Authors: Lisa Logan
Or perhaps he was trying to backpedal away from the brief scene that had taken place earlier, when a pimple-faced stork of a sales clerk mistook Ridelle’s identity. After torturing the anemic lad for forty minutes about the various merits of large screen viewing, the kid patted the top of a particularly pricey floor model and grinned at Bruce. “See, your wife prefers this model right here. An excellent choice. Take her wise advice, and I guarantee you won’t be sorry.”
Ridelle was about to correct his error when Bruce had slid an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close against his side. “Yes, every man should be so lucky as to have a gorgeous, high tech woman like this around.”
Her cheeks had fried red, and the scent of that cologne of his surrounding her disjointed her knees enough to where he’d had to tighten his grip on her shoulder to steady her. With the contact came an infusion of heightened senses, like the intimate pressure of his hip against hers, the sound of her frantic heartbeat, her breath rushing through the air like a category three storm. Everything prickled with intense importance that lasted even after he pulled away. Though she was sure he hadn’t felt the same thing, the two of them had locked eyes for a moment as he drew back. His were tinged with a question she wasn’t sure she knew the answer to. The clerk gave Bruce an occasional knowing smile while the purchase and delivery details for his new fifty-two inch behemoth were handled.
After the clerk left them to chase other prospects, Bruce was quick to offer an apology. “Sorry about that comment earlier. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
Trying for a casual chic she did not possess, Ridelle brushed a hand at the comment. “I wasn’t embarrassed.”
“
Your cheeks were all flushed.”
“
Oh.” After a moment’s pause, she gave a helpless shrug. “That seems to happen a lot when I’m around you.”
His glance was quick and measuring, but he laughed. “Well, I merely meant to pay you a compliment. I hope it didn’t bother you.”
Some calm returned. “Not at all. I was flattered.”
That aside, the pair wandered all over the store, discovering a shared love for an eclectic assortment of gadgetry, music, and appliances. She knew more about computers, but he was the audiophile. They’d both done some homework on high definition TV. By the time they’d finished their circuit, Ridelle knew they’d clicked hard into solid common ground.
When the last of Bruce’s bags were secured in the back, he glanced at his watch and shot his eyebrows toward the shadowing skyline. “Wow,” he said. “I can’t believe we shopped for so long.”
“
And I can’t believe I spent so much,” she said. “Still, I had a blast.”
Bruce leaned against the trunk with his arms akimbo, grinning at her like a teenager checking out a hot rod. “Don’t know too many women who can go toe to toe with me over this kind of stuff.”
She shrugged. “The tomboy in me, I suppose. I did grow up in a house full of men.”
He cocked his head. “Tomboy, huh? You don’t look the part.”
She tried to fight off another rush of heat en route to her face. “I’ll have you know there were boys at school that never even knew I was a girl until the year I came back to school after summer break with breasts.”
The laugh was crisp and rocketed straight up from his tilted head. “And they chased you with reckless abandon thereafter, no doubt. None of the girls in my class cared about anything other than nail polish and Farrah hair, though I’m sure that dates me terribly.”
Ridelle rolled her eyes. “I might have cared, if I had nails or hair that would cooperate. I used to pretend I was a vampire and couldn’t see my reflection, so mirrors weren’t necessary.”
A brief, but punctuated silence followed. Bruce pushed himself away from where he’d been leaning against the Beemer. “Look, it’s almost a quarter to eight. How about we celebrate my leap into impossibly large electronics with a bite to eat? It’s the least I can do for dragging you around for so long.”
In the I-know-men points column, Dominique just scored one, Ridelle, zero. Her friends really knew their stuff where males were concerned.
She flashed a grateful smile to wash away her awkward hesitation. “Sounds wonderful.”
“
Great. Why don’t we hop in my car and find something close by? We can run back for yours afterward.”
She couldn’t find flaw in the logic, so let him add her bags to his trunk. He opened the door for her, and she slid onto the sleek, black leather seat. “Weren’t you worried about leaving the top down out here?” she asked.
He shut her door and rounded to his side. “Not really. The alarm is so sensitive that anyone sneezing ten feet away will set it off. A bit annoying, but it helps. It’s Lojacked, too.” He stuffed a key into the lock and fiddled with some buttons. “I’ll put it up for you now, though. I’m sure you don’t want your hair blown every which way. Frannie hates the convertible.”
The evening was still warm, and the thought of a convertible was inviting. “No, don’t. It’s okay.” She leaned over and grabbed a gold pen from its perch at the head of the gear shift console, holding it up for his inspection. “Mind if I borrow this?”Without awaiting a reply she grabbed the back of her hair, fashioned it into a quick twist, then stabbed the pen in and out through the knot to hold it in place. “Fire away.”
He shot her an appreciative glance. “A woman who thinks on the fly. An admirable talent.”
With that the sports car roared to life, and they were off in search of fine dining in Jersey. Bruce skirted them alongside Princeton University, with its European brick grandeur and Neo-Gothic archways posed in stately presentation against the early night sky. Soon the pair landed on a tree-lined street full of tiny shops, where they spotted an eatery. Bruce slowed the car to a crawl in front of the green awning adorning the restaurant. “Here okay?”
“
Sure.” While he parked them a half-block away, she snuck another peek at the mirror stuffed in her purse. Her cheeks had been lightly slapped by the open air, blushing an appealing, healthy pink.
A bustle of pedestrian activity peppered the street as they headed for the foyer. Despite clusters of people, the table wait for a party of two was mercifully brief. Bruce and Ridelle found themselves ushered to an intimate spot near windowed patio doors in short order.
The interior of the bistro featured rich European upholstered furnishings. Pale olive walls were splashed with warm lighting from occasional wall sconces, creating a casually upscale feel. Drink orders were handed off to a saucy waitress with a long, wispy gold ponytail, then Bruce waggled his menu. “Feel free to be utterly decadent. This is my treat for all your help today.”
Glancing at the menu, a twinge of guilt flashed at the thought of being offered filet and salmon by the same man who begrudged his wife a lunch salad with friends once a week. Since the gas card was the only plastic she’d been allowed to keep, she’d finally come up with the idea of letting her food tab get picked up by one of the group, then taking them to the nearest gas station and reciprocating with a comparable amount of gasoline. Fran Myers refused to be beholden to anyone except the husband she felt owed her an entire financial existence. Perhaps in some ways she was right, but Ridelle couldn’t help but think the woman was being a little unrealistic. Hilarious, considering Ridelle had yet to cut fiduciary apron strings of her own.
Perusing the menu spawned an unholy growl from Ridelle’s stomach. She hadn’t realized just how famished she was. Settling on Cajun striped bass, she laid her menu aside and found herself back in a buzzing puddle of
somethingness
, an annoying state of being overly aware of dining alone with another woman’s husband. Unable to sit inside her own skin with quiet contentment, she flicked glances around at other diners as though they might be scrutinizing her with disapproval. Surely the guilt crawling under her skin was flashing like a neon sign, branding her as an adulterer. Worse, she was a wannabe adulterer, deliberately plotting and scheming to reconstruct the lives of at least three people.
No one around her seemed to care about her sinful ways, luckily. They were all too involved in the personal dramas, or if nothing else, platters of delightful-smelling food. Ridelle’s wandering gaze returned to the table to find Bruce watching her with a relaxed, mild expression. Her stomach twinged as their eyes met, though whether it was due to alarm that he read her thoughts or something more, she couldn’t tell. Either way, silence boomed like cannon fire by the time her jaw loosened enough for a little fishing expedition of her own. Her voice was tentative and less commanding than she’d have liked. “Do you need to call Frannie and let her know where we are?”
He blinked twice at the mention of his wife, as though she were an intrusion shattering some private reverie. Still, his gaze betrayed nothing. “I did this afternoon. Told her not to expect me until late. I wasn’t sure how long this would take. Thought I might end up having to check out other stores.”
Ridelle wondered how that conversation had gone. Did Fran sour at the news? Had something in her voice reflected suspicion? Or had she laughed and given Bruce her blessing? It was hard to know which way her friend would turn these days. Ridelle suspected that Frannie didn’t know that herself. And where had Bruce’s mind been when he’d called his wife? Just how “late” was he intending to be?
The thought fluttered in her stomach as he tossed her own question back at her. “What about you? Is there someone at home you need to call?”
She shifted in her chair at the question. “Oh, no, not me. Not even a pet. Goldfish died last year.”
His eyes sparked with a hint of amusement. “Sorry for your loss.”
“
Yeah, well, that’s par for my course. Can’t even keep plants alive. I’m the only person I know who can kill a silk houseplant.”
The waitress returned with cocktails, breaking into a shiny smile to join in on Bruce’s laughter. “Come on now, I’m sure it can’t be that bad.”
The extent of how bad it was waited until after they ordered, which included Bruce’s impressively expensive selection of rack of lamb and an appetizer.
“
So, you don’t have the world’s greenest thumb, then?” he asked.
“
I really don’t. You’ve never seen how pitiful a silk plant can look until it’s been at my place for a month or two.”
Bruce shook his head, indulging a hearty sip of his Manhattan, which for some reason she made a mental note that he ordered with no bitters and a twist of lime. “Okay, so no worried houseplants or fish at home. Then surely a boyfriend or five are frantically wondering why you aren’t there?”
Her laugh bordered on incredulous. “Five? I don’t have five dates a year, let alone juggling them at the same time.”
“
Not five a year? I find that hard to believe.”
She shrugged and sipped a light Chardonnay, warming her stomach with double intensity as Bruce’s words washed down along with it. “There are offers. I just don’t often accept.”
He gave an obliging smile. “A woman of discriminating tastes.”
“
I know it must sound horribly conceited. I don’t think the guys are beneath me or anything like that. It’s just…” She trailed off, rolling her eyes and taking a less-than-delicate swig from her glass. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
He raised a hand in apology. “I’m sorry. I’ve put you on the spot. It’s none of my business.”
She shook her head. “No, not at all. I just tend to babble when I can’t put feelings into coherent words.” She sighed, staring into her wine glass as if it were a crystal ball. “I guess I don’t bother with dates because it seems like a waste of time. No sparks, you know? There just aren’t a lot of men out there who make me go weak in the knees.”
The brief glimmer in his eyes caught in her throat, where she wished her comment had remained. Then again, she wasn’t here to play shy.
In a rare moment of well-timed interruption, their waitress returned with a combination platter of steaming pan-seared scallops and beef short ribs. Garlic and BBQ sauce drenched the surroundings in heavenly aroma as the plate descended to the midst of the table.
Bruce gestured to the food. “Feel free to dig in. I got it to share.”
As eager for distraction as her stomach was for food, Ridelle dropped a napkin in her lap. “Looks wonderful.”
“
These are great,” he said as he forked a couple of ribs onto his own plate. “Try some.”
She took one, along with a spoonful of scallops and herb butter. “You’ve been here before?”
He frowned. “Uh, no. I meant they look great. I love barbecued ribs.”
Ridelle wondered, but let the comment go. “Don’t get to have these very often anymore. Back home, ribs were at least a monthly occurrence.”
A garlicky scallop melted in Ridelle’s mouth, prompting a full scale assault on her plate. The tangy rib meat was just as tender, and for a moment she closed her eyes in savoring wonder.