But trust Damien to choose this moment to stop doing the perfect thing. He found the strength to move, stepped back and stared at her. The heat rushed from the top of her ears straight into her cheeks.
‘Oh! Zoe …!’ Luke was frowning and smiling at the same time, although the smile was starting to win. ‘Sorry … Just didn’t think you two … Like I said, I’ll come back—’ he grinned ‘—later.’
Footsteps on gravel again, getting quieter. And then it was just a trickle of the fountain, the rasp of their breath and the noise of the party from the marquee, otherworldly and muffled.
Neither of them spoke. Not with words. But Damien’s face began to get very eloquent, and the emotions on display were not what a girl wanted to see after a kiss like that.
Shock. Confusion. Even a little bit of guilt, if she wasn’t mistaken, although she couldn’t guess why. His mouth pulled down and she felt as if he’d taken a huge step backwards, even though he hadn’t actually moved. It was that last emotion that really put the cherry on top.
Disgust.
That was when she slapped him.
Damien was still rubbing his cheek as he ran back over the lawn towards the marquee. He wasn’t sure if he’d deserved that slap or not. Surely, the time for hand to face contact would have been when he’d lurched towards her, not five minutes later when her arm had been hooked around his back, pulling her closer to him, and his teeth had been at her earlobe?
But, then again, maybe he should have saved her the bother and slapped himself first. What had he thought he was doing? Really? Zoe St James?
He shook his head, trying to put it down to some kind of mental breakdown, brought about by weeks of stress and then having to endure the worst day of his life, but his attempt at reasoning with himself kept getting side-tracked by thoughts of Zoe’s supple lips, memories of how complete and unfettered her response had been. She certainly knew how to more than talk with that runaway mouth of hers, he thought wryly.
Okay, so he was attracted to her. They had chemistry. Weird things like that happened all the time. It was all down to pheromones and brain chemistry and strange evolutionary throwbacks.
But a girl like Zoe St James wasn’t part of the picture he’d painted of his future, the one he’d been slowly piecing together like a jigsaw for the last decade. It didn’t matter if they had enough chemistry together to power the New Year’s fireworks in London—she just wasn’t part of the plan. And Damien Stone always stuck to the plan.
‘Luke!’
He caught his friend just as he was about to go back inside. Slightly breathless now, he pressed a hand to his chest. ‘You said you wanted a word with me?’
Luke shook his head. ‘I said Sara wanted a word with you.’
Sara.
A wave of guilt washed over Damien. He felt as if he’d been unfaithful, which was ridiculous.
Luke was grinning at him, waggling his eyebrows.
‘Shut up,’ Damien said.
Luke just grinned harder. ‘Well, I can’t say I wasn’t surprised. I mean … Zoe … But it’s good to see you being less of a hermit where women are concerned. You’ve been working too hard for far too long.’
Luke was wrong. It wasn’t work that was the problem. Yes, Damien put in long hours occasionally, but Luke was under the impression that things were worse than they really were, because that was the excuse Damien trotted out when spending an evening with Sara and Luke at his house would be just too cosy to bear.
He pulled a face. Just when had he become this person? A person who skulked around hiding from everyone, lied to his friends and, yes, launched himself on unsuspecting women, even if the woman in question had deserved a bit of a comeuppance?
‘So …’ Luke clapped him on the back then gave him a one-armed hug ‘…are you going to see her again while we’re away on honeymoon?’
Damien shook his head. He’d rather set himself on fire.
But there was something in what Luke had said. He’d spent too long pining for a woman who wasn’t his, too long shutting himself off from all the other possibilities out there. Okay, Sara fitted perfectly in that ten-year plan of his—owning his business, buying a decent house, wife, kids—but that didn’t mean no one else could ever fit that gap. He needed to readjust, and he could do it. He could.
It was time to move on.
What a pity he hadn’t quite been able to let go of the idea of Sara before now. Maybe if he’d done it sooner, he would have been here with someone today and, instead of struggling on his own, feeling like a volcano that was trying to stop itself erupting. He might have enjoyed himself.
He tried to imagine what it would be like …
A faceless girl. Brunette—not blonde, like Sara—in a stylish dress. A woman who reached for his hand during the service, squeezed it as the vows were said.
But it didn’t work. The fantasy morphed into a picture of him out by the fountain, taking Zoe by the hand, leading her back into the hotel, a slow, knowing smile on both their faces …
No.
Get a grip, Damien.
Luke’s right. It’s been too long. Those pent-up hormones are driving you screwy.
‘Relax, mate!’ His friend’s hand was still on his shoulder and it began to knead the tense muscle there rather painfully. ‘You know what you need?’
‘A stiff gin and Angelina Jolie’s phone number?’
Luke laughed. ‘Nope. You need a holiday.’
Damien shook his head. The last thing he needed was endless days on his own, nothing to do, too much time to think. No, work was the answer. Work was always the answer.
And coming up with a new plan. A better one. An achievable one.
That thought stopped him in his tracks.
He’d fallen into the same trap as his father had, hadn’t he? And he hadn’t even realised it. If anyone should understand how much damage yearning for the impossible did, it was Damien Stone.
‘So where’s Sara, then? I thought you said she was looking for me?’
Luke nodded towards the inside of the marquee. ‘Talking to her father at the table in the corner.’ His smile became sappy. ‘You can’t miss her—just look for the most beautiful girl in the room.’
This morning a comment like that would have been a slap in the face, but Damien let it bounce off him. Time for a new plan, remember? And this time he wasn’t going to let himself get derailed.
He would walk over to Sara and her father. He would listen to what she had to say, and then he would say goodbye.
To Sara. And the idea of Sara.
CHAPTER FOUR
NOT many drivers were on the road at one in the morning to witness the sight of a bridesmaid shooting down the motorway in her car, foot to the floor, flowers in her hair. Zoe wouldn’t have noticed them if they had. Her efficient little runabout didn’t go much above seventy, but pressing the pedal all the way down gave her a small sense of satisfaction, something to counteract the growing sense of shame.
She’d never been so humiliated.
The look on his face