Читать книгу You're Marrying Her? - Angie Ray - Страница 11

Samantha stared up at the man in shock. Brad? She’d seen him just eight months ago, but he looked…different. Incredibly different. His glasses were gone, he wore a dark gray pin-striped suit that looked tailormade and silver cuff links. His sun-streaked hair was expertly cut, his nails manicured. On his wrist, he wore a gold Rolex watch, and on his feet, polished to a brilliant shine, shoes that screamed custom-made Italian leather.

But the difference went beyond clothes. He smelled of expensive gabardine, fine linen and spicy cologne. He was still tall and lean, but his shoulders looked broader. More powerful.

“A peculiar idea?” she replied stupidly, distracted by her efforts to decide whether his shoulders actually were wider or if the expensive jacket just made them appear so.

“I may have done some wild things in my life, but I draw the line at wearing ladies’ dresses.”

Her gaze flew to his. His gray-blue eyes held a glint. A familiar glint.

She started to smile. “What wild thing have you ever done, Brad? Ditched class to work on some computer program?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” he said, the glint still in his eyes.

She laughed. Her first impression that he’d changed faded away. This was the Brad she remembered from high school. Someone she could laugh with. Her friend.

Or so she’d thought. He certainly hadn’t acted very friendly in the past eight months. And even though he was smiling, he hadn’t hugged her or kissed her cheek. In fact, he was looking at her with a strange, watchful gaze. Her own smile dimmed. “What are you doing here, Brad?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “I need to talk to you. I was going to call again, but I realized that this is too important to tell you over the phone, so I decided it would be better to come and see you in person.”

Too important to tell her over the phone? Sam stared at him uneasily, Jeanette’s words popping into her brain.

Brad was in love with you.

Sam tried to banish the foolish thought. He’d barely spoken to her in the past eight months. That was hardly a sign of love.

But the thought refused to go away. Could Jeanette have been right, after all? Had Brad come to propose? “You’re wearing a suit,” she said, trying to hide her uneasiness. “Very nice. Are you trying to impress someone?”

“You, I hope.”

Her hand tightened on the doorknob. “I’m duly impressed,” she said, as lightly as possible.

“Are you?” The watchful expression in his eyes turned into something even more obscure and unreadable. “May I come in?”

“Oh, of course.” The pitch of her laughter a bit high, she stepped back and allowed him to enter the shop.

He looked around with interest, his gaze taking in the forest-green sofa and the pine table littered with catalogs and pattern books, the peach-colored wallpaper with its tiny white flowers and the rainbow of dresses hanging on one wall. His eyes lingered on the mannequin with Miss Blogden’s dress.

“Did you make this, Sammy?”

She nodded, unable to prevent a small welling of pride at the admiration in his voice. She’d done most of the sewing herself, endured thousands of pinpricks. But the result was worth it.

“You always did have a talent with clothes,” he said. “Remember that outfit you gave me one Christmas? A pair of baggy shorts, a black T-shirt and silver-rimmed sunglasses—along with a little note suggesting that I grow a goatee.”

She couldn’t help smiling. “Okay, so maybe I wasn’t very subtle. I still think you would’ve looked great. You could have at least tried the outfit. You never wore it even once.”

“Not my style.” He glanced at the row of gowns against the wall. “Do you make all the dresses for the shop?”

“Good heavens, no. Most of them are off the rack,” she said. “I only make a dress once in a while when a customer requests something unique. Usually, I just help Jeanette with whatever needs to be done. She’s doing very well. She only started a year ago, but she’s already close to making a profit. She had six weddings in June, and has at least two scheduled every month for the next year. I just assisted her with a wedding at the Arboretum in Arcadia with ten bridesmaids and ten groomsmen, a harpist, programs, the works. It was beautiful, we released 10,000 Monarch butterflies after the ceremony—”

She stopped, suddenly aware that she was babbling. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ramble on.”

“I enjoy listening to you. I remember Jeanette talking about starting a bridal shop ten years ago.”

“I didn’t think she’d ever actually own one. She hit a few roadblocks.”

“That’s normal. The important thing is she didn’t give up.”

“Mmm.” She glanced at him. “Is that what you wanted to talk to me about? Jeanette’s shop?”

His mouth quirked. “You always were direct, Sam. To tell you the truth, I came here for another reason. There’s something I want to ask you.…”

She stiffened, unable to prevent herself. “Oh?”

His gaze traveled over her face. “Yes,” he said gently. “I want to apologize for my behavior over the last several months. I was…disturbed about a certain situation and I allowed that to affect my friendships.”

“Oh, Brad!” The tension flowed out of her. She touched his arm lightly. “Have you been able to fix the situation?”

“No, but I’m working on it.” He smiled down at her. “In the meantime, I wanted to ask if we could be friends again.”

“That would be wonderful.” She smiled back at him, absently noticing that the angle of his chin seemed more pronounced than she remembered, the texture of skin at his jaw a little rougher. A few lines in his forehead were now permanent. “I’ve missed you.”

“Have you?” He reached out and brushed a curl off her forehead, his fingers lingering on her skin. “I thought you’d forgotten about me completely.”

“I could never do that.” His touch was friendly, the warmth from his fingers penetrating her skin and deep inside her. “You’re the nicest guy I’ve ever known. I’ve always thought of you as my best friend.”

Abruptly, his hand dropped to his side. For an instant, she saw something in his eyes, a spark of emotion she couldn’t identify. He grinned. “I’m glad to hear it—it will make my next question a lot easier.”

Her tension returned. Had she relaxed too soon?

He laughed, but his eyes still had that spark. “Don’t look like that, Sammy. It’s nothing terrible. At least, I hope you won’t think it’s terrible.”

Oh, dear heaven. “Brad, I don’t think—”

“Please, Sammy. Just listen. I’ve wanted to get married for a long time—”

Her fingernails bit into the palms of her hands. She couldn’t believe it. He really was going to propose. Her stomach churned. “Oh, Brad.…”

“And I’ve finally found someone who will have me.”

“I’m afraid—” She stopped, blinking in confusion. “What did you say?”

He smiled broadly. “Congratulate me, Sammy. I met the girl of my dreams and she has agreed to marry me. Her name is Heather Lovelace. And she’s the sweetest, kindest, most beautiful woman in the world.”

Samantha couldn’t speak. She felt dizzy for a second. Brad was getting married? She had never thought…that is, she couldn’t quite imagine…

“And we want you to design the dress. And Jeanette to arrange the wedding. Will you do it? Sammy? Sammy? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” She shook her head, trying to clear away the unaccountable vertigo that had made everything in the shop tilt sideways. She forced herself to smile and say, “Of course I’ll do it. And I’m sure Jeanette can handle the wedding. If she can’t, I’ll do it myself,” she promised recklessly.

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Thank you, Sammy. Heather’s waiting out in the car right now. She wants to meet you. Will you come to dinner with us?”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t.” Her refusal was automatic and instinctive. She didn’t feel very well. Maybe she had a summer cold coming on.

“Why not?”

“I…I couldn’t go to dinner dressed like this.”

“Come on, Sammy. You look great.”

“You’re wearing a suit—”

“There has to be a dress you could wear somewhere in this place.”

There was, of course. She bit her lip. What was wrong with her? She’d just been thinking how much she wanted to be friends with Brad again, and now here he was, wanting to renew their old relationship and share his happy news.

And it was happy news. She couldn’t quite figure out why it was affecting her so strangely. She was happy for Brad. Wasn’t she? Of course she was. He was going to get married and live happily ever after.

If that was possible.

She’d seen married people in action. She’d seen how couples could fight and tear each other apart. That was why Brad’s news unsettled her—she was worried about him. She didn’t want him to have to experience that unpleasantness.

“I really can’t. I’m expecting a client.” She glanced at her watch. It was almost seven-thirty. Apparently Mrs. Blogden wasn’t going to show.

“Can’t you call and cancel? Please, Sammy.”

“Well…” She wavered. She did want to meet Brad’s fiance´e. Heather Lovelace. The most beautiful woman in the world, Brad had called her. But Sam took that with a grain of salt. Brad was in love with Heather after all. He’d also described her as sweet and kind. That sounded like Blanche Milken, the girl he’d had a crush on in high school. Blanche had been a straight-A student with mousy, colorless clothes to go along with her mousy, colorless personality.

“Okay,” Samantha said, making up her mind. “Let me change and call Mrs. Blogden to make sure she isn’t coming. It’ll only take me a few minutes.”

“Great. I’ll go tell Heather. Come outside when you’re ready.”

He left, and Sam went into the office to call Mrs. Blogden. The housekeeper answered and informed Sam that Mrs. Blogden was at a party and wouldn’t be home until late. Sam wasn’t too surprised. Mrs. Blogden frequently didn’t show up for her appointments and rarely called to cancel.

Her conscience clear, Sam grabbed a short black dress off a rack, went into the dressing room and changed. Quickly, she slipped on some strappy, high-heeled sandals that increased her height from an insignificant five three to a much more respectable five six.

She brushed out her hair, applied enough makeup to conceal her freckles and surveyed herself in the mirror. Acceptable, she thought. The black matte jersey echoed the sheen of her dark curls and made her eyes seem more green than gold. She hurried outside.

A red sports car was parked there. Next to it stood Brad, his arm around the waist of a tall, slender blonde dressed in a form-fitting halter dress of glittering bronze.

Samantha stumbled on the asphalt. This was his fiance´e? The woman was gorgeous! Not a day over eighteen, she had the long, lean look of a model—except for the large, firm breasts that threatened to bounce right out of her low-cut dress. She was wearing heels, too, fantastic purple-and-bronze Jimmy Choo stilettos that lifted her at least four inches over Sam’s suddenly pathetic height. Sam felt like a troll next to her.

This was no Blanche Milken.

Sam pinned a smile to her lips and held out her hand. “Hi, Heather, I’m Samantha Gillespie.”

The blonde ignored her outstretched hand. A cloud of Chanel No. 5 enveloped Sam as Heather hugged her. “Samantha! Brad has told me so much about you!”

“He has?” Sam murmured faintly when she could speak.

Heather smiled blindingly. Her teeth were as white and perfect as the rest of her. “Oh, yes. I have to admit that when he first told me what good friends you were, I was the tiniest bit jealous, but now that I’ve met you, I can see that I didn’t need to worry at all.”

Startled, Sam glanced at Heather’s face. Had the woman—girl, really—meant that the way it sounded?

Heather was smiling, her large blue eyes clear and innocent.

Brad smiled, too. “I told you you were being silly. Samantha and I have always been just friends. Right, Sam?”

“Right.” You’re being oversensitive, Sam told herself sternly. She smiled at Brad’s fiance´e. “You’re marrying a really nice guy.”

“Nice?” Heather turned to Brad and drew a teasing finger down his chest. “I don’t know if I would have used exactly that word to describe you, darling.”

Sam frowned at the sexual implication of the blonde’s words. She glanced at Brad, expecting him to defend his character, but he only gazed at Heather, his hand closing over the blonde’s. The two of them stared into each other’s eyes, a silent communication of some shared memory passing between them. They appeared to have completely forgotten Sam’s presence.

She cleared her throat.

The spell was broken. The two lovers stepped away from each other. Brad glanced at Sam, his mouth curving ruefully. “Sorry. You know what it’s like to be in love.”

Sam forced herself to smile again, but inwardly she felt oddly defensive. Of course she knew what it was like. She’d had innumerable boyfriends in high school and college. She’d gone out with men from here to Chicago to New York to London, Paris and Rome. But somehow, none of them had ever looked at her the way Brad looked at Heather. Sam didn’t remember him ever looking at Blanche Milken that way. Talk about wearing your heart on your sleeve. She would’ve thought he would show more restraint.

“Shall we go?” she asked brightly.

Brad opened the passenger door.

“You don’t mind if I sit in the front, do you?” Heather asked Sam. “My legs get terribly cramped in the back.”

Sam saw Brad’s gaze go immediately to the impossibly long legs of his fiance´e. “Of course not,” she said, feeling like a child relegated to the back seat. She climbed into the tight space behind Heather and Brad.

With a roar of the powerful engine, they were off.