The Wedding Bargain. Lisette Belisle
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a football game. A few men had gathered around. Drew glanced at it idly. Someone turned up the volume a notch or two, competing with the jukebox and the sounds of laughter and conversation.
When the noise abruptly leveled off, Drew was slow to react. Lifting his cup to his mouth, he didn’t turn to gape at the new arrival as the other men did; nevertheless, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the woman’s reflection in the mirror behind the counter. Through a smoke-filled haze, he got an eyeful.
He’d heard the saying “Good things come in small packages.” Small and slender in a black leather jacket, with tight black jeans tucked into leather boots, she was dynamite.
For a brief charged minute, their gazes connected in the mirror. Something warm kindled in her eyes before she glanced away. With a stifled inner groan, Drew tried to deny his gut reaction. How long had it been since he’d been within touching distance of a beautiful sexy woman?
Too long.
When she drew off a cap to reveal a glorious tangle of pale golden hair, a man sitting near Drew was lighting a cigarette. The match flared, then burned down while she shook the moisture from her head, then walked slowly forward—every move as graceful as a small sinewy cat.
“Ouch!” The match burned the man’s fingers.
With a wry smile, Drew knew exactly how the man felt. She was hot. Once, he would have tried to pick her up. Now, he buried the impulse and nursed his coffee. He’d sown his wild oats, and then some. From now on, he intended to be the soul of discretion and stay out of trouble.
And she looked like his definition of trouble!
Apart from that, she looked youthful, a little unsure. Drew hoped she knew how to handle herself with this crowd because he had no intention of coming to her rescue. The tension in the room was palpable. And all because of a little piece of fluff.
She looked fragile, yet ripe.
With a frown, Drew silenced the thought.
The lights dimmed slightly.
The waitress called, “Closing in ten.”
Olivia DeAngelis heard the announcement.
Just her luck, she thought. With a sinking feeling, she took in the scene. The diner was closing. And here she was, stranded, somewhere south of Presque Isle.
She had planned to stay overnight in Bangor. But disheartened after seeing her lawyer and receiving his less-than-encouraging summary of her finances—and what she could do about it—she’d changed her mind and decided to head home despite the bad driving weather.
Now, to make matters worse, she’d stumbled into a diner filled with hard-core bikers and truckers. There wasn’t a respectable-looking man in sight, she decided, automatically rating each man according to his general appearance.
When she found her gaze tangling a second time with a pair of brooding dark eyes reflected in the mirror behind the counter, she wondered—had she sunk low enough to consider a stranger met in a seedy diner? She flushed at the thought and watched his eyes narrow. Had he read her mind?
Hastily she looked away.
At the moment, she had more pressing concerns than finding a husband to satisfy her lawyer. How to get home topped her list.
While she hesitated, one man broke from a group around the television. “Hey, doll, need some company?”
Trying to appear casual, she smiled. “No, thanks, I’m meeting someone.” She wasn’t, but he didn’t have to know that.
“Don’t rush off.”
Olivia felt a big beefy hand on her arm. “Excuse me,” she said, dismissing him more firmly.
The man chuckled through his thick pepper-gray beard, but he didn’t loosen his hold. “Forget your date. How about a drink?”
Olivia looked around for an escape. Her gaze fell again on the lone man at the far end of the counter. While all the other men were watching with avid attention, he was ignoring her—which made him appear safe.
“There’s my date.” She disguised her clamoring nerves with a light laugh. Forcing herself not to run, she crossed the room.
“Hey,” the man called after her. “Not so fast.”
Olivia didn’t slow down. Taking a deep breath, she slid onto the empty stool beside the stranger, then leaned toward him.
“Please, pretend you know me,” she whispered, momentarily shaken by the shuttered cynicism in his dark-brown eyes when he turned to look at her. “Just for a couple of minutes.”
Meeting her plea with an unwelcoming frown, he released a harsh sigh with the words, “I don’t want any trouble.”
“Neither do I.” She met his dark gaze.
He shook his head. “Look, I’m no knight in shining armor. Why don’t you find someone else?”
She looked around. “Who do you recommend?”
“Hell,” he muttered, then fell silent.
Taking that as an agreement, Olivia relaxed…a little.
The waitress glanced at both of them. “Who’s buying?”
“I am,” Olivia spoke up brightly. Thanks to a difficult childhood, she’d learned to take care of herself. Adapting to any new situation was lesson number one.
With a trail of unhappy children and broken marriages left behind, Olivia’s mother had spent her life trying to find herself—usually through some man.
Sadly she never had.
For the most part, Olivia avoided the male half of the species. It wasn’t that she didn’t like men; she simply didn’t want one of her own.
However, she’d learned to rely on her intuition when all else failed her. Some basic instinct told her that her rescuer—no matter how reluctant, aloof and unsociable—would do her no harm.
Under the dim lights, his face appeared shadowed; his hair was dark, clipped short. His clothes looked as if they belonged to someone else—someone stockier. He looked down on his luck. Olivia could identify with that. In less than six months, she’d be homeless.
Putting the dismal reality aside, she glanced at his drink, surprised to see it was nonalcoholic.
“I’ll have a Coke,” she said to the waitress, while ignoring the stranger’s lack of enthusiasm about her company. “I’m starved. Can I have some chips with that? I’ve been on the road all day. The weather’s awful! Then, to top it off, my car’s been acting funny since I left Bangor.” Olivia stopped just long enough to take a much-needed breath. “I don’t suppose there’s anyone here who can fix it?”
“Not until morning, I’m afraid.” The waitress took a swipe at the counter with a damp sponge. “A mechanic usually comes on duty at the garage next door at eight. There’s a motel out back. It’s nothing special,” she added.
Olivia could just imagine a seedy motel. They probably charged by the hour. “I was hoping to get home tonight.”
She jumped when the stranger at her side spoke up.
“Where’s home?” he asked.
“Henderson. It’s not far, less than two hours away.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I know where it is.”
“Oh?” When he said nothing more, she spoke again, “By the way, my name’s Olivia DeAngelis. And you are?”
“Drew Pierce.” He seemed to wait for a reaction—obviously assuming she recognized the name.
Returning with Olivia’s order, the waitress provided a distraction. She looked at Drew with interest.
“My husband used to do some logging.