“Then the food will make up for the speeches.”
He heard her laugh. “Okay, then, you’re on. Pick me up at six thirty.”
“I’ll be there.”
And he would. He sure as hell would.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Kate couldn’t help feeling a little flutter of anticipation as she got ready for the rehearsal dinner. Of course, this wasn’t a date—after their night together the previous week, she and Ian had gone back to a friendship dynamic, which was definitely the best thing for both of them.
Sure, she felt a twinge of disappointment every now and then. That was only natural—just as it was natural to feel that electric rush of attraction every time she saw him. It wasn’t as if her female hormones had stopped functioning just because her mind was being sensible.
And she didn’t regret their last night together.
She decided she had no reason to feel self-conscious about making an effort with her appearance tonight. It was Jessica’s rehearsal dinner, after all. Everyone would be dressed up.
The fact that Ian was her escort for the evening was only a secondary factor. And he definitely wasn’t the reason she’d begged Simone to go shopping with her yesterday.
If it hadn’t been for Simone, Kate would never have considered buying the dress she wore now. She slipped on the strappy sandals she’d bought to go with it and went to stand in front of the mirror.
The dress was sapphire blue—to match her eyes, Simone had explained. It was a simple design, with cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline and a skirt that swirled around her knees in floating layers of silk tulle.
She loved it.
The intercom buzzed, and her flutter of anticipation turned into a riptide.
“There’s a gentleman here for you,” Andreas said. “Shall I send him up?”
“No, tell him I’ll be right down,” she answered.
She checked her hair once more in the mirror—she’d worn it in an upsweep, which actually made her neck seem long and elegant—and then grabbed her purse. A minute later, the elevator doors opened and she stepped out into the lobby.
As Andreas held the front door for her, she noticed a vintage Rolls-Royce at the curb.
“Wow. Whose car is that?”
He grinned at her. “I believe it’s yours—at least for tonight.”
Just then, the driver’s side door opened and Ian emerged.
She blinked.
He complemented the car perfectly, even though he wasn’t wearing anything vintage. He also wasn’t in one of the business suits he wore to work, and he wasn’t dressed as Spike.
His suit was modern and sexy and exquisitely tailored for his broad shoulders, and Kate had to resist the urge to fan herself.
“You really outdid yourself, Hart,” she said, trying not to show how touched she was that he’d gone to all this trouble.
“And you look like a princess,” he said, handing her a white rose she hadn’t even noticed he was carrying.
She looked down at it to hide her sudden blush. “It’s lovely. Thank you.”
She glanced over her shoulder and saw that Andreas had gone back inside the lobby. Then she turned back to Ian, who was smiling at her.
“So . . . what’s the deal with all this?” she asked cautiously. “It’s wonderful, but a little over the top, don’t you think?”
“I needed the right setting,” he told her, leaning back against the gleaming white car and sliding his hands into the pockets of his dark gray suit.
“The right setting for what?”
“For a story I’d like to tell you.”
A story?
“Well . . .” She hesitated. “I guess we have some time before we have to be at the restaurant. Is it a long story?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Okay, then.”
He took a deep breath, and then he began.
“Once upon a time, a lonely man fell in love with a beautiful woman. But he was proud and blind and afraid, and he didn’t realize his true feelings.”
Her heart knocked against her rib cage. She squeezed the rose stem in her hand, belatedly grateful that its thorns had been removed.
“But one day the man was faced with the loss of something precious. And he knew in that moment that what really mattered to him were the people he loved: his nephew, and his friends, and the woman who’d taught him that magic is real—and that love is real, too.” He paused. “And that cats purr between twenty and a hundred and forty hertz.”
She was caught between tears and laughter.
“Damn you, Ian Hart,” she muttered, grabbing a tissue from her purse and swiping at her eyes.
“What is it?”
“I never wear makeup. I put some on tonight, and now you’ve made me cry.”