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‘It’s not the same thing,’ he said, seeing the trap too late.
‘Umm-hmm. And why ever not? You were the same age as Marnie is now and yet you were mature enough to decide you were going to love your childhood sweetheart for the rest of your life.’ She said the words with conviction, but couldn’t help feeling a little sick to her stomach.
When had she ever been that romantic? That naïve? To believe that anyone was worth that much of a commitment?
‘It wasn’t like that. Missy and I are well suited. And it was the right thing to do after my father died. My mother and Marnie needed stability and they were both in favour of the match.’
It was Gina’s turn to frown. And not just because Carter’s description of the engagement was in sharp contrast to the wildly romantic whirlwind of love and devotion Marnie had described. Who the hell proposed marriage because they were being sensible? And he’d made it sound as if the primary motivation had been the approval of his mother and his kid sister? She was by no means a hopeless romantic, but wasn’t that taking filial duty a bit too far?
‘But you do love Missy, right?’ The question popped out before she could stop it.
He looked taken aback. As well he might, because this really was none of her business. But curiosity consumed her. He’d only been eighteen. What on earth had he been thinking settling for ‘The One’ so young? What about hormones? And exploring your options? And sowing wild oats?
‘Of course I love Missy. She’s going to be my wife in two weeks’ time. We’re friends, we understand each other and we both want the same things out of life.’
None of which sounded remotely like convincing reasons for proposing marriage when you were just out of high school. But what did she know? ‘What things?’
He shrugged, the movement stiff and defensive. And she realised for the first time that he looked unsure of himself. ‘Companionship, trust, compatibility, children. Eventually.’ The affirmation came out in a monotone, as if he’d rehearsed it a hundred times.
‘Why, Rhett,’ Gina said, fluttering her eyelashes and affecting a simpering Southern drawl. ‘I can see how you must have swept Missy off her feet with that proposal. How romantic of you to compile a checklist for the perfect marriage.’
‘Missy knows she can trust me,’ he said firmly, the look on his face delightfully annoyed and confused. Clearly the Sainted Carter wasn’t used to being teased—or questioned about his carefully planned love life. ‘That’s what matters.’
‘Really? What about love and passion and adventure and...’ she groped for another quality that might get the message across to this indomitable and resolutely anti-romantic man ‘...and the promise of multi-orgasmic sex for the rest of your life?’
His gaze flicked to her cleavage, then shot back to her face and a dull shade of red rose up his neck and made his tan glow on chiselled cheekbones. He looked away, taking a large fortifying gulp of the cola. And suddenly she knew.
Oh. My. God.
Carter Price had been eighteen when he’d proposed to his very-appropriate fiancée. And if Missy was as much of a sanctimonious prude as her best friend, Marnie, had been when she’d first arrived from Savannah—wearing a little promise ring on her finger that signified her purity, and had needled Gina no end—then Missy had probably demanded she remain a virgin until her wedding night.
She searched the long tanned fingers of Carter’s left hand wrapped around the cola bottle. Was it possible that Carter had made a similar promise? Hadn’t Marnie said boys wore them too, when Gina had lit into her for being a disgrace to Women’s Liberation. Gina held back the gasp as she spotted the silver band on Carter’s pinkie, identical to the celibacy ring that Marnie no longer wore when she was at college.
Oh, no, surely not? A man who was as virile and handsome and overwhelmingly male as he was, and who looked at her with that dark sexual intensity he couldn’t hide? That man hadn’t had sex since he was eighteen? It was just too delicious. And too ridiculous. No wonder he looked so tense and uptight. And no wonder he was far too involved in Marnie’s personal life, because he clearly didn’t have one of his own.
An intervention was called for.
The surge of excitement and anticipation gripped Gina’s chest—and some other interesting parts of her anatomy. Suddenly she had the perfect way to bring the Sainted Carter down a peg or two. Prove to him that he was as human and fallible and sinful as the rest of them.
She was after all an accomplished flirt. And there was no harm in simply flirting with the man. Especially a man as stuffy and controlling and undeniably hot as this one. And once she’d proved to Carter Price that bad girls were people too, once she’d reduced him to a puddle of overactive hormones and sexual desperation, she’d be able to get him to agree to anything.... Even letting his innocent kid sister go on a riotous road trip with three loose women.
The man was celibate. He hadn’t had sex in four long years. The challenge was simply irresistible. She’d lost her virginity at sixteen with her thirty-five-year-old biology teacher at St Bude’s boarding school, and she hadn’t looked back since. Carter Price wouldn’t know what hit him. And while she wouldn’t do the dirty deed with him, because she never poached on another woman’s territory, why shouldn’t she take her flirtation far enough to get Saint Carter primed and ready for his wedding night? Missy would end up thanking her.
* * *
‘Would you like another martini, miss?’
Gina blinked, staring absently at the harassed young waitress as the question brought her spinning back to the present. And the bar at The Standard where she’d gone for a quick fortifying libation. And been blind-sided by too many memories.
She looked down at her glass, surprised to find it empty, the olive on its cocktail stick lined up on the table. ‘No, thanks, just the check, please.’
The waitress nodded, clearing away the empty glass.
Tension tightened Gina’s stomach as the reality of exactly how reckless and manipulative she’d been that night slammed into her in all its grim glory.
Maybe Marnie was right, and Carter was the one who had been cheating.
But there was no getting away from the fact that she had seduced him. Not the other way around. And it wasn’t until twelve hours after meeting him in the kitchen and making a conscious decision to bend him to her will that she’d finally been forced to admit the magnitude of her mistake. As she lay in the dew-drenched grass under a maple tree, the dawn light casting a redolent glow on the rebel wave in Carter’s cropped hair, her heart beating a staccato rhythm of shock and guilt, her thighs spread and aching, his erection still huge inside her and his pinkie ring cutting into her cheek.
Heat washed through her at the visceral memory—and it occurred to Gina that maybe the decision to cab it over to the High Line this evening and deliver her carefully composed message in person, when she could just as easily have phoned or emailed it, might have a lot more significance than she wanted to admit.
Had she on some subconscious level hoped to bump into the man whose picture she’d glimpsed on Marnie’s smartphone that morning—for reasons other than closure and accountability? Was her new leaf not as well turned over as she thought?
Crap! She needed to get out of here now.
The waitress returned with the check, and Gina threw several bills on the tray without counting them. The guilty flush made her breathing speed up as she shot across the lobby.
Gloria Gaynor singing ‘I Will Survive’ blasted from her bag at top volume, making her steps falter. It took her a moment to remember that Gloria’s strident disco classic was her phone’s ringtone.
She paused, fumbled for the phone and stared at a number she didn’t recognise. Glancing at the clock above the lobby’s exit doors, she felt a little of the panic retreat. She still had thirty minutes before Carter was due to arrive. She took a steadying breath and clicked the answer button. This might be a new client responding to her recent social media campaign for new business. She couldn’t afford not to answer. She’d simply have to talk and run.
But as she pressed the phone to her ear the deep laconic Southern accent had the heels of her sandals sinking into the deep pile purple carpet and her heart pounding into her throat.
‘Hello, Gina. It’s Carter Price. I got your message.’
‘Carter. Hi. How are you?’ she said, the false brightness making her wince.
Good grief, was he at the reception desk? Right behind her? Maybe he’d phoned ahead? Please let him have phoned ahead. She couldn’t risk turning around to check. So she kept walking. The exit doors were only a few feet away.
‘I’m good,’ came the husky reply. ‘Although I’m wondering where you’re off to in such a hurry.’
Crapola!
She spun round. The phone dropping away from her ear as she spotted the man standing less than ten feet away, with one elbow propped against the reception desk, a phone at his ear—and cool aquamarine eyes locked on her face.
Her breath got trapped somewhere around her solar plexus—as she debated the probability of teleportation actually existing.
Beam me up, Scottie. Right now.
‘Don’t move,’ he said into his phone, before switching it off and tucking it into his back pocket.
Her thighs quivered alarmingly as he walked towards her. She locked her knees, determined not to collapse into a heap as the shot of adrenaline collided with the explosion of heat in the pit of her stomach—and it occurred to her that the paparazzi pictures had not done him justice. Savannah’s most eligible bachelor wasn’t just hot, he was positively combustible.
She forced air through her burning lungs, grateful for the fortifying buzz from her martini as he got close enough for her to pick up the smell of soap and man—and remember how much taller he was. At five foot seven, she wasn’t used to men towering over her, but Carter Price had no trouble at all making her feel like a midget.
His steady gaze swept over her—then arrived back at her face. ‘It’s been a while, Miz Carrington.’
But not nearly long enough, if the sweat popping up on her top lip was anything to go by.
‘You’ve improved with age,’ he said, his tone low and amused. ‘Like a fine wine.’
So had he, she thought. The few strands of grey at his temples, the new creases round his mouth, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the waves of thick dark hair that now touched the collar of his white shirt only adding to the confident, take-charge charisma that had been all too evident in the paparazzi pictures.
Say something, you silly cow!
‘It’s flattering of you to say so,’ she murmured, struggling to maintain cool distance and not give in to the throaty purr.
His gaze strayed to her cleavage and her breathing quickened again, keeping a natural rhythm with the pounding beat of her pulse. But then the heavily lidded gaze met hers. The deep, lazy Southern accent reverberated across her nerve-endings. ‘It’s good to see you again. Marnie told me you were living in New York now,’ he said, surprising her.
So he had asked Marnie about her. And Marnie had answered.
Then, to her utter astonishment, he took her hand in long, cool fingers and lifted it to his lips. The quick gallant buzz on her knuckles spun her back in time to the clean-cut young man he’d once been. But then his thick dark lashes caught the overhead light as he blinked slowly, and the inscrutable gaze had all thoughts of the boy disappearing—until all she could see was the man.
‘How about we catch up in the bar? And you can tell me what’s on your mind?’
‘Okay, that would work,’ she said, thinking no such thing. His hand settled on the small of her back as he directed her towards the bar.
Terrific! How the heck was she going to get her head round the perfectly simple apology she’d planned, while her mind was being fried to a crisp by all the zaps of electrical energy now radiating up her spine?
FOUR
Carter Price blinked eyes gritty from jet lag after his flight from Russia that afternoon, the fog in his brain blown off course by the pulse of heat in his gut.
After ten years of denial, the two-line message the receptionist had handed him had confused him—and shaken him a little. More than a little if he was being entirely honest. He’d thought about Gina Carrington way too much over the years. So the sight of her dashing towards the exit doors had an effect on his senses somewhere in the region of a category five hurricane.
She looked hotter than he remembered her. And he remembered a lot. The beestung lips, the wide green, slightly slanting eyes, the mass of chestnut hair that had tumbled over her shoulders in riotous curls back then, but was now piled on top of her head, making his fingers itch to send it tumbling again. Her tall, slender figure had filled out some since her college days—her high breasts were fuller, her hips more generous, and her legs looked never-ending in the ice-pick heels. The overall effect made all those lush curves even more mouth-watering.
He’d dated a lot of women since popping his cherry with Gina Carrington, and divorcing his wife, most of them a lot more conventionally beautiful—but not one of them oozed pure, unadulterated sex the way Gina did. Or sent a right hook to his senses with a single whiff of their spicy, sultry scent.
He shook off the thought as she perched on a bar stool.
Get your mind out of your pants.
Boy, did he need ten hours straight—he really had to be losing it if he was fantasising about the woman who had once blown his life to smithereens.
Not that he blamed her for that. He’d been like a firecracker, waiting to explode. All she’d done was light the fuse.
He caught the barman’s attention. ‘What’ll it be?’ he asked Gina.
‘Club soda.’
‘Make mine a Sam Adams,’ he added, propping himself on the stool beside her.
He watched her throat bob as she swallowed heavily—and felt the surge of satisfaction. She seemed a little jumpy—and she’d definitely been planning to run out on him. Which gave him the upper hand. He made a habit now of never being at a disadvantage with women—and that went double for this woman, because she’d once had him at the biggest disadvantage of all.
But there had been a whole lot of water under the bridge, not to mention ladies in his bed, since that night. And he wasn’t that lust-driven sex-deprived delusional kid any more. His pulse spiked as she pursed her full lips around the straw in her club soda and sucked.
He took a sip of the yeasty micro-beer.
Relax.
So what if he had some lingering lust issues where Gina Carrington was concerned? He had the control not to act on them now. Or at least not straight away. Not until he knew the score. His gaze skimmed over the silky dress and noticed how her magnificent rack rose and fell in staggered rhythm against the snug bodice.
Yeah, definitely edgy. A gratifying change from their first meeting, when she’d had all the moves and he’d been the one playing catch-up.
He took a long draft of his beer and waited for her to speak. She’d been the one to contact him, after all.
She glugged down a good portion of the soda, getting more jumpy by the second, but didn’t elaborate, so he decided to push it. Her note hadn’t exactly given much away. ‘So I hear you’ve got your own business—website development and social-media strategy, right?’
Her eyes darted to his, the wary look gratifying. ‘How do you know that?’
He shrugged. ‘I’ve been thinking of investing in a social-media strategist for the mill. Your name came up in the research we did.’
And after the shock of seeing her name on the report, he’d looked her up on the Internet and discovered she was now living in the U.S. Not that he planned to tell her that.
Once he and Missy had called it quits, he’d been able to let go of the guilt over his night with Gina, and how much it had snuck into his dreams during the years of his marriage.
Given his current reaction to Gina, it was clear guilt wasn’t the problem any more.
‘Nice site, by the way,’ he added. ‘Clean and clear, and you’ve got some great testimonials there.’
‘Thank you.’ She watched him intently and he noticed the beguiling flecks of gold in the green of her irises.
‘Is that why you contacted me?’ He pushed some more.
Her eyebrows launched up her forehead. ‘God, no! I’m not that desperate for new business.’
He grinned at her outraged denial, surprised to realise he was glad she hadn’t gotten in touch just to tout for business. She took another long sip of the soda, but didn’t say anything else. ‘Then you’re gonna have to give me a hint—because your message was kind of cryptic.’
She let out a puff of breath. ‘Right.’ She faced him, her long legs crossed at the knees and her short dress riding up to display a distracting amount of toned, lightly tanned thigh.
‘I was having coffee with Marnie this morning and saw your text message,’ she began. ‘When I discovered you were going to be in town for the week, I decided to take the opportunity to...’ She hesitated. ‘To come here and apologise for what I did to you ten years ago.’ The last bit came out in a rush as if she’d had to push the words out.
The heat kicked harder in his gut. She looked totally sincere. Was she actually serious? And what the hell had brought this on, ten years after the event?
‘You’re gonna have to be a lot more specific,’ he said, exhilarated when her eyes flashed with annoyance. It felt good to have this particular woman at this much of a disadvantage. ‘Because as I recall we did a lot of things that night.’
* * *
Gina’s temper simmered at the wry comment. Was he making fun of her? And if so why? The failure of his marriage was hardly a joking matter, surely?
‘I’m apologising for all of it,’ she said, more sharply than she had intended when his lips twisted with amusement. ‘For seducing you, and taking your virginity and ruining your marriage.’
The glass he’d been lifting to his lips hit the bar with a snap as his brows shot towards his hairline. ‘You have got to be kidding me?’ A choked chuckle burst out.
‘Actually I’m not.’ The retort did nothing to cut through the rumble of incredulous laughter. ‘I’m sincerely sorry for what I did to you.’
Heat spread across her chest as he continued to chuckle.
