost forgot these!” She handed him a pair of goggles, which he eagerly put on. Obscuring his face sounded pretty good right now. “Oh, no. You should wear them up on your head,” she corrected. “And, for the finishing touch...”

That was when he noticed the bright yellow swim flippers.

“What, no speargun?” he asked sardonically. Charitable urges were all well and good, but why hadn't he just done another building project with Habitat for Humanity?

As he waited his turn, he thought about karma. He'd lied to a beautiful woman who didn't deserve it and now here he was, mostly naked, about to flap onto the runway in giant rubber fins.

Could be worse.
After all, now that he and Tara had broken up, he rarely hung out with members of elite country clubs. So, the good news was, even if he looked like a moron, what did he care what the audience thought?

* * *

M
EG
WAS
FUMING
as only the best friend of a jilted woman could. “I can't believe he even has the nerve to show his face in the community,” she whispered, glaring daggers toward the row where Tate and Ella sat. Luckily, the room's lights had been dimmed to maximize the spotlight on the runway. Dani didn't think her ex had even noticed she was here. “Men who ditch their fiancées for Scandinavian bimbos should be required to relocate.”

Dani tried not to laugh out loud—onstage, the emcee was talking about the great cause that had brought them all here today. “We don't really have any evidence that she's a bimbo. And I'm not sure Finland is Scandinavian. Nordic, maybe?”

Music started and a silver-haired couple began making their way down the runway, hamming it up for the crowd. After them came a shapely woman in an Atlanta Braves replica jersey, hat and baseball pants. She carried a bat and had two black lines of glare-reducing grease beneath her eyes just like the pros. Following her was a ridiculously cute mother-daughter duo in matching bathing suits. When people saw the adorable toddler carrying a bucket and shovel, murmurs of “aw” sounded all around the room. They finished their turn on stage, and a man—or possibly a Greek god—appeared at the back of the catwalk. When he first appeared, his face was in shadows, but the spotlight hit every ridge of muscle on his sculpted abs.

Meg, who'd been leaning close to Dani to whisper commentary, suddenly sat bolt upright. “Oh, my.” She jabbed Dani in the ribs. Hard. “Wait, is that the architect from your building?”

Dani swallowed, her mouth dry. “Worse. That's Sean.” Every cell in her body recognized him.

On Dani's other side, Lydia Reynolds was too dumbstruck for words. She simply stared, mesmerized.

“I can't even be jealous,” Meg whispered, “that you got to sleep with him. I'm just impressed you were brave enough. Must be intimidating as hell to get naked with someone who has a body like that.”

She didn't recall intimidation during her night with him. Just eagerness, hunger, blinding arousal and bliss. It was easy to tell oneself, after the fact, that no mere mortal could be quite as perfect as she remembered Sean in fantasies. But, physically, he was sublime. Ogling him now, she was shocked she'd manage to resist him for two weeks. Future generations would speak in hushed tones of her willpower.
Or my stupidity.

The closer he walked toward them, the more obvious the fins on his feet became, adding a comic touch to his normal predatory grace.
Flop flop flop.
Dani couldn't help it. A peal of laughter escaped.

For a moment, Sean froze on stage. Had he actually heard her over the other murmured conversations taking place in the dim room? No doubt half the females in here were exchanging admiring comments about the tall, dark and handsome man on the runway. This was a man who could easily have his pick of women.
But he wanted you.
It was a heady thought.

They hadn't spoken in days, and she hadn't acknowledged the flowers. Had his interest in her dimmed? If she walked up to him after the show, would he be happy to see her? She was so lost in imagined scenarios that she barely registered the rest of the show. Soon, the audience was clapping for the finale—the adult daughter of the country club's president decked out as a mermaid.

Guests were gently herded toward the dining room. Meg accepted another cocktail from a waiter standing in the doorway with a tray of drinks. Dani didn't need any alcohol. She was buzzed from the sight of a shirtless Sean. Assigned seats had been arranged with place cards, and it turned out that one of the women at their table had been in Meg's shop a few times. The two exchanged friendly small talk. Dani noticed that her friend's speech was occasionally slurred, but slightly enough that it could be passed off as Southern drawl.

Besides, plenty of other people had been enjoying the signature cocktails; Meg's periodic tripping over her tongue didn't stand out. She'd be fine as soon as she got some food in her stomach. In keeping with her postbreakup diet, however, she barely touched the first course. Waiters removed the salad plates and replaced them with entrées of herb-encrusted prime rib. Dani ate hers without tasting it, busily scanning the room to look for Sean. A number of the other amateur models were beginning to appear now that they'd changed into regular clothes. Where was he?