Mission: Marriage. Hannah Bernard
feeling there’s a story behind that sigh. Is that the long one you were going to tell me?”
She nodded. “The short version: I thought someone was it. But it turned out he wasn’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “We broke up a while ago. I took a year out to get over him, and now he’s in the past. So, now I’m trying to figure out how to date for the first time in my life.” She grimaced. “Based on tonight, it’s not fun.”
He chuckled. “It can be fun. A lot of fun. It can also be dreadful—very dreadful. The good thing is that the dreadful bits make for excellent stories later on.”
For some reason, this news seem to be music to Lea’s ears. She perked up and gestured randomly, her cheeks flushed as her voice rose in excitement. “See? This is exactly why I need you!”
“Huh?” It seemed he was being unusually dense tonight. Maybe it was malnourishment. She’d drunk too much and he hadn’t eaten enough. All in all, not a good basis for lucid communication. They needed food. Now. “You need me to tell you my dating horror stories?”
“Not quite—” She stopped talking when the waiter approached their table, and took their order.
Once the waiter had walked away, Lea took a deep breath and glanced around. They’d gotten a semiprivate table, and didn’t have to worry much about other people overhearing their conversation, but she still leaned toward him and lowered her voice. “This is going to sound pretty strange, I guess I better tell you that up front.”
Thomas grinned, feeling more and more intrigued by the minute. What was she up to? “Don’t worry. I’m used to strange females.”
“Good.”
She put her hands on the table, palms up and stared down at them as if trying to read her story from there. “I’ll be honest.” She looked up. “Essentially, what all this is about, is that I’d like to hire you for a job, Thomas.”
“A job?” he asked cautiously. “What do you mean, a job?”
“A confidential job. Very confidential. That’s an additional reason why you’re perfect for it. We’re complete strangers. We don’t know any of the same people, which makes everything a whole lot easier.”
Guilt tapped him on the shoulder again. So did apprehension. He should tell her about Anne now, before this went any further.
“You see, my friends don’t really understand. They want to set me up, send me on blind dates, introduce me to friends of their friends’ friends—that was how I ended up with James in the first place. I know they mean well, but I’m getting so tired of their interference, well-meaning though it is.”
Damn it. He couldn’t tell her, not without Anne’s permission. Anne had said Lea would be furious to find out she’d been chaperoned. He could damage the friendship between the two women—and he had a feeling that would mean his head on a stake in Anne’s front yard.
Yep, he had a problem.
Oblivious to his inner tug of war, Lea continued. “They’d probably think I was nuts for suggesting this—but I don’t see another way.”
Whoa. Earth to Thomas. Just what was he about to be drafted into here? She had paused and was looking at him as if waiting for something. He nodded. “I’m listening.”
Lea took a deep breath and held it for the longest time. “Do you promise not to breathe a word of this to anyone?”
Thomas nodded. “I promise.” Her gaze searched his face, anxious, worried. It made him even more curious.
“Maybe this wasn’t a good idea,” she said after a while. There was hopelessness in her voice that all of a sudden made it imperative for him to let her know she could trust him. Why, he didn’t know. She was a stranger.
A stranger who all of a sudden was pillaging her purse, for a tissue to hide her tears in. She was crying?
Cripes. What was a gentleman to do?
“Lea…” For just a second, he put his hand on hers as she nervously fiddled with the candle at the center of the table while blotting tears from her eyes with her other hand. “I know you don’t know me, but if it’s worth anything to you, I’m good at keeping secrets. Are you in some sort of trouble?”
“I’m sorry,” she said after a while, having gained control of herself. She stuffed the tissue pack back into her purse and her smile was wavering, but brave. Her eyes were very dark now. “This is absurd. I’m a bit emotional these days. It’s probably hormonal.”
Emotional. Hormonal.
“I see,” he said, leaning back in sudden shock. Of course. She was pregnant. Why hadn’t Anne mentioned that little detail? Perhaps she didn’t know. Maybe that was the big secret. He glance around the room, trying to temper his disappointment with philosophy. He’d just met the woman, for heaven’s sake. Plenty more fish in the sea. But she’d been on a first date, so obviously she wasn’t with the father of her child. Maybe this job Lea wanted him to do had something to do with getting the father of her baby back.
Lea’s laugh was low and embarrassed. “This isn’t like me. I probably shouldn’t have gulped down all that wine with the appetizer. I’m afraid I’ve almost crossed the line between tipsy and drunk.”
Wine? No, she shouldn’t have. Thomas took her wine glass and moved it to the side. “You’re right. You shouldn’t be drinking at all. What would you like? Mineral water? Soda?”
She was looking at him strangely. “I’m not that drunk,” she protested. “I just meant that I might be a bit more than just tipsy, or I wouldn’t have been quite so…forward.” She reached for her glass, but he was faster and moved it out of her reach.
“No more. Alcohol isn’t good for your baby,” he said firmly.
“My baby?”
“Even in small doses, it can be risky. No need to tempt fate. It’s only for nine months, not a great sacrifice when everything’s taken into account.”
Green eyes turned darker. Dangerously darker. “What are you talking about, Thomas?”
“Your baby…” He hesitated, and wondered if he should be sliding under the table in utter embarrassment. One of her eyebrows rose, and his suspicions were confirmed. “Oh.”
“Oh, indeed.”
“You’re not pregnant at all, are you?”
Lea glanced down at herself and put her hand against her stomach. “I knew I’d gained weight. I haven’t had time to go to the gym lately. But I didn’t realize it was that bad.”
“No! You’re not…I’m sorry. When you said you were hormonal…” Thomas groaned. “I’m sorry. But you said you were emotional and it was probably hormonal, so I assumed you had to be pregnant.”
“I’m not. I’m just hormonal. Women are. All the time. Always. As a player, you should know that.”
“Okay.” He pushed the wine glass her way. “Sorry. If we hadn’t already attracted our share of attention for today, I’d go down on my knees and grovel. But have a drink.” He pushed his own glass over to her side of the table. “In fact, have mine too. I’ll just go straight to the strong stuff.”
She grinned at last, her eyes brightening. He had the feeling his own mortification was what had cheered her up. “Don’t worry, Thomas. I suppose it was a natural assumption from what I said.” She shook her head. “But this isn’t like me at all. Not crying in public, and not attacking strange men with weird propositions.”
Finally they were back to the weird proposition. About time—and a chance to get the conversation away from his blunder. “You were going to ask me something,” he said. “We’ve come this