Summer Love: The Best Mistake / Impulse

She hated it, and she’d begun to hate herself. She had to do something.

And she was doing it.

It wasn’t running away as much as it was breaking free. All her life she’d done what was expected of her and tried to make as few waves as possible while doing it. All through school a crushing shyness had kept her more comfortable with her books than with other teenagers. In college a need to succeed and justify her aunt’s faith had locked her tightly into her studies.

She had always been good with figures—logical, thorough, patient. It had been easy, perhaps too easy, to pour herself into that one area, because there, and really only there, had she felt confident.

Now she was going to discover Rebecca Malone. In the weeks or months of freedom she had, she wanted to learn everything there was to know about the woman within. Perhaps there wasn’t a butterfly inside the cocoon she’d wrapped herself in so comfortably, but whatever she found—whoever she found—Rebecca hoped she would enjoy her, like her, perhaps even respect her.

When the money ran out, she’d get another job and go back to being plain, practical Rebecca. Until that time she was rich, rootless and ready for surprises.

She was also hungry.

***

Stephen saw her the moment she entered the restaurant. It wasn’t that she was particularly striking. Beautiful women passed through the world every day and they usually warranted a glance. But there was something about the way this one walked, as if she were ready for anything, even looking forward to it. He stopped, and because business was slow at this hour he took a second, longer look.

She was tall for a woman, and more angular than slender. Her skin was pale, and that made him think she had only just arrived at the resort or was shy of the sun. The white sundress that left her shoulders and back bare accented the lack of color and gave dramatic contrast to her short cap of raven hair.

She paused, then seemed to take a deep breath. Stephen could almost hear her satisfied sigh. Then she smiled at the headwaiter, and followed him to her table, tossing her head back, so that her hair, which she wore arrow-straight, swung away from her chin.

A nice face, Stephen concluded. Bright, intelligent, eager. Especially the eyes. They were pale, an almost translucent gray. But there was nothing pale in their expression. She smiled at the waiter again, then laughed and looked around the restaurant. She looked as if she’d never been happier in her life.

She saw him. When Rebecca’s gaze first skimmed over the man leaning against the bar, her automatic shyness kicked in and had her looking away. Attractive men had stared at her before—though it wasn’t exactly a daily event. She’d never been able to handle it with the aplomb—or even cynicism—of most of her contemporaries. To cover her momentary embarrassment, she lifted her menu.

He hadn’t meant to linger more than a few moments longer, but the impulse came suddenly. Stephen flicked a hand at the waiter and had him scurrying over, nodding quickly at Stephen’s murmured request and hurrying off. When he returned it was to deliver a bottle of champagne to Rebecca’s table.

“Compliments of Mr. Nickodemus.”

“Oh.” Rebecca followed the waiter’s gaze over to the man by the bar. “Well, I—” She brought herself up short before she could stammer. A sophisticated woman wouldn’t stutter over a gift of champagne, she reminded herself. She’d accept it graciously, with dignity. And maybe—if she wasn’t a complete fool—she’d relax enough to flirt with the man who offered it.

Stephen watched the expressions pass across her face. Fascinating, he mused, and realized that the vague boredom he’d been feeling had vanished. When she lifted her head and smiled at him, he had no idea that her heart was pounding. He saw only a casual invitation, and he answered it.

He wasn’t just attractive, Rebecca realized as he crossed to her table. He was gorgeous. Eye-popping, mouth-dropping gorgeous. She had an image of Apollo and ancient Greek warriors. Thick blond hair streaked by the sun fell over the collar of his shirt. Smooth, bronzed skin was marred—and somehow enhanced—by a faint scar under his jawline. A strong jaw, she thought. A strong face, with the darkest, deepest blue eyes she’d ever seen.

“Good evening, I’m Stephen Nickodemus.” His voice wasn’t accented, it was rounded, rich. He might have come from anywhere. Perhaps it was that, more than anything else that intrigued her.

Lecturing herself on poise and image, she lifted her hand. “Hello. I’m Rebecca, Rebecca Malone.” She felt a quick flutter when he brushed his lips over her knuckles. Feeling foolish, she drew her hand away and balled it in her lap. “Thank you for the champagne.”

“It seemed to suit your mood.” He studied her, wondering why he was getting such a mix of signals. “You are by yourself?”

“Yes.” Perhaps it was a mistake to admit it, but if she was going to live life to the fullest she had to take some risks. The restaurant wasn’t crowded, but they were hardly alone. Take the plunge, she told herself, and tried another smile. “The least I can do is offer you a glass.”

Stephen took the seat across from her, brushing the waiter aside to pour the wine himself. “You are American?”

“It shows.”

“No. Actually, I thought you were French until you spoke.”

“Did you?” That pleased her. “I’ve just come from Paris.” She had to force herself not to touch her hair. She’d had it cut, with trepidation and delight, in a French salon.

Stephen touched his glass to hers. Her eyes bubbled with life as cheerfully as the wine. “Business?”

“No, just pleasure.” What a marvelous word, she thought.Pleasure.“It’s a wonderful city.”

“Yes. Do you go often?”

Rebecca smiled into her glass. “Not often enough. Do you?”