‘‘Not with me, at any rate.''
‘‘I don't quite follow … '' If he was even half-aware of the way her heart was clamoring as they gazed into each other's eyes, he wouldn't be nearly as confident.
‘‘I'm engaged.''
‘‘Engaged?'' Shelly felt as though someone had slugged her in the stomach. Her first reaction was anger. ‘‘You couldn't have mentioned this sooner?'' she snapped.
‘‘It's not official yet. Janice hasn't picked out a diamond. Nor have we discussed our plans with her family.''
The irritation faded, swallowed by an overwhelming sense of relief. ‘‘Engaged,'' she repeated, reminding herself that she really had no interest in marriage. And this proved there was no such thing as a ‘‘magic'' wedding dress. If Mark was involved with Janice, he wouldn't be free to marry her. It was that simple. Shelly leaped to her feet and started to pace.
‘‘Are you all right?'' Mark asked. ‘‘You're looking pale.''
She nodded and pressed her hands to her cheeks, which suddenly felt hot. ‘‘I'm so relieved,'' she whispered hoarsely. ‘‘You have no idea how relieved I am. You're engaged … My goodness, I feel like I've got a new lease on life.''
‘‘As I explained,'' Mark said, frowning, ‘‘it isn't official yet.''
‘‘That doesn't matter. You're committed to someone else and that's all that matters. However-'' she forced a smile ‘‘-you might have said something sooner and saved me all this anxiety.''
‘‘You did ask that day at the mall, but I was more concerned with avoiding a scene than revealing the personal details of my life.''
‘‘I'm sorry about that.''
‘‘No problem,'' Mark was quick to assure her.
Shelly settled back in the chair and crossed her legs, hoping to stroke a relaxed pose. She even managed to skim through a couple of magazines, although she barely knew what she was reading.
Finally, the receptionist opened the door and called her name. Eager to get this over with, Shelly stood, picking up the large box she'd brought in with her. She paused on her way out of the reception area and turned to Mark. ‘‘I wish you and Janice every happiness,'' she said formally.
‘‘Thank you,'' he answered, then grinned. ‘‘The same to you and whomever the wedding dress finds for you to marry.''
Chapter Six
SHE SHOULD BE HAPPY, Shelly told herself early the following morning. Not only had she survived the audit-in fact she'd come away with an unexpected refund-but she'd learned that Mark was practically engaged.
Yes, she should be dancing in the streets, singing in the aisles … Instead she'd been struggling with a strange melancholy ever since their last encounter. She seemed to have lost her usual vitality, her sense of fun.
And now it was Saturday, and for once she had no looming deadlines, no appointments, no pressing errands. Remembering the exhilaration and solace she'd experienced when she videotaped an ocean storm sequence recently, Shelly decided to see if she could recapture some of those feelings. She headed toward Long Beach, a resort town on the Washington coastline. The sky was clear and almost cloudless; the sun was bright and pleasantly warm-a perfect spring day. Once she drove onto the freeway, the miles sped past and two hours later she was standing on the sandy beach with the breeze riffling her long hair.
She walked around for a while, enjoying the sights and sounds about her, the chirping of the sea gulls, the salty spray of the Pacific Ocean and the scent of wind and sea. She was satisfied with the end product, her beach video, and started to work out plans for a whole series-the ocean in different seasons, different moods. That would be something special, she thought, something unique.
She wandered down the beach, kicking at the sand with the toe of her tennis shoes. Tucking her fingertips in the pockets of her jeans, she breathed in the vivid freshness around her. After an hour or so, she made her way back to the concession stands, where she bought a hot dog and a cold drink.
Then, just because it looked like such fun, she rented a moped.
She sped along the shore, thrilled with the sensation of freedom, reveling in the solitude and the roar of pounding surf.
The wind tossed her hair about her face until it was a confusion of curls. Shelly laughed aloud and listened as the galloping breeze carried off the sound.
Her motorized bike rushed forward, spitting sand in its wake. She felt reckless with exhilaration, as though there was nothing she couldn't do. It was that kind of afternoon. That kind of day.
When she least expected it, someone else on a moped raced past her. Shelly hadn't encountered anyone during her ride and this person took her by surprise. She glanced quickly over her shoulder, amazed by how far she'd traveled. The only other person she could see was the one who'd passed her.
To her surprise, the rider did an abrupt turnaround and headed back in her direction. With the sun in her eyes and the wind pelting against her, Shelly slowed to a crawl and she shaded her eyes with one hand.
It wasn't until he was nearly beside her that Shelly recognized the other rider.
Mark Brady.
She was so shocked that she allowed the engine to die, her feet dropping to the sand to maintain her balance. Mark appeared equally shocked. He braked abruptly.
‘‘Shelly?'' He seemed not to believe it was her.
Shelly shook her head and blinked a couple of times just to make sure she wasn't fantasizing. The last person she'd expected to encounter on a beach two hours out of Seattle was Mark Brady. Mr. Conservative on a moped! This time, though, he wasn't wearing a dark suit. He didn't have his briefcase with him, either. And he looked even handsomer than usual in worn jeans and a University of Washington sweatshirt.
‘‘Mark?'' She couldn't prevent the astonishment from creeping into her voice.
‘‘What are you doing here?'' She heard the hostility in his and answered him coolly.
‘‘The same thing as you, apparently.'' She pushed the hair from her face, and the wind promptly blew it back.
Mark's blue gaze narrowed suspiciously. ‘‘You didn't happen to follow me, did you?''
‘‘Follow you?'' she repeated indignantly. She'd rarely been more insulted. ‘‘Follow you!'' she repeated, starting her moped and revving the engine. ‘‘May I remind you that I was on the beach first? If anyone was doing any following, it was you following me.'' She was breathless by the time she finished. ‘‘In light of our previous encounters, you're the last person I'd seek out.''
Mark scowled at her. ‘‘The feeling's mutual. I'm not in the mood for another story about your aunt Martha's damn wedding dress, either.''
Shelly felt an unexpected flash of pain. ‘‘I was having a perfectly wonderful afternoon until you arrived,'' she said stiffly.
‘‘I was having a good time myself,'' Mark muttered.
‘‘Then I suggest we go our separate ways and forget we ever met.''
Mark looked as if he were about to say something more, but Shelly was in no frame of mind to listen. She twisted the accelerator on the handlebar of her moped and took off down the beach. Although she knew it was unreasonable, she was furious. Furious at the surge of joy she'd felt when she recognized him. Furious at Mark, because he didn't seem even a little pleased to see her. She bit her lower lip, remembering the comment he'd made about not wanting to hear anything more about her ‘‘damn wedding dress.'' Now, that was just rude, she told herself righteously. She could never be interested in a man who was not only conventional but rude.
Squinting, Shelly hunched her shoulders against the wind, in a hurry now to return to the boardwalk area. She hadn't meant to go nearly this far.
The wet, compact sand made for smooth, fast riding and Shelly stayed close to the water's edge in an effort to outdistance Mark. Not that he was likely to chase her, but she wanted to avoid any possibility of another embarrassing encounter.