Last night proved he possessed neither. Those deficits would have come to light eventually, but the twenty-twenty hindsight did little to ease the sting of unwittingly wasting half a year auditioning for the role of “other woman.” Her blood still boiled, thinking of him sitting across the table from her in the fancy French restaurant with a smug smile on his face while calmly explaining how an attorney on the fast track to partner needed the kind of spouse who stuck close and projected the firm’s proper, conservative image. Not an “unconventional artist, living in a commune in Europe.”
In this case “unconventional” really meant “unsuccessful.” A humbling realization for a girl who hit town wearing the crown and sash of the next big thing in the Atlanta art world, and quickly fell from grace due to circumstances beyond her control. Stupid her, thinking the potential of her receiving a fellowship half a world away had inspired him to propose, so they could spend the time apart with the security of a strong commitment in place. Instead, the manipulative weasel had twisted things around, implying that her unfortunate choice in gallery representation made it untenable for them to be together. Asif her career setback sabotaged their relationship by reflecting badly on him. The man had no heart. No soul. No balls.
The mediocre sex should have told you something.
True. But she’d put his less-than-impressive…ahem…follow-through down to a teensy lack of imagination in the bedroom, and instead let his endless supply of romantic gestures dazzle her.
She’d mistaken the late candlelight dinners, flowers for no reason, and surprise getaways as indicators of his passion for her, and ignored how the sex itself had fallen short of passionate. One-for-Three—Beau’s nickname for Mitch pretty much nailed it. He tended to come first, come fast, and fall asleep as soon as the deed was done. Where the hell was the passion in that?
A practical part of her had assumed they’d reached the comfortable phase of their relationship, when in fact they’d reached the nonexclusive phase. What a prick.
So be it. She shook her hair out of her face and straightened her spine, while one of her mom’s favorite sayings rang in her ears.No point crying with open eyes. Her eyes were now wide open when it came to Mitch, and she wouldn’t waste her tears on him, but she didn’t look forward to disclosing the whole pathetic mess to her family.
They’d sympathize. They’d console. They’d tell her she deserved better. Then her mother would take it upon herself to find better, and dedicate the holidays to setting Savannah up with every unattached man Mom and the other Daughters of Magnolia Grove could shame into dating her.
Unless she thought you were already engaged…which she does.
Would it be so wrong to let the mistake ride until after the New Year? Her parents had raised her to tell the truth, except where doing so would needlessly injure someone’s feelings. Horizontal stripes never made a friend look fat, a baked-from-scratchdinner always tasted wonderful, and no matter who soloed at Sunday service, the performance always sounded heavenly. Pretending to be engaged to Beau Montgomery for a few short weeks amounted to the same kind of little white lie, didn’t it? A harmless deception. Possibly even a helpful one if it eased his parents’ minds?
You’re considering lying to your family, but at least stay honest with yourself.She wasn’t blind or stupid. She knew hard-core lust when she felt it. Her battered ego basked in the heat of Beau’s stare, and the rest of her wasn’t immune, either. The simple sweep of his thumb over her palm shot her straight into a pre-orgasmic danger zone. Her pent-up body craved more than mere release. It craved complete and total salvation from the lackluster routine of the last several months. But acting on the attraction amounted to skipping through a minefield. Drunk. At midnight.
He lived next door. Their parents called the same town home. They were already waist-deep in a scheme that required they remain on friendly terms for the rest of the year, if not the rest of their lives. Then again, come January she’d board a plane to Italy, which offered a pretty decent eject button.
The door to the waiting area closed with a softthud. She looked up to find Beau standing before her, his expression unreadable.
“Ready?”
The single word provoked a far-from-harmless flutter in her belly. Was she ready to leave radiology? Sure. Ready to skip through a minefield, drunk, at midnight? She didn’t know.
…
He stayed silent while an orderly wheeled him back to the ER. The wheelchair irked, but Beau understood hospital policy, and frankly, he figured it advanced his cause to look as harmless as possible. Especially after a simple touch in the radiology waitingroom had charged the air around them with unstable chemistry.
He needed to review that whole conversation he’d had with himself about acknowledging lust versus acting on it. Acknowledging said, “It’s there. I see it,” much like a driver acknowledging a hazard in the road ahead. Acting on it amounted to steering straight for the hazard. Unfortunately, without meaning to, that’s exactly what he’d done. Touching her had definitely been a mistake. A potentially fatal one, now that she’d had a few minutes to think about the dangers. He hoped not, but the moment called for patience, not pressure.
His patience paid off. As soon as the exam room door whooshed closed behind the departing orderly, she propped herself against the table and stared down at him. “Okay, Montgomery, exactly how do you envision us executing this brilliant scheme of yours?”
“We keep things simple. Stick to the truth as much as possible.”
“With the notable exception of the whole ‘we’re in love and getting married’ bit.”
He dipped his head in concession. “Except for that.”
She folded her arms and gripped her elbows as if holding herself together. “How’d we meet?”
He stood and approached her, slow and casual to counterbalance the tension coming off her. “You moved in next door.” He braced a hand on the table by her hip. “And immediately caught my eye.”
“Did I?” She scanned his face, and he noticed the thin black striations in her horizon-blue irises.
“Hell, yes. We got to talking, and quickly realized we knew each other from back in the day.” He leaned in a little closer, drawn to the faint freckles on the bridge of her nose. He remembered those freckles. “Maybe that explains why we felt such an instant—”
“Connection?” The tip of her tongue swept over the small veenotched into the center of her upper lip.
“Attraction.”
The tongue detoured to her plush lower lip, and then retreated. “Attraction’s easy. Happens all the time. How did we get from attraction to love?”
“For me, it was the little things. The way you sing in the shower. The way you bite your lip when you’re trying to make an important decision. The home-baked apple pie might have been a factor.”