Читать книгу Family in Progress - Brenda Harlen - Страница 9

Chapter Three

Steven didn’t do dinner parties, so he wasn’t exactly thrilled to give up a quiet night at home with his kids to attend this one, but he just couldn’t say no to Jenny. She’d planned this event—an informal gathering, she’d called it—to introduce Samara to some other friends.

He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up on the guest list, except that Jenny seemed determined to turn him into a social being when he wanted to do nothing more than bury himself in oblivion. And though he’d given his word that he would be there, it had crossed his mind that he could beg off at the last minute or simply not show up. He figured there would be enough other people in attendance that his absence wouldn’t be noticed. Except that Jenny had preempted that possibility by enlisting him to drive Samara. While he trusted that one empty chair might be forgiven, a missing guest of honor was quite a different story.

Why Samara couldn’t find her own way to the party was beyond him—which brought another distinctly discomfiting thought to mind.

Though he’d just hung up the phone with his sister-in-law, it was his brother whose number he dialed.

“Is this some kind of setup?” he demanded when Richard answered his cell.

“Is what some kind of setup?”

“This dinner-party thing.”

“A setup for whom?” His brother sounded genuinely baffled.

“Me,” he admitted. “And Samara.”

Richard laughed. “You can’t honestly think that.”

Steven scowled. “Why do you think it’s so unlikely?”

“Well, to be blunt, she’s young and beautiful and vibrant—” definitely not words that anyone would use to describe Steven “—and you’re an overworked single father.”

“That is blunt,” he agreed.

“On the other hand,” Richard mused, “maybe it’s not completely unthinkable. If you’re interested, I mean.”

“I’m not,” Steven said quickly. “I just wanted to make sure no one had any expectations other than that I would pick her up and deliver her to your party.”

“Taking her home again at the end of the night, too, would be appreciated.”

“Which is just a way of making sure I don’t skip out early.”

“Jenny would be crushed,” Richard told him.

“I can’t be out all night—I have kids, remember?”

“Who are old enough to be on their own for a few hours.”

A few hours didn’t sound so bad, Steven managed to convince himself, then went to say good-night to the kids.

Samara changed outfits more than half a dozen times before a quick glance at the clock warned her that Steven would be arriving any minute. Unwilling to make him wait, she decided the simple wrap-style dress she was currently wearing was satisfactory and tucked her feet into a pair of matching sling-backs that boosted her height by three inches. A final glance in the mirror had her reaching for a chunky-hammered bronze pendant and matching earrings and adding a touch of color to her lips.

Steven’s reaction, when she opened the door, gave nothing away. She knew it wasn’t a date, and his greeting was pleasant enough, but still, she’d thought he would say something, and the fact that he didn’t made her a little nervous. Was she overdressed? Underdressed?

Jenny always claimed that Samara had a unique style, and the way she said it made it sound like a compliment. Not that Samara had ever really worried about anyone else’s opinion. She’d always been comfortable with the way she looked and who she was. Learning of her fiancé’s infidelity had changed everything. Having Kazuo’s pregnant lover show up at her door—three weeks before their wedding—had made Samara question everything about herself.

After three years, she’d honestly believed they’d had a good relationship, that they wanted the same things—most notably a future together. Two years later, he was married to the mother of his child and she was still trying to figure out where everything had gone wrong.

But she wasn’t going to worry about that tonight. And she wasn’t going to feel insulted that while Steven Warren’s presence made her aware of him in a distinctly sexual way, he didn’t even seem to be aware that she was female.

He looked really good tonight. He was usually dressed casually whenever she saw him in or around the studio, but tonight he was wearing a suit: charcoal jacket and pants, burgundy shirt and—this surprised her—a pink tie. But somehow the color enhanced rather than detracted from his masculinity, and made everything female inside her respond.

She deliberately averted her gaze, focusing on the scenery outside of the window. Focusing on anything but the man who made her feel things she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

They rode in silence for the first several minutes. She wasn’t sure if Steven was concentrating on the task of driving or just lost in his own thoughts, as she was lost in hers. But after a while, she found her eyes drifting in his direction again.

He had a strong profile, she noted. And strong hands. One of which was resting lightly on top of the gearshift, while the fingers of the other were curled loosely around the steering wheel. He maneuvered the car through traffic with an easy confidence that was somehow both reassuring and arousing. As he palmed the wheel to negotiate a turn, she found herself wondering how those strong, competent hands would feel moving over her body.

“I really appreciate the ride,” she said, in a desperate hope that conversation would alter the direction of her renegade thoughts. “I hope you didn’t have to come too far out of your way to pick me up.”

“Not at all,” Steven said politely.

And silence fell again.

Samara felt more than a little awkward. This man was her boss, and her best friend’s husband’s brother—they should have something to talk about. But her mind was blank.

Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that they were sitting in such close proximity, and all she could think was that he looked so good—and smelled even better. And, oh my, just breathing in the clean male scent of him made everything inside her quiver.

It was Steven who finally broke the silence. “Jenny said you don’t have a car.”

She noticed that his voice sounded strained, as if making conversation required a concerted effort on his part, too. And she couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he was as aware of her as she was of him, or if he was just bored.

“That must make it difficult to get around,” he concluded.

She shrugged, pretending a nonchalance she didn’t feel as she tried to focus on small talk and keep her suddenly riotous hormones in check. “I’m getting familiar with the bus and train routes.”

“Is that how you go back and forth to work every day?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

He frowned. “I know it’s expensive to own a car, but there are other options. You could rent or lease.”

“Both of which require a driver’s license,” she pointed out.

He turned his head and stared at her. And the look in his eyes gradually changed from incredulity to something else, something she wasn’t sure she was ready to define but that made the nerves in her belly start to quiver all over again.

He tore his gaze away, tightened his fingers around the steering wheel. “You don’t, uh, have a driver’s license?”

“It’s not a crime—at least not in Japan.” She hoped he wouldn’t notice the suddenly husky tone of her voice. But when he looked at her like that, with so much heat in his eyes, it was all she could do not to melt.

“It’s not a crime here, either,” he admitted after another moment. “But I can’t honestly say I’ve ever met anyone between the ages of eighteen and eighty who didn’t have one. Though some of them probably shouldn’t.”

“Public transportation is better for the environment,” she said defensively.

“Funny that you didn’t mention your thoughts on this during your job interview.”

“You hired me to take pictures, not be a spokesperson.”

He looked at her again, and his lips curved, just a little. “You are an intriguing woman, Samara Kenzo.”

And he was a fascinating man—and a man she knew she would enjoy getting to know a lot better.

Jenny’s “little dinner party” turned out to be a five-course meal served to two dozen people, throughout which Steven was seated between Samara and another woman whose name he didn’t even remember. There were friends and neighbors, family members and business associates, and it seemed to Steven that, aside from he and Samara, everyone else was part of a couple.

He felt an unexpected pang of longing as he glanced around the table, noting the affectionate looks and silent communications of partners who knew one another well. As he and Liz had known one another.

Then he glanced at Samara and wondered if she was feeling as out of place as he was. But she turned to the man seated on her other side, laughing at something he said, and he figured he’d probably imagined the sadness he’d glimpsed in her eyes.

He was glad when dessert was finally cleared away and the guests began to wander away from the table. Some moved into the library for after-dinner drinks, others made their way downstairs to play billiards, but Steven was in the mood for neither.

He hovered on the periphery, watching the others mingle, noting the ease with which his brother worked his way through the crowd.

He and Liz had never done much entertaining, and nothing more elaborate than having friends over for a meal or a game of cards. Usually those friends lived in the neighborhood and had children of similar ages to Caitlin and Tyler and who went to school with them. But most of their weekends had been spent quietly, and he’d preferred it that way.

Richard, on the other hand, seemed very much in his element surrounded by people. Of course, Richard had always been the one with the big plans and ambitions, who had achieved everything he’d ever dreamed of. Steven used to envy his older brother his status and success, until he’d finally realized there was no reason to. Because Steven had achieved everything he’d wanted, too, he’d just wanted different things.

He saw Jenny pass her husband, noted the momentary link of their fingers, a quick and silent communication. He saw Richard’s eyes follow his wife’s progress across the room, though his conversation with Jenny’s stepbrother never lagged, and Steven felt the old familiar tug in his heart again. Not a day had gone by in the years since Liz died that he didn’t think about his wife and how much he missed her. But being surrounded by so many happy couples made the empty space by his side loom so much larger.

He hadn’t noticed that his sister-in-law had made her way all around the room again until she was by his side.

“I haven’t had much of a chance to talk to you tonight,” Jenny noted.

“You’ve been busy.”

“That’s no excuse for neglecting my favorite brother-in-law.”

“I’m your only brother-in-law.”

She waved a hand. “Technicalities.”

He smiled. “Then I should tell you that you’re my favorite sister-in-law, too,” he said. “And that dinner was spectacular.”

“Thanks. Though the only part of the meal I can take credit for is the planning. Preparing anything on that scale is way beyond my domestic capabilities.” Then her eyes widened and she sucked in a breath.

Steven instinctively reached for her arm. “Are you all right?”

She exhaled slowly, nodded. “Junior just caught me off guard with that one.”

Before he could drop his hand, she took it and laid it on the side of her tummy. He glanced around, inwardly questioning the propriety of having his hand on his brother’s wife’s body. Then the baby kicked again and he forgot everything else.

“That’s your nephew,” Jenny said. “Who seems increasingly unhappy with the limited size of his living space these days.”

Steven looked pointedly at her round belly. “Doesn’t look so small to me.”

She swatted him playfully. “Thanks for that ego boost.”

He grinned. “Isn’t that what brothers are for?”

“Brothers are also for helping their sisters—and their sister’s friends.”

“Haven’t I already done that?” he asked.

“Yes, and I wanted to thank you for giving Samara a chance to work at the magazine.”

“She was the best candidate for the job.”

“As I knew she would be.” Jenny’s smile was just a little smug. “But I need to ask another favor.”

“Anything,” he said automatically.

“I don’t see Samara anywhere,” she said. “Would you mind taking a look around for her and make sure she’s having a good time?”

Steven didn’t need to look far. He’d been conscious of Samara’s presence all night, somehow aware of every step she took, every man she talked to.

Every one except him—or so it seemed. Not that he could blame her after the stilted conversation they’d shared in the car. He felt so unaccustomedly awkward and tongue-tied around her, unable to think about anything but how beautiful she was, and how much he wanted to take her in his arms.

And while his sister-in-law had just given him the perfect excuse to go after Samara, he wasn’t sure he wanted one. He wasn’t sure he was ready to acknowledge the feelings she stirred inside him, never mind to act upon them.

“I don’t know your friend very well,” he said, “but I get the impression she can take care of herself.”

“Of course she can,” Jenny agreed. “But I’d feel better if I knew she wasn’t alone.”

And Steven would feel better if he wasn’t alone with her, but he nodded to his sister-in-law and went after Samara anyway.

Samara had been talking to Jenny’s husband when Richard excused himself to take a phone call. She took advantage of the opportunity to slip into the hall and out the back door. She just wanted ten minutes of quiet and solitude before she put the smile back on her face and returned to the party.

Muted light spilled out of the windows to illuminate the patio, so she moved farther away from the house to one of the lounge chairs deeper in the shadows.

She appreciated Jenny’s efforts to introduce her to new people, but she was feeling a little overwhelmed trying to remember all of the names and faces. And though she was sure it hadn’t been intentional, every one of the twenty-four people seated around the table were part of a couple. Every one except Samara and Steven.

She wondered if he’d noticed that, too, and if he felt as awkward about it as she did. She certainly wouldn’t guess that he did. Of course, she wouldn’t try to guess anything about what Steven Warren was thinking or feeling. In the nearly two weeks that had passed since their first meeting, she really didn’t know any more about him than she’d known when she’d walked into his office for that initial interview. Their paths rarely crossed at work, and when they did, it was only long enough to exchange a brief greeting.

“Did you really want to be alone or did you just need a break from the crowd?” Steven asked, stepping out of the shadows.

“I wanted some fresh air,” she said, ashamed to have been caught hiding out.

Steven handed her a glass of red wine. “I noticed this was what you were drinking at dinner, and since I know you’re not driving home, I thought I’d bring you another. A peace offering.”

She accepted the glass. “Thank you.”

He lowered himself into the chair beside hers. “I didn’t just come out here to deliver the wine.”

“You wanted a break from the crowd, too,” she guessed.

“I’m a little out of my element in these kinds of social settings. For the past couple of years, a night out for me has meant a G-rated movie and a tub of popcorn with my kids.”

She smiled, pleased with both the image and his admission. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No, I guess not,” he agreed.

“I like to think I’m sociable,” she said. “But I felt like a third wheel in there.”

“Fifth wheel,” he told her.

She frowned. “Jenny and Richard and me—that would make three.”

“The expression is fifth wheel,” he explained. “Generally a vehicle has four wheels, making the fifth the unnecessary one.”

“Oh.” She stared at the wine in her glass. “Is that something I would know if I had a driver’s license?”

“Undoubtedly,” he said, but softened the response with a smile that told her he was only teasing.

She leaned back in her chair, noting that he was even more attractive when he smiled. Much more attractive. She tore her gaze away, reminding herself that he wasn’t just her boss, he was her best friend’s brother-in-law and the widowed father of two children. Which meant that he was someone she had absolutely no business thinking about in the way she’d suddenly started thinking about him—as someone she wouldn’t mind getting naked with.

Steven’s thoughts were on a similar path as he reached for his glass and tried not to let his eyes linger on Samara’s legs. They seemed to stretch all the way to her neck—long, slender, shapely—an impression that was emphasized by the short skirt and high heels she wore.

He took a long swallow of his drink and reminded himself that they were coworkers with a family connection, which should have automatically precluded consideration of any other kind of relationship between them. But couldn’t stop his imagination.

“There was a question I forgot to ask during your interview,” he said.

“Too late,” she told him. “You already hired me.”

“And I wouldn’t unhire you now,” he assured her. “I was just curious about something.”

“What?”

“Why you chose to settle in Chicago.”

“Because twenty-two months of living out of a suitcase was long enough.”

“Why did you leave Tokyo?”

She dropped her gaze. “There were a lot of reasons.”

“Personal or professional?”

“Both.” She took a sip of her wine, shrugged. “Mostly personal, I guess.”

And that was all she said. He wanted to question her further, to know what it was that had suddenly put the shadows in her usually sparkling eyes, but he didn’t know her well enough to press for details. Yet.

“What about you?” she asked, turning the tables. “Why did you come to Chicago?”

He decided that if he wanted her to share her secrets—and though he wasn’t sure why, he knew that he did want her to open up to him—he needed to start. “The obvious answer is for my job. But I don’t think I would have even considered the offer at Classic if I wasn’t already thinking that I needed to move my family out of Crooked Oak.”

“Because the memories were too painful?” she asked gently.

He shook his head. “The memories were one of the things that made it so hard to leave. But as hard as it was to lose my wife, I was afraid that if we didn’t make a new start somewhere else, I would lose my daughter, too.”

He took another sip of his soda and wished for a moment that it was something stronger. But he was driving, and he never fooled around with alcohol when he was going to get behind the wheel of a car. “After her mom died, Caitlin’s grades dropped dramatically. She started skipping classes and hanging with a questionable crowd at school.”

His knuckles tightened around his glass as he thought about what they’d been through. The meetings with her teachers and guidance counselors and principal. The phone calls from the manager at the movie theater from which Caitlin and her friends were banned for causing a ruckus, from a friend who’d found Caitlin puking up the alcohol she’d drunk, from the police who’d been called in when she’d tried to swipe a tube of lip gloss from the neighborhood pharmacy.

He’d been at his wit’s end, desperate to stop his daughter’s downward spiral without the slightest clue as to how to do it.

The darkness of the memories had become so all-encompassing he almost forgot Samara was there until she reached over and touched her hand to his arm. It was a casual touch, an offer of support, and somehow more.

Her gaze lifted to his, and he saw both surprise and awareness in the ebony depths of her eyes, as the air around them fairly crackled with the sudden tension between them.

Then she dropped her hand and leaned back in her chair. When she spoke, her voice was soft, her tone even, and he wondered if he’d imagined the sizzle in the air.

“The loss of a parent is a big deal at any age, but the loss of a mother would be even more devastating to a girl making that transition from child to woman.”

Steven winced. “Please don’t talk about transitions and womanhood—she’s only twelve.”

Samara laughed. “Twelve going on twenty, I imagine.”

“You’d be right,” he admitted reluctantly. “I miss the days when I used to complain about tripping over Barbies every time I turned around.”

“Does she like Chicago?”

“I have no idea.”

Samara’s brows rose.

“I have no idea about anything that goes through her mind,” he expanded. “She doesn’t talk about school and she has no interest in extracurricular activities. Though it’s early in the year, I’ve met with all of her teachers, and they’ve assured me she isn’t having any trouble in any of her classes, but I don’t see any excitement in her, either.”

“She’s twelve,” Samara echoed what he’d told her. “And as I recollect, the preteen years are filled with anxiety and intensity and definitely lacking in excitement.”

“Maybe,” he allowed.

“How is your son doing?”

“Tyler loves it here,” he said. “He’s made new friends, joined the science club at school, and has started playing hockey this year.”

“And what about you?” she asked.

“Me?”

She smiled at his obvious surprise. “Are you glad you moved?”

He caught her gaze again, held it as the tension flared once again. “I think I’m going to be.”