The Almost Wives Club: Kate (2 page)

She waited for a toast, in less than a month they’d be married, but Ted sipped his wine as though his mind was elsewhere. With an internal shrug she sampled her own wine.

He glanced around. “Busy tonight,” he said.

“Yes.” It was Friday night. She followed his gaze, noting the general atmosphere of fun and contentment that a good restaurant evokes. The couple at the bar rose and followed a waiter to a table. The lone guy watched and then he glanced at her and Ted and turned back to his beer. She wondered if he were waiting for a date. She hoped he hadn’t been stood up. She always wondered why people didn’t cancel. Why would you make a date with someone and not show up? It seemed so cruel.

Not that the man at the bar seemed like a man a woman would stand up. He was rugged, kind of tough looking. Hot in a slightly dangerous way. If she’d had to guess she’d have believed he was the kind of person who left a woman waiting, not the other way around.

Ted glanced at his watch. “Service is slow.”

His left foot was tapping, not just up and down, but back and forth like he was doing the Polka with one foot. Clearly he was stressed about the wedding too.

The starters arrived and she dipped her spoon into her soup.

Ted polished off a couple of slices of crusty bread with foie gras and finished off his glass of wine. He’d barely put it back on the table when a waiter appeared to top up his glass.

“Bernard said he’s stocked a bar fridge in his house in Hawaii for us and of course the housekeeper will remain in residence.”

Bernard was a Carnarvon family friend who had offered them the use of his Hawaiian estate for their honeymoon. She was thrilled, of course, but would have preferred something a little more intimate. “Do we really want a live-in housekeeper on our honeymoon?”

“His staff is well-trained. Don’t worry, we’ll have all the privacy we need as well as excellent meals and wine without having to go out for them. He’s being very generous.”

“I know.”

There was a pause and she felt the urge to fill it. “You’ll never believe what happened to me at the final dress fitting today,” she said.

She saw him jerk and flinch, probably the way she had when she’d been stuck by that pin. He pulled out his cell phone and she realized he’d had it in his pocket on vibrate. He glanced at call display and shook his head. “I’m sorry, honey. I have to take this.”

He answered discreetly. Mumbled a few things she could barely hear. Then clicked his phone off. “I’m sorry, darling. That’s Llewellen. The brewery deal is tanking. That’s a huge deal for our company. I’ve got to get back to the office for an emergency meeting.”

“What, now?”

He shrugged, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “The life of a junior partner. You’ll get used to it.” After getting his MBA from Harvard he’d joined the family firm. The first Edward Carnarvon had made fortunes in oil and lumber. Now the firm that still bore his name specialized in financing start up companies and real estate.

She doubted she’d ever get used to playing second fiddle in his life. “Can we finish our dinner first?”

“You go ahead. I’ll take care of the bill on my way out. Tell them to call you a cab when you’re done.”

He rose and came around the table to kiss her goodbye.

She put a hand on his arm, reaching for her purse. “Wait. I’ll come with you.”

An impatient expression crossed his face. “First, I don’t have time to drive you home. And second, you should eat. My mother often dines in restaurants alone.” He dropped his tone and snapped, “Don’t be needy.”

“But—”

“I’ll call you later. I’m sorry, but I have to go.” And he leaned down and kissed her swiftly before striding off.

Needy? She sat there feeling stunned. What was needy about not wanting to sit in a busy restaurant alone on a Friday night while your fiancé abandoned you for work? Ted wasn’t an emergency room surgeon needed to save lives. He wasn’t a security advisor that the president called when war was imminent. He was a junior partner rushing off for a brewery deal.

She wasn’t even hungry.

She pushed her soup away. Sipped her wine. She’d wait five minutes and then she’d call herself a damned cab.

The girls at the fun table were on their second pitcher of margaritas. She wished she were out with her girlfriends. She wished she could go over there, pull up a chair and tell them about her evening. They seemed like the kind of women who’d get her laughing and feeling better in no time. They’d commiserate over inconsiderate men, prenups and cursed wedding dresses. She’d never, ever push herself on a group of strangers like that but the fantasy was nice.

Of course, not one person in this busy restaurant was remotely interested in her. She could easily stay and eat her salad and enjoy people watching.

But she didn’t want to.

She had a million things to do, she wasn’t hungry, and she did not appreciate the man she was marrying in less than a month running out on her. Screw it. She was a grown woman. She’d leave if she wanted to.

“Did we both strike out tonight?” a male voice said as she was about to rise.

She glanced up. It was the lone guy from the bar. He’d come up so stealthily she hadn’t seen him move. He wore a cocky grin that combined both sympathy and devilry. She couldn’t help but return the smile. “Looks like it.”

And suddenly he was sitting in the chair recently vacated by Ted. “Can’t leave a beautiful woman sitting alone. Somebody might get the wrong idea and start bothering her.”

“I was about to leave,” she said, dropping her smile and pulling out her most frigid tone.

He narrowed his gaze and assessed her as though he were her GP and she was at her annual check up. “When is the last time you did something unexpected? Spontaneous?”

“Like getting hit on by a stranger? Please. I’m getting married in three weeks.”

“Congratulations. Look, I’m a guy who hates to eat alone and your date just left.”

“My fiancé.”

Again with that cheeky grin. “He’s a lucky man.”

“I really don’t think—”

At that moment a salad was slipped in front of her, while, at the same moment, a server appeared behind the stranger’s seat and placed Ted’s prime rib in front of him as though men playing musical chairs in Truffaut was a common occurrence.

“Can I get you anything else, sir?” the server asked.

The stranger sent her an amused glance. Then said, “A fresh wine glass would be great.”

“Certainly, sir.”

She had absolutely no idea what to do.

The man from the bar glanced at her. “Fate has a funny way of stepping in, have you ever noticed that?” He placed his napkin—make that Ted’s napkin—over his lap and thanked the waiter who appeared with a fresh wine glass and then filled it with Ted’s wine.

She thought it was the pushy guy from the bar who’d stepped in, not fate, but she also realized that there was nothing he could do to her in a busy restaurant, and there was a certain rakish charm to this guy. She’d seen a movie once where Cary Grant had swept a naïve heiress off her feet with moves something like this one. Since she wasn’t an heiress she didn’t figure she had too much to worry about. And having a gorgeous stranger as a dining companion was more interesting than eating in a crowded restaurant by herself.

Was there a tiny part of her that felt as though eating with a sexy stranger was a sweet revenge on a man who would dump her between courses? Oh, yeah.

“I’m Nick, by the way,” he said, cutting into Ted’s prime rib.

“Kate,” she said and stuck her fork into her salad. “I hope my fiancé’s prime rib is cooked to your satisfaction.”

Probably she was more angry at Ted than she’d realized but, she figured, if he was going to abandon his prime rib and his fiancée, he couldn’t blame another man for moving in.

“It’s perfect, thanks. Your guy has good taste.”

He sent her a sexy glance out of gorgeous hazel eyes and something about the way he looked at her, with sympathy and understanding as well as amusement, sent a flutter of awareness through her. She’d better make it clear that she was not on the menu.

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 sunscreen. 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 ‘er 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 Vulcan 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 the table. At that moment, the waiter set her tea in front of her. She took a hasty sip. Put the cup down. What was she doing?

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.”