Biting the Bride by Clare Willis Page A

something wild about Jacob; maybe it was his hair, which looked like he’d just climbed off a motorcycle, maybe it was his stormy blue eyes, but perhaps it was just the leather jacket versus Richard’s Savile Row suit.
    Richard’s beauty was more restrained, but no less compelling. Everything from the perfect symmetry of the knot in his tie to the shiny signet ring on his manicured pinkie finger said that he was in control—of his money, of his image, of his emotions. And of other people, if Isabel’s adoring gaze was any indication.
    Sunni was attracted to them both, but was also wary of her feelings. In the case of Richard, she didn’t want to be in competition with Isabel, and her encounters with Jacob Eddington had left her with more questions than answers about who he was and why she kept seeing him around. All in all, both men had left her feeling confused and vulnerable, and those were feelings Sunni hated. She looked down at her soup bowl and took deep, calming breaths. They’re just guys, she told herself soothingly. Don’t let them rattle you.
    “Jacob, fancy seeing you here. I had no idea you were in San Francisco.” Richard licked his lips. His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. Some strong emotion was going through him but Sunni couldn’t tell what it was. After that indecisive moment he smiled and stood up graciously.
    The two men clasped hands across the table. “I did hear that you might be in the city, but running into you is an unexpected …” Jacob glanced at Sunni and smiled. “… pleasure.”
    “The pleasure is mine, I assure you,” Richard said. Sunni got the distinct feeling that the supercilious politeness was masking something much darker. She glanced at Isabel, who returned her gaze with wide eyes.
    “Jacob Eddington?” she mouthed.
    Sunni nodded.
    “Shit,” Isabel whispered.
    “My sentiments exactly,” Sunni muttered.
    “Are you by yourself, Jacob? Why don’t you join us for dinner?” He looked back at the women. “Ladies, do you mind?”
    “Not at all,” Isabel said hurriedly. “We have an extra seat. We’d be delighted.”
    Jacob gracefully slipped off his leather jacket, handed it to the maître d’, and took his seat next to Sunni, exuding that fresh and delightful odor. Sunni felt as if a leprechaun, a fairy, or a green alien had just landed at her table, his presence was that unbelievable. He was smiling at her, but his dark blue eyes revealed no trace of recognition.
    Richard swept his arm toward Sunni. “May I present Miss Sunni Marquette?”
    Jacob’s hand was cool, his shake firm but not aggressive. He looked into her eyes boldly, a tiny smile lifting the corners of his shapely mouth. She felt her own mouth go dry as she stared into his eyes, and she was glad she was sitting down, as her knees were a little shaky. She felt a tiny stab of disappointment when he turned away from her to clasp Isabel’s hand. She stared at the strong line of his jaw as he spoke to Isabel and dared to hope that this was the beginning of something special.
    They stood on the sidewalk, waiting for a taxi that the maître d’ had summoned at Richard’s request. The restaurant was only three blocks from the bay, and a foghorn blasted at regular intervals as a thick, wet mist crept up the hill from its birthplace outside the Golden Gate Bridge. Isabel stood at Richard’s side, balancing on her crutches while the wind tugged at her upswept hair. Sunni was standing next to Jacob. He appeared nonchalant, but Sunni noticed that a muscle was twitching in his jaw and he was bouncing on the balls of his feet. She had learned almost nothing about him during the course of the meal, except that he lived somewhere in San Francisco and that he had some sort of business relationship with Richard that went back quite a few years and had begun in Rhode Island.
    The valet approached, shoulders hunched and hands in his pockets against the cold wind. “Can I get your car for you, or are