Every Breath You Take by Judith McNaught Read Free Book Online Page B

of them implored. The bodyguard sighed, hesitated, then nodded at the waiter and said, “Only one.”
    The boys cheered and exchanged high fives.
    The man at the table on his left laughingly confided to Mitchell, “You can’t blame them for trying. Hell, if I were single, I’d make a play for her. She looks just like Julianne Moore.”
    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.
    “Tomato juice was cute,” she told him. “A Bloody Mary isn’t cute. It’s—inappropriate and offensive for kids to do something like this.”
    “It wasn’t their idea, miss,” he said quickly.
    “Then 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.
    “Mine,” 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. “It’s reprehensible to help those adolescents buy alcohol.” With her left hand, she grabbed her notebook and
Coping 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. “I 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.
    “Oh, no—” Kate exclaimed, drowning out his startled expletive and the gasps from onlookers. “I am
so 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. “The 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-coldwater, 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: “Do not give her anything else to pour on me,” he warned. “Bring 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. “Didn’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. “I’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