Sandra Marton - The Bride Said Never!

“This isn’t a date, Doctor.”

His face crumpled just a little and Laurel winced. There was no reason to let her bad mood out on him.

“I meant,” she said with an apologetic smile, “I know what you’re saying. I’ve been a victim of some pretty sneaky setups, myself.”

“Matchmakers.” Evan shook his head. “They never let up, do they? And I wish you’d call me ‘Evan.’”

“Evan,” Laurel said. “And you’re right, they never do.”

“Annie wasn’t wrong, though, was she?” Evan cleared his throat. “I mean, you are, ah, uninvolved and unattached?”

Annie, Laurel thought wearily, what am I going to do with you? Her sister had been trying to marry her off for years. She’d really gone into overdrive after Laurel had finally walked out on Kirk.

“Okay,” Annie had said, “so at first, you didn’t want to settle down because you had to build your career. Then you convinced yourself that jerk would pop the question, but, big surprise, he didn’t.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Laurel had replied, but Annie had plowed on, laying out the joys of matrimony as if she hadn’t untied her own marriage vows years before, and eventually Laurel had silenced her by lying through her teeth and saying that if the right man ever came along, she supposed she’d agree to tie the knot....

But not in this lifetime. Laurel’s mouth firmed. So far as she could see, the only things a woman needed a man for was to muscle open ajar and provide sex. Well, there were gizmos on the market that dealt with tight jar lids. As for sex...it was overrated. That was something else she’d learned during her time with Kirk. Maybe it meant more to women who didn’t have careers. Maybe there was a woman somewhere who heard music and saw fireworks when she was in bed with a man but if you had a life, sex was really nothing more than a biological urge, like eating or drinking, and certainly not anywhere near as important.

“Sorry,” Evan said, “I guess I shouldn’t have asked.”

Laurel blinked. “Shouldn’t have...?

“If you were, you know, involved.”

“Oh.” She cleared her throat. “Oh, no, don’t apologize. I’m, ah, I’m flattered you’d ask. It’s just that, well, what with all the traveling I do—”

“Miss Bennett?”

Laurel stiffened. She didn’t have to turn around to know who’d come up behind her. Nobody could have put such a world of meaning into the simple use of her name—nobody but Damian Skouras.

She looked up. He was standing beside her chair, smiling pleasantly.

“Yes?” she said coldly.

“I thought you might like to dance.”

“You thought wrong.”

“Ah, but they’re playing our song.”

Laurel stared at him. For the most part, she’d been ignoring the band. Now, she realized that a medley of sixties hits had given way to a waltz.

“Our sort of song, at any rate,” Damian said. “An old-fashioned waltz, for an old-fashioned girl.” His smile tilted. “Sorry. I suppose I should say ‘woman.’”

“You suppose correctly, Mr. Skouras. Not that it matters. Girl or woman, I’m not interested.”

“In waltzing?”

“Waltzing is fine.” Laurel’s smile was the polite equal of his. “It’s you I’m not interested in, on the dance floor or off it.”

Across the table, there was a delighted intake of breath. Every eye had to be on her now and she knew it, but she didn’t care. Not anymore. Damian Skouras had taken this as far as she was going to allow.

“You must move in very strange circles, Miss Bennett. In my world, a dance is hardly a request for an assignation.”

Damn the man! He wasn’t put off by what she’d said, or even embarrassed. He was amused by it, smiling first at her and then at the woman who’d gasped, and somehow managing to turn things around so that it was Laurel who looked foolish.

It wasn’t easy, but she managed to dredge up a smile.

“And in mine,” she said sweetly, “a man who brings his girlfriend to a party and then spends his time hitting on another woman is called a—”

“Hey,” a cheerful voice said, “how’s it going here? Everybody having a good time?”

Laurel looked over her shoulder. The bride and groom had come up on her other side and were beaming at the tableful of guests.

“Yes,” someone finally said, after some throat-clearing, “we’re having a splendid time, Nicholas.”

“Great. Glad to hear it.” Nick grinned. “One thing I learned, watching the ladies set up the seating chart, is that you never know how these table arrangements are going to work out.” He looked at Laurel, then at Damian, and his grin broadened. “Terrific! I see that you guys managed to meet on your own.”

The woman opposite Laurel made a choked sound and lifted her napkin to her lips.

Damian nodded. “We did, indeed.” he said smoothly.

Dawn leaned her head against her groom’s shoulder. “We just knew you two would have a lot to talk about.”

I don’t believe this, Laurel thought. I’m trapped in a room filled with matchmakers.

“Really,” she said politely.

“Uh-huh.”

“Name one thing.”

Dawn’s brows lifted. “Sorry?”

“Name one thing we’d have to talk about,” Laurel said pleasantly, even while a little voice inside her warned her it was time to shut up.

The woman across the table made another choking sound. Dawn shot Nick a puzzled glance. Gallantly he picked up the slack.

“Well,” he said, “the both of you do a lot of traveling.”

“Indeed?”

“Take France, for instance.”

“France?”

“Yeah. Damian just bought an apartment in Paris. We figured you could clue him in on the best places to buy stuff. You know, furniture, whatever, considering that you spend so much time there.”

“I don’t,” Laurel said quickly. She looked at Evan, sitting beside her, and she cleared her throat. “I mean, I don’t spend half as much time in Paris as I used to.”

“Where do you spend your time, then?” Damian asked politely.

Where didn’t he spend his? Laurel made a quick mental inventory of all the European cities a man like this would probably frequent.

“New York,” she said, and knew instantly it had been the wrong choice.

“What a coincidence,” Damian said with a little smile. “I’ve just bought a condominium in Manhattan.”

“You said it was Paris.”

“Paris, Manhattan...” His shoulders lifted, then fell, in an elegant shrug. “My business interests take me to many places, Miss Bennett, and I much prefer coming home to my own things at night.”

“Like the blonde who came with you today?” Laurel said sweetly.

“Aunt Laurrr-el!” Dawn said, with a breathless laugh.

“It’s quite all right, Dawn,” Damian said softly, his eyes on Laurel’s. “Your aunt and I understand each other—don’t we, Miss Bennett?”

“Absolutely, Mr. Skouras.” Laurel turned to the dentist, who was sitting openmouthed, a copy of virtually everyone else at the table. “Would you like to dance, Evan?”

A flush rose on his face. He looked up at Damian.

“But—I mean, I thought...”

“You thought wrong, sir.” Damian’s tone was polite but Laurel wasn’t fooled. Anger glinted in his eyes. “While we’ve all been listening to Miss Bennett’s interesting views, I’ve had the chance to reconsider.” He turned to Dawn and smiled pleasantly. “My dear, I would be honored if you would desert Nicholas long enough to grant me the honor of this dance.”

Dawn smiled with relief. “I’d be thrilled.”

She went into his arms at the same time Laurel went into Evan’s. Nick pulled out Evan’s chair, spun it around and sat down. He draped his arms over the back and made some light remark about families and family members that diverted the attention of the others and set them laughing.