Caro Carson - The Bachelor Doctor's Bride

Being this man’s rebound girl would be crushing for someone like her. It was better to just be friends.

“I agree champagne is better cold,” Quinn was saying, “but it’s also better when it’s actually champagne.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Champagne has to actually come from a part of France called ‘Champagne.’”

The way he said it, all French-sounding with extra syllables, made her want to swoon. Diana had never swooned in her life, over anything. This man was positively dangerous.

“The waiters have been handing out some domestic swill. Sparkling wine, if you want to be kind.”

“Oh.” Diana glanced at the wrapped bottle.

“The effervescence in this champagne has more bite to it, but the fruit is smooth.” He topped off her glass. “Try it again and tell me what you think.”

What she thought? What she thought was that she was not in this man’s league. She could see the beauty in the crystal and flames, but she could also enjoy the sequins and the LED lights. Quinn, she realized, was from a strictly crystal lifestyle.

They were not a match, no matter how much she was attracted to him.

For one thing, he was scoffing at the champagne at this beautiful party, something she would never do. It bothered her.

And so, for the first time that night—heck, for the first time in weeks—Diana frowned. She raised an eyebrow at him disapprovingly. “I think you can overdo the biting part. When someone offers you free champagne at a party, you should just relax and enjoy it, not critique it. Life is sweeter that way.”

He raised an eyebrow right back at her—with ten times the withering effect that she could muster.

“Are you criticizing me for being critical?” he asked. Then, once more, he smiled. “I do believe there is a certain amount of irony there.”

“No. Well...yes.” Darn it, his smile was something dazzling. It was probably best if she moved on for the night. Diana looked around for the girl with the stooped shoulders.

“Miss Connor, would it be too critical of me to point out that you were just handed cold and free and genuine champagne?” He clinked his glass with hers, and sabotaged her resolve with another smile. “You are right. We have no choice but to relax and enjoy it.”

Well. The man was obviously relaxed enough to start turning the charm on. If she directed him toward the right woman and he gave her that smile, Diana’s mission would be accomplished. She took another sip. It really did taste special. She surreptitiously moved the napkin away from the bottle’s label with one finger. One never knew when the name of a good champagne might be handy.

She took one more sip, and hoped she could fake some enthusiasm for finding Quinn someone to dance with. “All right, Quinn. Back to business. While we’ve got champagne, real champagne, to cover our movements, this is an easy time to check out the other people in the room. You never gave me your opinion on the knockout in the red dress.”

Quinn took the champagne glass out of her hand and set it down methodically, precisely next to his. He looked rather stern. “I’m not interested.”

“Don’t give up. The night is still young. We’ll find you someone worth dancing with.”

“The bottom line is this, Diana Connor. The only woman I want to dance with, or talk to, or drink champagne with, is you.”

“Me?”

Her heart skipped around in her chest, as crazy and out of sync as the fringe on her dress, shivering with the shaky breath she sucked in.

“You. May I have this dance?”

The orchestra began the opening strains of “Moonlight Serenade.” It was all so perfect. The champagne, the man, the music, the night.

Diana felt a little shiver of fear. Dancing with Quinn seemed dangerous. Risky, somehow. What if life was never this perfect again?

It takes courage to be happy. Her mother’s mantra had become her own. Diana had been doing her best to live a courageous life, seizing happiness when it came her way, just as she’d seized the ticket to this lovely gala. She could dance one perfect dance with a perfect man to a perfect song. It wouldn’t change her life. It would be a happy memory to hold when the dark ones threatened.

“I love this song,” she said to Quinn.

The corners of his eyes crinkled as his expression went from serious to something softer. Then a woman’s voice called to him from behind Diana. “There you are, Quinn MacDowell. I thought for sure you would have ducked out by now. Being quite the trouper tonight, are you?”

Quinn’s gaze flicked to someone beyond Diana’s shoulder. Diana turned to see who was speaking. A woman, tall and confident, stepped in to kiss Quinn on the cheek.

Two facts warred for attention in Diana’s mind. One, this woman could be a good match for Quinn. She was only a few inches taller than Diana, but her hair had been professionally and intricately piled on top of her head in a striking style that made her seem positively statuesque—and very confident. She wore a floor-length gown, one spectacular drape of blue cloth with a high, choker-style collar, a design only a woman with an elegant, long neck could wear.

Diana was not that woman.

Her second thought was more upsetting: Quinn’s last name was MacDowell.

MacDowell. He’s a MacDowell. He can’t be in love with Lana. That would be horrible, in love with your relative’s wife. Just horrible for him.

It was nearly enough to make Diana happy that the woman in blue would be a good match.

The woman trailed an entourage behind her, women who seemed lost in her wake. One was much older, dressed in a severe jacket over a floor-length, straight skirt, and one was much younger—the girl with the stooped shoulders. Diana smiled at her and nodded encouragingly.

The woman in blue, done kissing Quinn, set her purse on the table next to Diana’s, and seemed ready to settle in for a chat. Diana took a step to the side to give her room, and felt the brush of the tablecloth against her bare leg.

Bare legs. She was completely underdressed for this event, something she’d noticed as soon as she’d arrived, but something she’d dismissed as being no more than an “oops.” Next to this elegant friend of Quinn’s, however, she wished for just a second that she’d worn a long gown. Too bad she didn’t own a long gown. Formal balls weren’t her usual Friday night.

“Thank God you’re still here,” the woman said to Quinn. “There isn’t anyone worth talking to. Dance with me.”

Quinn did the raised-eyebrow thing to her, but without any real animosity. The pair were obviously old friends. “As charmingly worded as that invitation was, I’ve asked Diana to dance.”

Quinn nodded her way, and suddenly, Diana was the focus of attention. “Diana, this is Patricia Cargill.”

Patricia looked her up and down, once, lingering for a millisecond on Diana’s hemline.

Yes, I know everyone else is in a gown.

Quinn continued his introductions. “And, Patricia, this is Diana Connor. She’s a friend of Lana’s.”

“A friend of Lana’s.” Patricia seemed mildly surprised at this. “From med school?”

Diana fought not to blush. This portion of her evening was rapidly coming to a close. His friends had found him; Quinn no longer needed her. Not even as a dance partner to wile away a song or two.

“I was Lana’s real estate agent.” She dared a quick glance at Quinn, then looked down to the tablecloth and her nearly empty champagne glass. There was nothing wrong with being a real estate agent, of course, but when she’d met Quinn, she’d said she was Lana’s business associate. Had he thought she was a business associate from the world of medicine? Had he assumed she was a doctor or nurse when he’d asked her to dance?