The Rent-A-Groom (10 page)

“Gina, love,” he called, “tell this man of yours that you wouldn’t mind a foursome. Last night was one thing, but he seems to have some crazy idea that you’d rather avoid us this morning, too.”

“Maybe he’s right,” Gina said as irritation rose inside her. The last thing she wanted was to be forced to deal with Bradley and Race at the same time.

“If you wanted that, you’d have checked out by now.”

“Why would I do that? This was always my choice, if you’ll recall.”

“Yeah,” Bradley said as he lowered his voice to an intimate note. “I remember we were supposed to be here together.”

That blatant attempt to disconcert her, and in front of Sandra and Race, made her temperature rise. It only added fire to the anger that had been simmering inside her since she learned that not only had Bradley attempted to spy on her but Race was not who he claimed. The combination fueled the impulse that made her walk right up to Race, put her hand on his chest and stand on tiptoe to press a kiss of greeting to his lips.

His chest swelled as he caught his breath in surprise. Then he circled her waist with one arm and pulled her close.

His lips were smooth and warm, their firm touch beguiling. Her own lips parted in startled surprise at the transfer of initiative. The careful sweep of his tongue just inside the sensitive lining of her mouth sent an unwanted tremor of pleasure along her nerves. She met his entry, delicately defending against it, fighting the captivating sweetness and tender skill of his incitement.

But the battle was provocation in itself, a warm clash of tastes and textures and inclinations that routed thought, leaving only intuitive response. Beneath its force, she felt her hostility draining away against her will, being replaced by the despairing need to be held close and closer still.

Exhilaration swept in upon her in a surging flood. She lifted her arms to link them behind his head. Race drew her closer. Molded to him from breastbone to knees, she felt time slow to a standstill. Almost, she forgot what she was doing and where, who was watching, and why. Almost.

“God,” Bradley said in tones of disgust, “are you two sure you want to play at all?”

Race lifted his head, releasing her lips but not his grasp. Dark concentration was in his face as he spoke without looking at the other man. “Yes, we’re sure, or rather I am. Though tennis may not be the right game.”

“Come on, just a friendly set or two.”

Race released Gina, though he caught her hand, twining his fingers with hers. Turning with her, he began to walk away, back toward the hotel. Over his shoulder, he said, “Sorry, Dillman. I don’t feel so friendly.”

What did he feel? In that moment, Gina would have given a lot to know. But she could not ask.

The reason she could not was because the answer was too important. How that had happened, she was not entirely sure. She only knew that it had.

The maid Etta had nothing on her, Gina realized with an ache deep in her chest. She was also a sucker for a protective man, not to mention being a hopeless romantic.

Totally hopeless.

:: Chapter Seven ::

She’d caught him.

Race could hardly believe it; he usually had more finesse. But there Gina was when he stepped out of Dillman’s suite next door, standing on the connecting balcony. By the time he noticed her, it was too late to retreat.

He was royally ticked-off, though not at her. He had made the mistake of thinking she was like other women. He figured he had at least another half hour before she finished dressing for dinner. She had beaten the estimate by a good twenty minutes.

All he could do was brazen it out. Since a lie was in order, he might as well make it count. With as much practice as he was getting, he ought to be expert at it before long.

“Our neighbors left their door open when they went down to dinner,” he said, sauntering toward her with a whimsical smile and more nonchalance that he felt. “You know, I’m not too sure those two are married, after all. Shocking, don’t you think?”

She did not seem to find his comment humorous. “What makes you say that?”

“No loose grains of rice—or the environmentally correct bird seed. No monogrammed champagne glasses or wedding cake crumbs. No wrinkled dress clothes.” He stopped beside her and turned to rest his spine against the balcony railing. “Of course, they could have made a quick trip past some judge. But then, I wasn’t too impressed by the wedding ring on your friend Sandra’s finger, and she doesn’t seem much like a happy bride.”

“The ring does look like a CZ,” Gina said with a slow shake of her head.

Relief that she was going along with him made the blood feel hot in his head. “So what gives? Dillman that cheap, or is he here for a little hanky-panky? Or could it be a smoke screen while he keeps an eye on the woman he almost married?”

“What do you think?” Her gaze was direct.

He tried for a careless shrug. “Hard to say, since I don’t know the guy. I was asking you.”

“Any of the above, though I’m not too sure Sandra would play along without the vows. I’m only surprised she isn’t wearing the solitaire I gave back to him.”

“That would bother you?”

She studied him, her gaze dark. “You want to know if I have regrets? The answer is, just one. I’m sorry I didn’t see through Bradley sooner.”

“No righteous indignation that he’s here with another woman? No heart-burning over the way he treated you?”

“Not really, not anymore.”

He gave a soft snort of amazement. “You aren’t normal.”

“Maybe what I am is relieved.” She glanced beyond him, toward the high rise on the Dallas skyline that was rather like a giant golf ball on a soaring tee.

“Or in shock?”

“If I’m shocked, it’s because you seem to care one way or the other.”

Race allowed his gaze to wander over her, from the auburn sheen of her hair and delicate planes of her face, tinted with soft color, to the gentle curves of her body under a simple shirtwaist of blue chambray worn with a belt of silver conchas.

 “You’re a beautiful and intelligent woman who deserves to be happy. The last thing I want is to see you get hurt.” Which was, he realized, the exact truth, though it was a little late to worry about it.

“Why?” she asked baldly as her gaze met his.

He ought to tell her. Here and now. He felt his heart begin to hammer in his chest at the mere thought. But he couldn’t do it; he had no right.

 “Why not? I may be a paid escort, but I’m still a normal man, with normal impulses.”

Her smile held a shade of weariness. “I never thought otherwise.”

That deserved some reward. “Would you like me to get rid of Dillman?”

“Could you?” Her gaze sharpened as she studied his face. “No, forget that I said that. It isn’t worth the trouble.”

Her words finally answered one question for him; she didn’t care enough about Dillman to work up a good sweat over being free of him. Regardless, he should never have made the suggestion. She was suspicious enough already. One more mistake to go with the others. Or rather, one more stupid macho gesture brought on by tried temper because Dillman had ignored the warning he’d extended and his own self-disgust.

This charade was getting to him. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold it together. During the long afternoon just past, he had talked more than he should have about the ranch, his views on farm subsidies, Texas politics, and a thousand other things. As he and Gina strolled around the lake earlier then sat enjoying the breeze in the gazebo, he had caught himself reaching out more than once to take her hand, touch her arm, brush her hair away from her face. Later, watching a movie with her while stretched out on the living room floor in a nest of pillows, it had been all he could do not to roll over, pin her under him, and do all those things that had haunted him the night before. Suggesting that they change clothes for an early dinner as a follow-up to their late brunch had been a desperate attempt to remove them from the suite before he made a fool of himself.

Lying, hiding, pretending: he should have known he couldn’t pull it off. Of course, the act had never been intended to last so long. An hour or two, a single evening at most, then it should have been over. He was supposed to have passed the whole thing off as a bad joke, or else made a polite bow and left without a word.

Instead he had gone all gallant. His motives had been the best, or so he had thought at the time. Now he wasn’t so sure.

Gina deserved better. It was time he did what he had come to do, then was on his way. If he could bear to go.

He gave a dismissive nod by way of agreement with her last comment. Indicating the door behind her with a quick gesture, he said, “Hungry? I’m ready to head down to Montague’s if you are.”

: : :

Gina glanced at Race as they waited to be seated in the hotel’s western-style restaurant. There was a forbidding cast to his features as he glanced around for the hostess.

He had been something less than approachable the entire afternoon. More than once she had searched for words to ask him who and what he was, and what he wanted with her, but none had seemed right. It had occurred to her, after a time, that it would be dumb to force a showdown while they were alone. What would she do if he took violent exception to her questions? What if he told her he was a jewel thief, a hit man, a CIA operative, or something equally exotic and dangerous?

No, it would be best to wait until there were people around before she forced the issue. This evening in the restaurant should do nicely, she’d thought. Now that time had come.

The turmoil in her mind was more effective than a diet pill for curbing her appetite. No matter; she would be delighted to get the meal out of the way, to get everything out of the way. She was grateful when they were finally shown to a table in one corner.

To say the atmosphere in Montague’s was relaxed was a vast understatement: half the male customers were eating with their hats on, and a soccer game was in progress on the big-screen television. The drink of choice appeared to be beer in long necks, and barbecued ribs and beans were the house specialty. Of the four guys in the band, only one wore a real shirt, while the rest made do with some form of vest over their bare chests.

One reason for choosing Montague’s instead of The Terrace was the casual atmosphere, since neither she nor Race had felt like getting into formal wear again. They had both settled for comfort instead, though Gina thought there was true Texas elegance in the open-necked white dress shirt Race wore with his jeans. The main purpose for changing restaurants, however, had to do with Bradley and Sandra. The best way to avoid a meeting seemed to be to steer clear of the Terrace, where they had eaten the night before.

For the first part, they were fine. The second didn’t pan out.

They had just filled their plates from the buffet and sat down with them when they heard a hail. Bradley, with Sandra in tow, was winding his way through the tables toward them.

“Hi, guys!” her ex-fiancé called, teeth flashing as he smiled. “I caught sight of you two as we were walking past. Mind if we pull up a chair?”

Bradley didn’t wait for a reply, but seated Sandra, then plopped down himself. Gina fully expected Race to put a stop to the intrusion since he had not been bashful about it earlier, but he did no such thing. After a curt greeting, he only signaled for the waitress to bring two more place settings.

Sandra was less than happy, that was easy to see. Gina felt sorry for her. Because of it, she was as pleasant as she was able as the other two settled in and placed their orders. At the same time, she glanced at Race, wanting to share her discomfort and also her entertainment at the odd picture they presented: the jilted bride, guilty bridegroom, substitute wife, and sham lover all sitting down to dinner together. So modern, so false, and such a farce.