about to be self-pitying, and she didn’t mind working at Tiffany’s, and she loved designing rings in her spare time, but she’d only recently been promoted from clerk to floor manager. By contrast, Carrie was from a wealthy prominent political family. Slender and busty where Bridget was on the flat side, dark-haired where Bridget was blond. While Bridget had been toiling at Parsons, Carrie had been busy getting a Harvard M.B.A. simply because she enjoyed the classes, and then she’d ditched all that to become a gown designer. Word had it that her father was helping her open her own shop near Stella McCartney’s in the refurbished meat-packing district. Bridget sighed. She’d hoped Allison would chose her mother, seamstress Vivian Benning to make gowns and suits for Allison and Kenneth, but Allison had used Carrie instead, since they’d been friends for years.
Somehow, she found her tongue. “Sorry to…uh…interrupt.”
Not bothering to hide her displeasure, Carrie sent Dermott a long-suffering glance, as if to say “I told you so,” then turned on her heel and strode on long, fabulous legs toward the bedroom, calling in a lilting voice, “Good to see you, Bridget.”
“You, too,” Bridget managed, then added, “Muggy,” in an insistent tone, since the pug was charging after the satin sheet, as if he were a tiny bull following a red cape. “C’mere, cutie.”
Mug turned, his dark liquid eyes full of pleading, and she shook her head. “C’mere.” When she whistled, he came running, and her heart flooded with more relief than she wanted to analyze as she scooped him into her arms. Cuddling him against her chest, she felt comforted by his heart, which was beating every bit as rapidly as hers. Ducking her chin, she smothered him with kisses.
And then she looked at Dermott again. Somehow, the apology in her mind didn’t make it to her lips. With her glasses on, she certainly understood why Carrie was interested. She sucked in a breath, suddenly feeling as if she were losing her mind. She’d seen Dermott half-dressed many times, but all at once, his body had an entirely new effect. Her pulse was racing, her knees felt weak and with a jolt, she realized jealousy was coursing through her blood.
Oh, she’d always known Dermott was good-looking, with a long, rectangular face, dark, brooding eyes and thick eyebrows, but Bridget didn’t think of Dermott that way. They’d lived next door to each other as kids, at least until Dermott’s father, an actor, had gotten his big Hollywood break, and they spent plenty of time together now when Dermott wasn’t in L.A. where he maintained another residence. But…
She simply couldn’t believe Carrie’s possessive glance. What was going on? How long had they been together? “Look,” she began. “I’m sorry, Derm. I didn’t know…” That you were getting naked with Carrie.
“No problem.” Clearing his throat as if that might help him get a better handle on the situation, Dermott squinted. “I thought you went upstate with the girls, skiing.”
“Is that why you haven’t called?”
The pause lasted a beat too long. “Uh…yeah.”
He was lying, but why? She lunged into the story of the share mixup, then quickly said, “Are you mad at me?”
He shook his head. “No. What can I do for you?”
What can I do for you? He was talking as if they were strangers! Her throat constricted in panic. “Uh…it’s nothing,” she assured.
“It must be something, Bridge, or you wouldn’t have come all the way to South Ferry in the rain.”
He had a point, but she was starting to feel like a fool. Her friends were moving on in life, and somehow, in a way she’d couldn’t quite define, she seemed stuck. Marissa’s curse, no doubt! But was she really so self-absorbed that Dermott had quit telling her secrets? She hated feeling out of the loop. “Really,” she managed. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
His eyebrows knitted. “Is something wrong, Bridge?”
Yes. No. Nothing. Everything. She’d just felt a rush of sexual attraction toward Dermott—and well, that seemed very wrong. So did the explosion of jealousy. Especially since she had no claim on Dermott except that he was her best friend. The boy next door. The man she’d come to rely on for constant consultation about her life.
“Bridget?”
She was staring at him as if she’d never seen him before. She’d seen him with women other than Carrie, of course, and it had never bothered her, but Carrie Masterson was…
Perfect. One of the city’s hot babes. New York magazine had even done an article about her. “Huh?”
“Is something wrong?”
“No.” Except she couldn’t fight this feeling that her whole world had turned upside down. Was he serious about Carrie? Was she was going to lose her best friend? Deep down, she heard a little voice say, Carrie’s the first woman he’s been with whom he’d leave me for. Except he couldn’t leave Bridget, not really. They’d never even been together, not like that. Her eyes drifted slowly downward, and she was stunned to feel twinges in all her secret places. He really was a fine specimen of a man, sexy, with heavily lidded dark eyes that made him look as if he’d just stepped from bed.
Which he had, she reminded herself. With Carrie. But had they really slept together yet? Was this their first night together? Or had they been together a while?
He was peering at her. “Your family’s okay?”
“Fine.”
He almost smiled, and nothing more than the familiar wry upturn of his lips warmed her, taking the chill from the February storm and Carrie’s cool reception. “Why are you not convincing me, Bridge?”
As she smiled back, Mug relaxed in her arms. “Really,” she said. “Mom and Pop are great. Edie’s wedding planning business lost some clients because people found out it was Marley, not her, who was on the Rate the Dates show, and apparently they’re going to announce on national TV that the Bennings are victims of a wedding curse.”
“Huh?”
Quickly, she filled him in on the details, that her sisters had switched places on a TV reality show, and then been discovered. “But don’t worry,” she added quickly. “Edie’s surviving. And Marley’s still dating Cash Champagne. It looks like it might be serious, but…”
“But?”
The curse was in the way. “Marley doesn’t really believe things will work out between her and Cash because…well, nothing ever does for us Bennings.” Experiencing an uncharacteristic chin-quiver, Bridget clamped her jaw tightly, keeping her gaze trained on Dermott’s, hardly wanting to let her eyes drift, just in case they landed again on Carrie’s accoutrements: chocolates, strawberries and flowers. Not that fixing her eyes on Dermott’s was any better. She realized his eyes were so dark, inky, liquid…
She blew out a shaky breath. The only saving grace was that Carrie had taken the champagne.
“Hmm. So, is this about the wedding curse thing again?”
“Yeah,” she admitted. “But it’s a long story, and you’re busy.”
Something in the way he glanced over his shoulder drew her eyes to his shoulder. Why had she never noticed how broad Dermott’s shoulders were before
