The Bridal Chase. Darcy Maguire

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      CHAPTER THREE

      THE restaurant was perfect. The lighting soft, the twinkling candles on the tables, the gentle strains of the lone lute player filling the room, curling around her.

      The mood was gentle, romantic, inviting love, inviting intimacy…cripes, inviting sex. She couldn’t have done it better.

      Roxanne swivelled on the barstool, surveying the patrons leaning in to each other in whispered closeness.

      She had plenty of time. If he got here at a reasonable hour…and the word was that a call was going to come in with the message that suggested his fiancée couldn’t make it. He’d think there’d be plenty of time to explore his options with her, and for her to prove his infidelity.

      The guy didn’t stand a chance.

      She smoothed down her indecently tight red gown. She had considered a short one that showed a lot of leg but she decided classy elegance would be better in this case, knowing Cade a little better.

      Roxanne caught herself. Not that she knew him. Goodness, a couple of seconds and a smile didn’t mean a thing.

      Sure, she’d pored over the information that she had been given on him. The fact that he had two parents who were still in love after thirty-five years, that he had a younger sister in the art business, that he had an apartment on the north side with views of the bay and was a top architect and partner in a prominent firm in Sydney. They were just facts. So, the guy liked to go camping, fishing and to all sorts of theatre. It wasn’t like knowing this information meant anything, least of all that she was interested.

      This was not a dating service—it was a fidelity-testing one to see whether the guy was marriage material for Miss Heather Moreton or not, to give a guarantee that most wanted when committing to a guy, but rarely got.

      This was an amazing service that her sister offered her clients so they didn’t have to go through all that pain later. And it would come.

      Men couldn’t be trusted. Not an inch, no matter how nice and kind and handsome they appeared to be. Men were all the same. Liars, who’d betray to serve their own interests when you least expected it.

      She couldn’t help but think of her mother, her sister and a myriad of friends…

      Roxanne gripped the bar stool.

      Cade Taylor Watson strode through the door, his black suit hugging his generous frame, his white shirt throwing the deep purple tie he wore in stark contrast, and his presence striking her immediately.

      Hell.

      He could have been wearing a tuxedo for the cut of the suit, the commanding aura he exuded as he strode towards her…the bar.

      She swung back around, staring at her tropical daiquiri, her mind blank.

      What was her line for meeting him again? Fate? It seemed so stupid now…maybe he wouldn’t even recognise her from last time. He probably hadn’t given her a second thought over the weekend…

      What she’d said to him had haunted her, as did her foolish move to rush in without looking at her watch, thinking of nothing but talking to the guy, touching base, making a connection and hoping and praying that he was interested in her and she wasn’t making the biggest fool of herself for talking to him.

      The only difference in doing this job opposed to real dating was that she was getting paid…or at least Nadine was.

      He took a stool one space away. ‘Scotch, neat,’ he directed the barman, plucking his pen from his shirt pocket.

      She focused all her attention on her glass. Did he want her number? Already?

      The umbrella in her drink was pink, sticking out at a wild angle, the straws standing tall and straight, the multitude of fruit stuck to the side of the glass testament to her avoidance of any alcohol this time, not until it was over. She couldn’t afford to take any risks.

      It was her last chance. There was no way even the stupidest guy could imagine a chance meeting happening three times.

      She adjusted the purse balancing on her lap, pushing down the button on the tape recorder. It probably would have been better to have hidden a camera somewhere but she had no idea how to use the one from the office, and from what Nadine said it had cost a fortune.

      Roxanne straightened the umbrella and plucked a strawberry off the side of her glass, biting down on the soft flesh of the fruit, trying to think above the roaring blood in her head.

      Wasn’t he going to say anything?

      Did he remember her?

      The silence between them stretched.

      She felt a twinge of disappointment. Why couldn’t it have been easy?

      She moved her glass, knocking her napkin off the bar. ‘Oh,’ she breathed, turning slightly and watching it flutter to the floor.

      Cade looked up from the napkin he was doodling on, cast a look down at hers and bent down, snatching it with his long fingers. He lifted it and his gaze to her. ‘You dropped this—’

      She met his golden eyes, a smile creeping unbidden to her lips at the surprise in them.

      Point one for his act of surprise.

      He handed her the napkin, his gaze skittering over her. ‘Aren’t you the woman with the cute pick-up line last Friday night at Harry’s?’

      She nodded.

      ‘What did you say?’ he said, narrowing his eyes and pointing his pen at her.

      She lifted a hand. ‘Oh, no. Don’t—’ The last thing she wanted was to revisit that embarrassment.

      ‘That I’d been in your dreams?’ he offered warmly, his gaze fixed on her face.

      She shook her head, trying to laugh. ‘Okay, now it sounds ten times more corny than it did then.’

      He laid the napkin on the bar, swinging his stool to face hers. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’

      ‘Yes.’ What else could she say? Certainly not the corny line she’d rehearsed about fate.

      Cade rubbed his jaw, as though warring with himself. ‘Look, I’m sorry about leaving so abruptly.’

      She waved her hands to stop him. There was no need to get down on tape that particular disaster. ‘What are you drinking? Can I buy you a drink?’

      The barman delivered his Scotch. ‘Mr Taylor Watson?’

      Cade glanced at the guy. ‘Yes.’

      ‘Message for you,’ the barman said, handing him a piece of paper.

      Cade scanned the paper.

      This was it. The message regarding his fiancée, saying she’d had to cancel on him, leaving him free to explore her…

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