02_Groom of Her Own (7 page)

“Me, too. See you tomorrow, then.”

Brad slowly replaced the receiver. Talk about a turn of events! The last thing he had expected was a social invitation from Sam. Despite her revelation that she led a much more sedate social life than her image would suggest, Brad was sure she could have found someone more exciting to spend an evening with than him. He’d been honest with her about himself—he was a quiet, stay-in-the-background kind of guy, more interested in one-on-one relationships than crowd scenes or loud parties. Even if she wasn’t quite the party girl he’d assumed prior to their lunch, she was still out of his league socially. And yet she’d picked him. Why?

Brad didn’t have the answer. Maybe she just needed a friend, and he’d made himself available. But whatever the reason, he was pleased. Going out socially with a woman was a giant step forward for him. Okay, the symphony might be hard. But for some strange reason he had a feeling that with Sam by his side, it would be a whole lot easier.

It was funny, really, he thought as he pulled the stack of paperwork toward him. Initially he had been drawn to her because she seemed to need a friend—only to discover that he needed one just as badly. She had been good for him, prodding him to do things that he’d put off far too long already. Brad smiled to himself and shook his head. God really did work in mysterious ways.

Sam stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror and frowned. Maybe she was too dressed up. Maybe this outfit was too sexy. Maybe she should tone down her makeup. Maybe…

Sam cut the last “maybe” off in midthought. This was ridiculous, she admonished herself brusquely. It made absolutely no difference what she wore tonight. Brad’s interest in her was purely as a friend. He’d said so himself. He probably wouldn’t even notice what she wore. Which was fine, she told herself. Even if he was interested in her romantically, things would never work out. Their backgrounds were too different. And if he ever found out about—Sam cut that thought off, too. All of this speculation was a waste of time, she told herself harshly. Romance and happy endings weren’t in the cards for her. She’d have to settle for friendship. And that was better than nothing, she consoled herself.

Sam tugged one last time at the hem of her black skirt, but there was no disguising the short length. She always dressed in the latest fashion, but suddenly she wished she had something in her wardrobe that was a more demure, classic length. Oh, well, maybe the dark hose would help hide the fact that so much leg was exposed, she thought hopefully. At least her short-sleeved jewel-neckline satin blouse was modest, and the short strand of pearls added an elegant touch against the shimmery forest green fabric.

Sam ran a comb through her shoulder-length hair, thankful that it was a good hair day. The ends were waving under nicely on her shoulders, and her bangs had fluffed out just right Okay, so her makeup was a little dramatic. But that was her, and if Brad didn’t like it, well—

The ringing of the doorbell interrupted her secondguessing, and Sam’s heart suddenly kicked into double time. For goodness sake, she admonished herself, get a grip! This is not a real date. Brad is just a friend. That’s all. Just a friend.

The funny thing was that when she opened the door she could have sworn that the quick yet thorough appraisal he gave her was much more than just “friendly” in nature. But she told herself she was reading far too much into a simple glance.

When his eyes returned to hers he smiled, and Sam’s breath caught in her throat at the warmth in his gaze. “You look great,” he said quietly, his voice shaded with a husky timbre that surprised them both. He’d been caught off guard by his own reaction to her discreet but alluring outfit, his gaze lingering just a moment too long on what the fashionably short skirt revealed—a pair of fabulous legs that just didn’t quit. He’d have to be dead not to notice, he thought, trying to justify the surprising direction of his thoughts.

“Thanks.” She tried to smile, but she suddenly felt shaky as her eyes took in his appearance. Tonight Brad did not look
anything
like a minister, she thought. His dove gray suit, starched white shirt and striking maroon and blue tie were more suited to a man of the world than a man of the cloth. If at lunch he’d made her think of an aftershave ad, tonight he looked like a successful executive or entrepreneur. The very faint brush of silver at his temples added a distinguished touch to his appearance and magnified his appeal. For just a moment she wondered what it would feel like to be held against his solid chest, to feel his gentle touch against her cheek, to— Disconcerted by the inappropriate direction of her thoughts, Sam abruptly took a step back and motioned him inside.

“Come on in. I’m ready. I just need to get my sweater,” she said breathlessly.

Brad strolled inside and looked around with interest. The open room featured white walls and light gray modular furniture that could be easily moved into new configurations. Coffee and end tables were glass and chrome, and a fireplace was framed by a black screen. Throw pillows in magenta and cobalt blue added striking touches of color.

“Nice,” Brad said as his gaze traveled around the room. “It makes me feel like I’ve stepped onto the pages of a decorating magazine.”

Sam shrugged. “It’s functional. And it suits my lifestyle. But I wouldn’t exactly call it homey.”

“It doesn’t seem like ‘homey’ was what you were after,” Brad said thoughtfully.

“You’re right. It wasn’t,” she admitted slowly, surprised by his insight, realizing that she’d never consciously analyzed her decorating choices before. It was more as if she’d created a stage setting, a backdrop, for her as a single, socializing, professional woman, she thought, letting her own gaze circle the modernistic, picture-perfect room. In fact, it was almost as if no one actually lived here, she realized. And it certainly didn’t reflect her real personality. Sam liked modern things, true. She wouldn’t want Nick and Laura’s old Victorian house, though she could appreciate its charm and realized it suited them. No, if she had a real home it would be contemporary, but she would intersperse the modern with the homey. A warm, handloomed throw on the sofa. A lovingly-stitched needlepoint pillow next to the fireplace. A brandy decanter on the mantel, with a pair of glasses for late-night toasts. A child’s drawing framed and hung proudly on the wall….

Sam felt her eyes mist over at the last image. That was something she was never destined to have, she knew. She’d had her chance once, and she’d thrown it away. Better to live in this relatively sterile environment, where she could more easily pretend that those things were unimportant to her, she thought resolutely.

Sam suddenly realized that Brad was watching her with those insightful brown eyes of his, and she turned away and reached for her sweater. “So, are we ready?” she asked with forced brightness.

He seemed about to say something, but apparently he thought better of it and instead silently followed her to the door.

By the time they were seated in his car, Sam had regained her composure, and they chatted about inconsequential things during the drive into the city. As they entered the opulent lobby of Powell Hall, Sam looked around appreciatively, overwhelmed as always by the elaborate crystal and gilt decor, red carpet and sweeping grand staircase. “I always forget how gorgeous this place is,” she remarked.

When Brad didn’t respond, she turned to look at him. He was frowning slightly, and his eyes seemed troubled. Sam assumed he was thinking about his last visit here, with Rachel, and she reached over to touch his arm.

“Brad?” It took a moment, but at last he looked down at her. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t easy for you,” she said gently.

He sighed. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I don’t want to put a damper on our evening. It was just a jolt, coming through the door. I’m okay now.”

“Are you sure?” she asked worriedly. “We don’t have to stay.”

“I’m fine, Sam. Really,” he assured her. Then he smiled and reached for her hand. “But just stay close. That will help.”

“Sure.” A tingle ran through Sam as Brad’s fingers closed over hers, engulfing them in a firm grip that gave her a comforting sense of protection and security. Okay, so he was only holding her hand to give him courage to see this evening through. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy it She could even pretend for a little while that he was
really
holding her hand. What could it hurt?

When they reached their seats, Brad helped Sam off with her sweater, then reached for her hand again as the music started. A couple of times during the concert he absently rubbed his thumb across the back of her knuckles, and Sam felt her pulse rate quicken each time. She knew that he probably wasn’t even consciously aware of the gesture, which made her reaction absurd. But she didn’t seem to be able to control it

When the last notes of the final piece died away, Sam turned to Brad and smiled. “Well, you made it,” she said.

He returned the smile. “Yeah. Thanks to you.”

“What do you mean?”

He lifted her hand, which he still held, and stroked his thumb across the back of it—consciously this time, she knew. “This helped a lot”

Sam flushed. “I didn’t do anything,” she protested, her heart rate once again quickening.

“Letting me hold your hand helped more than you know,” he told her with quiet sincerity. “Sometimes a simple human touch goes a long way in giving people courage, in letting them know they’re not alone.”

Sam stared at him. She had faced her greatest crisis alone, so she knew what he meant. A simple caring touch, a choice offered in compassion, would have made a world of difference to her once. It could have changed her whole life, in fact. But there’d been no one there for her.

Her throat constricted and she squeezed Brad’s hand. “You’re not alone,” she said softly, her voice uneven. Then she tried to smile, forcing a lighter note into her tone. “After all, what are friends for?”

Brad gazed at her speculatively. “You know, Sam, I think—” He stopped, and Sam looked at him curiously.

“You think what?” she prompted.

Brad cleared his throat. He’d been about to say that at the moment friendship was the furthest thing from his mind. It was true that at the beginning of the evening he’d sought her hand for courage. But she had nice hands-soft, with long, tapering fingers—and by the end he held on to it because it simply felt good. But that remark would surprise her. Good grief, the realization surprised him! And he sensed that now was not the time to reveal emotions he himself didn’t understand. He glanced down toward their entwined hands with a frown, debating how to answer her question.

Sam followed the direction of his gaze, which seemed to be resting in the vicinity of her hemline, and removed her hand from his to tug self-consciously at her skirt. “You think my skirt’s too short, don’t you?” she said, embarrassed, misinterpreting the direction of his thoughts. “I suppose I’m not the type of woman a minister wants to be seen with. Listen, I understand. The friendship offer was probably made in haste, and—”

“Sam.” Brad cut her off.

She stared at him, her eyes wide, taken aback by the touch of anger in his voice.

Brad frowned, aware that he sounded angry. And he was. At himself. For some reason she’d felt disapproval in his gaze. Which had been the last thing on his mind as he’d gazed at their entwined hands.

“I’m sorry,” she said contritely. “I didn’t—”

“Sam,” he repeated, more gently this time, reaching for her hand again. “I was
not
going to comment on your skirt.”

“No?” She looked uncertain, and Brad wanted to pull her into his arms and just hold her. The impulse took him off guard. What was the matter with him all of a sudden? he wondered. He wasn’t a man usually given to such inappropriate thoughts. So, using a self-restraint that required a surprising amount of effort, he kept his distance. But he also kept a firm grip on her hand.

“No,” he repeated firmly. “I’ll admit I noticed your skirt,” he said frankly, deciding honesty was the best policy. “Or rather, what your skirt reveals—a pair of absolutely fabulous legs. I doubt whether any man still breathing could overlook them. And I hope you don’t think that’s some sort of insulting sexist remark. My intent is to flatter, not criticize or demean.”

“Really?” she asked, wanting to believe his words but finding it difficult.

“Really,” he assured her. “I may be a minister, but I’m also a man. And I’m proud to be seen with you—because of who you are, as well as how you look.”

Sam stared at him. She couldn’t doubt the sincerity in his eyes. “Then what were you going to say before?” she asked with a frown.

Brad’s mind went into warp drive. “I think we should stop on the way home and get something to eat,” he said with sudden inspiration. “My appointment ran late, and I haven’t had dinner. Are you hungry?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” she said, surprised to find that she was suddenly ravenous.

“Good. I know just the spot.”

Twenty minutes later they were seated in a small café not far from Sam’s condo. Classical music played softly in the background, and the atmosphere was cozy and intimate.

“This is charming, Brad!” Sam said, glancing around approvingly. “I never even knew it was here.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d like it,” he admitted. “It’s pretty quiet.”

“Well, I’ve had my fill of crowded, noisy, smoky bars, thank you,” she said wryly. “This is perfect.”

During the light meal, they discussed the concert, and when the waitress came to offer dessert, Brad looked at Sam inquiringly. “Are you in the mood to indulge?”

“Why not?” she said, wanting to prolong the evening. It had been a long time since she’d enjoyed herself so much in a man’s company, and she hated it to end.

“Well, I can highly recommend tonight’s special dessert,” the waitress said. “Apple cobbler. It’s a new recipe the chef’s just trying out, and it’s a winner.”

“Sounds good to me,” Sam said with a smile.

“How about you, sir?” the woman asked, turning to Brad.

He hesitated, and Sam looked at him curiously. He was frowning, but when he realized she was watching him, his face cleared and he seconded the order.