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Gina chuckled at the observation. ‘Unfortunately, it’s the end result of believing everything is about you.’
Marnie sent her a quick grin, the unguarded moment a reminder of the easy friendship they’d once shared.
‘Look, I hope we’re good now,’ Marnie said. ‘Because my relationship with my brother isn’t as important to me as my friendship with y’all.’
‘Yeah, we’re good,’ Gina said, but felt oddly deflated as Marnie excused herself to go to the restroom.
Maybe they hadn’t had a catfight, and maybe she’d finally got out the apology that she should have given Marnie ten years ago... But somehow it didn’t feel like enough.
Maybe her thoughtless seduction that night hadn’t been the only reason Carter’s marriage had ended, but it had definitely helped to screw up his relationship with his sister. And Gina couldn’t quite shake the thought that Marnie had fallen back on her perfect Southern manners to smooth everything over, but didn’t really mean it.
The buzzing of Marnie’s phone jolted Gina out of her guilt trip, and made coffee slosh over the rim of her mug. She mopped up the spill and made a grab for the phone as it vibrated towards the edge of the table. Then nearly dropped it at the photo that flashed up in the viewfinder under the text message.
Arrive @ The Standard 7pm 2nite. In NYC til next Fri. Txt me. We need 2 discuss yr allowance. C
Her heart leapt up to bump against her larynx and the swell of heat that she’d been busy ignoring flared. She pressed her thumb to the screen and ran it over the darkly handsome face that had hardly changed in ten years. His hair was longer, the brutal buzz cut now a mass of thick waves that curled around his ears and touched his collar. Those hollow cheeks had filled out a bit, the electric blue of his eyes looked colder and even more intense, and there were a few distinguished laughter lines, but otherwise Carter Price looked even hotter than she remembered him. She touched the tempting little dent in his chin—biting the tip of her tongue as a blast of memory assailed her. The rasp of stubble and the nutty taste of pistachio as she licked a rivulet of ice cream off his full bottom lip.
Stop fondling Marnie’s phone, you muppet.
The sharp rap of metal on wood rang out as she dropped the phone on the table. Carter Price’s unsettling gaze continued to stare at her, so she flipped it over—moments before Marnie appeared at her shoulder.
‘Your phone was buzzing,’ she offered, as nonchalantly as she could manage, while blood coursed up her neck and pulsed at her temples.
‘Right, thanks.’ Marnie picked up the phone and slid back into the booth.
A frown formed on Marnie’s forehead as she read the text. And Gina wondered for one agonising moment if Marnie would mention the texter—and then wondered how she was going to conduct a conversation while having a hot flush. But Marnie didn’t say anything, she simply frowned, keyed in a few characters, pressed send and then tucked the phone into the pocket of the briefcase.
‘Shall I go ahead and book the Tribeca Terrace?’ she asked, her voice clear and steady and businesslike, the frown gone.
Gina’s shoulders knotted with tension and the sinking feeling in her stomach dropped to her toes.
So Marnie had lied—maybe she wanted to pretend that they were both past what had happened ten years ago, that it didn’t matter any more. But how could it be true when she couldn’t even bring herself to mention Carter’s name?
Marnie didn’t trust her. And frankly who could blame her?
They made arrangements to meet up the next day for the bridesmaids’ fittings at Reese’s friend Amber’s bridal boutique in the Manhattan Bridge Overpass District before Marnie—who seemed more than a little preoccupied—rushed off to get to her office in Brooklyn.
Gina watched her leave, and realised that there was only one way to win Marnie’s trust—and prove to herself that she deserved it. And that was to finally make amends for everything that had happened ten years ago, on the night she’d thrown herself at a virtually married man.
She gulped down her lukewarm coffee as goosebumps prickled up her spine. Unfortunately that meant apologising to more than just Marnie.
TWO
Gina climbed out of the cab under the High Line in New York’s Meatpacking District and mounted the metal steps to the linear park constructed along an old L-train track. The concrete pathway, edged with planters of wild ferns and flowers, bustled with joggers, canoodling couples and families enjoying the pleasantly warm but not overly muggy New York evening.
Sweat trickled down her back as she stepped out of the heat into the cool lobby area of The Standard Hotel. The retro chic decor—all white plastic sculptures, distressed stone walls and dark leather scooped seats—made her feel as if she’d stepped onto the set of a sixties sci-fi movie.
She lifted her arms, to deter the sweat from dampening the armpits of the vintage Dior mini-dress she’d spent half an hour selecting from her extensive wardrobe of couture originals and thrift-store finds. The plan was to look cool and sophisticated and in control while finally confronting the ghosts of her past, not like a bedraggled rag doll.
She lingered for a moment—feeling a bit like an alien from the planet Zod—before taking a deep, calming breath, and stepping up to the reception desk.
The expertly coiffured receptionist took down the message she’d spent most of the afternoon composing. The perfect combination of polite, impersonal and not too pushy—the single sentence gave Carter the option of contacting her, so she could give him her apology in person.
Whether he would or not was entirely up to him. The sense of relief as she left the desk was immense. She’d done what she had to do. It really didn’t matter now if Carter called her or not. But somehow she doubted he would.
Because as well as spending far too much time that afternoon composing the perfect message—she’d also spent rather a lot of it Googling information about the CEO of the Price Paper Consortium of Savannah, Georgia. After wasting a good twenty minutes poring over the numerous pictures, gossip items and local news reports featuring Carter Price and the ever-changing kaleidoscope of model-perfect ‘possible future brides’ who’d accompanied him to an array of high-society functions and charity events in the last few years, she’d had to concede that Marnie hadn’t lied.
The sensitive, conflicted Southern gentleman who had once been so susceptible to her charms wasn’t just a major player now, he appeared to be attempting a world record for dating and dumping the entire debutante population south of the Mason-Dixon Line.
This Carter was not the man who had rushed back to his childhood sweetheart crippled by guilt and self-loathing at what they had done. So she very much doubted he’d want to revisit that time in his life. But exactly how much of the change in him was her fault?
The thought struck and stopped her in her tracks—right beside the entrance to the hotel’s lobby bar.
Damn, her throat felt as if she’d been swallowing sand. She glanced at her watch. Ten to six. Still an hour before Carter was due to check in. She had time for a soft drink without risking bumping into him.
She shrugged off the thought of how much Carter appeared to have changed in the last ten years as she entered the brightly lit bar. Apportioning blame for that now was a little late.
Crowded with New York’s young and lively in-crowd celebrating the start of the weekend and a few tired-looking tourists ready to call it a day, the pristine blonde wooded space was already throbbing with life. One small table right on the outskirts of the action was still vacant. She nabbed it and waylaid a member of the wait staff.
‘A club soda, please.... No, scratch that,’ she said as indecision struck. ‘Make that a small dry martini, light on the vermouth.’ One drink couldn’t hurt and she’d earned it.
When the martini arrived, Gina took a single sip, then placed it on the table in front of her, savouring the flowery taste of the gin and resisting the urge to down it in three quick gulps. She never drank to excess any more. Mostly because she now knew that inebriation had a direct correlation to stupid behaviour.
She speared the olive at the bottom of her glass with a cocktail stick and swirled it around, savouring the light buzz from the alcohol as the guttural chatter of the Japanese tourists at the next table cocooned her in the blessedly anonymous corner. The muggy scent of body odour and expensive perfumes and colognes overwhelmed the blast of cold air from the bar’s air-conditioning system, drawing her back in time to a sultry summer afternoon a lifetime ago.
The ripples in her martini glass shimmered out to the rim and dissipated as the hazy memory floated at the edges of her consciousness and invaded her senses.
The phantom scent of lime polish and hyacinths tickled her nostrils as she recalled the pleasantly cool hallway of the clapboard house on Hillbrook College Campus. The parquet cold beneath bare feet as she tiptoed down the compact house’s corridor with her shoes clutched in her fist. Guilt tugged at the pit of her stomach—because she was creeping home at four in the afternoon after an all-night frat party when she had promised faithfully to spend the day revising at the college library with Reese. And then she heard again the sound of an unfamiliar male voice, low and brusque despite being infused with the lazy rhythms of the Deep South, echoing down the stairs from Marnie’s room on the first landing.
THREE
‘No is my final answer, Marnie. Mama’s not going to allow you to go on a road trip with your friends and neither am I. Once the wedding is over, you will be staying in Savannah for the summer.’
Gina’s brows drew down in a sharp frown. So the famous older brother, the Sainted Carter, had finally showed up to transport Marnie’s stuff back to Savannah. She slipped her shoes back on and decided to stay put in her hiding place—and get some vicarious pleasure from hearing Marnie give the guy the smack down he clearly deserved.
What a tool, ordering his sister about like that.
‘I don’t believe I need your permission, Carter,’ Marnie replied, succinctly. ‘You’re not Daddy—and Mama will come around once I’ve spoken to her.’
Way to go, Marnie.
Pride swelled in Gina’s chest at the knowledge that a year ago, when Marnie had first arrived at Reese’s house on campus from deepest, darkest Georgia, she never would have had the guts to talk back to the Sainted Carter like that. A man Gina and Reese and Cassie had all suspected was a total douche, hence the nickname they’d given him together, despite the way Marnie gushed about him.
‘Mama doesn’t control the mill’s finances, I do,’ came the low, irritatingly patient reply. ‘So I’d like to know how you’re gonna go on this road trip, if I refuse to pay for it.’
‘Daddy left me a share in the mill, surely I can—’
‘Daddy left your share in trust,’ he interrupted with the same implacable calm. ‘A trust which he left me to administer until you reach your majority—and I’m refusing your request for funds on this occasion.’
‘That’s not fair, Carter.’
Gina’s fingers fisted into tight balls as the argument continued and slowly but surely all the confidence and assurance Marnie had gained in the past year leached away as her brother refused to budge. In fact, Gina was fairly sure from his uninterested replies that he wasn’t even listening.
For that alone, Gina could have throttled him with her bare hands. Why did so many men have to be like her father, judgmental and superior and always, always right?
She pressed back into the alcove as Marnie’s bedroom door closed upstairs and footsteps came down the stairs. She caught a glimpse of a tall figure dressed in a creased chambray shirt and suit trousers as he strolled into the kitchen.
She stayed in the alcove, hearing his heavy sigh, and debated the wisdom of getting involved: with her tendency to be provocative she was liable to make it worse, and it really wasn’t any of her business. But as she walked to the kitchen doorway and spied on him helping himself to one of Reese’s chilled diet colas from the fridge, anger and resentment flared.
He closed the fridge, his broad back to her as he twisted the cap off the bottle and flipped it into the bin, then took a long swallow of the cola. One large hand gripped the edge of the sink but the rigid line of his shoulder blades relaxed.
Why should she respect his privacy when he hadn’t respected Marnie’s—and how could she possibly make things worse?
Leaning insolently against the doorjamb, she gave her voice the soft smoky purr she knew made men putty in her hands. ‘You know, you really ought to take that huge stick out from up your arse. It’s going to ruin the very nice line of those designer trousers.’
He swung round and her lungs seized in astonishment.
It seemed Marnie had failed to mention one fairly crucial bit of information about her big brother during all the gushing this year. Carter Price was a total hottie.
At six foot two or three, with mile-wide shoulders and the tanned skin of a pirate, he was as big and dark as his sister was small and fair, but the relationship was confirmed by the striking eyes that narrowed on her face—and shared the exact same shade of cerulean blue as his sister’s. On Marnie they looked cute and appealing. On her brother they looked cold and intense.
The unblinking gaze drifted down her frame as he took another swig of the stolen cola and Gina felt the prickle of response, everywhere.
She settled back against the doorjamb, but clamped down on the urge to stretch her back—thus displaying what she knew to be an exceptional pair of breasts to their best advantage.
Focus, Gina. You’re not here to flirt with the guy. You’re here to tell him a thing or two about women’s emancipation—and his sister’s emancipation in particular.
‘You’ve got quite a mouth on you, miz.’ The deep drawl was as slow and seductive as molasses but for the steely hint of censure beneath. ‘My daddy would have taken a hickory switch to my backside if I’d used that sort of language in the presence of a lady.’
‘I guess we’re both very fortunate then that you’re not in the presence of a lady,’ she replied tartly.
Carter Price wasn’t just a hottie, he was also a sexist control freak, but no way was he going to control her, with his cool Southern manners and his total contempt for a women’s right to self-determination.
She let her gaze drift over him too. ‘Because I’d really hate to see what I can imagine is an exceptionally cute backside being whipped with a hickory switch—unless I was the one doing it.’
Let’s see how you like being objectified, Buster.
Two dark eyebrows arched, and she felt the wave of satisfaction at the knowledge that she’d shocked him. Gina Carrington was no simpering Southern miss prepared to bow down to the dictates of a man. And the sooner Carter Price got that message, the better. But then his irises darkened and his lips twitched at the edges. And she had the strangest feeling she might have underestimated him, a tad.
‘Why do I get the feeling your daddy didn’t take a hickory switch to...’ he paused to direct his gaze pointedly at her mid-section and she had to resist the urge to tuck in her bottom ‘...what I can see is also an exceptionally cute butt, nearly often enough?’
She wanted to be outraged at the suggestion—and any mention of her father and/or the corporal punishment of a child would ordinarily do that—but unfortunately she wasn’t outraged. Because she was far too distracted by the surge of heat making her nipples tighten against the confines of her bra and the way her cute butt was now sizzling alarmingly.
‘You’re very perceptive, Mr Price. My father never hit me,’ she informed him with as much dignity as she could muster while her behind was still pulsing from the imagined thrashing. ‘Because he knew he would lose an arm if he tried,’ she finished, with the purr still firmly in place, even though it was starting to sound less and less like an affectation—and more and more like an invitation.
‘Seems to me an arm is a small price to pay when it comes to instilling good manners in your child.’
The outrage came without a problem this time as the sizzle fizzled out. The man was serious.
‘If you actually believe that hitting a child—or a woman—is less heinous than bad manners, then an arm isn’t the only thing you deserve to lose.’
She could see she’d done a lot more than shock him this time, when he stiffened and the twitch on those firm sensual lips disappeared. ‘You mistake me, miz?’
‘Carrington. Gina Carrington.’
‘Miz Carrington. I’ve never hit a child, or a woman, in my life, and I never would. I respect women. Absolutely.’
‘Is that something else your daddy taught you with his hickory switch?’ she said, the contempt dripping now.
But instead of the smug affirmative she had expected, something flickered across his face, and she had the feeling she’d crossed a line she hadn’t intended to. He turned away, and braced one hand against the sink. Then fixed her with an unsettling stare. ‘You seem to have a problem with me, Miz Carrington. And as this is the first time I’ve had the pleasure of your company, I’d like to know why!’
It occurred to her that he hadn’t answered her question, but this was the opening she’d been waiting for, so she took it.
‘I heard you upstairs, bullying Marnie into doing what you wanted. Not what she wanted. She’s eighteen years old and perfectly capable of coming on a road trip with us this summer. And as I understand it, you’ll be on your honeymoon anyway, so why is it so important to have her sitting in Savannah twiddling her thumbs instead of having fun with us?’
The grim line of his lips thinned out and a muscle in his jaw clenched. ‘So your exemplary manners include eavesdropping?’
‘It would seem so.’ What did she care what some self-righteous Southern prig thought of her manners? ‘And while we’re on the subject, there happens to be several things in life that are a great deal more important than exemplary manners. And letting your sister follow her heart’s desire happens to be one of them.’
‘Going on a road trip with y’all hasn’t got a damn thing to do with following her heart’s desire.’
So much for his Southern manners, Gina thought, relishing the spurt of temper. At last, here was something she could work with; she happened to be very good at handling male tantrums.
‘How would you know that?’ she said coolly.
‘Because she’s my sister.’
‘And that makes you her keeper, does it? Perhaps Marnie doesn’t need a keeper any more.’
His brows furrowed into a deep frown and she could almost see the frustration pumping off him. She knew he wanted to say something derogatory about her, and Reese and possibly Cassie right about now.
Because what other reason could he have for wanting to keep his sister away from them?
She waited for him to accuse all three of them of being a bad influence, but to her surprise, after several deep breaths, his shoulders relaxed and she saw him visibly draw himself back from the brink.
She dismissed the moment of admiration—control after all wasn’t one of her strong points.
‘I don’t consider myself to be Marnie’s keeper, Miz Carrington,’ he said, in a tight voice, the drawl no longer quite so pronounced. ‘But I am her brother and I intend to do what’s best for her—with or without your consent.’
Her lips curved in a wry smile. Talk about getting hoisted by your own petard. It seemed Carter’s perfect manners were going to prevent him from saying what he actually thought about her and her friends. Well, she hoped swallowing that down gave him heartburn. ‘And why is what’s best for her your decision and not hers?’
The muscle in his jaw pulsed. ‘Because she’s eighteen,’ he said. But she could see what he wasn’t saying in that look of calm condescension. And because she’s a woman.
‘How old are you, Carter?’ she asked.
The frown deepened, as if he were looking for the trap. ‘I’m twenty-two.’
‘And how old were you when you got engaged?’ she asked, although she already knew the answer, because Marnie had talked about her big brother’s insanely romantic engagement to her best friend, Missy, incessantly when she’d first arrived at the house.
