The Bride Said Never!

The man looked at her for a long moment, so long that she foolishly began to think she’d scored a couple of points. Then he smiled in a way that sent her heart skidding up into her throat and he stepped forward, until he was only a hand’s span away.

“What is your name?”

“Laurel,” she said, “Laurel Bennett, but I don’t see—”

“I agree completely, Miss Bennett. The game is far more enjoyable when it is played by equals.”

She saw what was coming next in his eyes, but it was too late. Before Laurel could move or even draw back, he reached out, took her in his arms and kissed her.

CHAPTER TWO

LAUREL SHOT a surreptitious glance at her watch.

Another hour, and she could leave without attracting attention. Only another hour—assuming she could last that long.

The man beside her at the pink-and-white swathed table for six, Evan Something-or-Other, was telling a joke. Dr. Evan Something-or-Other, as Annie, ever the matchmaker, had pointedly said, when she’d come around earlier to greet her guests.

He was a nice enough man, even if his pink-tipped nose and slight overbite did remind Laurel of a rabbit. It was just that this was the doctor’s joke number nine or maybe nine thousand for the evening. She’d lost count somewhere between the shrimp cocktail and the Beouf aux Chanterelles.

Not that it mattered. Laurel would have had trouble keeping her mind on anything this evening. Her thoughts kept traveling in only one direction, straight towards Damian Skouras, who was sitting at the table on the dais with an expensively dressed blond windup doll by his side—not that the presence of the woman was keeping him from watching Laurel.

She knew he was, even though she hadn’t turned to confirm it. There was no need. She could feel the force of his eyes on her shoulder blades. If she looked at him, she half expected to see a pair of blue laser beams blazing from that proud, arrogant face.

The one thing she had confirmed was that he was definitely Damian Skouras, and he was Nicholas’s guardian. Former guardian, anyway; Nick was twenty-one, three years past needing to ask anyone’s permission to marry. Laurel knew that her sister hadn’t wanted the wedding to take place. Dawn and Nick were too young, she’d said. Laurel had kept her own counsel but now that she’d met the man who’d raised Nick, she was amazed her sister hadn’t raised yet a second objection.

Who would want a son-in-law with an egotistical SOB like Damian Skouras for a role model?

That was how she thought of him, as an Egotistical SOB. and in capital letters. She’d told him so the next time she’d seen him, after that kiss, when they’d come face-to-face on the receiving line. She’d tried breezing past him as if he didn’t exist, but he’d made that impossible, capturing her hand in his, introducing himself as politely as if they’d never set eyes on each other until that second.

Flushed with indignation, Laurel had tried to twist her hand free. That had made him laugh.

“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.”

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.

So much for Damian Skouras, Laurel thought with satisfaction as she looked over Evan’s shoulder. Perhaps next time, he’d think twice before trying to play what were certainly his usual games with a woman.

Gabriella Boldini crossed and recrossed her long legs under the dashboard of Damian’s rented Saab.

“Honestly, Damian,” she said crossly, “I don’t know why you didn’t arrange for a limousine.”

Damian sighed, kept his attention focused on the winding mountain road and decided there was no point in responding to the remark she’d already made half a dozen times since they’d left Stratham.

“We’ll be at the inn soon,” he said. “Why don’t you put your head back and try and get some sleep?”

“I am not tired, Damian, I’m simply saying—”

“I know what you’re saying. You’d have preferred a different car.”

Gabriella folded her arms. “That’s right.”

“A Cadillac, or a Lincoln, with a chauffeur.”

“Yes. Or you could have had Stevens drive us up here. There’s no reason we couldn’t have been comfortable, even though we’re trapped all the way out in the sticks.”

Damian laughed. “We’re hardly in the ‘sticks’, Gaby. The inn’s just forty miles from Boston.”

“For goodness’ sakes, must you take me so literally? I know where it is. We spent last night there, didn’t we?” Gabriella crossed her legs again. If the skirt of her black silk dress rode any higher on her thighs, Damian thought idly, it would disappear. “Which reminds me. Since that place doesn’t have room service—”

“It has room service.”

“There you go again, taking me literally. It doesn’t have room service, not after ten o’clock at night. Don’t you remember what happened when I tried to order a pot of tea last night?”

Damian’s hands flexed on the steering wheel. “I remember, Gaby. The manager offered to brew you some tea and bring it up to our suite himself.”

“Nonsense. I wanted herbal tea, not that stuff in a bag. And I’ve told you over and over, I don’t like it when you call me Gaby.”

What the hell is this? Damian thought wearily. He was not married to this woman but anyone listening to them now would think they’d been at each other’s throats for at least a decade of blissful wedlock.

Not that a little sharp-tongued give-and-take wasn’t sometimes amusing. The woman at Nicholas’s wedding, for instance. Laurel Bennett had infuriated him, at the end, doing her damnedest to make him look foolish in front of Nicholas and all the others, but he had to admit, she was clever and quick.

“‘Gaby’ always makes me think of some stupid character in a bad Western.”

She was stunning, too. The more he’d seen of her, the more he’d become convinced he’d never seen a more exquisite face. She was a model, Dawn had told him, and he’d always thought models were androgynous things, all bones and no flesh, but Laurel Bennett had been rounded and very definitely feminine. Had that been the real reason he’d asked her to dance, so he could hold that sweetly curved body in his arms and see for himself if she felt as soft as she looked?

“Must you drive so fast? I can barely see where we’re going, it’s so miserably dark outside.”

Damian’s jaw tightened. He pressed down just a little harder on the gas.

“I like to drive fast,” he said. “And since I’m the one at the wheel, you don’t have to see outside, now do you?”

He waited for her to respond, but not even Gabriella was that foolish. She sat back instead, arms still folded under her breasts, her head lifted in a way he’d come to know meant she was angry.

The car filled with silence. Damian was just beginning to relax and enjoy it when she spoke again.

“Honestly,” she said, “you’d think people would use some common sense.”

Damian shot her a quick look. “Yes,” he said, grimly, “you would.”

“Imagine the nerve of that woman.”

“What woman?”

“The one who made that grand entrance. You know, the woman with that mass of dyed red hair.”

Damian almost laughed. Now, at least, he knew what this was all about.

“Was it dyed?” he asked casually. “I didn’t think so.”

“You wouldn’t,” Gabriella snapped. “Men never do. You’re all so easily taken in.”

We are, indeed, he thought. What had happened to Gabriella’s sweet nature and charming Italian accent? The first had begun disappearing over the past few weeks; the second had slipped away gradually during the past hour.

“And that dress. Honestly, if that skirt had been any shorter...”

Damian glanced at Gabriella’s legs. Her own skirt, which had never done more than flirt with the tops of her thighs, had vanished along with what was left of her pleasant disposition and sexy accent.

“She’s Dawn’s aunt, I understand.”

“Who?” Damian said pleasantly.

“Don’t be dense.” Gabriella took a deep breath. “That woman,” she said, more calmly, “the one with the cheap-looking outfit and the peroxide hair.”

“Ah,” he said. The turnoff for the inn was just ahead. He slowed the car, signaled and started up the long gravel driveway. “The model.”

“Model, indeed. Everyone knows what those women are like. That one, especially.” Gabriella was stiff with indignation. “They say she’s had dozens of lovers.”

The car hit a rut in the road. Damian, eyes narrowed, gave the wheel a vicious twist.

“Really,” he said calmly.

“Honestly, Damian, I wish you’d slow—”

“What else do they say about her?”

“About...?” Gabriella shot him a quick glance. Then she reached forward, yanked down the sun visor and peered into the mirror on its reverse side. “I don’t pay attention to gossip,” she said coolly, as she fluffed her fingers through her artfully arranged hair. “But what is there to say about someone who poses nude?”

A flash fire image of Laurel Bennett, naked and flushed in his bed, seared the mental canvas of Damian’s mind. He forced himself to concentrate on the final few yards of the curving road.

“Nude?” he said calmly.

“To all intents and purposes. She did an ad for Calvin Klein—it’s in this month’s Chic or maybe Femme, I’m not sure which.” Gabriella snapped the visor back into place. “Oh, it was all very elegant and posh, you know, one of those la-di-da arty shots taken through whatever it is they use, gauze, I suppose.” Her voice fairly purred with satisfaction. “She’d need it, wouldn’t she, seeing that she’s a bit long in the tooth? Still, gauze or no gauze, when you came right down to it, there she was, stark naked.”

The picture of Laurel burned in his brain again. Damian cleared his throat. “Interesting.”

“Cheap is a better word. Totally cheap...which is why I just don’t understand what made you bother with her.”

“You’re talking nonsense, Gabriella.”

“I saw the way you looked at her and let me tell you, I didn’t much like it. You have an obligation to me.”

Damian pulled up at the entrance to the inn, shut off the engine and turned toward her.

“Obligation?” he said carefully.

“That’s right. We’ve been together for a long time now. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“I have not been unfaithful to you.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.” She took a deep breath. “Can you really tell me you sat through that entire wedding without feeling a thing?”

“I felt what I always feel at weddings,” he said quietly. “Disbelief that two people should willingly subject themselves to such nonsense along with the hope, however useless, that they make a success of what is basically an unnatural arrangement.”

Gabriella’s mouth thinned. “How can you say such a thing?”

“I say it because it’s true. You knew that was how I felt, from the start. You said your attitude mirrored mine.”

“Never mind what I said,” Gabriella said sharply. “And you haven’t answered my question. Why did you keep looking at that woman?”

Because I chose to. Because you don’t own me. Because Laurel Bennett intrigues me as you never did, not even when our affair first began.

Damian blew out his breath. It was late, they were both tired and this wasn’t the time to talk or make decisions. He ran his knuckles lightly over Gabriella’s cheek, then reached across her lap and opened her door.

“Go on,” he said gently. “Wait in the lobby while I park the car.”

“You see what I mean? If we’d come by limousine, you wouldn’t have to drop me off here, in the middle of nowhere. But no, you had to do things your way, with no regard for me or my feelings.”

Damian glanced past Gabriella, to the brightly lit entrance to the inn. Then he looked at his mistress’s face, illuminated by the cruel fluorescent light that washed into the car, and saw that it wasn’t as lovely as he’d once thought, especially not with petulance and undisguised jealousy etched into every feature.

“Gaby,” he said quietly, “it’s late. Let’s not argue about this now.”

“Don’t think you can shut me up by sounding sincere, Damian. And I keep telling you, my name’s not Gaby!”

A muscle knotted in his jaw. He reached past her again, grasped the handle, slammed the door closed and put the Saab in gear.

“Wait just a minute! I’m not going with you while you park the car. If you think I have any intention of walking through that gravel in these shoes...” Gabriella frowned as Damian pulled through the circular driveway and headed downhill. “Damian? What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He kept his eyes straight ahead, on the road. “I’m driving to New York.”

“Tonight? But it’s late. And what about my things? My clothes and my makeup? Damian, this is ridiculous!”

“I’ll phone the inn and tell them to pack everything and forward it, as soon as I’ve dropped you off.”