The Bride Said Never!

“Relax, Miss Bennett,” he’d said in a low, mocking tone. “You don’t want to make another scene, do you? Surely one such performance a day is enough, even for you.”

“I’m not the one who made a scene, you—you—”

“My name is Damian Skouras.”

He was laughing at her, damn him, and enjoying every second of her embarrassment.

“Perhaps you enjoy attracting attention,” he’d said. “If so, by all means, go on as you are. But if you believe, as I do, that today belongs to Nicholas and his bride, then be a good girl, smile prettily and pretend you’re having a good time, him?”

He was right, and she knew it. The line had bogged down behind her and people were beginning to crane their necks with interest, trying to see who and what was holding things up. So she’d smiled, not just prettily but brilliantly, as if she were on a set instead of at a wedding, and said, in a voice meant to be heard by no one but him, that she was hardly surprised he still thought it appropriate to address a woman as a girl and that she’d have an even better time if she pretended he’d vanished from the face of the earth.

His hand had tightened on hers and his eyes had glinted with a sudden darkness that almost made her wish she’d kept her mouth shut.

“You’ll never be able to pretend anything when it comes to me,” he’d said softly, “or have you forgotten what happened when I kissed you?”

Color had shot into her face. He’d smiled, let her snatch her hand from his, and she’d swept past him.

No, she hadn’t forgotten. How could she? There’d been that first instant of shocked rage and then, following hard on its heels, the dizzying realization that she was suddenly clinging to his broad shoulders, that her mouth was softening and parting under his, that she was making a little sound in the back of her throat and moving against him...

“...well,” Evan Something-or-Other droned, “if that’s the case, said the chicken, I guess there’s not much point crossing to the other side!”

Everybody at the table laughed. Laurel laughed, too, if a beat too late.

“Great story,” someone chuckled.

Evan smiled, lifted his glass of wine, and turned to Laurel.

“I guess you heard that one before,” he said apologet ically.

“No,” she said quickly, “no, I haven’t. I’m just—I think it must be jet lag. I was in Paris just yesterday and I don’t think my head’s caught up to the clock.” She smiled. “Or vice versa.”

“Paris, huh? Wonderful city. I was there last year. A business conference.”

“Ah.”

“Were you there on business? Or was it a vacation?”

“Oh, it was business.”

“I guess you’re there a lot.”

“Well...”

“For showings. That’s what they call them, right?”

“Well, yes, but how did you—”

“I recognized you.” Evan grinned. “Besides, Annie told me. I’m her dentist, hers and Dawn’s, and the last time she came by for a checkup she said. ‘Wait until you meet my baby sister at the wedding. She’s the most gorgeous model in the world.”’ His grin tilted. “But she was wrong.”

“Was she?” Laurel asked, trying to sound interested. She knew what came next. If the doctor thought this was a new approach, he was sadly mistaken.

“Absolutely. You’re not the most gorgeous model in the world, you’re the most gorgeous woman, hands down.”

Drum roll, lights up, Laurel thought, and laughed politely. “You’ll have to forgive Annie. She’s an inveterate matchmaker.”

“At least she didn’t exaggerate.” He chuckled and leaned closer. “You should see some of the so-called ‘dream dates’ I’ve been conned into.”

“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.”