As a woman who admired fashion and made her living from it, Marlys took a moment to appreciate the talent and skill that had gone into each piece. Not to mention the artistic eye that had placed them so strategically. She’d have to come back during regular shop hours, she decided, making her way toward the back table where platters of food and beverage urns were set.
She wanted to meet this Cassandra. It looked as if they might have a lot in common. Then she took her first bite of a spinach-and-cheese-filled pastry and her taste buds cried in happiness. Okay, she hadn’t eaten much, not since that last encounter with Dean, but it wasn’t only hunger that had her drooling in delight.
This was good, really good. Now she wanted to meet Nikki, too.
Marlys didn’t have friends, not since her days as an Army brat, but maybe she could change that. She would change that, she decided, popping the rest of the small appetizer into her mouth, if only to prove Dean wrong. It’s other people that you use to take out your pain, he’d said. Well, she’d prove to him that she could get close to people without hurting them.
Maybe then he would—
“What the hell are you doing here?”
The demand in the male voice had her whirling around and her stomach leaping toward her throat. Noah stared at her, his eyes narrowed. Noah, not Dean. Her stomach settled back to the bottom of her belly.
From the look on his face, she guessed his friend had passed along that she’d been passing along tips to the tabloids. “It’s a free country, Private.”
“You’re not welcome here, Marlys.”
She’d never taken rejection well, true. But it rankled even more as she remembered how she’d come on to him when they’d first met and how gently he’d tried letting her down. That gentleness was what she found so mortifying. Noah had treated her like she was breakable, and everyone—Dean included now—knew that wasn’t true.
Marlys drew herself taller, and wished she was wearing higher heels. “It’s a party for my father’s book.”
“The party’s over for you.” He took her elbow.
Her face went hot, and she yanked her arm from his hold. “I can see myself out.” She meant to spin away and leave with dignity, but some stupid compulsion kept her glued to the spot. Call it curiosity. None of her questions had been answered, after all.
What was Juliet up to?
Why’d she have the party here?
“Where’s Dean?” The two words tumbled out of Marlys’s mouth. “Is Dean here?”
Noah’s eyes narrowed. “You’re toxic, Marlys.”
The sharp edge in his voice had her stepping back. Noah had always seemed like such a nice guy, which had been a huge part of his appeal. The rough hunkiness and “do a good turn daily” demeanor was an unbeatable combination. But the Boy Scout was gone and all that looked to be left was the narrow-eyed, trained-to-kill soldier.
“I only—”
“Save it,” he said, cutting her off. “Just get the hell out.”
She took another step back, but found she couldn’t go without knowing. “Please,” she heard herself say, embarrassed further by the entreaty she could hear in her own voice. “Please, Noah. Dean—”
“Is gone,” the other man said flatly. “He reported early. Happy now?”
Happy now? She couldn’t breathe now. As the crowd moved around her, as Noah gave her a last look of condemnation and then moved on himself, Marlys stood where she was. Dean had reported early. Maybe he was in Afghanistan already.
In a danger zone.
She wouldn’t think of it, she decided, turning and heading back toward the shop’s door. Their short interlude wasn’t something she should dwell upon. And she was good at letting go, remember? She was a military brat, a dandelion. Like them, she was resilient. Like them, she knew when it was time to let the breeze take her to the next place.
She was like a hardy dandelion that survived anywhere and that…Marlys’s feet stuttered.
…that grew in unexpected places.
…and that—
She froze, then had to lean against the nearest wall to hold herself up. The other thing about dandelions, the thing she’d stupidly forgotten, is that their roots went so damn deep.
Just like her feelings for Dean. Unexpected, deeply held, made to survive.
And she’d done everything she could to turn him away from her.
Cold closed around her throat and she felt as if a wound opened inside her chest. She braced her hand on the plaster beside her because a shoulder wasn’t enough. Who could stand when she’d so royally fucked up her life?
“Are you all right?”
She glanced up at Oomfaa. “Sure.” No. Never.