Love At Last

by Claudia Connor

  “Sorry. Everything looked good. I haven’t eaten much the past few days, and I’m suddenly starving. Wedding jitters maybe.” She pressed her lips together and scrunched her nose. “Sorry. I don’t usually talk so much. Well, I do, but not usually like this.” She laughed, covered her face with her hands for a second then dropped them to her lap. “I must seem like a hot mess, and you don’t even look scared.”

  “I have sisters. They’re much scarier than you. Sorry,” he said, when he fumbled a piece of wonton into his lap.

  “Did you do that on purpose?” she asked as he wiped at his pants.

  He looked up, saw her skeptical raised eyebrow. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you feel sorry for me? To make me feel better?”

  “No.” He placed the napkin back in his lap then rested his forearm on the table and met her eyes. “I don’t feel sorry for you, because you don’t look like you need it. Any man who did what your fiancé did doesn’t deserve you, and you look smart enough to know it.”

  “How would you know? That I’m smart enough?”

  He lifted his fork again and sliced the last dumpling in half. “I’m a good judge of character.” Funny, he wouldn’t have thought that about himself given his poor choices in women. Or one woman.

  “Well, I’m not. Obviously.” She took the half dumpling he offered.

  “As for dropping food, my sisters would tell you it wasn’t the first time, as I have no class.”

  “I think you have class,” she said softly, completely serious.

  “Well…since you just said you were a bad judge…” He made a face, and they both laughed.

  “So you have sisters?”

  “Yes. Two. I know that’s off limits because they’re not here right now, but they would be extremely offended if I didn’t acknowledge them.”

  She smiled again. “That’s sweet. And since I would expect the same from my brother, I’ll allow it. Older or younger?”

  “One of each.”

  “Ahh. Are you the typical middle-child peacekeeper?”

  “I might have attempted to mediate a few times. Mostly, I just ducked for cover.”

  “I like you,” she said suddenly, sounding surprised.

  “I like you, too.”

  She fiddled with her napkin before looking at him again. “Did you always have a lot of pets growing up?”

  “Two dogs and a cat.”

  “We had a schnauzer named Lou. I also had a gerbil for a short time. Until my brother and I decided he should get to explore the great outdoors and set him free. Hopefully, he’s still exploring.”

  “Hopefully so. I had a ferret. Ralph.”

  Clare rested her fork on the side of her plate. “I had an ant farm.”

  Deacon stabbed a wonton, paused. “I had a turtle named Henry.”

  She scowled then smiled triumphantly. “My grandmother had two Siamese cats.”

  “I had a hedgehog.”

  Clare narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you trying to best me? In a pet list?”

  He smiled, enjoying her and himself more than he would have imagined. “I’m just listing. Can’t help it if I’m besting you.”

  “Humph.”

  Their main course came, and they took some time to eat. He was enjoying himself, the food, and the setting, but mostly her company. He liked watching her eat, was amused and charmed by her enjoyment of the food and the way she moved the pieces around on her plate between each bite.

  Back at home, he was always busy and rarely alone, surrounded either by work or family. But sitting here, having dinner with Clare reminded him that on a deeper, personal level, he was absolutely alone. He wasn’t half of a couple, part of a whole, like everyone else in the restaurant. Everyone, it seemed, but he and Clare.

  “How’s the rice?” he asked. “Does it taste forbidden?”

  “It’s good.” Her lips curved as she took another bite. “Here.”

  She held out a bite to him, but he wasn’t looking at the food. He was caught and sinking fast into the dark brown of her eyes.

  “Are you afraid because it’s forbidden?” She was waiting, and he was still staring as she held out her fork for him.

  “No. I’m not afraid.” He closed his lips around the fork, and as her eyes followed the movement, he imagined he could taste her. Decided that he wanted to.

  He finished his bite, and she went to take a bite for herself, her lips where his had just been. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been so drawn to a woman.

  He cleared his throat, needing to get back on steady ground. “So how long have you been here?”

  “Just got here today,” she said between bites. “What about you?”

  Does that mean the nonwedding happened just yesterday?

  “I got here yesterday, so I can say with authority, the breakfast buffet is something to look forward to.” That got him a smile, which felt like a bigger deal than it probably should have. “I’d love to see more of the island, or at least enjoy the resort, but we’re on a pretty tight schedule.”

  “Will you get to? Before you leave?”

  “No. The conference ends Wednesday, and I’ll be heading home Thursday morning.”

  She tilted her head. “All work and no play?”

  Pretty much, he thought. “Will you—”

  “Dr. Montgomery.”

  Deacon turned and started to rise to greet the two young men who’d stopped beside his and Clare’s table.

  “No, no. Please.” The taller of the two stuck his hand out. “We just wanted to say hello, figured tomorrow would be a rush, and we might not get the chance. Eric Newman.”

  Deacon shook his hand then the other man’s.

  “I’m looking forward to your presentation in the morning,” Eric said.

  “Thank you. I hope I can pass on something useful.”

  “I know you will. I found your paper on femur displacement fascinating. “I know a lot of people who came just to hear your presentation.”

  * * *

  AS ERIC STARTED IN on another tedious surgical treatment, Clare took the opportunity to study the man she’d shared dinner with. He had a good face, a really good face. Great smile. Strong, chiseled jaw. But it was his eyes that got her. A soft velvet brown, the kind of eyes her overly romantic teenage self would have called dreamy.

  She pictured Adam’s face. He was also handsome but in a smoother, more polished kind of way. Had she ever felt like she could spend an entire evening just admiring Adam’s face? She didn’t remember.

  Eric was still talking when the other man cleared his throat in a subtle hint. “Oh, um… Sorry, I shouldn’t interrupt. We’ll see you in the morning.”

  “No problem. See you in the morning, gentlemen.”

  They left, and Clare turned her attention to Deacon. “You said you were at a conference, not that you were the conference.”

  He lifted his glass and took a drink. “There are several speakers. He exaggerated.”

  “Hmm… I think you’re being modest. And you were sweet to them. They seemed nervous to talk to you.”

  “I don’t know why.”

  Modest and just a little nervous himself, she thought. Interesting. She would have pegged him for extremely confident. “What will you be speaking on?”

  “A surgical technique I helped develop to increase mobility in catastrophic bone injury.”

  “Wow. So you invented something? No wonder those guys are impressed. I’m impressed, and I don’t even understand it.”

  The fingers of one hand circled the base of his glass while his other pointer finger tapped on the table. “It wasn’t just me,” he said, sounding almost like a sullen child. “It was a team effort.”

  “So modest, Dr. Montgomery. Why do I get the feeling you don’t like speaking?”

  His tapping finger stilled. “I enjoy the topic. I enjoy sharing something that could help, but… It’s ridiculous really,” he said with a small laugh and drained the last bit of
his tea. He set the glass down, sliding it precisely beside his water glass. “Once I get going, I’m fine, but the pregame, the lead-up… I don’t know why they can’t all just read it. I’d be happy to write it up in more detail.”

  “Ahh.” She nodded, understanding. “You know, Connor, my brother, hated getting up in front of the class. Hated it. Like faking stomachaches, hiding in the school bathroom, that kind of thing. So my mom would make him practice for hours, and since she worked in the afternoons, I had to make him practice, which I have to admit I kind of loved.

  “I’d make him turn all his clothes inside out and practice giving his book report or whatever it was that way. I’d dab ketchup on his face or make him stick a tissue in his nose. Sometimes I made him stand on one foot or on his head. I know, it sounds stupid,” she said to the skeptical look on Deacon’s face.

  “No.”

  “Yes, it does. Be honest.”

  “Okay.” He smiled, revealing a faint dimple on one side. “A little.”

  “Well, it worked. Maybe getting used to doing it under extreme circumstances made him more confident when he actually did it in front of the class.”

  “Mmm. It makes sense, in a weird way. So I should go practice standing on my head?”

  “Nah. I don’t think you need that.”

  “Thank you,” Deacon said.

  “You’re welcome.” He smiled, and she felt her breath catch. His face was close, his eyes on hers, and her heart seemed to sink to her stomach. She couldn’t think of what to say.

  A low clearing of the throat next to their table broke the spell. “Can I get the two of you anything else?” the waiter asked. “Dessert?”

  Clare sat back in her seat. She didn’t particularly want to go back to her room alone. She wanted to stay with Deacon, wanted to linger over dessert with him. And because she did just a little too much, she wouldn’t. “I’m good.”

  “Me, too,” Deacon said.

  The waiter nodded and moved on.

  “Well, I should probably go,” she finally said. “Get to bed and all.” Right, because I’m on vacation and have so much to do tomorrow. But Deacon did. And just to prove her point, he glanced at his watch. It had to be close to eleven.

  They stood, and although tips were included, she noticed Deacon left a generous offering for their waiter. He tucked it inconspicuously under the edge of his plate, without making it obvious to her, and in such a way that the waiter wouldn’t see it until they were gone so he couldn’t refuse.

  His wide, warm palm grazed her lower back as they wove their way through the tables to the exit. They crossed over the water garden in silence, slowing as they reached a fork in the path.

  “Which way?” Deacon asked. “I’ll walk you back.”

  “That’s sweet, but you really don’t have to. It’s a five-star resort, not downtown Los Angeles.”

  Deacon kept walking. “True. But you know, I took you to dinner and all.”

  She arched a brow at him. “It’s also an all-inclusive resort. Maybe I took you.”

  “Maybe you did.”

  He flashed her that slightly lopsided grin that hit her right in the chest. She conceded to the walk, and together, they followed the brick path. The resort was dark, but lights along the sidewalk lit the path and shined up the skinny gray trunks of the swaying palms. It was quiet, and when they didn’t pass even one other person, she was glad he was walking her back.

  She slowed as they came to the breezeway leading to her building and pointed up the steps to the second floor. “I’m up there, so…”

  Deacon started up the steps. “I’ll walk you to the door. I’m funny like that.”

  She probably should have said no, insisted that she could make it to her door on her own. Because of course she could. But she didn’t insist, just followed, enormously glad she’d removed the HONEYMOON banner from her door.

  They reached her room, and she turned to face him. Just the two of them now, up here, alone at her door. She felt a slight buzzing in her head that had nothing to do with alcohol.

  “Well, Clare of the here and now.”

  She rolled her eyes at the reminder of her earlier word-vomit ramble. “It was nice to meet you.” She stuck out her hand, hoping it wasn’t sweaty.

  “It was nice to meet you, too.”

  It didn’t feel like a simple handshake as he wrapped his fingers around hers. “I had fun tonight. You turned what might have been a horrible night into something surprisingly nice.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Thank you for catching me and saving my top and for dinner and talking and…” And maybe she could stop talking.

  “You’re welcome.”

  A frog gave a low croak, and another answered, but she figured the pounding of her heart was louder.

  The buzzing in her head grew, and she felt dizzy from looking into his eyes and staring at his lips because she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to feel those smooth, firm lips on hers, to taste him and feel his arms around her. I’m losing my mind.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said. “I’ve been wanting to say that all night.” He lifted his hand and lightly brushed his thumb over her cheek.

  Then he leaned in, and she moved. Just…moved. In and up, her fingers twisting in the front of his shirt. She was just falling into the taste of him, just getting that warm, tingling flood of a first kiss when her brain fully registered that he’d been leaning in to kiss her cheek.

  She jerked back. “I’m sorry.” She swallowed hard, felt a stinging heat flooding into her cheeks, and wished desperately to disappear. Deacon was staring at her in complete confusion. That made two of them. “I’m…really sorry.”

  She spun to her door. A stiff wind sang through the open-air hallway, slapping her hair across her eyes. How she got her key in the lock, she had no idea. Mumbling one more apology over her shoulder, she opened the door and closed it behind her, then stood, heart pounding in mortification, her lips buzzing.

  The champagne glasses and fruit and cheese tray had been cleared. The bed had been turned back, and the damn swans were back, nestled in the center of the bed and kissing right on their terrycloth lips.

  Chapter 4

  CLARE WOKE UP FEELING like the worst cliché. She could see her life as a news headline.

  “Desperate jilted bride attacks unassuming male veterinarian. Details at six.”

  She groaned and rolled over. What an idiot. The wide blades of the ceiling fan whirred overhead, cutting through the stream of morning sunlight. But she was entitled to be a little off balance, right?

  Well, she’d had her moment, now she could forget it. Of course the kiss had only been one of the moments. There’d been many more before that. Deacon Montgomery wasn’t going to be easy to forget.

  With an arm thrown over her eyes, she sighed. She needed bacon and waffles. Maybe a bagel with cream cheese and that super-thin smoked salmon, followed by a good, strong talk with Jess.

  Deacon wasn’t joking about the breakfast buffet, and seated at a small table for two, she ate all she’d planned and more. She sipped her mimosa and people watched, contemplating going back for round two. A glass half wall separated the restaurant from the landscaping and stone path where people strolled on their way to the pool or beach. Beyond that was pale sand and sparkling water. She thought of Deacon and smiled, wondering what he was doing, if he was speaking right this minute, and how it was going.

  She was just thinking to call Jess when her cell buzzed in her bag.

  “Hey. I was just about to call you.”

  “Finally!” Jess said. “You were supposed to call me last night. I’ve been dying! How are you?”

  “I’m good. You should see where I’m sitting right now.”

  “Jealous. But how are you really?”

  “I’m good.”

  “Clare.” Jess’s tone said that answer wasn’t going to cut it after the rush from the church just… Two days ago? It seemed like longer. “It’s weird, b
ut really, I am. And I swear I was just about to call you.”

  “Hmm. You’re only forgiven because I talked to your mom.”

  “Oh, jeez. Please tell me you’re not all calling each other, asking about me. ‘How’s poor Clare? Have you talked to her?’ Because that’s pathetic.”

  “Mmm…there may have been a few calls. Oh, and Connor called me. He’s been a real jerk lately,” Jess added, sounding sulky.

  “Really? You two fighting? Call me shocked.” Jess and Connor had been poking at each other since they could walk.

  Jess huffed. “Whatever. He was checking on you, so I ignored most of his overbearing jerk tendencies. So the place is nice?”

  “Heavenly.”

  “Is it mostly couples? If it is, I hope the men are balding and middle-aged, with sunburned beer bellies.”

  Clare pictured Deacon, who was anything but, and felt a distinct tingle. “Mmm.” She absently drew her fork through the syrup on her plate. “There are a lot of couples, but there are also some conferences going on so, you know, single people, too.”

  “Ooh. Do tell. Have you met any of these single people?”

  “Well…actually, I did meet someone. We had dinner last night.”

  “Wait. Someone, as in a man?”

  “Yes.” A very sweet, smart, and gorgeous man.

  “Details,” Jess said around a mouthful of whatever she was eating.

  “It was Asian fusion, really good. Mine came with this black rice called—”

  “Don’t be a bitch.”

  Clare laughed. “We had dinner.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. He’s nice. He’s a veterinarian. He’s here for a conference.”

  “And? Are you having a honeymoon affair with this Dr. Hottie?”

  “What? No! One it’s not a honeymoon, and two, just no. He walked me back to my door like a perfect gentleman, and then I…” Clare groaned. “Oh, crap, Jess. I’m such an idiot.”

  “Oh. My God. You did not!”

  “Did not… No! Jess!”

  “Well, just tell me then.”

  “He was looking at me and I thought… Hell. I don’t know what I thought, and…” She covered her face with her hand. “It was awful.”