Right by Her Side (8 page)

“Oh.” She looked down at the paper in front of her, then crumpled it up. “I see.”

“As for grocery shopping and the whole meal thing, I do takeout unless I have a business dinner. I don't think a schedule like you're suggesting would work out.”

“Oh,” she said again, as she balled another piece of paper in her hand. She stood up. “I think I'll go to my room for a while. I'll take care of the dishes in a little bit. Don't touch a thing.”

He supposed that included the apple cobbler, Trent thought with a sigh, watching her rush from the room. Not that he felt much like eating it anymore, not with those emotions he felt bubbling off the surface of her.

A door snicked shut upstairs and Trent took that as his signal to head up after her. He'd done something wrong, said something wrong, definitely screwed up somehow, and if he didn't rectify it, then this marriage would most certainly affect him and his routine.

He wouldn't be able to live with himself.

R
ebecca surprised Trent by answering his knock on her bedroom door with a composed, “Come in.”

He pushed the door open to find her sitting against the pillows of the double bed with needles and yarn in her lap. “What do you have there?”

Her gaze was trained on the small bundle of fuzzy yellow fiber. “Most likely, a mess. But I'm trying to learn how to knit.”

He shook his head in admiration. “Is there anything you can't do?”

She looked up and caught his gaze. “Maybe I can't be Trent Crosby's wife.”

There she went again, damn it, thinking this was a mistake. “Rebecca…”

“Really, Trent. Housekeepers, business dinners. I don't come from that world. I don't belong in it.”

“How do you know?”

“Remember Dr. Ray?”

Thinking about the jackass made Trent's teeth clench. “I remember him just fine.”

“We broke up because I didn't fit in with his life.”

“You're a nurse, for God's sake. He's a doctor. That sounds like a fit to me.” Not that he even liked saying it.

“I didn't fit in with his
social
life. The group that he associated with after hours, people who'd attended prep schools and prestigious colleges like he had. He told me I wasn't polished enough. He told me the problem was I didn't have anything in common with them, so I didn't know what to say to them. He was right.”

“Maybe you should have said, ‘My husband's an idiot of the first degree and he's trying to make his shallowness all my fault.' If they weren't superficial ass-holes like him, then you'd probably have found plenty to talk about after that.”

Rebecca laughed. “How do you do that?”

“What?”

“Make me feel better.”

He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed so his hip was against her thigh. She was wearing more baggy clothes again, so all he could appreciate about her was that fair skin, rose mouth and big eyes that had compelled him to make promises he intended to keep for the rest of his life. “You're dangerous, lady,” he said, shaking his head.

She laughed again. “You just want my cobbler.”

He wanted more than that, he realized. He wanted her to be content. He wanted her to feel as if this marriage didn't drag her down the way her first one had. But he'd been the responsible type all his life. So that wasn't so strange, was it?

He'd married the woman so he wouldn't lose his child, but that didn't mean he couldn't care about the woman herself. If that meant letting her further into his life, letting her affect him and his routine a bit more, well, he wasn't going to mind it.

“Speaking of food,” he said, keeping it casual, “we have a dinner tomorrow night. Does it count as my cooking night if I pick up the check?”

Her pretty eyes narrowed. “What kind of dinner?”

“A business dinner.” He hadn't planned on taking her, to tell the truth, but he would have to include her in some of his social business occasions eventually. Marriage was going to affect him at least that much. And it would give him a chance to prove to her he was right about Dr. SOB being wrong about her. “But there will be other spouses there, and…well, you're mine.”

“Am I?” Rebecca whispered.

“Yes.” He leaned forward, despite those sharp knitting needles that were between them, because something said that the moment called for a kiss. That something was shouting at him, urging him to take her mouth and prove to her that he could make her feel better in lots of ways. That it wasn't a mistake to let each other get a little bit closer.

 

Rebecca shivered as she slid into the white and black satin dress. The June night was warm, but her hands were icy and there was a cold ball where her stomach was supposed to be. Maybe she should tell Trent she was ill and couldn't attend the business dinner with him.

He'd assume it was because of the pregnancy and she wouldn't have to tell him what was really making her sick—nerves.

She slid her palms down her thighs, and the light caught on the simple platinum band on her left hand. Nerves or not, she was married to him. That meant something to her—despite her bad first attempt at the institution and despite the particular circumstances of this try.

She owed it to Trent, to herself and to their baby, to give her best shot at doing right by him tonight.

Balancing against the dresser top with one hand, she slipped into the black patent-leather sandals she'd purchased that day. The clerk who'd helped her select the dress had specified nothing less than three-inch heels and a matching purse no larger than a three-by-five index card. A novice at this kind of shopping, she'd obeyed.

Now she took a deep breath and, closing her eyes, spun around to face the full-length mirror on the closet door.
Okay, Eisenhower, let's see if your mom can pull this off.

Her stomach jittered as her lashes lifted. She swallowed hard. “Oh boy,” she whispered. “Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy.”

White satin strips covered her breasts but left enough
skin showing that she'd had to buy a special low-cut bra to wear under the dress. Beneath her breasts was a band of black satin, and then more white fell in an A-line to skim her knees. If there was any pregnancy change to her midriff, this dress didn't show it. The clerk had pointed out to an indecisive Rebecca that the garment wasn't skimpy or clingy, but now on a second look, she saw that the dress did nothing to hide the one area of her body that
had
begun to change.

She had cleavage. Honest-to-goodness cleavage.

She walked closer to the mirror, staring at herself, and the freshwater-pearl-and sterling-silver lariat necklace that she'd found on sale brushed the inside curves of her breasts. Her skin started to tingle.

The sensation reminded her of Trent, of Trent kissing her the night before, and the tingles raced over her again. It had been a brief kiss, but even the memory of it could melt the cold knot in her stomach.

What was he going to think about her now?

As if on cue, she heard his voice call up the stairs. “Rebecca? Are you about ready?”

She pressed her lips together to suppress a giddy giggle. She was ready. But was he? Maybe this time all the electrical jolts wouldn't be one-sided. Maybe now she'd send a bolt or two
his
way.

As she reached the top of the stairs, he glanced up. It was one of those moments that a woman waits a lifetime for.

His eyes widened. She saw his hand jerk up to catch hold of the newel. Her confidence soared.

“Hell,” he said aloud. “Who are you?”

“That might be the nicest compliment I've ever had in my life.” Oh, yes, she thought she
could
do right by him tonight.

He continued staring. “Your hair…”

It was down around her shoulders, side-parted, in loose ringlets.

His free hand made a vague gesture. “Your face…”

Maybe she needed to wear mascara more often. Tonight, she'd double-coated it, and selected a plum lipstick that was two shades darker than her usual color.

Then his gaze drifted down. His knuckles whitened on the newel. “Your—” Blinking, he caught himself. “Your, uh,
dress
. It's…it's…it's…”

Afraid he might say “overflowing,” she took pity on him and started down the steps. “Yes, well, it kind of surprised me, too. Shall we go?”

At the bottom of the stairway he took her hand. “Must we?” he asked, his voice soft.

The tingles raced over her again, prickling her scalp, sliding beneath her dress, causing goose bumps to rise beneath the natural-colored stockings she wore. She looked at his mouth and remembered again how he'd kissed her the night before. His mouth had been firm, but restrained. She'd wanted to lean into it, lean into him, but just as she'd felt herself moving, he'd moved himself. Away, up, out the bedroom door.

Now his thumb stroked over her knuckles. “I know a place that can deliver an entire candlelight dinner in twenty minutes.”

Her mouth went dry. “I thought this dinner was about business.
Your
business.”

He blinked. “Business.” Then he dropped her hand and rubbed his palm over his hair and across the back of his neck. “How could I forget business?”

Rebecca walked around him to pick up her tiny purse from the foyer table where she'd placed it. He wasn't looking at her.

“Business,” she thought she heard him mutter again. “I never forget business.”

Once in his car, he kept his gaze trained out the windshield. “So you know, there will be eight in our party at the club.”

“The club?”

“The Tanglewood Country Club.”

“Ah.” Of course, the Tanglewood Country Club. She'd heard of it from her ex. He'd wanted to join for years, and had been seeking someone to sponsor him. Cold started to creep over her again.

“These are out-of-town clients whom I've only met a couple of times before myself. Stephanie Fox started her own Web-based, long-term data-storage company about five years back. She's here with her husband, and two people from her office, along with their respective spouses. We won't be talking business tonight, just getting better acquainted.”

Great, Rebecca thought. And she was barely acquainted with her husband. “Do you…go to the country club often?”

“I'm the head of the membership committee and the president-elect.”

“Well,” she said, hearing her voice thin with nerves, “then I suppose you'll see a lot of familiar faces there tonight.”

“Probably.” He hesitated. “In preparation, I made a few calls today telling friends and family about our marriage.”

“You did?”

“I didn't think it necessary to share all the details of our situation, so I said we'd been set up by a mutual friend and had a whirlwind courtship. The pregnancy announcement can come later, don't you think?”

“Oh, I hate the lies. Who's this mutual friend supposed to be?”

Trent's lips twitched. “Morgan Davis. So no lie, after all.”

No lie. But their marriage was an even more concrete reality now that other people knew about it. And she'd promised herself to give it her best, even though she was a blue-collar navy brat paired with a CEO who also happened to be the president-elect of one of the most prestigious country clubs in the country. Dread grew inside her as he pulled into the club's parking lot. He surprised her by cruising past the waiting parking valet and finding his own spot in a secluded corner.

Then he turned off the ignition and shifted to face her. “The tension's coming off you in waves, Rebecca. Let's sit here a minute while you take a few deep breaths, okay?”

“You must think I'm foolish.”

“I think you're naturally apprehensive over a new situation. But you'll be fine, I promise.” He reached out, probably to pat her hands clenched around her tiny bag, but her jittery nerves had her jerking away.

The purse's latch scraped against her stockinged leg bared by the short dress, snagging the fine mesh. Immediately, an inch-wide run zipped toward her ankle. Rebecca stared down at it, aghast. “No! No, no, no, no, no. I can't go in like this!” She looked back up at Trent. “I
told
you I'd be a failure.”

“Rebecca—” He stopped, laughed. “I've lived too long when I realize this isn't the moment for logic. So let's just solve the easiest problem, okay? Take 'em off.”

“What? Take what off?”

“Take off the stockings, or the panty hose, whatever they are.”

“I don't even want to walk into the country club with this ugly run!”

“Then take them off right here,” he answered.

She sucked in a breath then heard herself grumble, “Have you forgotten this isn't the moment for logic?”

He laughed again. “If you can joke, you can divest yourself of some clothing.”

“Oh, all right,” she said. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Because I have to lift up my skirt, that's why.”

His eyebrows rose. “You're trying to get me to forget about business again, aren't you?”

And that had
her
laughing, and feeling attractive again. And confident. A few minutes later, as they approached the doors of the country club's restaurant, the breeze against her bare legs caused barely a shiver.

Once inside, Rebecca had a moment to take in the surroundings. It wasn't a large room, but it was filled with round tables covered with dark green linens. Ornamental grasses and bared, delicate branches made up unusual centerpieces. One entire wall was glass, affording a view of an Asian-inspired garden and waterfall. Men were wearing dark suits, and the women's throats and wrists glittered with rhinestones.

No, Rebecca realized. Diamonds. These women wore the real thing.

And she wasn't the real thing. Not a real wife to Trent Crosby. Not the
kind
of wife he would really choose for himself.

The thought hit her, hard, just as all the heads in the room seemed to turn their way. On stiff legs she managed to follow the maître d' to their table. As they passed, she heard people hail Trent, but she kept up her pace. Ahead, she could see more strangers grouped around a table with two empty places.

Their dinner companions. Trent's business dinner companions.

People she didn't know for dinner with a man she didn't know but had married.

This wasn't going to work, she thought again in a panic.
I won't have anything to say to these people, Eisenhower.
She was going to let Trent down. Then she
felt his hand on the small of her back. His voice whispered in her ear. “Two men just begged me for your phone number. I had to disappoint them and say you were permanently taken.”

Startled, she looked over her shoulder at him.