You're Marrying Her?. Angie Ray
her large blue eyes clear and innocent.
Brad smiled, too. “I told you you were being silly. Samantha and I have always been just friends. Right, Sam?”
“Right.” You’re being oversensitive, Sam told herself sternly. She smiled at Brad’s fiance´e. “You’re marrying a really nice guy.”
“Nice?” Heather turned to Brad and drew a teasing finger down his chest. “I don’t know if I would have used exactly that word to describe you, darling.”
Sam frowned at the sexual implication of the blonde’s words. She glanced at Brad, expecting him to defend his character, but he only gazed at Heather, his hand closing over the blonde’s. The two of them stared into each other’s eyes, a silent communication of some shared memory passing between them. They appeared to have completely forgotten Sam’s presence.
She cleared her throat.
The spell was broken. The two lovers stepped away from each other. Brad glanced at Sam, his mouth curving ruefully. “Sorry. You know what it’s like to be in love.”
Sam forced herself to smile again, but inwardly she felt oddly defensive. Of course she knew what it was like. She’d had innumerable boyfriends in high school and college. She’d gone out with men from here to Chicago to New York to London, Paris and Rome. But somehow, none of them had ever looked at her the way Brad looked at Heather. Sam didn’t remember him ever looking at Blanche Milken that way. Talk about wearing your heart on your sleeve. She would’ve thought he would show more restraint.
“Shall we go?” she asked brightly.
Brad opened the passenger door.
“You don’t mind if I sit in the front, do you?” Heather asked Sam. “My legs get terribly cramped in the back.”
Sam saw Brad’s gaze go immediately to the impossibly long legs of his fiance´e. “Of course not,” she said, feeling like a child relegated to the back seat. She climbed into the tight space behind Heather and Brad.
With a roar of the powerful engine, they were off.
Chapter Three
Samantha sat at the dinner table of the West L.A. restaurant, watching the laughing couple across from her. They seemed giddy with happiness. There was a glow in Brad’s eyes that she’d never seen before—except, perhaps, when he was working on some complicated project. But this wasn’t the same. A sense of electricity seemed to envelop him.
Heather glowed, too. Sam had never met a woman who glowed so much.
Sam looked down at her menu and tried to subdue the wave of dislike she felt for Heather. So far, she’d seen nothing about the blonde that would justify Brad’s falling in love with her. Except for her gorgeous face and figure. But Heather must have more to her than that. Brad wasn’t the kind of man to care only about a woman’s looks.
Sam shifted her gaze to Brad as he raised a finger and a waiter rushed over. Watching him place their order, she was struck once again by a sense that he had changed—and not just on the surface.
Sam could restrain her curiosity no longer. “What happened to you, Brad?” she asked after the waiter left. “You used to be a strictly meat and potatoes man and now you’re ordering shrimp and jicama. And you look like you should be on the cover of GQ. Isn’t that an Armani suit?”
“Heather happened to me.” Putting his arm around his fiance´e, he smiled down at her. “She convinced me to try some new dishes and helped me make a few changes—new clothes, haircut and contact lenses. An improvement, don’t you think, Sammy?”
“I always thought you looked fine.” Forgetting her own attempts to change Brad’s wardrobe, Sam realized suddenly that she really didn’t care for this new style that Heather had foisted on him. Before, he’d looked like…Brad. Now he looked almost alien. He looked rich. Sophisticated. Masculine.
She shook her head. Brad was Brad, no matter how he dressed. That much she was sure of.
Heather had arched her brows at Sam’s response. “I think appearance is extremely important. Some women, especially older ones, don’t set any standards for themselves at all. I’m always careful to wear the right clothes and makeup and watch my weight. I count every calorie. I think it’s worth it, don’t you, Brad?”
Brad’s gaze wandered over Heather’s magnificent figure. “Sure, sweetheart.”
Heather beamed.
A waiter passed by with a dessert tray, and Sam resisted an urge to seize a slice of strawberry torte and stuff it down Heather’s throat. Instead she told herself that Heather probably hadn’t meant to imply that Sam was old and fat. Forcing herself to smile politely, she asked, “So, how did you two meet?”
“At the RiversWare Run,” Brad said. “Heather loves to run and enters competitions whenever she can.”
Heather sipped her drink. “Do you run, Samantha?”
“Not if I can avoid it.” Sam tried to remember exactly when the RiversWare Run had been. About four months ago, she was pretty sure. That wasn’t very long.
“Running doesn’t appeal to everyone,” Heather said in a kindly manner. “I like to try something different once in a while, too. Like in-line skating. I started just a few weeks ago. Brad says I’m a real fast learner.”
“Heather’s amazing on skates,” Brad interjected. “I’ve never seen anyone as graceful as she is.”
Heather smiled modestly. “In-line skating’s very easy. Even the biggest klutz imaginable can do it.”
“Sam can’t,” Brad announced cheerfully.
Sam’s fingernails curled into her napkin.
Heather’s eyes widened. “You can’t?”
Sam could barely stay upright on skates and usually wouldn’t have minded admitting it. But something about the blonde’s incredulous blue eyes made Sam say, “Of course I can.” She looked past Heather to the approaching waiter. “Oh, here comes our food.”
Brad wasn’t diverted, however. Releasing Heather’s hand so the waiter could put their plates down, he stared at Sam. “Since when? That time I took you skating, you almost fell on your face.”
“That was a long time ago. I’ve improved,” Sam lied. She remembered the time he referred to very well. It had been a high school fund-raiser, and she’d been falling all over the place until Brad came to her rescue. He’d helped her up and held her upright—until someone brushed by them, knocking her off balance. Legs and arms sprawling, they’d both ended up on the floor. Tangled together, they’d started laughing uncontrollably. By the end of the evening, they’d both had more bruises than two boxers—not to mention a bad case of the hiccups.
“Unfortunately, I can’t go skating very often,” Sam added as she cut a bite of chicken and swished it in mango-chili sauce. “Helping at Jeanette’s shop takes up all my time.”
“I work, too,” Heather said. “But I still find time to exercise.”
“Keeping fit is very important in Heather’s business,” Brad explained. “She’s an actress.”
Heather preened. “I just had a part in a special TV movie called Baywatch—the California Reunion.”
“Oh, really?” Sam had never watched the show, but she knew it was something about lifeguards at the beach. “That must have been exciting.”
“Yes, it was. David Hasselhoff himself rescued me when a great white shark attacked the swimmers in the middle of an earthquake right after a deranged yoga instructor blew up the pier. I didn’t have any speaking lines, but I did have to scream very loudly. Jim, the director, is editing the final cut of the movie right now, so I’m on call. That’s