The One Who Got Away (7 page)

Ben nodded then stared at the flashing light from his video poker machine. As if summoned, the bartender came back with his winnings, counted it out
and waited somewhat obviously for a tip. Ben obliged. When he turned back to Steve, his friend's face had become sullen and his gaze far too distant. Something else was going on with this marriage thing, but…Steve wasn't about to admit what. Not outright. At least, not on one beer.

Maybe the guy didn't even realize what had compelled him to move so fast. To run as far as he could away from the sea. But Ben wasn't about to let the wedding take place unless he knew, for a fact, that Steve understood his real reasons, and still wanted to move forward.

“So, tell me about Taylor,” he said.

Steve grinned, crooked his head in Ben's direction. “Tell you what?”

“What's the deal? How come she's not married with 2.3 kids and a golden Lab?”

“Hell if I know. She's had chances. I know two guys right off the bat that wanted her like crazy. Renny was an attorney, looked just like Richard Gere. He came down to San Diego and tried to get in with Mom. I guess he thought if the family approved, Taylor would cave.”

“And, yet, they're not married.”

Steve shook his head. “I asked her what it was about him. She told me she didn't like his hands. I know. Crazy. His hands. The guy was already pulling in high six figures. I wouldn't be surprised to see him in politics some day.”

“And what about the other one?”

“Oh, shit. Yeah. What was his name? Johnny. Or Jimmy. Something like that. He loved to fish. He
caught a couple of world-class barracudas on the
Silver Mermaid.
He was in finance. Arbitrage, I think. Another one who made a fortune, but our girl doesn't seem to care much about that.”

“No, I guess she doesn't.”

“Who can tell with Taylor? She could be a first-rate attorney herself, but she doesn't want to. She likes being a paralegal. Likes not having the responsibility.”

“I admire her for understanding herself so well.”

“If she really did understand herself, she'd be married by now.”

“Why do you say that?”

“That's what it's all about, right? When you get it, then it all falls into place. The people you need to meet are just…there.”

“This from the man who once told me that life was like fishing? Sometimes the net is full and sometimes the net is empty. But you still get out in the trade winds.”

Steve burst out laughing. “Yeah, that was me all right. I think we'd been drinking kamikazes at the time, however. Quite a few of them.”

Ben smiled. “Oh, yeah. And we met those twins. Oh, man, what were their names? Helga and Lena?”

“Helga and Leanne. Damn, were they fine, or what?”

Steve chucked him in the shoulder. “Incredible. Amazing stamina.”

“They weren't the only ones.”

“Was it Helga who had the tattoo?”

Ben nodded. “The snake with the big eyelashes.”

“I don't think I'll ever forget where she had that bad boy.”

Ben held up his beer for a toast. “Amen.” They both took generous swigs, and then Ben signaled the bartender. “The hell with this,” he said. “Consider this your bachelor party, buddy. We're getting plowed.”

Steve laughed, but made no protest when Ben ordered two kamikazes. Each.

 

T
AYLOR'S SMILE
started to hurt. If the spotlight hadn't been directly on her face, she wouldn't have been smiling at all. The truth was, she was mortified. Not so much for herself, but for her mother.

After all, she'd been to male strip clubs before. And the virtually naked man grinding his butt into her shoulder wouldn't have been so embarrassing if he wasn't, at the same time, giving her dear, conservative-as-tea-and-white-toast mother a sloppy French kiss.

T
AYLOR POURED
herself another glass of the cheap champagne Mimi, Lisa's mother, had bought for the table. Unfortunately, she didn't think there was enough champagne in the hotel to make her forget where she was, and that her poor mother was dying inches at a time, although she doubted Lisa or Mimi could tell that she despised this kind of thing. The two of them, on the other hand, were having a hell of a good time, laughing, drinking, slipping bills into tiny red thongs and calling out for lap dances.

Except for her attitude toward the strip club, Mimi wasn't a surprise. Looking at her, Taylor could see Lisa in about twenty years, and it wasn't a bad thing. Good skin, light wrinkles around the eyes and mouth, but not at all saggy. Blond hair, not a dark root showing. Her figure was trim, and Taylor could easily picture her on a trendy golf course, or playing doubles at the tennis club. The mother and daughter giggled in the same way, the pitch just shy of outright annoying.

The evening had been courtesy of Lisa's best girlfriends, Tiffany and Cassie. Since they couldn't make it to the wedding, they'd arranged this bachelorette party, ensuring their seats at a round table too close
to the stage. Mimi had brought some gifts from back home, and Lisa had opened them quickly, squealing with delight at the see-through nightgown, the glow-in-the-dark dildo and the feather boa.

Taylor chastised herself for her petty thoughts, but the truth was, the festivities were not to her liking, and so far, neither was Lisa.

What did Steve see in her? She'd thought that in this kind of let-your-hair-down atmosphere, she'd be able to see a new side to Lisa, something that would resemble the kind of fun-loving gal Steve had always gone for. But it wasn't so.

When Lisa wasn't whooping it up, she and her mother spent most of the time when one could talk above the music gossiping about people back home. They rarely included Taylor and her mother, and when they did, it was to ask about the wedding plans. Neither had asked any personal questions, but then, perhaps Steve had filled them in. As doubtful as that was, given Steven's penchant for minding his own business, she'd still give them the benefit of the doubt.

What had really made her crazy, however, was an undercurrent between mother and daughter that was highly suspect. Not that either of them said anything that would stand up in court, but they shared looks, secret smiles, the odd raised brow, all of it to do with Steve and the immediacy of the wedding.

One of the things that hadn't set right with her was this whole Vegas marriage. Lisa didn't strike her as the kind of girl to go for a quickie ceremony. In fact, Taylor would have bet big bucks that Lisa not only
had the china patterns picked out, but that somewhere in her bedroom, she owned a large hope chest, filled with a trousseau that would have everything from Egyptian cotton sheets to Grandma's silver.

Mimi had let slip one big clue, something about presents for later. That could mean that friends were going to throw Steve and Lisa a reception once they moved to Kansas, or it could mean that there wasn't going to be one wedding, but two. The Vegas wedding was to get Steve on the hook, the Kansas wedding would be to reel him in and mount him.

Whatever, Taylor wasn't pleased. At least the show was going to be over soon. It had to be. There was a second show starting in less than an hour.

“Honey, do you have any aspirin?”

Taylor's mom had leaned over, and yelled the request in her ear. She'd had to, the music was so loud. “Hold on.”

She looked through her purse and pulled out a small bottle. “Here,” she said, handing it to her mother. “Take all you need.”

Grasping it as if it were a lifeline, her mother, Pauline, shook out three tablets, then gave back the bottle to Taylor.

“It'll be over soon,” Taylor said, shouting herself. “I promise.”

Pauline smiled weakly, looked around for a waiter, gave up the hunt and downed the pills with champagne.

“Tomorrow, we'll go to the spa,” Taylor said. “Get a massage.”

“I thought you were going shopping with Lisa.”

Taylor frowned. She'd forgotten. Or more likely blocked it out. She'd promised, in the limo drive over, to accompany Lisa on a trip to the mall to find an appropriate bridesmaid's dress. She still didn't see the reason for buying something new, but when she'd described the dress she'd brought, the long silence and uncomfortable looks had made it perfectly clear the simple gray shift wasn't going to cut the mustard.

Pauline had masterfully guided the conversation, somehow making herself unavailable for the trip, but promising Taylor's presence.

At least Taylor knew where the mall was. Her shopping trip with her mother had gone very well, for Pauline at least, and if she'd known, she would have shopped for herself at the same time.

What the hell. She took another big sip of her drink. Maybe it would be the perfect opportunity to talk to Lisa. To find out why she was so intent on marrying Steve.

The men on stage, six of them, all with rock-hard bodies glistening from some kind of body oil, all with pasted-on smiles and enormous bulges in their thongs, gathered for what Taylor prayed was the finale.

They'd begun to boogie in earnest when a picture came to her mind, as vivid as a high-definition screen image—Ben doing the old bump and grind, wearing nothing but…

Nothing.

Her face heated ten degrees, she couldn't even face the general direction of her mother, and when she reached for her champagne, the glass tipped over,
spilling the bubbly all over the table and the front of her dress.

It was not her best dress. It was, however, her most conservative dress, and now it was soaked, and she'd have to send it to the cleaners or wear something far more risqué than she should to dinner tomorrow night. No, that dinner, with both families, wasn't until the night after. But still, it wasn't very pleasant sitting there with a wet lap, and very naughty pictures of Ben Bowman doing unspeakable things to her insides.

Her mother, bless her little heart, saved the day when she insisted on taking Taylor to the hotel to get into something dry. They gossiped horribly about them all the way back to the Hard Rock.

It wasn't until she stepped inside the lobby that the images of Ben returned, and she made such a hasty retreat from her mother there were probably skid marks all across the purple carpet.

By the time she got to her room, nothing mattered but Ben. Not the edges of the headache starting to form, not the still wet and sticky dress, not the fact that she was far more tipsy than she'd realized.

This, she'd gathered after trying to open her door for the third time. She finally made it in, tossed her purse on the couch, lifted her dress off in one smooth move as she made a beeline for the bedroom.

Once she was in her panties and bra, a whole new set of images came to her. Ben on his knees. Ben on the bed. She reached for the phone only to stop dead in her tracks when she saw the time.

It was past midnight. She had no business calling him at this hour. He was probably sound asleep.

And if he wasn't asleep, he was probably with Steve, and that was something she definitely didn't want to interrupt. She'd had no luck with Lisa, but perhaps Ben had made some headway. He was so easy to talk to, and Steve had never been closer to another person.

The best thing she could do would be take an Alka-Seltzer, take off her makeup, get into jammies and crawl beneath the sheets. Good God, she needed to sleep, and if she could grab a healthy eight or nine hours, she'd be ready to face whatever came her way. Which, she hoped was Ben. Coming her way, indeed.

 

B
EN WIPED THE TEARS
from his eyes, but he couldn't stop laughing. He bent over the table, gasping for breath and bumped heads with Steve doing the same thing, and that made them both get hysterical all over again.

Jeez, it was great being with the old Steve. He totally cracked him up, always had. It wasn't anything anyone else would understand, which to him was the best humor of all.

Finally catching his breath, he looked around the small bar, just a college pub with some pool tables. It was crowded and raucous, but they had killer fries and a special on vodka stingers that they'd taken up.

God, Taylor had been right about that no-rules thing in Vegas. Back home, he'd have an occasional beer with dinner, and every once in a while, he'd go for some drinks with some buddies. Most of the time, he needed his wits about him, and alcohol wasn't part of his lifestyle.

Every time he'd gone for a week fishing with Steve, though, there was plenty of booze and plenty of laughs. Steve wasn't much on alcohol, either, except for special times, like tonight.

They'd talked about the old days, the great days. In high school, they'd been terrors. Steve was the one with the real smarts, and he could have gone to any college he wanted, but that hadn't been his dream. Ben hadn't done badly, but he'd had to work for it. It used to drive him crazy that even though Steve never cracked a book, he'd still managed to ace even the toughest chemistry tests.

And, oh, the girls. They'd both been jocks, with Steve, again, outshining his poor buddy. But what the hell, it had gotten them the best damn women on campus. None of them had been anything like Taylor. If he'd ever found someone like her, he would have held on for dear life, but by the time the two of them had connected, he was deep in his life in New York, and there was no way he could have pursued anything. Besides, he'd thought Steve would have killed him if he'd ever found out.

That had been the only secret he'd ever kept from his friend. Nothing else was sacred. The conquests. The failures and triumphs, they'd shared it all. Of course, Steve had his own style of “sharing.” He usually waited until whatever situation had long since gone the way of all things past, and then he'd tell Ben all about it. The only exception had been his father's death, and now, Lisa.

Ben was fairly certain there was something missing from Steve's chronicle of his courtship. But good old
Steve wouldn't be pushed. So Ben had thrown in the towel and decided to have himself one hell of a night.

“I gotta eat something, man,” Steve said. “You want more fries?”

He shook his head. “Don't they make anything else?”

Steve picked up a menu that was directly in front of Ben's face. “I don't know. Let's see.”

Ben grinned and opened up the plastic two page list of snacks. “Wings.”

“Oh, man,” Steve said, moaning in ecstasy. “Wings. You're a friggin' genius.”

“I know. I am.”

“Plenty of hot sauce.”

“Did someone say hot?”

Ben turned his head at the very feminine voice behind him. Steve's eyes had widened, and now Ben understood why. She was a stunner. Tall, slender, with long red hair flowing over her shoulders. She was dressed in skintight jeans and a T-shirt that looked painted on. It certainly did nothing to hide her prominent nipples.

“Hi, guys. I couldn't help notice you were solo tonight.”

Steve gave her a smile that had captured more than one damsel's heart. “We are, sweet thing, but this here's a bachelor party.”

Her pink, glistening lips turned down in a fetching frown. “Who's the lucky guy?”

Steve lifted his drink. “That would be me.”

Her smile returned as her focus turned to Ben. “So you're not taken?”

Normally, he would have considered the possibilities in front of him, but the poor girl had no idea who she was up against. “Sorry, darling. I'm taken.”

Now she pouted outright. “Taken, taken?”

He nodded. “More's the pity.”

She sighed, which did great things to her chest, and then put on a happy face. “Well, have fun, and tell your ladies they're damn lucky.”

Ben didn't look at Steve until after the waitress had come by for their orders. When he did, Steve's expression told him he was utterly confused, and wanted an explanation, pronto.

“Is something wrong?” Ben asked innocently.

“Well, I'm thinking there's something you haven't told me…”

“Me, naw. I'm in the pink.” Ben waved his hand in dismissal.

Steve leaned back, studying him carefully. “Bull. Tell me what's going on. That was a major-league babe. Probably the best damn thing you've seen in years.”

“True.” Shit. He should have talked to Taylor about this. Did she want it to be a secret? Did he?

“Come on, Bowman. Spill.”

He debated for a few minutes, until he figured Steve would brain him if he didn't say something, and then he made up his mind. He didn't want to hide or sneak around. Everyone would deal. “I'm interested in someone.”

“What? Who? When?”

“You forgot how and where.”

“You've been holding out, man. Come on. Give.”

He took another drink, then looked Steve in the eye. “It's nothing. Yet. Except a real strong attraction.”

“No shit. This is awesome. I didn't think, you know, since Alyson… Why didn't you bring this woman?”

“I didn't have to. She was already here.”

“Huh?”

He leaned forward. If Steve was gonna belt him, he didn't want him ruining the furniture. “It's Taylor.”

Steve's face froze. Not an eyelash quivered, not a breath escaped. Finally, after what felt like a millennium, he blinked. “Taylor? My Taylor?”

Ben nodded slowly, watching him as if his life depended on it, which it just might.

“Well, I'll be…” Steve's gaze moved from Ben's face to his own hand. For the length of an entire Nine Inch Nails song, he didn't say another word. And then came one mother of a grin. “You and Taylor, huh? I'll be damned.”

“You don't mind?”

“Why would I mind? You're my two favorite people on the planet. I think it's great.”