Mixed-Up Matrimony. Diana Mars
Bronson said, shaking his head. “Thank God our respective teens’ best friends showed more maturity and responsibility than they did.”
“Neither Brina nor Christopher is going to think so once they find out who told on them.” She shivered as the chilly winds buffeting the campus exacerbated the icy feeling her daughter’s actions had engendered.
She was startled out of her tormented reflections when Bronson’s hands lifted the collar of her coat to protect her against the rising wind. His fingers brushed against her throat, and their warmth stayed with her long after he’d reluctantly lowered his arms.
“Why don’t we sit in my car while we wait for the kids to come out?”
Bronson’s throaty tone was not lost on Tamara. She had not misread the sparks that had flown between them, even when they’d acted like two feuding roosters upon discovering each other’s identities.
Tamara looked at the silver Porsche. It would be crowded in that small two-seater. She was finding it harder and harder to view Bronson objectively, and sharing close quarters did not seem a good idea.
On the other hand, standing in the icy wind that promised rapidly dropping temperatures tonight was not very judicious, either. The last thing she needed was to come down with a cold or the flu. She was on overload right now, both physically and emotionally, and her immune system was probably too weak to fight any circulating virus.
Sighing, she nodded and followed Bronson to his car, feeling strangely like a lamb being led to the slaughter.
Bronson opened the door for her and then went around to the driver’s side. Tamara ignored his long leg accidentally knocking into hers as he got in, and turned in her seat, ostensibly to look at him, but actually trying to put more space between them. Despite the two huge strikes against Bronson—his good looks reminding her of her ex-husband and his being Christopher’s father—she felt the ripples of his sex appeal shrink the limited space in the car, steaming away the chill she’d felt outside.
Ignoring his all-too-knowing gaze, Tamara strove to remind them both of what was urgent. Even if their bodies seemed to have minds of their own.
“Meghan was almost hysterical. The poor kid was torn between loyalty to my daughter and concern over Brina’s welfare. Meghan said Sabrina had told her Christopher and she were in love, and planned on getting married, no matter what. I guess they see each other as some sort of Romeo and Juliet. Of course, Sabrina knew exactly what I’d say. Marriage before she even tries to accomplish her goal of turning pro, or at least graduating from college, would be premature.”
Bronson frowned. “Your daughter is thinking of turning pro? So is Christopher. We had discussed the possibility, but we weren’t sure if he could pursue his dream unless he received a scholarship and got help from the USTA Touring Pro program. At his advanced level, I cannot afford to front the cost of a traveling coach for him, plus equipment and tournament travel all over the world.”
Tamara chose not to follow this trend in the conversation. It was bound to cause friction between them, and right now she and Bronson needed harmony and cooperation.
“I know what you mean. I’ve been so busy trying to make ends meet, attempting to pay for Sabrina’s private lessons, equipment and tournaments—” Tamara noticed Bronson’s puzzled look. “If you’re thinking of the Continental, it’s paid up. It’s the only thing I’ve kept from the errant eighties, when everyone thought the sky was the limit.”
“Your company went under?”
“They ‘restructured.’” Tamara could not keep the bitterness from her voice. “After getting my MBA in night school, and seven years of slowly but steadily rising through the ranks, Sports Science Comp showed me—as well as several other executives—the door.”
“No retirement benefits, pension...gold watch?” Bronson asked sympathetically.
“Not even a pin,” Tamara said. “I’m self-employed now, and run a consulting firm. But the hours and overhead are brutal, and I’ve tried to keep the ugly facts from Sabrina.”
“Which was undeniably a mistake,” Bronson said quietly. Noticing that Tamara was still shivering, he reached into the back seat and grabbed a large green sweatshirt with NOTRE DAME emblazoned in gold on the front. “Why don’t you put this on? I’m sure it’ll fit over your coat.” As Tamara held the sweater in her hands, he added ruefully, “I guess I was anticipating that Christopher would enroll here.”
“I guess you were,” Tamara said, giving him back the sweatshirt.
She saw Bronson’s look of surprise, and heard the uncertain note in his voice when he asked, “Would you like me to turn on the heat? You’ll be even more chilled when you get into your daughter’s cold car.”
Tamara felt like answering that he had turned on the heat already, but knew innuendo would not be appropriate at the moment. She had no doubt Bronson would retaliate in kind, and who knew what that could lead to?
And even though Bronson’s kindness made her feel like a heel, she couldn’t stray from her original mission here. She didn’t dare to openly show her resentment of Christopher right now, because she needed Bronson. They needed each other. They had to solve one problem at a time: they had to stop their kids’ foolish plans.
Looking about the luxurious interior, she said, “You seem to be doing all right.”
“Appearances can be deceiving. I’m also self-employed, and find myself putting in a few more hours a day and still not coming close to the business I had in the mid and even late eighties.”
“I guess everyone is feeling the pinch in the nineties,” Tamara agreed. Remembering his earlier comment, she said, “You mentioned before that we’d been too easy on our kids. Do you think you spoiled Christopher that much?”
“My parents were not able to help me after putting my two older brothers through college,” Bronson told her. “I wanted Christopher to have everything he desired—he’s never held down a job—and everything I never had...especially after the divorce.”
Starting up the car, Bronson turned on the heater. “When it gets warm enough, you can take off your coat. Then you can put it back on when you get into Sabrina’s car.”
“If that day ever comes,” Tamara said wryly. “Sabrina has always been a fast dresser—comes from all those years of being called on to play doubles after finishing her singles matches in ninety-plus weather. I’m sure that the delay is not attire-related.”
Bronson grinned. “I’m sure you’re right.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, and then lower still, taking in her curved but athletic form. When his eyes returned to her face, Tamara could feel twin flags burning in her cheeks. All of a sudden the interior of the car—as well as her interior—was suffocatingly hot.
Trying to distract Bronson from his disturbing scrutiny and her body from its traitorous response, Tamara said, “Your wife took you to the cleaners?”
“Cleaners?” Bronson asked, his face a blank, his voice husky. Clearing his throat, he recovered swiftly. “Ah, no. Joanna wasn’t after my money. Just her freedom, and a ‘meaningful career.’ She hasn’t seen Christopher in years.”
Tamara shook her head. “Amazing, the parallels between our lives. Robert has not shown any interest in Brina, either.”
A charged silence fell between them. Tamara felt as if she were swimming underwater, and knew that, without the specter of Sabrina’s future floating in the intimate confines of the car, she and Bronson would have been doing more than talking.
Horrified at letting her body’s demands arise at a time when her daughter’s needs were paramount, Tamara fought the attraction. She forcibly removed her gaze from Bronson’s frank, glittering one, and changed position so she could look out the passenger-side window.
Tamara could feel fear creeping into her in twisted tendrils. Was it possible that