the last time, I wasn’t crying.” Goodbye.
“Right. You notice I didn’t mention it to your friend Carolyn.”
“I appreciate that,” Anne said. “If you’ll excuse me I’m going to uh…I see some friends over there. Nice meeting you.” If that wasn’t a decided exit, she didn’t know what was, she thought as she walked slowly across the lawn, her high heels scraping the ground. She didn’t turn to see if she’d hurt his feelings. She was sure she wasn’t capable of any such thing. He was most likely on his way to find another woman, chat up another bridesmaid, hoping she’d be more receptive to his so-called charm.
Rafik stood watching the woman wobble across the lawn, Carolyn’s words ringing in his ears. A wonderful woman. Stay away from her. Too good for you.
She was right. Anne was just the type he was not interested in. Shy. Quiet. Emotional. Heaven save him from the weepy kind of women who cry at weddings. Oh, it was okay if you were the mother of the bride or groom. So what was wrong with him, hitting on a woman who was most definitely not his type? There was something about her, the way she tried to hold back the tears that brought out the protector in him. She made him feel admirable. The way she looked at him through damp lashes, cheeks flushed, her face framed in that gorgeous red-gold hair.
He reminded himself he was not interested in being admirable. He was not looking to protect someone. He was looking for a smooth, sexy, smart and sassy woman who could protect herself. Anne Sheridan was none of the above. Besides she was a friend of Carolyn’s, his new cousin-in-law whom he respected. Half-reluctantly, he turned and looked over the bevy of lovely women, enough women gathered here to please a whole family of sheiks. For some reason he couldn’t seem to focus on any one of them.
“Hey,” his brother threw an arm around his shoulders. “Having fun? Who was the lady in pink I saw you with?”
“Just one of the bridesmaids.”
“I know it was one of the bridesmaids,” Rahman said. “What’s her name?”
“Anne Sheridan. A friend of Carolyn’s. Why?”
“I don’t know. Don’t remember her from the rehearsal dinner. Thought I’d met every pretty woman there. I might introduce myself. Unless you…?”
“No, absolutely not,” Rafik said. “Wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole. Not my type. Not yours either.”
“Okay. Just asking. What a party, huh?”
It was quite a party, and Rafik would have been a fool to miss a moment of it. He threw himself into enjoying the music, the dancing, and oh, yes, chatting up the women. So much so, he almost forgot about the auburn-haired bridesmaid in the pink dress. Out of sight, out of mind. That’s the way it always was with him. But in one small corner of his mind during the fun, he wondered what had happened to her. He hoped his brother had followed his advice and ignored her. Not that he really cared. Not that she was his responsibility. It was just that she seemed so fragile and so vulnerable. It was obvious somebody ought to be responsible for her. Just so it wasn’t him or anyone he knew.
Yes, he’d all but forgotten about her, until at the end of the afternoon, as dusk was falling over the manicured grounds, after the eating, drinking and dancing, he was called upon to make a toast. He stood on the dance platform in front of the musicians who were packing up and told some anecdotes about Tarik that made everyone laugh. Just as he lifted his glass of champagne to toast his cousin and his bride, he saw Anne at the edge of the crowd. She lifted her glass and caught his eye. She definitely looked like she’d had a few too many glasses of champagne. Funny. He wouldn’t have picked her for a lush.
Maybe he ought to bring her a piece of wedding cake and see how she was doing. But when he went looking for her, cake in hand, she was gone. It was just as well.
“Rafik.” Carolyn got up from the small table where she was sitting with a group of older people and caught his arm. “Do me a favor, will you? Anne isn’t feeling well. Could you give her a ride home?”
“Sure. Where is she?”
“At the front door. She wanted to call a taxi, but I’m a little worried. I want to be sure she gets home all right.”
“Okay,” he said.
He pulled his car up in front of the house and left the motor running while he bounded up the front steps. He found her standing in the doorway of the house, looking confused.
“Oh,” Anne said, startled to see Rafik at the door.
“Come on,” he said, putting his arm around her waist.
“I’m waiting for a taxi. Thanks anyway,” she said, trying unsuccessfully to disengage his arm.
“I’m the taxi,” he said. “I’m taking you home. Orders from Carolyn.”
“That’s not necessary,” she said. Of all people. She did not want to be indebted to this man, who thought he was God’s gift to womankind. Who’d already seen her at her worst. She’d managed to avoid him for the past few hours, and now here he was again.
“Really. I’m fine. I just need….” She just needed to lie down and close her eyes. Her head was pounding, the room was spinning, and Rafik’s face was going in and out of focus. When he picked her up as easily as if she weighed no more than a rag doll and carried her down the steps to his waiting car, her head bobbed against his shoulder. She pounded him on his back in an attempt to make him let her go, but it had no effect on him at all.
He very carefully installed her in the passenger seat, taking her small clutch bag from her hand and removing her shoes before he tucked her feet in. She sighed. Despite her protests, she had to admit it felt so good to be taken care of. So good to have those tight shoes off. Again she was surprised that a big, broad-shouldered, dashing man-about-town would have such a gentle touch. As he fastened her seat belt, his hand grazed the bodice of her silk dress and she gasped. Her eyes flew open and met his amused gaze.
“Just following the seat-belt law,” he said innocently. “Wouldn’t want to be stopped for any kind of violation.”
“Right,” she said.
Did he know, could he tell she was unaccustomed to being touched there? Unused to being touched at all by a man? That just a brush of his hand had left her shaky and breathless? Or was that, too, the effect of the champagne and the medicine? What did it matter? He’d been instructed to take her home and he was doing it. She ought to be grateful.
“Where do you live?” he asked.
“In the Sunset,” she said. “Out by the….you know….” She hoped he knew because the names of the streets of San Francisco were going round and round in her brain. Such nice names. Which one was hers? “Octavia. Laguna. Chestnut. Larkin. Pine and Bush,” she murmured.
“What?” he said. “I’m new in town. You’ll have to give me better directions than that.”
“Take Geary,” she said. “No, no better take California.”
“I know California Street,” he said confidently. “No problem. You just relax till we get there.”
Relax? She was so relaxed she might
