Chapter 3
WITH A BROAD SMILE on his face, Deacon Montgomery followed the woman he’d just untangled himself from. She was cute, and the blush on her creamy cheeks over the whole debacle was charming.
They reached the sleek, black bar with lantern-shaped lights hanging from the ceiling, and she slid onto a stool.
“A margarita, please,” she said, smiling at the bartender.
He stood beside her and caught the bartender’s questioning look. Probably because he’d been standing in this very place five minutes ago, had a drink, and said goodbye. “Gin and tonic. Thanks, man.”
When the bartender moved away, he faced his mystery woman with an outstretched hand. “I’m Deacon.”
“Clare.”
She slipped her hand into his. Warm was his first thought. Unbelievably soft was his second, and he held it a second longer than necessary before reluctantly letting go. She was more than cute, she was beautiful, with big dark eyes and kissable pink lips. The free flow of ocean air through the restaurant tickled the ends of dark hair lying over her breast.
“What brings you to the island?” What brings you? He inwardly cringed at the stiff and awkward question. He had no game. Zero. He picked up his drink, and she picked up hers.
“I’m actually on my honeymoon…kind of.” She took a long drink.
Confused, Deacon paused with his glass halfway to his lips. She’d said she was flying solo. Like him. With more disappointment than he should’ve felt, he glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see a possessive man blazing a path to his woman. Lucky guy. Well, no harm. I’ll just finish this drink, go about my business—
“But since he’s not,” she said, “on his honeymoon, that is, I won’t be getting a drink, or anything else, with him.”
“Not here?”
“Nope.”
He waited, giving her a chance to say more, watching her drain the contents of her delicate glass.
“I sure as hell hope he has a good reason.”
“I guess that’d be a matter of opinion.”
“Shit.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say, but to his great relief, she laughed at his totally inept response.
“Yep. Pretty much.” She stared at the fresh drink the bartender had set on a small napkin next to her. “The church was full. I was in my dress, and…” She shrugged. “He changed his mind.”
He had nothing, absolutely no idea what to say to that. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. So I decided to come on the honeymoon anyway, only we’re not calling it a ‘honeymoon’ anymore.”
“We’re not?”
“Nope.” She shifted on her seat, her gaze meeting his. “Except I hope my brother’s not in jail. He can be severely overprotective.”
With two sisters of his own, he could understand that and started to say so, but she wasn’t finished.
“And now that I think about it, he better pay my parents back every cent they spent on that wedding. Or I should. One of us has to.” She covered her face with her hand. “Crap. Let’s not talk about it.” She swept her hands in front of her like she was brushing away cobwebs. “Absolutely no talking about it. Nothing but the here and now. I’m Clare; you’re Deacon. Period.”
He smiled, nodded, enjoying her company.
“Nothing will be spoken of outside of this bar.”
“Okay.”
“Or maybe it should be this restaurant.” She looked around, a cute little crinkle between her brows as she considered it. “No, this resort. Nothing outside this resort. Nothing that has anything to do with anything that’s not right now. Okay?”
“Okay,” he said again and lifted his drink.
They clinked glasses in a silent toast then drank to seal the deal.
Then she laughed—a short explosive burst. “Wow. That was way more than you bargained for when you asked me for a simple drink.”
“A little,” he said, teasing, glad when her smile grew.
“Sorry. And I don’t usually drink, and there was champagne in my room for the whole…” She waved her hand, draining the rest of her drink.
“The whole thing we’re not talking about,” he offered.
“Exactly.” She closed her eyes and blew out a long breath. “I definitely should have gone with room service.” She opened her eyes and slid off the stool. “Thanks for saving me from the fish and everything.”
“You’re not eating dinner?” He wasn’t ready for her to leave just yet.
She paused and tilted her head, studying him. She seemed stumped by the question, like she didn’t quite know what to do with herself. A train off the track unsure how to get back on. He felt a bit off track himself at the moment.
“Why don’t you have dinner with me?”
“Trust me,” she said with a sad smile and a slow shake of her head. “You don’t want to have dinner with me.”
“I think I do.” But he didn’t think. He knew.
She looked at him, such expressive eyes full of questions. “You don’t have anyone else to eat with?”
He shrugged. “Work people.” He could’ve met any one of them, but he’d actually planned to grab something alone, look over his conference notes, read the paperback he’d brought, then go to bed. All of which made him pathetically boring.
“Okay. Why not?”
Not the most enthusiastic response he’d ever gotten, but then he hadn’t asked a woman to dinner in a very long time.
He followed her back to the hostess, and they were seated at a table on the opposite side of the restaurant. The waiter poured water and took their drink orders. Clare went with iced tea this time.
“I’ll have the same,” Deacon said. They studied the menus, decided on dumplings and crab wontons to start.
“So,” he said after the waiter had brought their drinks and taken the appetizer order. “Should we go through the standard first-date questions?”
“Is that what this is? A date?”
“Well, we are two people eating together,” he pointed out.
“Okay, then, yes. But, no.” That cute little furrow appeared again between her brows.
“No, we aren’t eating together?”
“No, we shouldn’t do first-date questions.” She ripped open a packet of sweetener and dumped it into her tea.
“Ahh.” He sat back, studying her. “The whole, right-here, right-now thing.”
“Exactly.”
He decided to play by her rules. Why not? It was just dinner. And there was a lot he could decipher without the questions. Late twenties, he’d guess, close to his thirty-one years. No distinguishable accent. No jewelry that he could see, not even a necklace hanging on the smooth, creamy skin of her chest. And eyes such a deep, dark, liquid brown he thought he might fall right into them if he stared too long.
“So we’ll forgo the ‘where are you from,’ ‘what do you do,’” he said.
“Good idea.” She paused again to think. “So we skip to third-date questions? Tenth?”
“And what do people talk about on the tenth date?”
“I have no idea. Other people?”
“In the interest of full disclosure,” he said, lifting his glass. “I haven’t been on a date in a very long time.”
“Why is that?”
“Busy, I guess.” To say he had two-and-a-half-year-old twin girls at home would open an entirely too large can of worms. Not to mention it would definitely break the here-and-now rule.
He was just about to ask what they could talk about when a female squeal erupted a few tables away. A man knelt beside the squealer’s chair, hand out, offering an open ring box. He and Clare both stared a moment, along with the rest of the restaurant.
“What are the odds?” he asked when Clare studiously looked away and took a long drink of her tea.
“With my luck,” she said, “pretty good.”
He watched her. She wasn’t weepy, but a little bit sad. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”
“No.”
“You sure? I don’t mind.”
“No. I’m fine.”
She took another drink. Too calm, he thought. He had sisters. He knew that unusual calm in the face of dark clouds meant trouble. Maybe he should have taken her word for it about the dinner. But then she surprised him.
“So we know why I’m here in paradise. Why are you? You said you could eat with work people?”
“Yes. Veterinarian conference.”
“So you’re a vet? The dog-and-cat kind?”
He grinned. “Yes. The dog-and-cat kind. With the stray rabbit and pet pig thrown in.”
“Were you the kind of kid always bringing home stray animals? Doctoring the wounded?”
“There might have been a few. Birds. Frogs. Rabbits caught by the neighbor’s cat. Unfortunately, I lost most of my patients back then.”
“So you always wanted to be a vet?”
“No. I wanted to be a pilot. That was after superhero. Then I wanted to build roads and bridges like my dad. He’s a civil engineer, retired. I wanted to be a doctor for a while, but my sisters repeatedly told me I wasn’t fit for people.”
She smiled. “Aren’t siblings great?”
He smiled back. “I kind of agreed with them, so veterinarian seemed like a good idea. The more I got into it, the more I loved it.” He was just about to ask about her work, even if it would break the rules, but their waiter appeared, introducing himself then presenting the specials.
“The halibut is served over forbidden rice and—”
“Wait,” Clare said. “What’s forbidden rice?”
“It is called forbidden because many years ago, it was only allowed for royalty.”
“Interesting,” she said then carefully studied the menu.
Deacon ordered pad prik, a Thai steak dish. Clare continued her deliberation, her teeth pressed into her bottom lip. The celebration nearby continued. It seemed they were sharing their good news via FaceTime.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go somewhere else?”
“No, no. Just having a mental debate. I do that sometimes. Overthink things.” She scanned the choices in front of her. “Oh, to hell with it.” She handed her menu to the waiter. “I’ll have the special.”
“Very good.” The waiter nodded.
“Sorry. Everything looked good. I haven’t eaten much the past few days, and I’m suddenly starving. Wedding jitters maybe.” She pressed her lips together and scrunched her nose. “Sorry. I don’t usually talk so much. Well, I do, but not usually like this.” She laughed, covered her face with her hands for a second then dropped them to her lap. “I must seem like a hot mess, and you don’t even look scared.”
“I have sisters. They’re much scarier than you. Sorry,” he said, when he fumbled a piece of wonton into his lap.
“Did you do that on purpose?” she asked as he wiped at his pants.
He looked up, saw her skeptical raised eyebrow. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you feel sorry for me? To make me feel better?”
“No.” He placed the napkin back in his lap then rested his forearm on the table and met her eyes. “I don’t feel sorry for you, because you don’t look like you need it. Any man who did what your fiancé did doesn’t deserve you, and you look smart enough to know it.”
“How would you know? That I’m smart enough?”
He lifted his fork again and sliced the last dumpling in half. “I’m a good judge of character.” Funny, he wouldn’t have thought that about himself given his poor choices in women. Or one woman.
“Well, I’m not. Obviously.” She took the half dumpling he offered.
“As for dropping food, my sisters would tell you it wasn’t the first time, as I have no class.”
“I think you have class,” she said softly, completely serious.
“Well…since you just said you were a bad judge…” He made a face, and they both laughed.
“So you have sisters?”
“Yes. Two. I know that’s off limits because they’re not here right now, but they would be extremely offended if I didn’t acknowledge them.”
She smiled again. “That’s sweet. And since I would expect the same from my brother, I’ll allow it. Older or younger?”
“One of each.”
“Ahh. Are you the typical middle-child peacekeeper?”
“I might have attempted to mediate a few times. Mostly, I just ducked for cover.”
“I like you,” she said suddenly, sounding surprised.
“I like you, too.”
She fiddled with her napkin before looking at him again. “Did you always have a lot of pets growing up?”
“Two dogs and a cat.”
“We had a schnauzer named Lou. I also had a gerbil for a short time. Until my brother and I decided he should get to explore the great outdoors and set him free. Hopefully, he’s still exploring.”
“Hopefully so. I had a ferret. Ralph.”
Clare rested her fork on the side of her plate. “I had an ant farm.”
Deacon stabbed a wonton, paused. “I had a turtle named Henry.”
She scowled then smiled triumphantly. “My grandmother had two Siamese cats.”
“I had a hedgehog.”
Clare narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you trying to best me? In a pet list?”
He smiled, enjoying her and himself more than he would have imagined. “I’m just listing. Can’t help it if I’m besting you.”
“Humph.”
Their main course came, and they took some time to eat. He was enjoying himself, the food, and the setting, but mostly her company. He liked watching her eat, was amused and charmed by her enjoyment of the food and the way she moved the pieces around on her plate between each bite.
Back at home, he was always busy and rarely alone, surrounded either by work or family. But sitting here, having dinner with Clare reminded him that on a deeper, personal level, he was absolutely alone. He wasn’t half of a couple, part of a whole, like everyone else in the restaurant. Everyone, it seemed, but he and Clare.
“How’s the rice?” he asked. “Does it taste forbidden?”
“It’s good.” Her lips curved as she took another bite. “Here.”
She held out a bite to him, but he wasn’t looking at the food. He was caught and sinking fast into the dark brown of her eyes.
“Are you afraid because it’s forbidden?” She was waiting, and he was still staring as she held out her fork for him.
“No. I’m not afraid.” He closed his lips around the fork, and as her eyes followed the movement, he imagined he could taste her. Decided that he wanted to.
He finished his bite, and she went to take a bite for herself, her lips where his had just been. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been so drawn to a woman.
He cleared his throat, needing to get back on steady ground. “So how long have you been here?”
“Just got here today,” she said between bites. “What about you?”
Does that mean the nonwedding happened just yesterday?
“I got here yesterday, so I can say with authority, the breakfast buffet is something to look forward to.” That got him a smile, which felt like a bigger deal than it probably should have. “I’d love to see more of the island, or at least enjoy the resort, but we’re on a pretty tight schedule.”
“Will you get to? Before you leave?”
“No. The conference ends Wednesday, and I’ll be heading home Thursday morning.”
She tilted her head. “All work and no play?”
Pretty much, he thought. “Will you—”
“Dr. Montgomery.”
Deacon turned and started to rise to greet the two young men who’d stopped beside his and Clare’s table.
“No, no. Please.” The taller of the two stuck his hand out. “We just wanted to say hello, figured tomorrow would be a rush, and we might not get the chance. Eric Newman.”
Deacon shook his hand then the other man’s.
“I’m looking forward to your presentation in the morning,” Eric said.
“Thank you. I hope I can pass on something useful.”
“I know you will. I found your paper on femur displacement fascinating. “I know a lot of people who came just to hear your presentation.”
* * *
AS ERIC STARTED IN on another tedious surgical treatment, Clare took the opportunity to study the man she’d shared dinner with. He had a good face, a really good face. Great smile. Strong, chiseled jaw. But it was his eyes that got her. A soft velvet brown, the kind of eyes her overly romantic teenage self would have called dreamy.
She pictured Adam’s face. He was also handsome but in a smoother, more polished kind of way. Had she ever felt like she could spend an entire evening just admiring Adam’s face? She didn’t remember.
Eric was still talking when the other man cleared his throat in a subtle hint. “Oh, um… Sorry, I shouldn’t interrupt. We’ll see you in the morning.”
“No problem. See you in the morning, gentlemen.”
They left, and Clare turned her attention to Deacon. “You said you were at a conference, not that you were the conference.”
He lifted his glass and took a drink. “There are several speakers. He exaggerated.”
“Hmm… I think you’re being modest. And you were sweet to them. They seemed nervous to talk to you.”
“I don’t know why.”
Modest and just a little nervous himself, she thought. Interesting. She would have pegged him for extremely confident. “What will you be speaking on?”
“A surgical technique I helped develop to increase mobility in catastrophic bone injury.”
“Wow. So you invented something? No wonder those guys are impressed. I’m impressed, and I don’t even understand it.”
The fingers of one hand circled the base of his glass while his other pointer finger tapped on the table. “It wasn’t just me,” he said, sounding almost like a sullen child. “It was a team effort.”
“So modest, Dr. Montgomery. Why do I get the feeling you don’t like speaking?”
His tapping finger stilled. “I enjoy the topic. I enjoy sharing something that could help, but… It’s ridiculous really,” he said with a small laugh and drained the last bit of his tea. He set the glass down, sliding it precisely beside his water glass. “Once I get going, I’m fine, but the pregame, the lead-up… I don’t know why they can’t all just read it. I’d be happy to write it up in more detail.”
“Ahh.” She nodded, understanding. “You know, Connor, my brother, hated getting up in front of the class. Hated it. Like faking stomachaches, hiding in the school bathroom, that kind of thing. So my mom would make him practice for hours, and since she worked in the afternoons, I had to make him practice, which I have to admit I kind of loved.
“I’d make him turn all his clothes inside out and practice giving his book report or whatever it was that way. I’d dab ketchup on his face or make him stick a tissue in his nose. Sometimes I made him stand on one foot or on his head. I know, it sounds stupid,” she said to the skeptical look on Deacon’s face.
“No.”
“Yes, it does. Be honest.”
“Okay.” He smiled, revealing a faint dimple on one side. “A little.”
“Well, it worked. Maybe getting used to doing it under extreme circumstances made him more confident when he actually did it in front of the class.”
“Mmm. It makes sense, in a weird way. So I should go practice standing on my head?”
“Nah. I don’t think you need that.”
“Thank you,” Deacon said.
“You’re welcome.” He smiled, and she felt her breath catch. His face was close, his eyes on hers, and her heart seemed to sink to her stomach. She couldn’t think of what to say.
A low clearing of the throat next to their table broke the spell. “Can I get the two of you anything else?” the waiter asked. “Dessert?”
Clare sat back in her seat. She didn’t particularly want to go back to her room alone. She wanted to stay with Deacon, wanted to linger over dessert with him. And because she did just a little too much, she wouldn’t. “I’m good.”
“Me, too,” Deacon said.
The waiter nodded and moved on.
“Well, I should probably go,” she finally said. “Get to bed and all.” Right, because I’m on vacation and have so much to do tomorrow. But Deacon did. And just to prove her point, he glanced at his watch. It had to be close to eleven.
They stood, and although tips were included, she noticed Deacon left a generous offering for their waiter. He tucked it inconspicuously under the edge of his plate, without making it obvious to her, and in such a way that the waiter wouldn’t see it until they were gone so he couldn’t refuse.
His wide, warm palm grazed her lower back as they wove their way through the tables to the exit. They crossed over the water garden in silence, slowing as they reached a fork in the path.
“Which way?” Deacon asked. “I’ll walk you back.”
“That’s sweet, but you really don’t have to. It’s a five-star resort, not downtown Los Angeles.”
Deacon kept walking. “True. But you know, I took you to dinner and all.”
She arched a brow at him. “It’s also an all-inclusive resort. Maybe I took you.”
“Maybe you did.”
He flashed her that slightly lopsided grin that hit her right in the chest. She conceded to the walk, and together, they followed the brick path. The resort was dark, but lights along the sidewalk lit the path and shined up the skinny gray trunks of the swaying palms. It was quiet, and when they didn’t pass even one other person, she was glad he was walking her back.
She slowed as they came to the breezeway leading to her building and pointed up the steps to the second floor. “I’m up there, so…”
Deacon started up the steps. “I’ll walk you to the door. I’m funny like that.”
She probably should have said no, insisted that she could make it to her door on her own. Because of course she could. But she didn’t insist, just followed, enormously glad she’d removed the HONEYMOON banner from her door.
They reached her room, and she turned to face him. Just the two of them now, up here, alone at her door. She felt a slight buzzing in her head that had nothing to do with alcohol.
“Well, Clare of the here and now.”
She rolled her eyes at the reminder of her earlier word-vomit ramble. “It was nice to meet you.” She stuck out her hand, hoping it wasn’t sweaty.
“It was nice to meet you, too.”
It didn’t feel like a simple handshake as he wrapped his fingers around hers. “I had fun tonight. You turned what might have been a horrible night into something surprisingly nice.”
“I’m glad.”
“Thank you for catching me and saving my top and for dinner and talking and…” And maybe she could stop talking.
“You’re welcome.”
A frog gave a low croak, and another answered, but she figured the pounding of her heart was louder.
The buzzing in her head grew, and she felt dizzy from looking into his eyes and staring at his lips because she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to feel those smooth, firm lips on hers, to taste him and feel his arms around her. I’m losing my mind.
“You’re beautiful,” he said. “I’ve been wanting to say that all night.” He lifted his hand and lightly brushed his thumb over her cheek.
Then he leaned in, and she moved. Just…moved. In and up, her fingers twisting in the front of his shirt. She was just falling into the taste of him, just getting that warm, tingling flood of a first kiss when her brain fully registered that he’d been leaning in to kiss her cheek.
She jerked back. “I’m sorry.” She swallowed hard, felt a stinging heat flooding into her cheeks, and wished desperately to disappear. Deacon was staring at her in complete confusion. That made two of them. “I’m…really sorry.”
She spun to her door. A stiff wind sang through the open-air hallway, slapping her hair across her eyes. How she got her key in the lock, she had no idea. Mumbling one more apology over her shoulder, she opened the door and closed it behind her, then stood, heart pounding in mortification, her lips buzzing.
The champagne glasses and fruit and cheese tray had been cleared. The bed had been turned back, and the damn swans were back, nestled in the center of the bed and kissing right on their terrycloth lips.