The Bachelor Doctor's Bride. Caro Carson
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could tell her to throw her shoulders back and smile.
Diana had learned during her school years that she couldn’t hug everyone. For one thing, it alarmed people, sometimes, to have strangers offer advice. She’d learned to approach people the way she approached new dogs, with a positive attitude and a hand outstretched in a nonthreatening way. She had yet to meet a dog that wouldn’t be her friend, and humans were pretty much the same way.
Even people like her James Bond. Quinn seemed independent and self-sufficient, but Diana sensed that he was a lonely man. Subconsciously, he must know it, too. It was why he was accepting her help tonight, wasn’t it?
The shy girl in the strapless gown that didn’t quite fit would have to wait. Quinn was headed her way again, debonair in his black tuxedo, standing an inch taller than most of the men, moving easily through the sea of partygoers.
Look at the bright side. He’s part of the party now, no longer standing alone.
He was part of the festive atmosphere, light reflecting off his dark hair as he nodded at acquaintances. He didn’t stop walking to talk to anyone, however. He was heading directly back to her.
Diana twirled a piece of her fringe around one finger. Too bad they weren’t each other’s type. He was a damned good-looking guy.
“I’m sorry to have left you alone, but it was necessary if you were going to insist that we drink champagne.” Quinn held up a bottle painted with flowers in one hand, then set a pair of empty flutes down on the table nearest them. He grabbed an unused napkin from a place setting and snapped it out of its elegant knot. With a twist, he tucked it around the champagne bottle.
He had good hands.
“Were you a waiter?” she asked.
Quinn glanced up from his pouring.
Diana nodded toward the flutes. “You do this very well.”
And that simple compliment finally, finally, broke through the last of Quinn’s reserve. The suave smile turned into something more.
He laughed.
Diana went still.
This is the man for me.
A man who laughed, a man who enjoyed life, now that was the kind of man who could be a perfect match for her, Ivy League or community college be damned.
If only he weren’t on the rebound...if only he didn’t want a woman like Lana...a woman nothing like Diana.
Diana took the champagne he offered, glad for the excuse to get back in motion, grateful for the sharp bubbles that woke up her taste buds. “It does taste better cold. You were right.”
He lifted his own glass to his lips with a grin, and Diana felt her heart trip a little in the middle of its usually quick rhythm. He was lovesick over Lana MacDowell. She needed to remember that. The next woman he dated would only be a phase, a transition to his next serious relationship.
Being this man’s rebound girl would be crushing for someone like her. It was better to just be friends.
“I agree champagne is better cold,” Quinn was saying, “but it’s also better when it’s actually champagne.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Champagne has to actually come from a part of France called ‘Champagne.’”
The way he said it, all French-sounding with extra syllables, made her want to swoon. Diana had never swooned in her life, over anything. This man was positively dangerous.
“The waiters have been handing out some domestic swill. Sparkling wine, if you want to be kind.”
“Oh.” Diana glanced at the wrapped bottle.
“The effervescence in this champagne has more bite to it, but the fruit is smooth.” He topped off her glass. “Try it again and tell me what you think.”
What she thought? What she thought was that she was not in this man’s league. She could see the beauty in the crystal and flames, but she could also enjoy the sequins and the LED lights. Quinn, she realized, was from a strictly crystal lifestyle.
They were not a match, no matter how much she was attracted to him.
For one thing, he was scoffing at the champagne at this beautiful party, something she would never do. It bothered her.
And so, for the first time that night—heck, for the first time in weeks—Diana frowned. She raised an eyebrow at him disapprovingly. “I think you can overdo the biting part. When someone offers you free champagne at a party, you should just relax and enjoy it, not critique it. Life is sweeter that way.”
He raised an eyebrow right back at her—with ten times the withering effect that she could muster.
“Are you criticizing me for being critical?” he asked. Then, once more, he smiled. “I do believe there is a certain amount of irony there.”
“No. Well...yes.” Darn it, his smile was something dazzling. It was probably best if she moved on for the night. Diana looked around for the girl with the stooped shoulders.
“Miss Connor, would it be too critical of me to point out that you were just handed cold and free and genuine champagne?” He clinked his glass with hers, and sabotaged her resolve with another smile. “You are right. We have no choice but to relax and enjoy it.”
Well. The man was obviously relaxed enough to start turning the charm on. If she directed him toward the right woman and he gave her that smile, Diana’s mission would be accomplished. She took another sip. It really did taste special. She surreptitiously moved the napkin away from the bottle’s label with one finger. One never knew when the name of a good champagne might be handy.
She took one more sip, and hoped she could fake some enthusiasm for finding Quinn someone to dance with. “All right, Quinn. Back to business. While we’ve got champagne, real champagne, to cover our movements, this is an easy time to check out the other people in the room. You never gave me your opinion on the knockout in the red dress.”
Quinn took the champagne glass out of her hand and set it down methodically, precisely next to his. He looked rather stern. “I’m not interested.”
“Don’t give up. The night is still young. We’ll find you someone worth dancing with.”
“The bottom line is this, Diana Connor. The only woman I want to dance with, or talk to, or drink champagne with, is you.”
“Me?”
Her heart skipped around in her chest, as crazy and out of sync as the fringe on her dress, shivering with the shaky breath she sucked in.
“You. May I have this dance?”
The orchestra began the opening strains of “Moonlight Serenade.” It was all so perfect. The champagne, the man, the music, the night.
Diana felt a little shiver of fear. Dancing with Quinn seemed dangerous. Risky, somehow. What if life was never this perfect again?
It takes courage to be happy. Her mother’s mantra had become her own. Diana had been doing her best to live a courageous life, seizing happiness when it came her way, just as she’d seized the ticket to this lovely gala. She could dance one perfect dance with a perfect man to a perfect song. It wouldn’t change her life. It would be a happy memory to hold when the dark ones threatened.
“I love this song,” she said to Quinn.
The corners of his eyes crinkled as his expression went from serious to something softer. Then a woman’s voice called to him from behind Diana. “There you are, Quinn MacDowell. I thought for sure you would have ducked out by now. Being quite the trouper tonight, are you?”
Quinn’s gaze flicked to someone beyond Diana’s shoulder. Diana turned to see who was speaking. A woman, tall and confident, stepped in to kiss Quinn on the cheek.
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