Every Breath You Take (Second Opportunities 4)

The waiter put the glass of tomato juice on their table and sternly informed them, lady does not want another glass of tomato juice.”

Trying to ignore the outburst of laughter and the youthful exclamations of disappointment that followed the waiter’s announcement, Mitchell picked up the estimates his contractor had given him, but the youngest boy evidently decided to seek advice from an older, more experienced male. Leaning toward Mitchell, he held up his palms in a gesture of helplessness and demanded, , what would you do?”

Mildly annoyed at yet another distraction, Mitchell eyed the glass of unappetizing tomato juice and said, ’d add a stalk of celery and a shot of vodka, if it was for me.”

!” the kid exclaimed excitedly, looking at the waiter.

The waiter looked questioningly at the bodyguard, who was seated at the table with them and trying to read a newspaper. The boys looked hopefully at the bodyguard. us a hand here, Dirk,” one of them implored. The bodyguard sighed, hesitated, then nodded at the waiter and said, one.”

The boys cheered and exchanged high fives.

The man at the table on his left laughingly confided to Mitchell, can’t blame them for trying. Hell, if I were single, I’d make a play for her. Sheis hot.”

In disgust, Mitchell gave up trying to concentrate on the list of estimates and looked around for a waiter to bring him his check. The waiter wasn’t in sight. He’d gone into the restaurant.

Oblivious of the commotion on the patio, Kate looked at the tasks she’d written down to do at her father’s house, and the ache inside her grew and grew.Donate clothes to the Salvation Army. Her father’s suits . . . His favorite green sweater that made his eyes look even greener. He had such wonderful eyes . . . warm, laughing, Irish eyes. She was never going to see those eyes again.

She was going to cry, Kate realized in horror! She had to get out of there. She closed the notebook and got off the barstool, just as the waiter put a Bloody Mary in front of her and a man strolled in from the patio, heading in her direction. “Compliments of the young gentlemen,” the waiter explained.

juice was cute,” she told him. Bloody Mary isn’t cute. It’s—inappropriate and offensive for kids to do something like this.”

wasn’t their idea, miss,” he said quickly.

whose idea was it?” Kate demanded, not caring that everyone in the restaurant—and probably on the patio, too—was watching to see what she’d do about the Bloody Mary.

,” the newcomer said from right beside her.

Kate could tell from his deep voice that he was old enough to know better, and she refused to give him the courtesy of a glance. ’s reprehensible to help those adolescents buy alcohol.” With her left hand, she grabbed her notebook andCoping with Grief from behind her plate; then she slid her right arm through the long straps of the green canvas bag and picked up the Bloody Mary, intending to give it back to him. don’t want this—” The straps of her canvas bag snagged on the back of the chair, and she gave the straps an impatient jerk while she thrust the drink at him.

Red liquid erupted from the glass and drenched the front of his white shirt.

, no—” Kate exclaimed, drowning out his startled expletive and the gasps from onlookers. amso sorry !” Dropping everything but the Bloody Mary, she put the half-empty glass on the bar, swiftly exchanging it for her glass of ice water and a cloth napkin. tomato juice will stain if we don’t get it out right away,” she babbled, unable to look him in the eye.

When she doused his silk shirt with freezing-cold water, Mitchell’s skin flinched, and when she began dabbing madly at the mess with her cloth napkin, and apologizing frantically, his annoyance switched to reluctant amusement, but when she told the hovering waiter to bring her some club soda, Mitchell drew the line: not give her anything else to pour on me,” he warned. us a towel instead.” She’d spilled the drink on him before his eyes had adjusted to the shadows, and she hadn’t lifted her gaze above his chest since then, so he had no idea what she actually looked like except that she was about five feet six inches tall, and she had long, dark red hair that was very thick, damp, and curly. Beyond that, all he could tell from his current vantage point was that her eyelashes and eyebrows were the same color as her hair. He tucked his chin down and addressed her eyelashes. ’t anyone ever teach you how to say, ‘Thank you kindly, but no’?”

Kate finally realized he wasn’t furious, but her relief was offset by shame. ’m afraid your shirt is ruined,” she said as she reached for the waiter’s towel with her right hand and shoved the fingers of her left hand between the buttons of his shirt and his bare skin. ’ll try to blot as much of this off as I can.”

sounds like a better plan than trying to drown it.”

couldn’t feel any worse about this,” she said in a muffled voice.

, you could,” Mitchell said, but his attention was on the title of the book she’d dropped, and he was trying to read it upside down.

could I?”

didn’t intend for the boys to send you that Bloody Mary,” he replied just before he realized the title of the book wasCoping with Grief.

Stricken, she finally lifted her face to his, and in a flash of blinding clarity, Mitchell realized exactly why three teenage boys had been making fools of themselves over her. Framed by a mass of curling titian hair, and without a trace of makeup, her face was striking, with ivory skin, high cheekbones, and a small square chin with an intriguing cleft in the center. Her nose was straight, her mouth soft and generously wide, but it was her eyes that momentarily mesmerized him: Beneath gracefully winged dark red brows and a thick fringe of long russet lashes, she had large green eyes the startling color of wet leaves. Belatedly, Mitchell realized those eyes were shimmering with tears, and he felt a sharp, idiotic pang of regret for his part in causing them.

, I want to pay for your shirt,” she said, stepping back and turning away.

’d expect nothing less from someone with your lofty principles,” Mitchell said lightly, watching her put the towel on the bar and reach for her canvas bag. She wasn’t wearing a ring on her left hand, he noted.

Kate heard his joking tone and couldn’t believe how nice he was being. Or how incredibly handsome he was. With her back to him, she took her checkbook out of her bag and groped in it for a pen. much shall I make my check out for?”

Mitchell hesitated, preoccupied with rapid observations and assessments: The Island Club was an extremely expensive, elitist little hotel, yet her wristwatch and the ring on her right hand were inexpensive, and her canvas bag had the name of a bookstore on it, not a designer logo. That meant she was probably here with someone who was paying all her expenses. With her striking good looks, she’d undoubtedly have wealthy men standing in line to take her to the best places and show her a good time . . . but the bathing suit top she was wearing was a little on the modest side for a -time girl.” Besides that, there was something soft and vulnerable about her and even a little . . . prim?