Page 20 of Ruthless Creatures
Ah, yes. He saw me boozing it up last night, too. Right before I wobbled over to his table. No wonder he looks at me with such… whatever it is.
“No, actually,” I say, trying to look ladylike as I blot my lips on my napkin. “Only on two days a year.”
He cocks a brow, waiting for an explanation. In an ashtray next to his left elbow, his cigar sends up lazy whorls of smoke into the air.
Are you even allowed to smoke in here?
As if that would stop him.
I glance away from the dark pull of his eyes. “It’s a long story.”
Even though I’m not looking at him, his attention is a force I can physically feel on my body. In my stomach. On my skin. I close my eyes and slowly exhale, trying to steady my nerves.
Then—blame it on the buzz—I jump off the cliff in front of me. “Today was supposed to be my wedding day.”
After an oddly tense pause, he prompts, “Supposed to be?”
I clear my throat, knowing that my cheeks are red but there’s nothing I can do about it. “My fiancé disappeared. That was five years ago. I haven’t seen him since.”
What the hell, he’d find out from someone soon enough anyway. Diane Myers has probably already mailed him a handwritten essay about the whole thing.
When he remains silent, I glance over at him. He’s sitting perfectly still in his chair, his gaze steady on mine. His expression reveals nothing, but there’s a new tension in his body. A new hardness in his already stony jaw.
Which is when I remember that he’s a recent widower. I’ve just stuck my foot in my mouth.
Hand over my heart, I breathe, “Oh, I’m so sorry. That was thoughtless of me.”
His brows draw together in a quizzical frown. It’s obvious he doesn’t know what I mean.
“Because of your… situation.”
He sits forward in his chair, folds his arms on the tabletop, and leans closer to me. Eyes glittering, he says quietly, “Which situation is that?”
God, this guy is scary. Big, hot, and really scary. But mostly hot. No, scary.
Shit, I think I’m drunk.
“Maybe I’m wrong. I just assumed—”
“Assumed what?”
“That when you saw me in my wedding dress… that you’re new in town and you seem very, um, a little, how should I say? Not angry, exactly, but more like upset? That perhaps, you were, ah, maybe suffering from a recent loss…”
Feeling pathetic, I trail off into silence.
His stare is so hard and searching it might as well be an interrogation spotlight. Then his look clears, and he sits back into his chair. “You thought I was married.”
There’s a definite hint of laughter in his tone.
“Yes. Specifically, a widower.”
“I’ve never been married. Never been divorced. Don’t have a dead wife.”
“I see.”
I don’t see, not one bit, but what else can I say? So sorry my best friend and I are conspiracy theorists and spent an entire lunch obsessing over you?
No. I definitely can’t say that.
