One Long Embrace (Eternal Bachelors Club #5)

“So what are you doing here, huh? Why didn’t you stay in New York and at least pursue those job opportunities you mentioned?”


Tears welled up in her eyes, and she didn’t have the strength to push them back any longer. “I didn’t get…get the job.” Because she’d called her potential employer a liar and a jerk.

Veronica pulled her into an embrace. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Tara. But there’ll be others, I promise you. You just have to keep trying.”

Tara shook her head, sobbing. “It’s no use. I should just do what Mom wants me to do. Because whenever I try to rebel, look how it turns out!”

“But Tara. Brad Willamott?”

The name alone made her break out in goose bumps. She’d never liked the spoiled son of one of the richest families in the Hamptons. By accepting the invitation this weekend, she’d practically indicated that she would be willing to go out with Brad and consider him a marriage candidate. Oh God, she felt like she’d time-traveled and landed in a regency romance where she was being coerced into a marriage of convenience. This was crazy.

“At least I know going into it that he’s a douchebag. There won’t be any surprises.” And she wouldn’t develop any feelings for somebody like that. Hence her heart could not be broken. Wasn’t that the perfect solution? Crap, not even she believed that. What the hell was she doing here?

“Tara, you’re not thinking clearly. You’re upset, and you shouldn’t make any decisions when upset. Tomorrow, you’ll leave with Adam and me, and you’ll spend some time with us until you feel better.”

“But Mom is never—”

“Leave Mom up to me.”

“But I don’t want to intrude on you and Adam. I mean you don’t need a fifth wheel.”

“Don’t worry about that. Adam will survive it. Besides, he likes you.”

Through her tears she smiled at her sister. “Are you sure?”

Veronica nodded.

“You’re the best sister ever.”

“Of course I am,” Veronica replied. “Now, fix your make-up and then we’ll go down there and mingle with the crowd. There isn’t much a few drinks can’t fix.”

“Thank you.” Her heart filled with gratitude.

At least she had one person she could rely on to get her through this mess, because coming to the Willamotts had been a stupid idea. It wouldn’t solve her problems or mend her broken heart.



~



Tara set her empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray and exchanged it for a full one. At least the champagne was good, and the fact that the Willamotts had invited half the island helped her avoid the people she didn’t want to see: her parents and Brad. Whenever she saw them closing in on her, she dove into the crowd and disappeared. She was getting good at it, too.

“Hi Tara, finally.”

Maybe not good enough, a little voice in her head added.

She pivoted and forced a smile. “Brad, such a nice party. Your parents have outdone themselves.”

“I’m just glad we’re finally able to connect.”

He grinned in a leering kind of way, his gaze already straying from her face and drifting down to her cleavage. She instantly regretted her choice of wardrobe. A turtleneck sweater would have been a better choice.

“I’m sure you have lots of guests to entertain.” She motioned to the crowd of people. “I’d hate to monopolize you.”

“I don’t. Hate it, I mean. You can monopolize me anytime you want to.”

She felt acute nausea churn up in her stomach. But instead of puking she tried humor. “Oh you’re too funny, Brad! Always such a joker. Your mother did warn me about your wicked sense of humor.”

Warning was maybe the wrong word. Rather his mother had talked up Brad’s supposedly good attributes whenever she’d gotten a chance. How smart her son was (sure, if a 3.2 grade point average from an Ivy League university was considered smart); how handsome he was (to anybody who thought that the hunchback of Notre Dame was a strapping man); and how much money he would one day inherit. Well, not even Tara could argue with the last point.

“Did she also mention that I’m a fantastic dancer?” Brad asked, apparently oblivious to her sarcastic remark.

“I wish I could, but you know, these shoes, they’re killing me,” she lied. “I can barely keep standing, let alone dancing. You deserve a better dance partner than me.” One that wasn’t creeped out by the thought of being touched by him.

“Just one dance. And then I’ll make sure you’ll get off your feet,” he insisted, winking conspiratorially.

Oh my God, did he actually think he was flirting with her? And worse: was he planning on cornering her somewhere in a room, alone? Was that what he meant by getting her off her feet?

“I’d rather not.”

“Oh come on! Just the one.”

“Didn’t you hear the lady?” a menacing voice interrupted them. “She doesn’t want to dance.”

Tara snapped her head to the interloper. Or should she call him intruder? Dressed as a waiter, he held an empty tray in one hand.