One Long Embrace
Page 45
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Tara set her empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray and exchanged it for a full one. At least the champagne was good, and the fact that the Willamotts had invited half the island helped her avoid the people she didn’t want to see: her parents and Brad. Whenever she saw them closing in on her, she dove into the crowd and disappeared. She was getting good at it, too.
“Hi Tara, finally.”
Maybe not good enough, a little voice in her head added.
She pivoted and forced a smile. “Brad, such a nice party. Your parents have outdone themselves.”
“I’m just glad we’re finally able to connect.”
He grinned in a leering kind of way, his gaze already straying from her face and drifting down to her cleavage. She instantly regretted her choice of wardrobe. A turtleneck sweater would have been a better choice.
“I’m sure you have lots of guests to entertain.” She motioned to the crowd of people. “I’d hate to monopolize you.”
“I don’t. Hate it, I mean. You can monopolize me anytime you want to.”
She felt acute nausea churn up in her stomach. But instead of puking she tried humor. “Oh you’re too funny, Brad! Always such a joker. Your mother did warn me about your wicked sense of humor.”
Warning was maybe the wrong word. Rather his mother had talked up Brad’s supposedly good attributes whenever she’d gotten a chance. How smart her son was (sure, if a 3.2 grade point average from an Ivy League university was considered smart); how handsome he was (to anybody who thought that the hunchback of Notre Dame was a strapping man); and how much money he would one day inherit. Well, not even Tara could argue with the last point.
“Did she also mention that I’m a fantastic dancer?” Brad asked, apparently oblivious to her sarcastic remark.
“I wish I could, but you know, these shoes, they’re killing me,” she lied. “I can barely keep standing, let alone dancing. You deserve a better dance partner than me.” One that wasn’t creeped out by the thought of being touched by him.
“Just one dance. And then I’ll make sure you’ll get off your feet,” he insisted, winking conspiratorially.
Oh my God, did he actually think he was flirting with her? And worse: was he planning on cornering her somewhere in a room, alone? Was that what he meant by getting her off her feet?
“I’d rather not.”
“Oh come on! Just the one.”
“Didn’t you hear the lady?” a menacing voice interrupted them. “She doesn’t want to dance.”
Tara snapped her head to the interloper. Or should she call him intruder? Dressed as a waiter, he held an empty tray in one hand.
“Jay.”
“How dare you interrupt my conversation?” Brad growled. “Do your work and don’t bother me. Don’t you know who I am?” Arrogance dripped from Brad’s voice.
“I don’t care who the fuck you are. Leave Tara alone. She doesn’t want to dance. Not with you, anyway!”
Jay pressed the tray in Brad’s hands and reached for Tara’s arm. “We need to talk.”
Still stunned by his unexpected appearance, she allowed him to drag her through the throng of people in the large living area, navigating to the dance floor that had been created on the terrace. The moment they reached it, Jay pulled her into his arms and led her in a slow foxtrot.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed underneath her breath. “Playing waiter again to snare another unsuspecting woman into your net?”
Jay drew her even closer to him, his grip like a steel vice from which she couldn’t escape. Maybe she should have taken her chances with Brad instead.
“I came to stop you from making a monumental mistake.”
“Like the one I made with you? Don’t worry, I learn from my mistakes. I’m not gonna fall for the same trick twice.”
“It wasn’t a trick,” he gritted between clenched teeth. “But what you’re doing now is a mistake. You shouldn’t be here. This is not where you’ll find the man who’s right for you. Or was it all a lie when you said you didn’t want a rich guy?”
She pulled back, trying to free herself from his arms, but he drew her back without much effort. “You’re one to talk about lying.”
“Then what are you doing here, pandering to your parents’ wishes? Weren’t you the one who wanted independence from them? So you could make your own decisions? I hadn’t expected you to cave so easily.”
Tara glared at him. “How dare you! It’s easy for you to talk about independence and making your own decisions. You don’t have to live off your parents’ money.”
Tara set her empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray and exchanged it for a full one. At least the champagne was good, and the fact that the Willamotts had invited half the island helped her avoid the people she didn’t want to see: her parents and Brad. Whenever she saw them closing in on her, she dove into the crowd and disappeared. She was getting good at it, too.
“Hi Tara, finally.”
Maybe not good enough, a little voice in her head added.
She pivoted and forced a smile. “Brad, such a nice party. Your parents have outdone themselves.”
“I’m just glad we’re finally able to connect.”
He grinned in a leering kind of way, his gaze already straying from her face and drifting down to her cleavage. She instantly regretted her choice of wardrobe. A turtleneck sweater would have been a better choice.
“I’m sure you have lots of guests to entertain.” She motioned to the crowd of people. “I’d hate to monopolize you.”
“I don’t. Hate it, I mean. You can monopolize me anytime you want to.”
She felt acute nausea churn up in her stomach. But instead of puking she tried humor. “Oh you’re too funny, Brad! Always such a joker. Your mother did warn me about your wicked sense of humor.”
Warning was maybe the wrong word. Rather his mother had talked up Brad’s supposedly good attributes whenever she’d gotten a chance. How smart her son was (sure, if a 3.2 grade point average from an Ivy League university was considered smart); how handsome he was (to anybody who thought that the hunchback of Notre Dame was a strapping man); and how much money he would one day inherit. Well, not even Tara could argue with the last point.
“Did she also mention that I’m a fantastic dancer?” Brad asked, apparently oblivious to her sarcastic remark.
“I wish I could, but you know, these shoes, they’re killing me,” she lied. “I can barely keep standing, let alone dancing. You deserve a better dance partner than me.” One that wasn’t creeped out by the thought of being touched by him.
“Just one dance. And then I’ll make sure you’ll get off your feet,” he insisted, winking conspiratorially.
Oh my God, did he actually think he was flirting with her? And worse: was he planning on cornering her somewhere in a room, alone? Was that what he meant by getting her off her feet?
“I’d rather not.”
“Oh come on! Just the one.”
“Didn’t you hear the lady?” a menacing voice interrupted them. “She doesn’t want to dance.”
Tara snapped her head to the interloper. Or should she call him intruder? Dressed as a waiter, he held an empty tray in one hand.
“Jay.”
“How dare you interrupt my conversation?” Brad growled. “Do your work and don’t bother me. Don’t you know who I am?” Arrogance dripped from Brad’s voice.
“I don’t care who the fuck you are. Leave Tara alone. She doesn’t want to dance. Not with you, anyway!”
Jay pressed the tray in Brad’s hands and reached for Tara’s arm. “We need to talk.”
Still stunned by his unexpected appearance, she allowed him to drag her through the throng of people in the large living area, navigating to the dance floor that had been created on the terrace. The moment they reached it, Jay pulled her into his arms and led her in a slow foxtrot.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed underneath her breath. “Playing waiter again to snare another unsuspecting woman into your net?”
Jay drew her even closer to him, his grip like a steel vice from which she couldn’t escape. Maybe she should have taken her chances with Brad instead.
“I came to stop you from making a monumental mistake.”
“Like the one I made with you? Don’t worry, I learn from my mistakes. I’m not gonna fall for the same trick twice.”
“It wasn’t a trick,” he gritted between clenched teeth. “But what you’re doing now is a mistake. You shouldn’t be here. This is not where you’ll find the man who’s right for you. Or was it all a lie when you said you didn’t want a rich guy?”
She pulled back, trying to free herself from his arms, but he drew her back without much effort. “You’re one to talk about lying.”
“Then what are you doing here, pandering to your parents’ wishes? Weren’t you the one who wanted independence from them? So you could make your own decisions? I hadn’t expected you to cave so easily.”
Tara glared at him. “How dare you! It’s easy for you to talk about independence and making your own decisions. You don’t have to live off your parents’ money.”
