by Anne Stuart
It was a warm summer night in June. No one noticed when she slipped out onto the terrace, closing the French doors behind her. She took a deep breath of the damp night air, then looked down to discover her hands were shaking. Bridal jitters, she thought, dismissing it. She made no effort to go back into the crowded living room. No one had even noticed she’d disappeared, which was a blessing. This was the first time in days when she’d been alone, it seemed. At peace.
Until he stepped out of the shadows. “Running away?” Jake Wyczynski murmured.
He didn’t come any closer, for which she could only be thankful, though she wasn’t quite sure why. He was marginally dressed up, in dark pants and an open-necked white shirt, but there was no missing the air of the wild, the exotic, that clung to him like the night breeze.
“Getting a breath of air,” she said lightly. “I didn’t realize you were here.”
“I’ve been hiding out. This isn’t my kind of thing, I’m afraid.”
She turned and leaned against the stone balustrade, looking up at him. “Then why are you here?”
“I promised your godmother I’d give her a full report. If that means having to suffer through cocktail parties then so be it.” He looked as if he’d rather be wrestling crocodiles than standing on the terrace of the Andersons’ elegant house.
“Hey, don’t hang around on my account. I absolve you of any obligation,” she said coolly.
“The obligation isn’t to you, sweetheart. It’s to Louisa. I promised I’d witness your wedding and all the garbage leading up to it, and I won’t go back on my promise even if it kills me.”
“It’s not going to,” she said. “Though I might be tempted. I’ll tell you what, I can always free you. The invitation is rescinded. You aren’t invited. You can return to the wilds with a clear conscience.”
“I think your mother might have something to say about that.”
He was absolutely, annoyingly right. Her mother wouldn’t tolerate such ill manners, especially toward the representative of one of her oldest friends. Susan sighed wearily. She would have liked nothing better than to get rid of him, though she couldn’t figure out why he bothered her so much. In any case, she had no choice but to summon some semblance of courtesy. “All right,” she said. “You can suffer as much as you want. Just don’t expect me to make it any more bearable. I’ve got too much going on as it is.”
She made the mistake of meeting his gaze. He really had extraordinary eyes, light blue in his deeply tanned face, and there was the strangest expression in them. It must have been a trick of the light.
He smiled wryly. “I’m not expecting anything but a week of utter boredom and then I can get the hell back to where I came from.”
“And where did you come from?” she inquired politely.
“Here, there and everywhere. I’m a wanderer. A jack-of-all-trades. The last time I saw your godmother she was in Tanzania, about to climb Mount Kilimanjaro. I imagine the next time I run into her it’ll be in Sri Lanka at a ruined temple, or maybe a deserted Incan city.”
“How...completely irresponsible. Don’t you need to make money, or are you independently wealthy?”
“No, I don’t need to make money,” he echoed in a cynical drawl. “I don’t need to do much of anything I don’t want to do. I get to live a life of complete freedom.”
“And it isn’t lonely?”
He paused, looking at her. Somehow, in the course of a short conversation, they’d gone from polite to hostile, and she wasn’t quite sure why. Only that she felt safer with the hostility. “Let me tell you, sweetheart, it seems a hell of a lot lonelier in the middle of that crowd of people—” he jerked his head toward the noisy living room “—than being alone on an African river.”
She wanted to refute it, but the one thing she always prided herself on was her honesty. “You’re right,” she said abruptly.
He clearly hadn’t expected her to admit as much. “Then why are you putting up with it?”
“It’s expected. Edward enjoys it, and it helps his career. Did you meet Edward, by the way? I’ll introduce you....” She started for the French doors, suddenly eager to get away, back to the crowds and the safety, when he caught her arm. His hand was rough, warm, strong on her forearm.
“I met Edward,” he said. “I didn’t like him.”
She stared up at him, openmouthed, too astonished to pull free. “I beg your pardon? Everyone likes Edward.”
“I don’t. He’s plastic. A complete and utter phony, more interested in his own reflection than you. Are you sure you want to spend the rest of your life married to such a jerk?”
Her momentary shock melted into fury. “Just who the hell do you think you are? It’s none of your business who I marry. I don’t even know you.” Belatedly she yanked her arm free, then realized he hadn’t even been holding her. Just resting his hand on her arm.
He shrugged, unimpressed. “I hate to see people screwing up their lives.”
“Fine,” she said. “Don’t look.” She started away from him, when his mocking drawl called her back.
“You didn’t say whether you liked today’s present?”
She paused by the door. “I don’t know what it is.”
“Wedding jewelry, from one of the nomadic tribes Louisa and her husband traveled with.”
“Wedding jewelry? Where do you wear it?” she demanded.
He grinned. “Next to the skin, babe. If you and old Edward can’t figure it out you can always come to me.”
She slammed the door behind her.
Chapter Three
He watched her storm off, unwilling admiration warring with his definite annoyance. She was easily riled, which surprised him. He’d gathered from the people who’d known Susan Abbott all her life that she was an abnormally even-tempered young lady. Even Louisa had assured him that her unknown goddaughter had the temperament of a lamb.
Like a lamb to the slaughter, and realizing just how badly she was trapped, he thought Maybe it was just nerves—he figured brides were supposed to be edgy. But anyone with half a brain could see that she and Edward Jeffries were no decent match. And while he had his doubts about Susan’s serenity, he had no illusions about her intelligence.
She was heading straight for dear old Edward, and her fiancé was flashing his perfect smile at her, tucking her hand on his Armani-suited arm. Jake knew Armani when he saw it, despite his preferred life on the outskirts of civilization, and Edward wore it well.
Jake turned away, oddly bothered by the sight of them, surrounded by their neighbors and wellwishers. The terrace was only a few feet off the ground—he had every intention of jumping down rather than making his way through the perfumed crush once more.
He’d thrown one leg over the stone balustrade when someone loomed up out of the shadows beneath him. “Are you stealing the Andersons’ silver?” the man drawled, “or are you just making a quick getaway?”
Jake landed on the soft ground. The lights from the house spread out over the lawn, illuminating the middle-aged man who stood there watching him. “Who wants to know?”
“I’m not security, if that’s what you’re worried about. I couldn’t care less if you ran off with everything Taylor Anderson owns. I’m just an uninvited guest.”
“I thought everyone and his brother was invited to this shindig,” Jake said bitterly. “Though I can’t imagine why anyone would choose to go if they didn’t have to.”
“Well, since I’m a party crasher I obviously disagree with you,” he said pleasantly.
“Not much of a party crasher if you’re down here and the party’s going on up there. Trust me, you’re not missing much. The champagne is too warm and the food is too cold.”
“I’m not particularly interested in eating. How are the happy couple?”
Jake snorted in derision. “Happy enough,” he said. “After all, they’re a match made in blue-blood heaven.”
“So they are,” the man said thoughtfully. He held out a h
and. “I’m Alex Donovan, by the way. Outcast from blue-blood heaven.”
“I never belonged in the first place,” Jake said, shaking his hand. “Why don’t you go on in? There are so damned many people they’d never notice an extra one.”
“I don’t need to get any closer. I prefer it this way.” He glanced at Jake. “Are you a friend of Edward’s?”
“No.”
“Then you must be a friend of Susan’s.”
“Not particularly. I’m a friend of her godmother’s, here under duress.”
“Louisa? How extraordinary,” Alex murmured. “I can’t believe she’d turn up after all these years.”
“She didn’t.”
“She was smart. I should have kept my distance, as well,” he said. “Are you going back in there?”
“Not if my life depended on it.”
“Then let me buy you a drink,” Alex said.
“Why? A sudden longing for company?” Jake had survived a rough thirty-five years by never taking anything at face value. He’d also survived by using his instinct, and his instincts told him that though Alex Donovan might have some secrets, he was a decent man.
“No. I just want to find out anything you know about Susan Abbott.”
“I don’t know much. Why should you care, anyway?” For some reason he liked him. Better than almost anyone he’d met since he’d come to Connecticut.
Alex Donovan smiled wryly. “Because I haven’t seen her in twenty-nine years, and she’s my daughter.”
“WELL, I THINK that was very successful, don’t you?” Susan said breathlessly as she followed her mother into the house. “All the right people, excellent food, decent champagne.”
“Mmm.” Her mother made a noncommittal sound.
“Even Jake Whatsisname looked halfway presentable.” She kicked off her flat shoes and sprawled on her mother’s chintz sofa. She never wore heels around Edward—they were the same height, and while he’d never complained, she suspected he didn’t like it when she towered over him. Unfortunately it put her at a disadvantage with Jake Wyczynski—he positively loomed over her and she would have given anything to be able to look him in the eye.
“Wyczynski, darling, and you know it,” Mary said gently. “Actually I think he looked quite gorgeous, and so did every single one of your bridesmaids. Laura Hayden was practically drooling over him.”
“Deb was worse.” Susan stretched out her long legs, yawning. “I told her he was married, but I don’t think even that discouraged her.”
“Why on earth did you do that? He isn’t, is he? I’m sure Louisa would have mentioned it.”
Susan jerked her head up. “You’ve talked with her?”
“She sent me a little note, explaining about Jake and the wedding gifts. Not that I needed any explanation. Louisa can always be expected to do the unusual.”
“What did she say about him?”
“Why do you care?”
Susan produced an airy shrug that should have managed to hide her momentary guilt. “Just curious. I’m not used to having Indiana Jones show up at my doorstep bearing gifts from my mysterious godmother.”
“I think he looks more like that man in The English Patient.”
“Before or after he was burned?” Susan drawled.
“And you haven’t told me why you lied to Deb. She’s between beaux right now, and there’s no reason she shouldn’t entertain herself with Jake. I think they’d make a lovely couple.”
“It would be disastrous. Deb’s much too vulnerable—”
“Deb Stover is entirely capable of taking care of herself. Are you sure you don’t have another reason for scaring her off Jake? You seem far too interested in him.”
“I’m not the slightest bit interested in him. I’m not someone out of a screwball comedy, about to run off with a mountain man on my wedding day.”
“No, you’re a nervous bride who’s not absolutely convinced she’s making the right decision.”
The gently spoken words were like a slap in the face. Susan stared up at her mother in shock. “I’m thirty years old, mother. Edward is everything I’ve ever wanted in this life—security, comfort, friendship. We’ll have a good life together.”
“What about love? What about passion?”
“I saw where that got you. I can do very well without it, thank you very much. You’ve lived the past thirty years quite happily, and you didn’t miss it at all.”
“Who says?” Mary started toward the bedroom door, looking suddenly older than her fifty-nine years, and Susan stared at her in shock and guilt.
“You gave it up because of me,” she said, stricken. “I just assumed you were happy, when all the time you were sacrificing—”
Mary whirled around. “Don’t be silly, darling. I didn’t make any sacrifices I didn’t want to make. I didn’t give up on love and passion for your sake. I just never found anyone I cared about. Not the way I cared about your father.”
“Then why didn’t you try to work it out with him?”
Mary shook her head. “That was in the past. No need to belabor it now. I just don’t want to see you making the same mistakes I made.”
“That’s why I’m marrying Edward. I don’t want to marry the wrong man like you did.”
“Oh, Susan,” she said gently. “I didn’t marry the wrong man, sweetheart. My mistake was leaving him.” She shut the door behind her with quiet firmness, and Susan sank back on the sofa.
It had never occurred to her that her mother might have regretted her choices. That her own choices might not be the wise, rational decisions she’d prided herself on.
And she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that her mother was lying to her, trying to spare her feelings. That she’d spent the past thirty years living like a nun for the sake of her ungrateful daughter.
She’d deny it, of course. Susan pushed herself off the sofa and headed for the kitchen, looking for something to calm her nerves. Prewedding jitters, of course. All brides had them. Doubts and second guesses were an occupational hazard. And the unexpected appearance of Jake Wyczynski didn’t help things.
Though there was no particular reason why she should find him so unsettling. She’d seen dangerously good-looking men before and she considered herself impervious to their dubious appeal. But the fact of the matter was that this time, this man, was different.
Four more days until the wedding, and every single minute was crammed with things to do. She hadn’t been sleeping well, even though she usually prided herself on being unflappable, and if she had any sense at all she’d head into the bedroom and go right to sleep.
However, she’d learned the hard way that sense and sleep had no connection whatsoever. And she knew that despite the bare five hours of intermittent sleep she’d had the night before, she was far from ready to go to bed.
She made as little noise as possible when she went to her room, stripping off the perfect little black dress and pulling on an ancient pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt, shoving her bare feet into a pair of sandals. She washed off the makeup, shoved her fingers through her short hair and headed out into the cool night air, taking in a deep breath. She’d been feeling oddly stifled all night long, surrounded by people and demands, and the quiet stillness was balm to her soul.
The streets were empty, quiet, as she set out at a leisurely pace, stretching her long legs. She had no particular destination in mind, but it came as no surprise to her when she ended up on Forrest Street, just down the block from Winnie’s All-Night Café.
Winnie was long gone—the place was run by two transplanted yuppies who’d installed an espresso machine and served biscotti, but you could still find the best doughnuts and French fries in the world. Susan usually contented herself with a salad and latte, but tonight she was in need of comfort food.
She slid into a booth, ordered a huge, greasy cheeseburger and fries, washed down by a Coke, and leaned back, closing her eyes, as the sound of New-Age music drifted in the background. She h
adn’t eaten anything at the party tonight. She’d only nibbled at lunch—it was no wonder that she’d gotten overwrought. She had to remember to eat—there was no frilly, too-small wedding dress to starve herself into. Her doomed aunt Tallulah’s satin wedding dress fit her frame perfectly—if she lost any weight it wouldn’t hang as well, and there was hardly time to get it altered.
Anyway, she needed junk food tonight with a passion that would brook no denial. She smiled faintly. And her mother thought her devoid of passion. Not when it came to food.
She was halfway through her fries when something made her look up toward the door, in time to see Jake Wyczynski, his tall body shielding another man, the soft murmur of voices reaching to her booth. She ducked her head, hoping he wouldn’t see her but simply follow his friend out, but luck was against her. The other man left, and Jake ambled toward her, with that sexy, graceful slouch that had become unaccountably annoying.
He slid into the other side of the booth without waiting for an invitation, and helped himself to one of her French fries.
“Now who would have thought I’d run into the ice princess at a sleazy all-night diner?” he said, leaning back against the cracked vinyl banquette. “This hardly seems like your kind of place.”
“You don’t know anything about me. What makes you think you’re an expert on what my kind of place is? Some people head for a bar, I head for French fries when I need to—” She’d almost said “drown her sorrows.” “When I need to think.”
“What do you need to think about?” He took another fry. “Never mind, you’re going to tell me it’s none of my damned business.”
“I’m not that rude.”
“Not to most people, I’ve noticed. But with me you’re able to rise to the occasion.”
“You bring out the worst in me.”
“Why?”
She closed her eyes briefly and sighed. “This is a crazy conversation. Go away, Jake. I have more important things on my mind.”