The Beauty Queen's Makeover. Teresa Southwick
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and looked directly into his eyes. The friendly expression instantly turned to astonishment. “Katie?”
That stunned her. No one had called her that since college. Who was he? And what did he know about her? The mirror had become her worst enemy, but she wished for one now. She’d made very sure the glasses covered everything. Unlike Mr. Perfect, she had a lot to hide.
She studied him intently. “Do I know you?”
He mumbled something that sounded like, “Why should you? No one else does.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” He smiled. “More important—I know you. You went to Saunders University. As it happens, I was lucky enough to be there at the same time.”
“Really?”
“I doubt you’d remember me.”
Surely he was wrong. There were things she didn’t want to remember, but someone so good-looking would be hard to forget.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
His gaze slid away almost shyly, but his bearing and confidence didn’t peg him as a shy man. “Nate Williams,” he finally said.
Then he tensed slightly, as if bracing for a reaction. She probably only noticed because it was a habit she’d adopted—waiting for the shock, then the discomfort when a stranger’s glance skittered away. But his name didn’t jog her memory.
She shook her head. “Did we take a class together?”
“I was two years ahead of you and in prelaw.”
“Then probably that’s not how we met. I was never that focused.” She tapped her lip as she thought back to the days that should have been carefree and were anything but. “What kind of activities were you involved in? Maybe we shared the same interest and that’s where our paths crossed.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t have a lot of interests or extra time.”
Which told her precisely nothing, and didn’t help at all in placing him. She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember you.”
He smiled. “Don’t worry about it. That was a long time ago. It’s no big deal.”
“But you remember me.”
“How could anyone forget? You were a big deal. The prettiest girl on campus. Voted most likely to wind up a cover girl. And you did. Of course I remember you.”
Oh, God. He knew she’d been a model. Did he know anything else? “I really have to go.”
“Not yet. Please?”
Good humor radiated from him and his eyes sparkled with a sincere something she hadn’t seen in a man’s expression for longer than she could remember. So long, in fact, she was surprised she’d recognized the blatant male appreciation. How was it possible to feel so warm and wary at the same time?
“Stay just a little longer. It’s not often a guy like me gets to be this close to the face that launched a thousand lipsticks. And eye shadows, too, if I’m not mistaken.”
Before she could stop him he removed her sunglasses and she gasped. There was no hiding now; he was up close and personal with her face. In front of God and everyone her scars were out there—the half circle groove over her left cheekbone, cut by her glasses in the same accident that shattered her left leg. Maybe now that he could see she was no longer the prettiest girl on campus he would move his larger than life self out of her way and let her go. She braced for his recoil of surprise followed by the poor-Kathryn-Price look.
She saw neither. His pleasant expression never changed. No, she thought, looking closer. It changed slightly with what might have been understanding flickering in his eyes. In spite of that, tension coiled in her belly. After he’d gone overboard about her model’s face, she didn’t dare hope that he would ignore the way she looked now. She wondered if he’d been living under a rock that he hadn’t heard what had happened. He’d want to know the details and offer condolences. Finally he’d insist it was hardly noticeable, which she knew was a big fat lie. She’d only lost partial vision in one eye. She wasn’t blind.
She braced herself again. Okay, she thought, let’s get it over with. Then she could make good on this disastrous escape attempt and retreat to the privacy of her room, which was where she should have stayed in the first place.
She lifted her chin, met his gaze and held out her hand, palm up. Dignity was something the accident hadn’t taken from her. “May I have my sunglasses back?” she asked, forcing a pleasant tone into her voice.
One corner of his mouth curved up. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you guys dig chicks with scars?”
Of all the things he could have said, that was the most unexpected. She blinked at him, then felt a rusty, reluctant smile curl her lips. “No, but I’ve heard chicks dig guys with scars.”
Directness was something she hadn’t prepared for; it completely disarmed her. His quirky question, not ducking the obvious put her completely at ease. And she would never have believed it possible from a guy who looked as if he could be on the cover of GQ or FITNESS FOR FANATICS. How did he know just the right thing to say?
“It’s true,” he insisted. “A tangible sign of character. Guys always look for character.”
“Oh, please. You’re telling me character is the first thing you look for in a woman and not the size of her—” She held her hands out chest high and slid him a wry look.
He grinned. “In all those articles about the top ten things that attract one person to another, isn’t sense of humor at the top of the list?”
“None of my friends store their sense of humor here, yet it’s often where male eye contact starts. And what makes a person laugh is very different from character. I should know. I’ve been on the cover of magazines where those articles appeared. It seems to me looks top the lists.”
“Then, clearly the articles are wrong.”
“I appreciate that you’re trying to make me feel better.”
“Is it working?” he asked, hopefully.
“It would if I had my sunglasses.”
He looked down at the glasses in his hand as if he’d forgotten he’d taken them off and still had them. He met her gaze and sighed dramatically.
“Okay, you can have them back. But only because it’s sunny and squinting will give you crow’s-feet around those beautiful eyes. Certainly not because the prettiest girl on campus has anything to hide.”
“You are so lying,” she said, shaking her head with a tentative smile.
A sudden frown chased the humor from his eyes and he looked almost nervous as he ran his fingers through his short, thick hair.
She put her hand on his arm. “You look like someone made a kite tail out of your favorite tie. That was a joke. Where’s your sense of humor?”
“Joke. Right. I knew that.”
Nate breathed a sigh of relief when she showed no signs of recognition. Although she was right about him lying—a lie of omission. But a lie by any other name was still a lie. He’d only told her his name, not who he really was. He’d never expected to see her again, not in the flesh. Pictures of her in magazines had been his only contact since college and all he could ever hope for. But a little over a year ago he’d lost track of her. Obviously something traumatic had happened to take her out of circulation.
She put her sunglasses back on. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask how it happened.”
He knew “it” was some kind of accident. “Do you want to tell me?”
“No.”
The response was succinct, decisive and unequivocal. He slid his hands into the pockets of his