The Rent-A-Groom (11 page)

He avoided her gaze, or so it seemed. Face impassive, manner perfectly polite, he began to talk about soccer, sliding easily from that into football, then making brief forays into other realms of manly sport. She would have been impressed if she had not been half convinced that his interest was genuine.

The conviction grew as the minutes ticked past. The two men seemed to be getting along splendidly, comparing teams and players, capping each other’s stories of great games, arguing amiably about scores. They might, in fact, have been buddies. It was a peculiar phenomenon—a man thing, no doubt—using sports to form a bond of mutual interest. They did it by instinct, it seemed, even when a bond was the last thing that was needed. Or perhaps it was only a method of defusing unacceptable aggression.

Whatever the reason, it was annoying.

Gina began to feel the beginnings of a tension headache behind her eyes. There was a time when she could have laughed and talked with the woman who sat next to her at the table, a time when they had been close. They both knew that time was over, and nothing was ever going to make it possible for them to communicate on the same level as the two men across from them who barely knew each other.

“What do you think?”

It was Race who broke into her preoccupation with the question. His gaze was so intent that it seemed the fate of mankind waited on her answer. She was in no mood for such games. “I wasn’t paying attention,” she said shortly. “What were you saying?”

“Is accepting money for making commercials a violation of an athlete’s amateur status? Should American athletes be penalized for it in international competition, for instance, when other countries subsidize their athletes—in effect paying them for their ability?”

“Good grief,” she said. “How on earth did you get on that subject?”

Bradley let out a bark of laughter. “Where has your mind been, sweetheart? Never mind, Bannister; I can tell you exactly how Gina will answer.” A sardonic smile curled his mustached upper lip. “She’ll tell you that anybody who knows the rules and doesn’t follow them ought to pay the price, no matter what everybody else is doing. No shades of gray for her, no sir. Black or white, right or wrong; that’s the way she sees it and the way she calls it.”

“That right?” Race asked. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes dark blue and steady as they held hers across the table.

“I suppose so.” There was something here she did not quite understand. Still, she could not deny her basic beliefs.

A shadow crossed Race’s face. His voice low, he said, “I should have known.”

“So should I, right from the start,” Bradley agreed. “No second chances, huh, Gina? No forgiving, not from you.”

She stared at the man she had almost married, noting the weakness in his face and, just possibly, a faint trace of regret. In spite of the last, there could be only one answer. “No, not often.”

Bradley looked at Race. “See what I mean?”

It seemed to Gina’s heightened imagination that some flash of understanding passed between the two men. Her head began to throb. What if Diane had been right? What if it was Bradley who had hired Race, had instructed him to wine her, dine her, flatter her silly, then find out just how much she knew?

With the months of their engagement to give him insight, Bradley must have guessed there would be no groom eloping with her to the hotel. He had decided to use that fact for his own ends, plus have a little fun at her expense.

And she had fallen for it. She had let Race into her suite and into her life. The mistake was going to cost her; she knew that already. The only question was how much.

Earlier, when she had seen Race coming from Bradley’s rooms, he had not just stepped inside the open door from idle curiosity as he had implied. No, he had gone to talk to his…what? His buddy, his pal, employer? The two of them must have been setting up this restaurant meeting.

Bradley could not be sure she knew of his illegal operations; she had never told him, since he had presented her with such a fine alternative for calling off the wedding. But possibly he had suspected it. That was what Race’s innocuous question about amateur athletes had been about, then; it had nothing to do with sports, but was a test of her scruples. It had been a trap.

Gina put down her fork and pushed her plate away. Her gaze were steady as she divided a glance between Bradley and Race, then returned her attention to the man she had almost married. “What other answer could there be?” she asked simply. “Right is right and wrong is wrong, and I could never remain in a relationship of any kind with someone who doesn’t recognize the difference. A person who ignores the rules should expect to face the consequences. That’s the way I see it, and I refuse to apologize for it.”

Bradley gave a short laugh. “Sweet and simple, though not very practical. You may get lonesome out there on a limb by yourself with nothing but your principles.”

“Could be,” she answered quietly, “but I’ll chance it.”

What now? Bradley had connections, some of them dangerous ones. If she had ever doubted it, she had only to look at the man across from her. Still, this was a public place. She could hardly be taken out of it without someone noticing. Could she?

Race was watching her with his face set in taut, unrevealing planes. She wondered what he was thinking, wondered if he knew how fast her heart was beating. Did he have any idea of the pain inside her? Could he even begin to guess how much it hurt to think of what he had done?

He could do no more harm. She wouldn’t give him the chance, not if she could prevent it.

Yes, but could she?

He was supposed to be her lover, if not her husband. She had told the concierge otherwise, and the maid Etta also knew, but everyone else who had seen them coming and going from the honeymoon suite would naturally assume they were a couple. He could take her anywhere he wanted; he had the strength, and then some. Who would interfere? Who would prevent him from leading her upstairs and doing whatever he pleased with her?

Diane had been right about everything; Gina saw that with sudden, blinding clarity. She really should have run like hell while she had the chance.

:: Chapter Eight ::

At that moment, Sandra caught Gina’s eye. “I’m going to the ladies’ room,” she murmured. “Come with me?”

The invitation seemed to have a special intensity. Was it possible that Sandra realized what was happening and was trying to help her? If she was, what would the two men do about it?

There was only one way to find out. Moving with care, Gina got to her feet.

No one objected, no one tried to stop them. Neither Bradley nor Race said a word. Gina’s knees felt weak as she followed the other woman. At the same time, she was puzzled. Was it possible she had been wrong? Had the whole standoff between Bradley, Race, and herself been a figment of her overactive imagination?

The restroom was behind the main lobby, convenient to both Montague’s and the Terrace. An extravaganza in cream marble with warm gold tracery, it featured freestanding sculptured-marble basins, crystal chandeliers, scented soaps, and a pink rose in a holder attached to every mirror. The vast space was virtually empty; a woman drying her hands at the electric air dryer nodded and left as Gina and Sandra entered.

“Look, Gina,” Sandra said as she turned to face her in front of the basins, “I just wanted a chance to say I’m sorry. I know you don’t care for me much anymore, and I don’t blame you. But I never meant to make a mess of things for you with Bradley. It just…happened, and I feel so bad about it.”

“Not to worry. I expect I should be thanking you.”

The other woman’s face tightened a fraction as she studied her acrylic nails. “I don’t think Bradley’s overjoyed with how things worked out.”

“I can’t help that.”

“It’s driving him nuts, you know, you being next door with this guy Race.”

Gina allowed a grim smile to curve her lips. “I’m not so sure of that, but if so—well, fine.”

A surprised laugh left Sandra. “Lord, Gina, I never knew you had it in you.”

“No?” Gina considered an instant. “You know, neither did I.”

The other woman gave her a small shrug, then said abruptly, “I’m leaving right after dinner, going back to Shreveport. I have to be back at work in the morning, and I need the job because I don’t think this marriage bit is going to work. Bradley only proposed to get back at you, because you walked out on him.”

Sandra was in pain not so different from her own, Gina saw. That was cause enough to be kind. “Oh, I doubt that was the reason. The two of you were already involved.”

“Last fling stuff.” Sandra tapped her nails on the marble basin. “You scared him, you know. You ask a lot from a man.”

“No more than I’m willing to give.” The words were soft and fretted with pain.

“That’s just it, don’t you see?” Sandra said earnestly. “With you it’s all or nothing, and Bradley wasn’t sure he could live up to that.”

“So he proved he couldn’t.”

“Yeah, well, maybe it was easier than trying to change. But I know he wishes he had made the effort.”

Gina stared at the other woman. “You aren’t suggesting he’s here because—because he wants to get back together?”

Sandra scrubbed at a nonexistent spot on the marble. “Maybe not that, exactly. But he was worried about you, afraid of what you might do.”

“Oh, come on!”

“No, really,” Sandra said, looking up with worry in her eyes. “Going off like this isn’t like you. You’re practical, solid; you always do the right thing. You would never go running off to a high-class love nest with some guy you don’t know from Adam.”

Gina all but snorted. “Give me a break, Sandra! How am I supposed to believe Bradley is all worked up because I’m here with Race when he’s the one who sent him?”

“You’ve got to be kidding! Bradley’s frothing at the mouth because he’s here. He really expected to find you alone.”

Gina stared at the woman who had been her friend, then gave a quick shake of her head. “That’s just what he wants you to believe.”

“I swear it’s exactly what he thought. He was laughing all the way out here about how he planned to make you admit there was no other man. When he saw you with Race in the restaurant last night, he nearly passed out.”

 It didn’t make sense, Gina thought in confusion. Yet, if Sandra was right, she was going to have to readjust her thinking. The only trouble was, she couldn’t see how.

She said finally, “This hasn’t exactly been a wonderful honeymoon for you, has it?”

“Pre-honeymoon. We were going to a justice of the peace in a day or two, or maybe head out to Vegas.”

“Oh, but—”

“Now I’d as soon not.”

 “I’m sorry.” Gina meant it.

“Yeah,” Sandra said with a weak smile as she turned and started toward the toilet stalls. “So am I.”

Race noticed their return toward the table well before they reached it. The smile he gave Gina sent a small shiver down her spine. She suppressed it with determination, but it was a real effort.

“Did you want dessert?” His gaze upon her was intent, though studiously polite.

She shook her head. She had barely touched her barbecue and beans. The thought of anything sweet was positively nauseating.

“Then it must be time to call it a night,” he said, and signaled for the check.