“Your ranch,” she rushed on. “Tell me about your ranch.”
“We have cattle.”
A cocktail waitress set a small bowl of mixed nuts on the table and took note of their drink levels as Royce thanked her.
“How many?” asked Amber as the woman strode away.
“Around fifty thousand head.”
“That’s a lot of cows to babysit.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Horses?” she prompted, determined to keep the conversation innocuous.
“Hundreds.”
She plucked an almond from the clear bowl. “I took dressage lessons when I was eleven.”
His wide smile revealed straight, white teeth. “In Chicago?”
“Birmingham Stables.” She nibbled on the end of the nut. “I didn’t last long. I wasn’t crazy about sweat and manure.”
“You’d hate Montana.”
“Maybe not. Tell me something else about it.”
“My sister has a horse ranch up in the hills. It has huge meadows with millions of wildflowers.”
“Wildflowers are nice.” Amber was pretty sure she’d like fields of wildflowers. “What else?”
“She jumps Hanoverians.”
“Really? Is she good?”
“We expect her to make the next Olympic team.”
“I bet she loves it.” Amber tried to imagine what it would be like to be so passionate about something that you were one of the best in the world.
Royce nodded. “Ever since she was five.” The glow in his eyes showed his pride in his sister.
Amber sighed and took a second almond. “I wish I loved something.”
He considered her words for a few seconds. “Everybody loves something.”
She dared to meet his eyes and rest there. “What do you love?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Going Mach 1 in a Gulfstream. On a clear night. Over the Nevada desert.”
“Get to do it often?”
“Not often enough.”
Amber couldn’t help but smile. “Are you good?”
His gaze flicked to the low neckline of her dress as his voice turned to a rumble. “I am very, very good.”
“You are very, very bad,” she countered, with a waggle of her finger.
He grinned unrepentantly, and the warmth sizzled up inside her all over again.
“Your turn,” he told her.
She didn’t understand.
“What do you love?”
Now, there was a question.
She bought herself some time by taking a sip of her drink.
“Designer shoes,” she decided, setting the long-stemmed glass back down on the table.
He leaned sideways to peer under the table. “Liar.”
“What do you mean?” She stretched out a leg to show off her black, stiletto sandals.
“I’ve dated women with a shoe fetish.”
“I never said I had a fetish.”
“Yours are unpretentious.” Before she knew it, he’d scooped her foot onto his knee. “And there’s a frayed spot on the strap.” His thumb brushed her ankle as he gestured. “You’ve worn them more than twice.”
“I didn’t say I was extravagant about it.” She desperately tried to ignore the warmth of his hand, but her pulse had jumped, and she could feel moisture forming at her hairline.
“Try again,” he told her.
“Birthday cake.” She was more honest this time. “Three layers with sickly, sugary buttercream icing and bright pink rosebuds.”
He laughed and set her foot back on the floor.
Thank goodness.
“How old are you?” he asked, scooping a handful of nuts.
“Twenty-two. You?”
“Thirty-three.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Why?”
She shrugged, hesitated, then plunged in. “Hargrove is thirty-three, and he seems a lot older than you.”
“That’s because I’m a pilot-daring and carefree. He’s a politician-staid and uptight. No comparison, really.”
“You’ve never even met him.” Yet the analysis was frighteningly accurate.
Royce’s expression turned serious. “Why are you hiding out?”
“What?”
“When I first saw you over at the bar, you said you were hiding out. From what?”
What, indeed.
Amber took a deep breath, smoothing both palms in parallel over her hair. She scrunched her eyes shut for a long moment.
She was hiding out from the glowing bride, the happy guests and the pervasive joy of happily-ever-after.
But even as she rolled the explanation around, she knew it wasn’t right. She didn’t begrudge Melissa her happiness.
Truth was, she was hiding out from herself, from the notion that she was living a lie, from the realization that she’d wrapped her life around a man she didn’t love.
The truth was both frightening and exhausting, and she needed time to figure it all out. More than an evening. More than a day. Even more than a weekend.
She needed to come to terms with the colossal mess she’d made of her life and decide where to go next. Ironic, really. Where Royce dreaded his ranch in Montana, she’d give anything-
Her eyes popped open, and she blinked him into focus. “Take me with you.”
His brow furrowed. “What?”
“Take me with you to Montana.” Nobody would look for her in Montana. She’d be free of dress fittings and florists and calligraphers. No more gift registries or parties or travel agents.
No more Hargrove.
The thought took a weight off her shoulders, and the knot in her stomach broke free. Not good.
“Are you joking?” asked Royce.
“No.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Maybe.” Was she crazy? This certainly felt insane. Unfortunately, it also felt frighteningly right.
“I’m not taking an engaged woman with me to Montana.”
“Why not?”
He held out his palms, gesturing in the general vicinity of her neckline and the rest of her dress. “Because…Because…Well, because your fiancé would kill me, for one.”
“I won’t tell him.”
“Right. That plan always ends well.”
“I’m serious. He’ll never know.”
“Forget it.”
No. She wouldn’t forget it. This was the first idea in weeks that had felt right to her.
She pulled off her diamond ring, setting it on the table between them. “There. No more fiancé. No more problem.”
“It doesn’t have to be on your finger to count.”
“Yeah?” she challenged.
“Yeah,” he confirmed.
“What if I wasn’t engaged?” Her words cut to absolute silence between them. The other sounds in the room muted, and time slowed down.
His gaze took a methodical trip from her cleavage to her waist, then backtracked to her eyes. “Sweetheart, if you weren’t engaged, I’d say fasten your seat belt.”
She snapped open her handbag. “Then how about this?” Retrieving her slim, silver cell phone, she typed a quick message and handed it over to Royce.
He squinted in the dim light, brows going up as he read the typed words.
I’m so sorry. I can’t marry you. I need some time to think.
“Press Send,” she told him. “Press Send, and take me to Montana.”
“There you are, pumpkin.” Amber’s father stepped up behind her, and his broad hand came down on her shoulder.
Shock rushed straight from her brain all the way to her toes. She whipped her head around to look up. “Daddy?”
“The limo’s at the curb.” Her father’s glance went to Royce.
Royce placed the cell phone facedown on the table and stood up to hold out his hand. “Royce Ryder. Jared’s brother.”
Her father shook. “David Hutton. We met briefly in the receiving line.”
“Good to see you again, sir.”
“You’ve been entertaining my daughter?”
“The other way around,” said Royce, his gaze going to Amber. “She’s an interesting woman. You must be proud.”
Her father gave her shoulder a squeeze. “We certainly are. But it’s getting late, honey. We need to get home.”
No, Amber wanted to yell. She didn’t want to go home. She wanted to stay here with Royce and completely change her life. She wanted to break it off with Hargrove and escape to Montana. She truly did.