One Foolish Night
Page 62
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The jig was up. Everybody knew what she was. She couldn’t stay here. Not now, not when everybody was pointing fingers at her and looking at her with disgust.
When the breeze from the ocean hit her face, she realized that she was crying. But no amount of crying could undo what had just happened.
27
Tara stared at the shocked crowd, then her eyes drifted back to the man struggling to keep himself from going under. She couldn’t believe what she’d just witnessed. Had the man in the pool really accused Holly of being a hooker? Well, it didn’t matter right now, because from what she noticed, it looked like the man either couldn’t swim or was too drunk to remember how.
“Isn’t anybody going to help him?” she asked, looking at the party guests.
When she received only blank stares in response, she slipped off her high heels and dove into the pool. She didn’t mind the cold water as she swam to the man who needed her help. When she reached him seconds later, she put her arms underneath his armpits and started treading water.
“I’ve got you. Don’t move.”
But the man kept kicking and moving his arms. She struggled to keep hold of him and quickly kicked her legs, maneuvering herself and the guy toward the shallow end of the pool where steps led up to the deck. By the time she reached it, other guests came to her aid and helped her pull the man out.
Tara breathed heavily and plopped down on the closest lounge chair. She was instantly aware of the fabric of her thin chiffon cocktail dress clinging to her body and looked for a towel, but there was none. All the towels that were usually strewn about the pool area had been removed before the party. Great! Now everybody would be gawking at her. She sighed and her eyes fell on a tray of drinks a waiter was holding. That was what she needed now.
She motioned to him. “A drink, please.”
The handsome thirtysomething waiter who wore his tuxedo like a second skin looked to both sides, then back at her as if he didn’t know she was talking to him.
“Me?” he asked, a confused tone in his voice.
“Yes, a drink, please.” She pointed to the tray in his hands, on which she’d spotted what looked like a whiskey.
He looked down at the tray in his hands as if he only now realized that he was holding it. Finally his legs moved and he crossed the distance between them, bending down to her with his tray. She snatched a glass of amber liquid off it and took a sip. Yes, whiskey. The alcohol burned pleasantly when it ran down her throat. Instantly it warmed her.
He set the tray on the table next to her.
“It was very nice of you to pull him out,” the waiter said, the pleasant southern note in his voice soothing her.
And she needed some major soothing. Not only had Quentin made a pass at her earlier in the day, only minutes ago her parents had read her the Riot Act, accusing her of not doing enough to make Paul interested in her. She’d had it with them and with rich men who thought they only needed to snap their fingers to get everything they wanted.
“Better that than having to listen to my mother’s complaints any longer.” She didn’t know why she even confessed this to this very handsome stranger.
He smiled down at her, while he took off his tuxedo jacket. “Ah, yes, mothers have a way of annoying their children.” He tossed a knowing look at Mrs. Gilbert, who now stood face to face with her son. Then he took his jacket and put it around her shoulders. “Here.”
“Thank you.” His thoughtfulness touched her.
Tara took another sip and ran her eyes over the waiter’s body. Maybe it was time she rebelled against her parents, just like Paul had suggested. Perhaps shocking her mother by having an affair with somebody who didn’t fit into her perfect world would do the trick. “What are you doing after your shift?”
His gaze shot to her and his forehead furrowed. “My shift?”
She sighed. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he sure looked yummy, and his southern accent did something to her.
“Yes, when you’re done working here. I can’t wait to get away from all these arrogant rich people.”
A slow smile spread on his lips. “No plans. But I’m open to suggestions.” His eyes dipped to her body, slowly running a long look over her. When he lifted his gaze again, he added, “Or if you prefer, I could come up with some suggestions.”
Her heartbeat kicked up a notch. “That works too.” She set the empty glass back on the tray. “I’m Tara.”
“I’m Jay.” Then he leaned closer and dropped his voice. “And I’ll be your server tonight.”
When the breeze from the ocean hit her face, she realized that she was crying. But no amount of crying could undo what had just happened.
27
Tara stared at the shocked crowd, then her eyes drifted back to the man struggling to keep himself from going under. She couldn’t believe what she’d just witnessed. Had the man in the pool really accused Holly of being a hooker? Well, it didn’t matter right now, because from what she noticed, it looked like the man either couldn’t swim or was too drunk to remember how.
“Isn’t anybody going to help him?” she asked, looking at the party guests.
When she received only blank stares in response, she slipped off her high heels and dove into the pool. She didn’t mind the cold water as she swam to the man who needed her help. When she reached him seconds later, she put her arms underneath his armpits and started treading water.
“I’ve got you. Don’t move.”
But the man kept kicking and moving his arms. She struggled to keep hold of him and quickly kicked her legs, maneuvering herself and the guy toward the shallow end of the pool where steps led up to the deck. By the time she reached it, other guests came to her aid and helped her pull the man out.
Tara breathed heavily and plopped down on the closest lounge chair. She was instantly aware of the fabric of her thin chiffon cocktail dress clinging to her body and looked for a towel, but there was none. All the towels that were usually strewn about the pool area had been removed before the party. Great! Now everybody would be gawking at her. She sighed and her eyes fell on a tray of drinks a waiter was holding. That was what she needed now.
She motioned to him. “A drink, please.”
The handsome thirtysomething waiter who wore his tuxedo like a second skin looked to both sides, then back at her as if he didn’t know she was talking to him.
“Me?” he asked, a confused tone in his voice.
“Yes, a drink, please.” She pointed to the tray in his hands, on which she’d spotted what looked like a whiskey.
He looked down at the tray in his hands as if he only now realized that he was holding it. Finally his legs moved and he crossed the distance between them, bending down to her with his tray. She snatched a glass of amber liquid off it and took a sip. Yes, whiskey. The alcohol burned pleasantly when it ran down her throat. Instantly it warmed her.
He set the tray on the table next to her.
“It was very nice of you to pull him out,” the waiter said, the pleasant southern note in his voice soothing her.
And she needed some major soothing. Not only had Quentin made a pass at her earlier in the day, only minutes ago her parents had read her the Riot Act, accusing her of not doing enough to make Paul interested in her. She’d had it with them and with rich men who thought they only needed to snap their fingers to get everything they wanted.
“Better that than having to listen to my mother’s complaints any longer.” She didn’t know why she even confessed this to this very handsome stranger.
He smiled down at her, while he took off his tuxedo jacket. “Ah, yes, mothers have a way of annoying their children.” He tossed a knowing look at Mrs. Gilbert, who now stood face to face with her son. Then he took his jacket and put it around her shoulders. “Here.”
“Thank you.” His thoughtfulness touched her.
Tara took another sip and ran her eyes over the waiter’s body. Maybe it was time she rebelled against her parents, just like Paul had suggested. Perhaps shocking her mother by having an affair with somebody who didn’t fit into her perfect world would do the trick. “What are you doing after your shift?”
His gaze shot to her and his forehead furrowed. “My shift?”
She sighed. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he sure looked yummy, and his southern accent did something to her.
“Yes, when you’re done working here. I can’t wait to get away from all these arrogant rich people.”
A slow smile spread on his lips. “No plans. But I’m open to suggestions.” His eyes dipped to her body, slowly running a long look over her. When he lifted his gaze again, he added, “Or if you prefer, I could come up with some suggestions.”
Her heartbeat kicked up a notch. “That works too.” She set the empty glass back on the tray. “I’m Tara.”
“I’m Jay.” Then he leaned closer and dropped his voice. “And I’ll be your server tonight.”
