
THE SOMETIME BRIDE
By
Ginny Baird
Published by
Winter Wedding Press
Copyright 2012
Ginny Baird
Kindle Edition
All Rights Reserved
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient, unless this book is a participant in a qualified lending program. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to export portions of the text, please contact the author at GinnyBairdRomance@gmail.com.
Characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author's imagination.
Edited by Linda Ingmanson
Cover by Darleen Dixon
\*\*\*\*
Carrie St. John strode to the edge of the pool and tugged the ring from her finger. One year, six months, and four days exactly. Yank. The dang thing was stuck.
Carrie looked down in frustration at the glittering diamond offset by tiny emeralds. Beautiful, yes. But---yank, the ring worked free of her knuckle and glided off her narrow upper finger---only a poor reminder of a relationship gone sour.
Carrie clutched her hand around the meager gems, wondering if Wilson had paid more for them, he'd have been more reluctant to leave. Hogwash, she thought, tossing back her arm and prepping for a long throw. Wilson would have left regardless. And if it hadn't been for Teresa, it would have been for someone else.
But of all the rotten things to do! Take Carrie to a scenic country inn, then drop the bomb. More like a blazing comet, Carrie thought, feeling the raw burn in her heart as she lobbed the ring forward over the water. The engagement ring pitched in a perfect arch toward the water, then plopped beneath the surface with a deafening calm.
Mike Davis ran a flat palm along the bumpy bottom surface of the pool. It had to be down here somewhere, darn it! Four months of hard-earned commission down the chlorinated drain!
If Mike had had any inkling how callous Alexia could be, he would have never gone to the trouble. Not to mention the biting expense. Now if he couldn't find the darned ring, he'd be set back financially for nothing!
Already was set back financially for nothing, Mike reminded himself, feeling his lungs drain of air. This was his third dive under and still nothing doing.
Hey, wait a minute...
Mike fishtailed over to the center of the pool where something glistened against its bottom. Yep, that was it! Had to be...
Mike swept toward the gemstone like an alligator on the prowl, then plucked the tiny ring off the pool bottom, examining it through the blurry haze caused by pool lights and chemicals. No way. But it was. Somebody else's ring entirely. The ring Mike had presented to Alexia had been a solitaire.
Despite years of high school swim-team accomplishments, Mike felt his wind quickly abating. He'd been down here too long, he realized, angling toward the surface and pressing his heels off the bottom.
Mike rocketed skyward, another woman's engagement ring clutched in his hand. Another woman who was likely just as heartless as his Alexia. When Adam gave his rib to Eve, Mike thought, breaking into the chill of the evening, the poor schmuck hadn't realized the woman had plans to barbeque it!
Carrie let out a shriek as water barreled forth and a man emerged from the center of the pool.
He shook out his honey-blond head, then paddled over to the side where Carrie stood.
"Lose something?" he asked as Carrie backed up a step.
Carrie raised a hand to her cheek and stroked back hot tears. "Where on earth did you come from?" she demanded of this Poseidon-like god, whose eyes, she noticed, were as green as the Caribbean Sea. Though she didn't know why she'd noticed, or---more importantly---why she particularly cared.
"I came from the bottom of the pool," he said, his tone not the least bit friendly. "Where I ran into a little something that might just be yours."
With that, he pulled his right hand out of the water and gingerly steadied Carrie's engagement ring between his thumb and forefinger.
Despite his hostile tone, Carrie grudgingly admitted that this swim god was actually quite attractive. Alarmingly attractive, in a way that would make most women swoon. But not Carrie, she told herself, backing up another step. Attractive meant trouble, and, in the last four hours, Carrie St. John had endured enough trouble to last a lifetime.
"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head, "you've got the wrong girl."
Well, that was one way to look at it, Mike thought, shifting his gaze between the ring pinched in his fingers and the enigmatic woman on the pool deck.
She was dressed in a summer sundress, wavy brown hair flowing to her shoulders. Her eyes, he thought, were just as dark. Although from this angle it was pretty hard to tell.
Mike braced himself on his arms as he rose from the water.
"Don't think so," he told her, lightly shaking off and extending his hand, palm up, in her direction.
"Excuse me?" she asked, trying her best to look indignant. There was a little pout to her mouth that looked almost appealing. Almost, Mike reminded himself, not quite. Brunettes, in general, meant trouble. And Alexia had taught him that trouble not only hurt like the dickens, it was darned expensive too.
"Your ring," Mike said, stepping forward.
"You have a lot of nerve..." she said, setting her chin. Yep, Mike told himself, they were definitely brown. Chocolate-brown eyes that could probably look enticingly warm were they not so heated with vehemence. "...intruding on my private moment!"
Mike laughed. "Intruding? But I was here first!"
She shuffled sandaled feet beneath the low hemline of her dress. Feet that were attached, Mike couldn't help but notice, to two very well-formed feminine ankles. "Well, if you were, I certainly didn't see..."
Mike arched his eyebrows, and she stopped. By the way her appreciative eyes had traveled from his damp pecs to his navel, sure as heck looked to Mike like she'd been seeing something.
"What I meant to say was---"
Mike walked forward and lifted a balled-up fist from the woman's side. "Here," he said, prying her fingers loose as she looked on with incredulity.
Mike pressed the ring into her palm. "Someone spent hard-earned money for that. Don't think it's very good of you to go throwing it away."
Carrie glared at the insolent man, wondering how he'd known exactly what she'd been doing. More puzzled still at how he dared intrude on her life. "Don't think it's very good of you to go telling a complete stranger how to run her affairs!"
"Oh, so it was only an affair, was it?" he asked, with a cool sheen to his evergreen eyes. Eyes that Carrie was quite certain could look enticing under different circumstances. "Somehow I imagined it was a heck of a lot more serious than that."
"Well, maybe," she said, flipping over his wrist and cramming the ring back into his hand. "You ought to think of something better to do with your overactive imagination than torment women you don't even know."
Carrie turned her back on him and started toward the inn. Of all the indignities. To be trounced upon by one man during dinner, then have a hunky dish like this one serve up insults for dessert.
"Hang on!" he called, hurrying to catch up with her. "Your ring!"
"Finders, keepers," she said, picking up her pace. But what Carrie most desperately didn't want to find herself doing was falling for another man. Especially one who looked like that in a pair of swim trunks---all six foot something of virile man, dripping wet... Criminy! Carrie scurried up the cold stone steps to the main building's front door. The flame was barely extinguished on her relationship with Wilson and here she was already playing with matches!
Carrie struggled against the notion of turning back toward her predator but knew he stood silently watching her at the bottom of those stairs. Silently---rugged, handsome, yes, darn it, handsome. And wet. Carrie's throat went dry at that last thought.
"What?" she asked, spinning abruptly on her heels. "What in the world are you staring at?"
But Mike, who truthfully didn't know, just stood there dumbfounded with this beautiful stranger's ring in his hand. Beautiful, indeed. There was a fine sweep of color that just dusted her cheekbones, and somehow---given all the crying she'd apparently been doing---Mike didn't imagine it was the magic of makeup. No, there was something much more powerful going on here. Something that made absolutely zero sense. And, for a lunatic instant, Mike found himself wishing he hadn't wasted his heartfelt offering on Alexia but had given it to this goddess instead. Lunatic was right. Mike gazed up at the powdery quarter moon threading stardust through the trees, deciding he'd been out in the night air too long.
But whether he was crazy or not, Mike knew one thing and one thing only. Before she disappeared into the inn, and perhaps for eternity, he had to get her name.
"I was just wondering," he began tentatively, feeling the heat expand from his temples to the tops of his ears. "What your name is." Holy Christ. He was insane! Alexia's ring was still at the bottom of the pool, and here he was...what? Making eyes at another woman who'd just now broken some Romeo's heart?
"Why?" she asked, holding court at the top of the stairs but not looking half as menacing as she apparently intended.
"Just in case the law comes after me for stealing your ring," Mike raced in, thinking quickly. He gave her his best smile but found it impossible to tell whether she was charmed by it or not.
"Very funny."
He guessed not. "Seriously, I---"
"Name's Carrie, if you must know. Carrie St. John, and you can rest assured, uh..."
"Mike," he filled in with a grin.
"Mike," she said, clearing her throat and averting her eyes from his naked upper torso, which he'd noticed her perusing just the same. "You can rest assured I won't be calling the police on you anytime soon."
"Ah, so you do admit the ring was yours, after all."
Her eyes flashed as she turned and headed through the door.
Conniving male! They were all the same, every last one of them. And what, pray tell, did this dripping hunk of flesh plan to do with that information? Blackmail her? As if the entire world wouldn't find out soon enough. With Carrie's luck, it would make the morning edition.
Carrie let herself into her room and fell in a heap of emotion onto the bed. Her life couldn't possibly get any worse! First, Wilson brought her all the way here, to this gorgeous historic home---to tell her he's fallen in love with another woman. Then he left her, more like deserted her, in this love nest built for two, and had the gall to tell her to enjoy the rest of the weekend. His treat.
Carrie pressed her palms to her forehead to ward off her ensuing headache. But knew that it would come regardless. This was stress with a capital "S"! She'd been such a fool, had already invited six women to be her bridesmaids! And now she'd have to call each one and confess her misfortune.
And what was worse, what would truly be the worst part of all would be in facing her matchmaking grandmother. The grandmother Carrie had finally managed to convince she'd found a dashing bachelor to make "an honest woman" of her.
Carrie rolled over on the bed and clutched her pillow to her streaming cheeks. One time. Okay. But this was the second disaster she'd endured at the near-altar. What was it about her, Carrie wondered, that made men want to cut and run? Or worse still, rush straight into another woman's arms? Carrie had actually seen Teresa, knew exactly who the woman was. And though as a fellow stockbroker of Wilson's she certainly shared Wilson's business savvy, Carrie truthfully didn't find Teresa that much to look at.
And that made matters all the worse, Carrie admitted to herself, as her throat swelled tight and tears blazed trails down her cheeks. She couldn't blame Wilson's leaving her on something as base as hormones, or his sheer physical attraction to another woman. No, what had caused Wilson to leave ran deeper than that. When he'd looked beneath the surface of his relationship with both Teresa and Carrie, Teresa had won hands down.
Mike took another dive below the surface and cursed himself once again for his inability to find Alexia's ring. If she wasn't going to use it, she could have at least had the good grace to return it, not toss it in the pool.
What was it with all the women in this place? Had they made a silent pact to simultaneously ditch their men in this affronting fashion? Maybe that was what this vacation locale was all about. Some sort of fantasy dumping ground for all disenchanted females. Bring your man to the Sawyers House and be rid of him for good! Elegant starlight pool, suitable for ring-tossing!
Mike was just about to call it a night when he saw something shimmer at the far corner of the pool bottom. Aha! It was his ring all right. One perfect solitaire that obviously hadn't been enough to do the job. "Marry you?" Alexia had scoffed. "You can't be serious?" Only as serious as a heart attack, a heart attack Mike had sorely wished he'd had rather than face the blistering look in Alexia's cool blue eyes. "But, sweetheart," she'd told him, "everything's been so good so far. Why would you want to go and ruin it now?"
Gee, call him a fool, but somehow Mike hadn't seen wanting to spend the rest of his life with someone as "ruining" things. What an idiot he'd been, believing that someone like Alexia could possibly care. Even in refusing his ring, she'd been the quintessential ice woman. Couldn't she even have pretended to have been impressed by the half-carat diamond?
Instead, when their server had arrived with dessert, she'd pushed the small velvet box aside and urged Mike to be "mature" about things. She certainly wasn't ready for that kind of commitment---and he could keep the ring.
Mike had shoved the box back in front of her, saying she could hang on to it until she felt ready. She'd given him a thin smile and said, "Fine." It was only because he'd followed her when she'd excused herself to the ladies' room that he'd witnessed her break the delicate ring free from its velvet prison and lob it into the pool before climbing into her black Jaguar and driving out of his life.
Just like that.
Alexia hadn't even planned to say good-bye.
Mike sat on the end of a lounge chair and studied the two rings in his hand. One glistening solitaire, the other an elegant arrangement of emeralds and diamonds. For all Mike knew, he thought, casting a tired gaze over the pool surface, there were others like these down there. Dozens, maybe. Heck, if he looked long enough, he might even find thousands.
He could start his own business: Ring Finders Unlimited. He'd make a fortune on broken hearts...
Mike blinked back the heat in his eyes and stared up at the star-speckled night, realizing just how cynical he'd become.
It was really too late to drive back to the city, and his room for the night was bought and paid for. Plus, he still had mystery woman's ring in the palm of his hand. Mike didn't know how, but some way before he left here tomorrow, he was going to get that woman to take back her ring. Then maybe she could return it properly to whoever had given it to her in the first place.
Not that it was Mike's normal style to go inserting himself in other people's relationships, but someone had to wise the female species up to the damage it was doing out there. And, since he had nothing left to lose, Mike thought, tightening his grip around his solitaire, it might as well be him.
\*\*\*\*
Carrie sat at the small breakfast table, absentmindedly stirring her coffee.
"Good morning," a deep baritone echoed from above her.
Carrie looked up at the dapper man in chinos and a button-down shirt. "Mike! I almost didn't recognize you with your clothes on!"
A couple at the next table set down their grapefruit spoons and stared.
"I mean," Carrie backpedaled, perspiration sweeping her hairline, "dry." Oh, Criminy. Carrie picked up her cup, but Mike just grinned and pulled out a chair.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked.
Now that was a loaded question for eight o'clock in the morning. Carrie picked up the Style Section of the newspaper and rapidly fanned her face. "Sure, why not?" Anything, she thought. Anything to get this Greek Adonis to sit---and her to stop babbling like an idiot in this public place.
"Listen," he said, squaring his chair in with the table. "I think we got off on the wrong foot last night."
"Look, Mike," Carrie said, reaching a hand across the table to touch his arm, then instantly regretting it. It had to be over eighty degrees inside, with the air-conditioning in this antiquated building malfunctioning, and yet, still, the contact sent shivers up her spine. "As far as I'm concerned, the two of us aren't even going anywhere. So, wrong foot or no, it's all water under the bridge."
"Or, into the pool," he said with a smile that pinned her in place even though a very big part of her longed to spring from her chair and race from the room. What was it with her? What in the world was she afraid of? Mike...? And if it was terror she felt, then why did every inch of her skin vibrate with electric fire each time his sea-green eyes settled on hers?
Carrie took a very long, deliberate sip of water, then set down her glass. "You know, I never got your last name," she said with a smile she hoped looked pleasantly interested, not recklessly giddy.
"Davis," he said as a server sauntered over. "No," he told her as she tilted the silver coffee carafe, "I'm not staying."
"You're not?" Carrie asked before she could stop herself.
Mike arched one eyebrow, and the slightest tingle took hold of Carrie's tailbone. Damn it, she thought, shaking off the confusion. She was not attracted to this man, not attracted one iota. And she was going to prove it. To him---and the rest of the world, as well.
"Please," Carrie said in her most gracious Southern tone. "Do stay. It's the least I can do for..."
Their waitress colored slightly as Carrie's words fell off.
Mike accepted a cup of coffee then met Carrie's eyes with a sly smile. "You know," he whispered as their server departer. "I think you almost embarrassed that woman."
"Truth be told," Carrie admitted, taking a sip of coffee that had grown lukewarm, "I almost embarrassed myself."
Mike tore open a sugar packet and dumped the contents into his cup. "Do tell."
But Carrie didn't want to tell---tell this man any more than she had to. For, in a very big way, she already feared she'd told him way too much. Maybe not in so many words but certainly with her eyes. Guy who looked like that was bound to be experienced. Would certainly know when a woman was...what? Ogling him? Impossible. Carrie St. John was a business professional, a seasoned woman of the world. She did not ogle. She appraised. And every one of Mike's assets, darn it, were starting to add up.
"I never kiss and tell," Carrie said, realizing afterwards just how flirtatious that sounded.
Carrie flagged down the waitress and asked for another glass of water, wondering if she wouldn't be better off having the waitress dump the whole pitcher in her lap.
Mike stirred his coffee, then set aside the spoon. "Okay by me," he assured her with earnest green eyes. "Believe me, I won't be pressing you for details."
Carrie shifted in her chair, wondering why his gentlemanly assertion made her heart drop down to her belly. It wasn't that she wanted him pressing her---for details.
Criminy! She was a mess!
Carrie gratefully grabbed her refilled water and downed half the glass in one long swallow. "Won't be here for too much longer anyhow," she said, searching for a reasonable-sounding way out of the corner she'd painted herself into. "Least ways, not long enough to engage in long-winded conversation."
"I see," Mike said, studying her white-knuckled grip on her water glass. "So, then, where will you be going back to?"
"Mill Creek," she told him, feeling the room lightly spin around her. As ridiculous as it seemed, there was something about him that made her want to forget about going home altogether. Maybe it was in the heart-stopping way he looked at her, even when he pretended to be making normal conversation. Or maybe it was in the way he looked when he was half undressed...
Carrie bit into her bottom lip as Mike fell back in his chair with surprise.
"No kidding? I'm right next door in Redfields!"
"So what are you doing up here?" she asked, trying to keep her thoughts on the straight and narrow. Straight and narrow? Holy cow! Totally wrong image! What on earth was wrong with her? Never in her life had her mind been so carnally occupied!
His eyes fell to his coffee cup. "Maybe it's best if I don't kiss and tell either."
"You mean," Carrie asked with surprise, "you were here with a woman?"
He looked up, little wrinkles creasing his brow. "You find that so amazing?"
Actually, what Carrie found amazing was that any woman in her right mind who'd come here with Mike in the first place wouldn't still be here with him now. "What happened?" Carrie asked, softening her voice in concern. "I mean, certainly you don't have to tell me, but---"
"She dumped me," Mike said, bright eyes darkening. "Sayonara. Just like that. Didn't even have the courtesy to say good-bye. Simply walked out at dinner and never came back."
"No..." Carrie said, catching her breath on the unbelievable. That actually sounded worse than what had happened to her!
"Wish I could say it wasn't so," Mike said with a shake of his head, "particularly after all the... Well, never mind," he told her, fingering the rings through his pants pocket. "None of that matters much now."
Mike reached into his chinos and pulled out the pair of rings. "Not quite a matching set," he said, laying them on the table. But quite an attractive pair just the same."
Carrie blanched and looked up. "Are you telling me that... Now, wait a minute---"
Mike nodded. "Uncanny as it seems, my ring got tossed in the pool as well. Maybe it's some sort of unwritten bylaw to staying in this place."
"Only when the guys involved are first-class jerks," Carrie said with a hard edge to her voice.
A rosy band of color swept across the bridge of her nose. "Oh, sorry... Didn't mean it to---"
"So, you're assuming it was somehow my fault?" Mike asked.
"Well, it's only natural. If she felt strongly enough to throw your ring in---"
And here he'd actually been feeling sorry for her. Had been entertaining these ridiculous thoughts. Ideas that he and this fellow lovelorn soul might actually have something in common. Or maybe he'd just been deluding himself to keep his mind off his raging heartache.
Mike pushed back abruptly from the table. "Enjoy the rest of your stay," he said, dabbing his mouth with his napkin.
"Wait!" Carrie said, leaning forward across the table and attempting to grab his arm. But it was too late. He'd already laid a ten dollar bill on the table and walked away.
Carrie tipped the waitress, then hurriedly made her way out the front door. Bright sunlight spun gold through lilac bushes lining the cobblestone walk in front of her. Overhead, morning birds called out in song as the fragrance of early summer laced the air.
This was absurd! Carrie didn't even know where in the inn he'd been staying, much less what kind of car he drove. For all she knew, he'd already gone!
Carrie looked down in a cold sweat at the two rings nestled in her damp palm. She hadn't even wanted one, and now she'd been saddled with two of them! One from a man she thought she'd known but actually didn't know at all. The other from a virtual stranger!
Carrie raced down the path, then halted where it met the gravel drive. Off to the left and down at the bottom of the grassy hill, lay the gazebo---and the swimming area.
Of course, she thought, squaring her shoulders and taking off in that direction.
Mike sat at the end of the chaise lounge, knowing it was more than just Alexia. His failings at romance had an awful lot to do with himself. Hadn't he just proven that back at the inn ten minutes ago? Fifteen minutes with a woman who didn't know him from Adam and she'd already pitched him straight into that flaming barbeque pit.
Well, fine, maybe monogamy wasn't all it was cracked up to be anyway. Just because he'd always thought he'd wanted a wife and family didn't necessarily mean that was in his cards. And every good poker player knew when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em. Maybe, at thirty-eight, it was time Mike cashed in his chips. He'd always yearned to do something different. Move to the Caymans, maybe, and open up that dive shop he'd always dreamed about.
Before, with gold-digging Alexia, he'd been reluctant to leave his "stable" job in real estate and pursue something more daring. Now, he had nothing in the world to stop him.
"Thought I'd find you down here."
Mike looked up in surprise to find Carrie standing radiant in the sunlight.
"I believe I have something of yours," she said, walking toward him and turning over his solitaire in her hand.
Mike stood. "That was awfully nice of you. But you didn't have to. Particularly after the way I---"
She gave him the soft smile he'd always known her capable of. "Didn't mean to offend you---or imply that you, personally, were any kind of jerk. That's just...uh, been my own unfortunate experience."
"Yeah, well, unfortunately, my experience with women hasn't run much better."
A cool morning breeze lifted off the water and fanned Carrie's long skirt around her legs. "We're a real pair, aren't we?" she asked, bending down to smooth out the clingy material that Mike kind of wished she'd left in place. It had been doing a spectacular job at emphasizing the curves of her luscious legs.
"A couple of losers, you mean?" he asked, wrinkling his brow. "Now, I don't think I'd go as far to say that."
"Losers, absolutely not," Carrie said, coming over and sitting in a nearby chair. "Just down on our luck a bit at the moment."
"I'll say," Mike said, pulling up another chair and sitting beside her. "Worked a good long time to buy that ring. That last house, especially, was a bear to sell. But I knew if I didn't have the commission---"
"You're in real estate?" she asked, looking amused.
"What's so surprising about that?"
"Oh nothing, really," she said, pursing her lips and looking toward the pool. "Just somehow I envisioned you in a line of work a little more---physical."
Mike spurted a laugh. "Lifeguard, you mean?" He pondered the notion of giving her mouth-to-mouth as she turned her very kissable lips toward his. Lips that had no business looking so damn inviting on such a downright disastrous morning.
Carrie shrugged two silky white shoulders that peeked out from beneath her halter-style dress. "Well, sure. That---or a rock climber. Firefighter. Policeman..."
Carrie bit her tongue, realizing how very much she sounded as if she were exercising her fantasies. And if she put her mind to it, Carrie was quite certain she could come up with one or two of those involving the well-built man beside her---clothed or not.
It was probably getting close to checkout and time for Carrie to get back to her room. Her first order of business was calling her grandmother to tell her tomorrow afternoon's bridal shower was off. It would be a sorrowful disappointment to her grandmother and all of her grandmother's old friends who'd worked so hard in the planning. Not only that, they'd all been expecting to meet the groom! And here Carrie was having to show up empty-handed.
Carrie cast a sideways glance at the man beside her, a totally absurd notion popping into her brain. No, he wouldn't. She wouldn't even dare to ask!
"You know the worst part about all of this?" Mike asked, still studying the water. But Carrie truly couldn't imagine anything worse than the look on her grandmother's face when Carrie confessed she'd let another eligible bachelor slip right through her ineffectual fingers. "It's my reunion."
"Reunion?" Carrie asked.
Mike grimaced. "High school. And for once, I thought I'd finally have a fighting chance to prove them wrong."
Carrie heaved a deep sigh, grateful that her own twentieth was still a good, safe five years away. Other than business success, she'd had nothing to show for herself at her tenth, so hadn't gone. By her twentieth, she'd been certain she'd have a dashing man---perhaps even a baby or two---on her arm. Now, she wasn't so certain.
"Which one is it?" Carrie asked, thinking she knew but feeling it only polite to ask.
"Twentieth," Mike reported with a frown. A frown that didn't much become him, Carrie decided. His was an open, expressive face meant for love and laughter. Carrie blinked hard at the thought, wondering where that love part had come from. "And the sad thing is---after all these years---I'm only going to prove those fellows right."
"Which fellows?" Carrie asked.
"The ones who voted me 'Most Likely to Remain a Bachelor'."
"Hmm."
Mike turned to look at her, his eyes catching a glint of sunshine bouncing off the spreading oaks that surrounded the pool area. They were deep-green eyes and swimming like the ocean, a deep, lulling current Carrie was quite sure she could get lost in if she wasn't very, very careful. "That's not why I proposed to Alexia, if that's what you're thinking."
"Alexia?" Carrie pondered. "Sounds very---sophisticated."
"That's a polite way to put it."
Carrie laughed. "Well, I'm sure not the most objective one to pass judgment at the moment."
"And you and yours?" Mike asked. "Mr. So-Wonderfully-Terrific you felt compelled to chuck his ring into the pool?"
"Well, I doubt I could be very objective about him either," Carrie admitted, sheepishly studying her toes through the straps of her sandals. "But then again, men like Wilson Haywood don't deserve much objectivity."
Mike cracked a grin. "Wilson, huh? Sounds very---sophisticated.
Carrie's lips pulled into a smile.
"Say," Mike began, his eyes lighting with mischief. "I've got it! How about we get your Wilson together with my---"
"Afraid it wouldn't work," Carrie said, shaking her head. "Wilson's already taken."
"That fast? That's gotta be some kind of... Oh," Mike said, his smile fading in understanding. "No wonder you chucked his ring! So tell me, what was it with this guy? Deaf, blind, or stupid? Or possibly all three?"
Carrie let loose a belly laugh, delighted with the turn this conversation had taken. "All three, I guess," she said, giggling into her hand. "And your girl? Alexis?"
"Alexia," Mike corrected.
Carrie shrugged.
"You're right," Mike agreed. "Really doesn't matter anymore now, does it? I mean, you give a gal the perfect ring..."
Carrie suddenly realized she still had Mike's ring clutched in her hand with the other. "Oh my goodness," she said, attempting to pass it over. "Here! I almost forgot!"
Mike shook his head. "Finders, keepers."
"Now, wait a minute! You left this on the table by accident!"
Mike gave her a sly wink. A wink that did terrific things for the tingles that had been lying dormant in her spine. "You quite sure of that?"
"Of course, I'm sure. You went to all the trouble to dig it out of the pool, didn't you? The ring obviously still means something to you, even if the woman you intended to wear it doesn't."
Yeah, Mike thought, that ring still meant a lot. Like about three thousand dollars, an amount he honestly couldn't afford to throw away, not with his renewed plans to move to the Caymans. If he was to make that long-lost dream a reality, he'd have to start counting every dime.
Mike stretched a reluctant hand in Carrie's direction and took back the ring.
"Quite a game of ring toss we're playing here, eh, Mike?" Carrie asked with the most compelling smile he'd seen on her face yet. Boy, wouldn't his old high school buddies just die if Mike showed up with someone like that on his arm. Classy but genuine, with an unguarded warmth that seemed to be getting hotter by the minute.
Mike wiped an arm across his moistened brow. "Got that right," he said, giving her a smile. "And it's getting a little warm out for ring toss..." Her dark eyes widened, expecting who knew what kind of proposition. "But perfect for a swim," he finished as he watched the color rush back into her face.
Yessiree, she was quite a looker. Would knock every one of that high school gang out cold! If only Mike could think up a way to take her.
"Oh no," Carrie said, scrambling to her feet. "I'm not much for swimming."
"No?" Mike asked, standing beside her. "But why in heaven's name not? It's hot as blazes out---"
Yes, damn it, Carrie could quite appropriately feel the heat. It was sticking to every inch of her with gummy fingers that prickled her skin with perspiration and sent a cascade of droplets sliding down her cleavage. But no way in Hades was she going to let a man as perfectly formed as Mike Davis see her practically naked in a swimsuit---even her modest, one-piece kind. Carrie wore her dresses ankle-length for a reason, a reason that centered mostly around her buttocks and thighs.
"Besides," Carrie added hastily, "I've got some packing to do."
"Packing?" Mike asked, looking crestfallen. "But I thought for sure you were staying. Isn't there some sort of two-night weekend minimum at this place?"
"Why yes, but---"
"Well, then, what's your hurry?"
And why, Carrie wondered, scrunching up her lips, was he trying so hard to convince her to stay? "I've got things to do," she informed him. "Arrangements to---cancel."
"And tomorrow will be too late?"
"Might be," she told him, meaning it absolutely. Too late for a lot of things. Particularly her heart. This man, Mike Davis, had an unsettling effect on her. His whole wounded-puppy-dog ploy had worked wonders at disarming her emotion. Emotion she'd sworn only last night, as she stood weeping by this same pool, she would indefinitely keep under wraps.
"Aw, come on," he coaxed with a crooked grin. "I'll bet your room's already paid for."
She looked at him and blinked. The fact was, Wilson had already footed the bill.
"Hey, I'm not proposing anything indecent here." For some reason, that admission did not make Carrie happy. "Only a little attempt at sweet revenge."
Carrie eyed him suspiciously. "Revenge how?"
"Revenge in our not letting them ruin our weekend."
Big, fat chance of that one, Carrie thought. More than her weekend had been ruined. How about her life? "Listen, Mike, it's a sweet idea, your wanting to keep me company and all..."
Now that was putting it mildly, Mike thought, feeling the rising sun beat down through his stuffy cotton shirt. Disturbingly, he was finding himself wanting to more than "keep her company." He wanted the opportunity to not even let her out of his sight---for the next twenty-four hours, at least.
The guy who'd tossed Carrie away just as cavalierly as Alexia had thrown his ring in the pool had been a total imbecile. The sweat dribbled down Mike's open shirt collar and pooled, damn it, somewhere near his navel. Without even trying, the woman set him virtually on fire. And here she was saying she was about to leave?
Carrie tapped her toe against the pool deck and considered his disappointingly not-so-indecent proposal. Forgetting the drop-dead gorgeous part, he did appear to be a very nice guy. Maybe even nice enough to be her friend. Which would be a definite first for Carrie St. John, as she'd never befriended any man for longer than thirty-six hours without things between them becoming intimate. But, of course, as her track record consisted only of two serious beaus, maybe she was being a bit hasty in making a sweeping assessment.
Besides, friendship was good. Perhaps even what she most needed at the moment. And having a friend who looked and carried himself like the athletically inclined Mike Davis, could quite possibly come in handy. Maybe even in the very near future.
"All right, I'll stay," Carrie said, "but under one condition."
"Any condition's fine with me," Mike said, knowing that as long as whatever it was involved his taking off his boiling clothes, it would be A-OK with him. Particularly if it involved Carrie St. John stripping down as well.
"You understand this thing between us is about camaraderie. Two down-and-outs on the same flip side of the coin. Compadres."
Mike gave her a tight smile, damning every inner instinct he had and telling his licentious libido to behave. "Sure thing, Carrie," he said, reaching out an arm to shake her hand. "We'll play it any way you want."
\*\*\*\*
Carrie sat in the narrow oaken stairwell, finally getting a cell signal. The remoteness of the inn made service unpredictable. Carrie hadn't been able to pick up more than two bars anywhere but here.
She nervously twirled a lock of chestnut hair, rehearsing what she would tell her grandmother. I'm sorry, Grandmother, but things just didn't work out... No, Carrie had already been there and done that one. Besides, her second strike would make her look like a total washout, not the "together" young woman her adoring Grandma Russell took her to be.
Grandmother, there's been a last-minute change in plans...
Nope, that would only make her look inconsiderate. Horribly inconsiderate, given the wedding shower was scheduled for tomorrow.
Carrie sighed and hit autodial, trusting something brilliant would come to mind the instant she heard her grandmother's voice.
"Hello?"
"Grandmother, it's Carrie---"
"Oh, sweetheart," her grandma began in her endless prattle, "so lovely to hear your voice. Amelia and I were just discussing china patterns, and we really think the one you---"
"Grandmother..."
"Oh, lands sakes, child. I know, I know! Really none of my business. But, to tell you the truth, the everyday pattern you picked is ever so much more attractive and could really double for formal ware if push came to shove, and---"
Carrie blew a hard breath. This was going to be even harder than she'd imagined. "Grandmother!"
"Well, okay, okay, dear. You are absolutely right about that! Who needs to fret over china patterns when you've got a perfectly gorgeous man on your arm!"
"Grandma Russell!" Carrie shouted into the phone.
"Well, gracious me, child, you don't need to yell. Ma Bell's improved quite a bit since the days I courted your grandpa." She chuckled. "Lands sakes, child. Meant that one the other way around---quite the other way..."
Carrie sighed and slumped back against the wall behind her.
"Now, sweetheart," her grandmother finally asked, "what was it you wanted to tell me?"
Carrie racked her brain for a creative intro. "Well, it's about seating arrangements, actually."
"Tomorrow, sweetie? Your great-aunties and I've got that all worked out. No need for you to fret one bit. Nellie even hand-stitched the place cards."
The bottom dropped out of Carrie's stomach. "Aunt Nellie crocheted those beautiful lace place cards? But, I thought... That was supposed to be part of her wedding gift! I thought she was making those for the...wedding."
"Couldn't wait to see your face, she said. And you'll have to really butter her up on this one too, sweetness. She did a divine job. Absolutely divine! You would think the royal family was coming to tea, and not just your wedding party."
Carrie swallowed hard and tried to summon her courage. "Grandma...?"
"Yes, dearie?"
"What time is the shower again?"
"Land sakes, child, you are a nervous bride, aren't you? Four o'clock, same as it was last time you asked. But don't worry if you're not here right on the button. Just don't make us old gals wait too long. You know how it is with us geriatrics. We tend to nod off after a while when nothing's happening!"
"Don't worry, Grandma," Carrie said. "I promise not to put anybody to sleep."
Grandma Russell chuckled. "From what you've told me, you and that handsome groom of yours will be sure to wake up any crowd!"
"Right," Carrie agreed, feeling the fire of deceit spread from her temples to her collarbone.
"Can't wait to see what he looks like, dearie," Grandma Russell crooned into the phone. "Me and the girls have been speculating all day."
"That makes two of us," Carrie said quietly, ending the call.
"What's that?" Mike asked from the landing.
Carrie looked up, startled. "Oh, Mike, I didn't hear you come in."
"No?" he asked. "Could have sworn you said something about the two of---"
"Oh no," Carrie said with a blush. "That was my grandmother. Just got off the phone with her about..."
"Some of those plans that needed canceling?" Mike ventured.
Carrie gave him a shaky smile. "More or less."
"Say, you all right?" he asked, taking the steps two at a time and coming up to where she sat trembling at the bend in the stairs. "Because to tell you the truth, Carrie, you don't look so hot."
"Bet you say that to all the girls," she said, twisting her lips into the best imitation of a smile she could muster.
"Actually," he told her, "it's just the opposite."
"Now I see why you're not married."
Mike crossed his arms over his chest and leaned a shoulder against the wall. "This has something to do with Wilson, doesn't it?"
Carrie vehemently shook her head as moisture brimmed in her eyes.
Mike cocked his chin and scrutinized her.
"Okay," she admitted, making an inch-wide motion with her thumb and forefinger. "Maybe a little..."
Mike shook his head and held his ground.
"All right already! More than a little bit, okay? What is it exactly you want me to say?" she asked as coal-hot tears streamed down her cheeks. "That my life is a total mess? That everyone in my hometown is expecting me to show up for a bridal shower tomorrow---with my groom-to-be---and my groom-to-be has dumped me for a woman with a better financial portfolio?"
Mike dropped down on the step beside her and draped a steadying arm around her trembling shoulders.
"You don't have to be nice to me," she asserted, trying her damndest to set her jaw but failing miserably.
"I know," Mike said, reaching over and raising her chin. "But I want to be."
"But why?" Carrie asked with a sniff. "What could possibly be in it for you? I've already told you I want nothing more than..."
"Carrie, I have a question," Mike said, searching her bleary eyes.
"About what?"
"The people at this shower. Do they know...? I mean, have any of them actually met Wilson?"
"Well, only Paulette. But that was over a year ago."
"So then, she might not notice if Wilson has changed a bit? Lost some weight? Shaved his beard?"
"Lost some weight? What in the world are you talking about? Wilson was---and always will be---the ultimate bean pole! And he never had a beard!"
Carrie stared in amazement as Mike's lips curved into a devilish smile. Though, in truth, the thought had crossed her own mind once or twice---she'd never envisioned the absurd notion becoming a reality.
"Wait a minute! You couldn't possibly be thinking... That you---"
Mike nodded. "Darling, I've waited forever to meet your family."
Carrie straightened under the weight of his arm. "Very funny."
"I wasn't joking."
Carrie looked him square in the eye. "But you can't be serious! Why ever on earth would you do that for me?"
"To buy you some time?" he said, giving her shoulders a light squeeze. "Hey, I know firsthand how disorienting this type of situation can be. The last thing a nice girl like you needs is having to face her family with the abysmal news---when you alone haven't even adjusted to it yourself."
Carrie wriggled out from under his arm and set aside the cell phone. "Who says I haven't adjusted?"
Mike raised his brow and trailed a finger down her tearstained cheek. "Wild guess?"
Carrie dropped her head. "I would never accept an offer like that from a stranger." Even one who sent her stomach all aflutter like him, Carrie told herself. "Particularly not knowing you well enough to really know what you expect in return."
"No problem. I can tell you that."
Carrie looked up and arched both eyebrows.
"Class of Ninety-two."
\*\*\*\*
"The plan is impossible," Carrie said, stabbing into her salad with her fork.
"Improbable, maybe," Mike said, biting into his burger. "Nothing is impossible."
"But you're talking about walking into a big group of my relatives and friends and convincing them we've been an item for---what?---a year and a half now? They'll see through it in an instant."
"Not if we're convincing," Mike said, shaking his head. He set down his burger and picked up his bottle of imported beer. "Besides, how much do these people really know about Wilson Haywood anyway? You said the two of you met in New York."
"We did."
"That your relationship was mainly on weekends."
"It was."
"Sometimes there, sometimes here---right in quaint little Mill Creek."
"What, precisely, is your point?" Carrie asked, sipping her iced tea.
"My point," Mike said, taking a swig of beer, "is that your relationship with Wilson wasn't exactly...normal."
"Oh, and you're such an expert on normal relationships," she pointed out with a broad sweep of her knife.
Mike bolted backward in his chair. "Watch it with that thing! Don't slay the messenger. I'm just telling it like it is. People don't see you all touchy-feely with your fiancé, they might figure, well, that's just a product of how things developed."
Carrie took exception to what he was suggesting. On the one hand, he might just be trying to save her some trouble by playing things cool like she wanted. On the other, he might very well be insinuating that Carrie was a cold fish. Which she certainly was not. And clearly wouldn't be with a man like Mike Davis standing beside her.
"And if things were 'touchy-feely,' as you put it, between me and Wilson?"
"Were they?" Mike asked, little crinkles tugging at the corners of his sea-green eyes.
Carrie put down her knife and thought about that. The truth was, no. Wilson had been very businesslike in a number of things, including in his relationship with her. She'd even sworn he'd timed their lovemaking so as to be less disruptive of the professional calls he'd always placed before---and afterward.
"Well?" Mike pressed, his honey complexion taking on a deeper hue that perfectly complemented his rugged appeal. It was hard to picture him in real estate, when the word outdoorsman was written all over his chiseled face. Not to mention his hard-toned body.
"Well, if you must know," Carrie began, feeling the slightest bit naughty but not the least bit ashamed of her duplicity. "Wilson was quite an affectionate man."
Mike choked on his pickle. "That so?"
"Oh yes," Carrie said, putting on her most confidential face. "It was somewhat embarrassing actually. PDA to the max! Sometimes, I practically had to beat him off with a stick!"
"A stick?" Mike gave up on his pickle and took a long drag of beer. "That doesn't mean you'll be hurting me, does it?"
"Not in the least," Carrie assured him, feeling a familiar ache wend its way all the way down to her bones. An ache that told her she was going to enjoy this little party a lot more than she'd originally suspected.
"Ah darn," Mike said with a Cheshire-cat grin. "But, no worries. We can work around that."
"You just remember your mission," Carrie cautioned him sternly, again with the knife.
"Anything you say, oh knife-wielding one."
Carrie laughed and looked down at her hand. "No cracking jokes at the shower. Got it? Especially none that would give the two of us away."
"Your wish is my command."
Carrie wondered about that. Wondered, especially, if she'd been just a tad bit rash in insisting this thing between her and Mike remain simply "friends."
"You're awfully quiet," Mike said, cocking one eyebrow. "Thinking up those three wishes?"
But, honestly, Carrie only found herself thinking of one. About how nice it would have been if Wilson had been a bit more like Mike. More relaxed and easy to get along with.
"It's funny, really," she admitted over the rim of her tinkling glass, "but I was thinking about how different you are from Wilson."
Mike settled back in his chair. "And that---at this precise moment in time---would be a compliment?"
Carrie smiled and set down her glass. "You're a nice man, Mike Davis."
"Ah-ah," he said, shaking his head. "Please don't tell me that!"
"That you're nice? Why ever on earth not?"
Mike coughed and picked up his beer. "Let's just say that the only woman who's ever called me nice and is still talking to me is my second-grade teacher, Mrs. Rich."
"Let me guess," Carrie said, narrowing her eyes. "Alexia said you were too nice for her."
"Bingo," Mike said, setting down his empty beer. "Ditto that, Carol. And Marianne, and Barbara..."
"My, my," Carrie said, pursing her lips. "You do have quite a reputation, don't you?"
"As the perpetual bachelor, yes," he said with a frown.
"But that's a reputation most men would savor."
"Well, if you haven't noticed, I'm not most men."
Oh, she'd noticed all right. Noticed in a heartbeat. "So what exactly is it that you're after, nice-guy Mike Davis?" she asked with a teasing smile. "If it's not your personal freedom, like most men."
"I've had my personal freedom," he assured her. "So much of it, I'm practically drowning in it. But to answer your question---"
"Honestly," she said, laying her napkin on the table, "all kidding aside."
"Honestly? Don't you think it's a bit risky to be asking honesty of a man you met less than a day ago?"
"No more risky than taking him home to meet my grandmother."
Mike gave her a broad, sweeping smile that settled into an affectionate grin. "Ah Carrie, you're really very sweet."
"Now, don't go calling me sweet---"
Mike chortled. "Let me guess? Something like my Mr. Nice Guy?"
Carrie felt the heat envelope her at the thought of being read so easily. But he could read her easily, this man she scarcely knew. Or perhaps it was simply because the two of them were in the same boat that he happened to know exactly what she was feeling, precisely when she was feeling it.
"Okay," Mike continued, "to answer your question---honestly. What I'm after is probably not so different from what you are. A stable relationship, a home. Kids, maybe."
"A white picket fence?" she asked, feeling the renewed heat in her cheeks.
"Sure, why not? If you can get one of those in the Caymans," he added with a grin.
Carrie's heart fell a million miles. What on earth had she been thinking? Kidding herself about a potential relationship with someone she'd met in such a haphazard manner? Hoping against hope that taking him home as the man of her dreams would somehow convert him to that before her very eyes? Come on, now, Carrie, wake up---and join the twenty-first century!
Besides, the man was already making plans to move to the Caymans. More than a stone's throw from Virginia. This little charade between them involving her shower and his reunion next weekend was all she had. And Carrie St. John and her woebegone heart would do very well to remember that.
Mike took a running dive into the crystal clear waters of the pool, thinking that things weren't going quite as swimmingly with Carrie St. John as he'd planned. He was glad she'd agreed to go to his reunion. More than glad---ecstatic, actually---that a stunning woman like her would help him save face with his friends. And he didn't mind stepping into Wilson's shoes for her bridal shower one bit. What bothered him was the make-believe element to their whole affair. It was definitely a screwy way to begin a relationship. Non-relationship, he reminded himself, as per Carrie's instructions.
For anybody else, it would have been the perfect setup. He'd make out like a bandit at his high school reunion---no strings attached. But, for Mike, who felt an inexplicable yearning to stay by Carrie's side in a much more than fraternal fashion, the whole picture rotted---big-time.
Plus, it really seemed like an unfair trade. Carrie's shower, after all, was only a mere couple of hours out of one afternoon. His reunion, on the other hand, was an entire weekend-long extravaganza. Of course, he hadn't quite told her that---yet. But he would. Just not until after she'd been sufficiently impressed with the way he'd wowed her family and friends. Then, she'd feel beholden---at least in some small way---and would still agree to come to his rescue. Even if it involved a fancy dinner and a Sunday afternoon picnic.
Yeesh! This was where having gone to a private school most definitely paid. Nothing that Ashton Academy did was anything less than first-class. And Carrie St. John was definitely a first-class kind of girl. Mike would be the envy of every man in that room, he thought with a smile as he stroked his way across the pool. Heck, if only it weren't such a big illusion, he'd even be the envy of his own former self!
Carrie turned in the mirror and studied the cellulite on her thighs. What had she been thinking? Telling Mike she might possibly join him for a swim? These thunder thighs weren't going anywhere except for maybe into a pair of shorts. A pair of very long, very modestly proportioned shorts, Carrie thought, rifling through her suitcase.
But if Mike was supposedly nothing more than a friend, what was she all hellfire worried about? Friends didn't dump friends over a pair of weighty thighs. Friendship was based on other things, like mutual respect. Common interests and goals...
Carrie sat heavily on the bed. She certainly hadn't known Mike long enough to get a handle on the interests part, but she and the "swim god" definitely shared common goals. Though she hadn't dared tell him so, the ideal he was after wasn't really so far from her own. Except for the Cayman Islands part. The Caymans! Ironically enough, an investor's heaven. One of her business associates in New York had been pressing Carrie to open up a bank there for almost a decade. But Carrie had always preferred to channel her funds into more personal ventures. It was helping out entrepreneurs that gave her the most satisfaction. Small businesses, start-up operations like this country inn here.
Then again, the Caymans did hold possibilities... Not the least of which stood about six foot two and had the perfect smattering of dark blond hair on its chest.
Carrie walked to the bathroom and threw some cold water on her face. She was losing her mind! Losing it completely! Actually considering the notion...
Now, for a vacation, maybe.
Carrie smiled into the mirror at visions of her and a very oiled-up Mike Davis stretched out on a white-sand beach.
But that idea was ludicrous too! She and Mike didn't stand a prayer of a chance starting out the way they had. Besides, the two of them had made a pact. And, despite his occasional flirtation which Carrie assumed was second nature to a man like him, he truthfully didn't seem interested in being more than just friends. All Mike was after was a way to impress his old high school buddies. But returning to the full-length mirror and studying her silhouette once again, Carrie was uncertain why he imagined she could do the trick. Though Carrie considered herself reasonably attractive, she was well aware she had what the magazines called "figure flaws." Flaws that Wilson had occasionally been unkind enough to point out---in his own teasing way. A way which Carrie hadn't found the least bit amusing.
Maybe she'd just slip on the denim shorts and stroll on down to the pool. It would look odd if she failed to show completely. And she certainly didn't want Mike thinking she was nervous about facing him. Though she was. Utterly nervous. Mostly because, when she saw the man half-nude, her thoughts ran wild. Straight into the "Mike, Tarzan; Carrie, Jane" jungle! And now that she figured him to be a nice guy on top of the way he looked... Well, Carrie wasn't quite sure she could trust her own reaction.
She'd heard of people on the rebound. The rampant bed-hopping that sometimes went on when one wounded partner was getting over the other. But Carrie had never figured herself to be the bed-hopping type. In fact, before Wilson, there'd really only been one other man. The first one she'd thought she would marry and, soon after their break-up, had started referring to as "old what's-his-name."
But even "old what's-his-name," her first lover ever, hadn't stirred her half as much as Mike Davis. But maybe that was what she got for comparing twenty-two-year-old apples to thirty-something-year-old oranges. Very ripe, very succulent oranges. Criminy!
Carrie sighed and hunted for a belt that would do her waistline justice---meaning suck it in just a tad more than its natural state. Though, of course, a friend wouldn't notice her waistline one way or another, she told herself, sweeping her hair into a ponytail and arranging her tresses in the mirror. Friends didn't care what friends looked like, just as long as they kept their word.
Mike's eyes popped open when he heard the clack of sandal heels on the pavement. Carrie St. John headed down the path in strappy black sandals, a formfitting tee and cuffed denim shorts. She certainly was revealing a lot more flesh than she had been earlier, but not nearly enough for Mike's satisfaction, he thought, sitting up to disguise his reaction that would have been otherwise quite evident through his swim shorts.
"You're not swimming?"
"Can't," she said with a congenial smile. "Still got lots of telephone calls."
A buzz of panic shot to Mike's brain. "But I thought we---"
"Oh yes... I mean, no." She blew a soft breath that sent a loose tendril spiraling. "I'm not backing out of our deal or anything like that."
Mike sat back against the lounge chair, relieved. He'd actually been looking forward to playing Carrie's fiancé. Especially, he thought, eying her well-formed bosom through her unforgiving cotton top, once he'd learned about that touchy-feely part.
"It's just that I've still got a lot of calls to make, and I want to try to catch the businesses while they're still open."
Mike raised his eyebrows.
"Flower shops, the caterer... You would not believe all that goes into a wedding!"
"No." Mike gave her a melancholy smile. "Guess I've never gotten that far."
"Oh, sorry," Carrie said, bringing her hands to her flaming cheeks. "Didn't mean to make you feel bad."
Actually, Mike thought, Carrie did a pretty fine job of making him feel terrific. "It's all right," he assured her. "But I thought you weren't going to cancel those things until after the shower?"
"The sooner, the better," she told him. "Unless I want to get stuck footing the bill for a wedding that doesn't happen.
"You're really sweet to agree to be my fiancé tomorrow. Really very sweet. You were absolutely right; I needed to buy myself some time. Once I've taken care of canceling the other arrangements and smoothing out all the wrinkles, breaking the news to my family won't be as hard."
"Glad I could help," Mike said, feeling as if he should stand but still not exactly trusting what his body was doing. Carrie St. John had an unusual effect on him. Though she was certainly not the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, she was definitely one of the most womanly. There was something very sensual about the way her feminine curves suited her just right. Curves he found himself itching to get his hands around.
"Gonna cool off," Mike said, startling Carrie by bolting to his feet and diving in a split-second lunge into the pool.
"Fine!" Carrie called after him as he popped his head above the water. "I'll be back at the inn. Maybe we can meet for dinner and plan out tomorrow?"
"Absolutely!" Mike called after her before dunking his steaming head back under the surface.
\*\*\*\*
Carrie dropped down on all fours and searched the oriental carpet for the back of her earring. This was ridiculous. Really! Five minutes until dinner and Carrie was quaking in her sandals like a nervous teenager. You would think this was her first date and not a mere business arrangement with a friend.
And that's strictly what it is, she thought, finally locating the jewelry piece and standing to insert her earring in the mirror. Strictly business. She and Mike Davis had made a deal, a pact to help each other out in this uncanny time of distress for the two of them. He would butter up her family, and she, in turn, would schmooze with his prep school cronies. Next weekend would be over before she knew it, and her loosely knotted affiliation with Mike Davis would be over altogether.
Carrie frowned at her reflection, wondering what would have become of her and Mike Davis if Mike had truly occupied Wilson's slot all this while. Of course, she wouldn't have met Mike in New York, but then, as he lived closer, perhaps their relationship would have been better maintained than her and Wilson's weekend-style affair.
Carrie watched herself color at the thought of maintaining any kind of affair with the hunky Mike Davis. Criminy. Blushing like a schoolgirl, and he wasn't even in the room!
Mike tossed his Polo shirt onto the bed, thinking it was really too damn preppy. Not only that, he reminded himself, at this sort of place, one had to wear a tie.
Mike walked over and thumbed through the hanging clothes in the mirrored armoire that served as his closet. A sports coat and light starch button-down would work. That and his conservative yellow---no, too Wall Street, he told himself. He certainly couldn't have Carrie thinking stockbrokers on a night like this.
Although it was true Mike was out to impersonate Wilson, he was just as determined to prove to Carrie just how different from Wilson he actually was. Because, like it or not, in less than a day, the voluptuous Carrie St. John had gotten right under Mike Davis's skin. He didn't know how it'd happened. Or even how in the world she'd done it. Particularly since---from the get-go---she'd seemed so determined to keep this arrangement between them strictly friends.
Oh, Mike could get friendly with Carrie, all right. More than friendly. Downright carnal, in fact. But the puzzling thing was, Mike's growing attraction to Carrie involved more than just hormones. There was something about her. Something very earthy and real that set her miles apart from plastic, poised women like Alexia.
Carrie was pretty, all right. No one could argue that point. But what made her truly beautiful was that---unlike Alexia, who'd been attractive in a more Seventh Avenue way---she didn't appear to know it. Yet, there was something very womanly about her. Something so soft and feminine it made Mike ache to be all man. Christ, he thought, looking down at his boxers. Only three minutes till eight, and he'd have to take another cold shower.
Carrie sat alone at the romantic outdoor cafe table. All around her, other couples dined, trading secrets in hushed whispers, many of them linking hands.
This inn was the perfect lovers' retreat...assuming the lovers were still together, she sighed. Well, maybe her grandmother was right. Ever since she'd been a little girl, Grandma Russell, who had raised her, had insisted that things always turned out for the best. And maybe finding out Wilson was a two-timing jerk was best done now---and not after the wedding.
The maître d' appeared and offered to pour her wine, but she told him she'd wait. Carrie checked her watch and saw it was ten after eight. Terror flashed through her. What if Mike had deserted her too? What if, despite her initial impression, he turned out to be just as gutless as Wilson and had---at the last minute---ridden off into the sunset, leaving her to face her grandmother, great-aunts, and friends all on her own?
Carrie noticed a dignified older gentleman standing near the door that led to the inn's kitchen engaged in conversation with the maître d'. The silver-haired man, whom Carrie guessed to be in his late sixties, stroked his goatee, then sent Carrie a warming smile across the nest of tables that separated them.
He must be the innkeeper, she thought, taking a sip of water. But before she could set down her glass, he approached and extended his hand. "Ms. St. John," he said with a genuine smile, "Charles Gilpatrick. I wanted to tell you what a pleasure it is to have you at our inn. I would have spoken with you yesterday evening but have just now returned from an innkeepers' conference in Roanoke."
Carrie gave his hand a firm squeeze and smiled back at him. "I'm so glad you came over to say hello. You've done a remarkable job with the inn. It's beautiful."
"And suited to your taste, I trust?" he asked, releasing his grip. "We can't have our chief financier unhappy with the accommodations."
Carrie felt her cheeks warm at the compliment but held a single finger to her lips. "Let's just keep that our little secret," she said with a wink. "I don't get away on vacation that often, and when I do---"
"Yes, of course. I realize how difficult it must be for you not to be bothered. You are probably one of the more successful investors of our time."
"You do go on!" she said with a laugh.
"Well, any woman who makes the cover of Forbes by age twenty-six..."
Carrie shushed him with a shake of her head. "When I'm in Virginia, Mr. Gilpatrick---"
"Please, call me Charles."
Carrie smiled up at the ingratiating older man. "Charles. While in investment circles I may be known for my financial acumen..." A modest, self-deprecating laugh. "In Virginia, I prefer to simply be known as Carrie."
"But of course," Charles said, extending his grip to seal their agreement. "The girl next door. Not a problem, Ms. St John."
"Carrie," she corrected, graciously accepting his lingering handshake. "And I thank you for your discretion."
Charles lifted her hand lightly to his lips and gave the back of it a deft kiss.
"Will your fiancé be joining you for dinner?" Charles asked, straightening. "I understand his name was on the register."
"He'll be here any minute," Carrie said in an effort to reassure herself just as much as the innkeeper. Where on earth could he possibly be? Women were supposed to be the tardy ones. And clearly that was understandable, what with all the primping and trouble that went into sliding on control-top panty hose without running them silly. But Mike Davis was strictly wash-and-wear. Carrie was certain he'd look just as good stepping out of a shower as he had coming out of the pool. What was keeping that infuriating man?
Mike froze in his tracks, unable to believe what he was seeing. Who was that old goat sending his roving eyes all over Carrie's plunging neckline? And why was she laughing and tossing back her head in that coquettish fashion that said whatever he was telling her really floated her boat?
Mike blew a hard breath and ran his fingers through his hair, thinking he was probably blowing things all out of proportion. That couldn't be Wilson, could it? Come back to claim his bride? The man was old enough to be her father!
Carrie turned her head in Mike's direction, and he ducked back behind the fanning leaves of a potted fern. Mike needed to really think this thing out. Maybe if he asked one of the waiters...
Mike jumped a mile high when he felt the feminine touch at his forearm.
"Not going to find me in there," Carrie said, motioning to the spreading fern.
"No, of course not," Mike said. "I just dropped a..." Well, as he wasn't wearing a tux, he certainly couldn't say cufflink.
"An engagement ring?" Carrie questioned with a teasing smile.
"Why, no. No... A pen."
"Right," Carrie deadpanned.
Mike's brow shot up. "Pen? Ha-ha! I said pen, didn't I? No, I actually meant---"
Carrie twisted her lips and studied the color sweeping up his neckline. Mike hadn't dropped a darn thing into that planter. He'd been spying on her!
"Well, look, if it isn't the Hope Diamond you've dropped in that dirt, how about you forget about it for now and come on over to the table. There's someone there I'd like you to meet."
Mike looked her up and down and swallowed hard. God, was she gorgeous in that long black dress. It was simple but elegant, just like her. "Oh?" Mike asked, clearing his throat. "Friend of yours? Old...friend?"
Carrie held back a laugh at his curious expression. She couldn't decide if his color was more eggplant or pomegranate. But why? Over Charles Gilpatrick?
"Why, yes. I suppose you could say that. At least you've got it half right."
Darn it. Mike knew it! Half right meaning he'd been correct about the old part. Clearly Wilson would no longer be Carrie's friend. But why, then, had she been carrying on in such a flirtatious fashion? Encouraging the geezer, who was, holy cow, old enough to be her father! When he'd agreed to pose as Carrie's fiancé, she hadn't told him he'd have to dust his head with baby powder!
"Listen, Carrie, I don't know if now is the time..."
But she'd already latched on to his arm and was dragging him toward her table. "No time like the present."
The white-haired gentleman stuck out his arm. "Wilson Haywood, I presume."
Mike firmly gripped his hand, slam-dunked by the realisation. Hey, whoa! It took every ounce of restraint Mike had not to thumb his chest like an idiot and say, "Who, me?"
He shot a quick glance at Carrie, who slipped him a sly wink. Oh, so it was showtime, was it? A little practicing up for his big debut? Yeesh! The least Carrie could have done was warn him. Well, now, maybe it was her turn to be caught off guard.
Mike gave the older man's hand a firm squeeze. "Indeed it is. And, you...?"
"Sweetheart," Carrie said, beaming a bit too radiantly, in Mike's opinion. "This is Charles Gilpatrick, the innkeeper here."
Mike's chest wall relaxed a notch. Of course he was the innkeeper. Who on earth else could he have been?
"I trust," Mr. Gilpatrick said, directing his question at Mike, "you and Ms. St. John are enjoying your stay here?"
Mike stepped over and drew a tight arm around Carrie's shoulders. "Delightful place. You should be very proud of what you've done with it. You've only been in business for about a year now, isn't that right?"
Gilpatrick's gray eyes warmed in appreciation. "I see Carrie's not the only one with an aptitude for doing her homework."
Mike pulled Carrie in a little tighter, her side heating his skin, even through his clothing. "She's quite the student, my Carrie," Mike said, caressing her shoulder.
Carrie squirmed in his grip as his fire spiked through her. It started at his fingertips, where they lightly massaged and caressed her bare shoulder, ricocheted to her breastbone, then sank low in her belly. Boy, was she done for, Carrie thought, realizing she'd missed something in the conversation and that both Charles and Mike now had their expectant gazes turned on her.
"Honey?" Mike asked, leaning over, his whiskey whisper tickling her ear.
Carrie blanched, suddenly light-headed. "Yeah, sure. That's fine," she responded, sinking into her chair beneath the two men's congenial laughter.
"The Merlot will be fine, Charles," Mike said. "Thanks so much for the offer and coming over to introduce yourself."
"The pleasure's all mine," Charles said, departing with a nod of his head.
Carrie picked up her water glass and drained most of it while Mike sat across from her. "What was so funny?" she asked, knowing she'd embarrass herself by asking but fearing it would be worse for her still if she never even knew.
Mike's smile broadened over his own water glass. "Charles had offered a complimentary bottle of Virginia wine, or in your case, since you're such a special guest--- his entire wine cellar, to which you---"
Carrie rested her near-empty water glass against the side of her flaming cheek. "Indicated I'd take the whole wine cellar."
"More or less," Mike replied with a grin. "But, no worries, I saved our new friend from bankruptcy by agreeing to take him up on his earlier offer of a Merlot instead."
"I see," said Carrie, setting down her glass.
A wine steward appeared and displayed a Norton Vineyard label before Mike. "Excellent year," Mike said. "Believe that one was an award winner, wasn't it?"
Their server nodded solemnly and uncorked the bottle with white-gloved hands. After a brief wine-tasting interlude, the beverage was poured and Mike and Carrie left alone to once again confront each other in peace.
"Mind telling me why we are considered such special guests in this place?" Mike asked, lifting his glass.
"Mind telling me how you know so much about Virginia wines?"
Mike swirled his glass and surveyed the softly shadowed face of the woman in front of him. Elegant, sophisticated, and, if she was getting special treatment from innkeepers, most likely rich. In light of all that, Mike somehow didn't think telling Carrie he'd spent his high school summers working the vineyards would sound all that impressive.
"Let's just say," Mike said, lightly clinking her glass, "I'm a man of impeccable taste."
"To impeccable taste," Carrie said, raising her wine to her lips.
"Seriously, Carrie," Mike said, once they'd both set their glasses back on the table. "Why is it that we, or rather you, merit such special treatment here?"
Carrie looked at him innocently and shrugged, picking up her menu.
Mike reached out and lowered the laminated page so he could look in her eyes. "Are you...? You're not...?"
"What?" she asked, her eyes lighting with amusement. "Somebody famous?"
Mike leaned in just a tiny bit more. "We-ell?" he asked, drawing out the word in a blood-pounding way as sea-green eyes washed all over her.
Carrie laid down her menu and gripped the table edge to get her bearings. "Nope. Nobody famous, if you must know. Just your regular old girl from Virginia. Hope that doesn't disappoint too much."
Uh-uh. Carrie St. John had done nothing to disappointment him yet, and she wasn't going to start now. Her eyes were fanning wide, half playful, half daring. The deepest chocolate brown, even darker by candlelight than they'd appeared in the light of day. And everything about her seemed to be drawing Mike closer. Even as he willed himself to remain stoic in his chair.
But instead of staying put, Mike found himself reaching across the table. Wrapping her satiny shoulders in his trembling grip, leaning his mouth in toward hers as the moonlight and the table and the milling voices of others all melted away.
Carrie tilted her chin in expectation and didn't break away. Rather than pause, she seemed susceptible to the same raging pull that had engulfed Mike's senses. Her eyes lingered tantalizingly on his own---beckoning, promising. She let out a little gasp, lightly moistening her lips.
"Ready to order?" the maître d' inquired, slicing the air between them.
"Not on your life," Mike said, slamming down his napkin.
\*\*\*\*
"Excuse me," Carrie said, abruptly pushing back her chair. "I'm going to powder my nose."
Thank God, Carrie could hear herself thinking. Thank God, thank God, thank God! If that maître d' hadn't interrupted just in the nick of time, who knew what would have happened?
Carrie knew exactly.
She pushed her way into the ladies room and made a beeline for the faucet, where she ran the water cold.
Get a grip, Carrie, she warned herself sternly, dousing some paper towels and dabbing them at her neckline and brow. Water streamed from her neck to cleavage, reminding her of the effect Mike Davis had inspired at the pool. What was it with this man and water! Every time Carrie thought of him...
Carrie looked up into the mirror and found her face a heated flush
And this was supposed to make things all better? Getting tangled up with someone new when her heart hadn't even had half a chance to heal was going to somehow alleviate the ache in her life?
Carrie shook her head at the woman in the mirror. Plain old girl from Virginia was right. To look at her now, no one would ever suspect her worldly sophistication. They'd liken her, in fact, to some high school hayseed, fallen right off the turnip truck.
Mike sat at the table, dumbfounded. This had to be the longest nose-powdering in history, he thought, staring down at his and Carrie's lukewarm entrees.
She'd agreed to let him place the orders, but then had bolted like a minnow in the path of a manta ray.
Mike racked his brain for something---anything---he could have done wrong, but all he came up with was that "almost" kiss. Now, if he had kissed her and botched it miserably, he would have understood her wanting to take flight. But he hadn't even gotten his chance. And, no matter what excuses she planned to offer to the contrary---and Mike was quite certain that was what she was doing at the moment, concocting excuses---there'd been that unmistakable look in her eye that said she'd wanted him to take it.
Mike had been with plenty of women, enough of them to know when one wanted kissing and wanted it badly. Was it really possible all his years of training could fail him now?
Mike stood from the table, thinking he should go check on her. As far as he knew, Carrie didn't own a black Jaguar to escape in, but Mike supposed it was possible that Carrie could decide to run out on him just as Alexia had.
Mike was just rounding the corner where trellised vines climbed heavenward when he ran smack into Carrie.
"I was just coming to check on you," he said when she halted in surprise.
"Sorry," she said with a trembling smile. "I had to collect myself."
"You doing all right?" Mike asked with concern.
Carrie looked at him, then pursed her lips to keep them steady.
"Carrie?"
Her eyes fell to the ground as she slowly shook her head. "It's no use, Mike," she said, her voice cracking up. "This whole charade is---"
"Who says it's all a charade?" Mike asked, stepping forward and taking her by the elbows.
"Mike," she said, looking up and trying her damndest to look tough. Be in control. But Mike could see Carrie St. John was no more in control of her own racing heart than he was of his. "This thing, this arrangement, simply isn't going to work."
"Says who?" he asked, stepping closer as a couple of departing diners scooted around them on the pathway. "Did you find that on some literature in the ladies'?"
Carrie heaved a sigh without smiling, but he could tell she was loosening up.
"Or perhaps," he said, sliding his arms around her waist and tugging her into his rock-solid frame, "you found something disparaging written about me on the bathroom walls?"
Carrie looked up at the impossible man and shook her head, trying to deflect the comfort of his humor, trying to make herself believe that nothing Mike Davis could say could possibly make things seem any better.
Mike reached out and tilted her chin. "None of it's true, Carrie," he said, his mouth closing in. "Except for maybe the part about me being a good time..."
Carrie's knees went weak at that thought, as his overpoweringly male scent washed over her in ocean waves.
Trying to fight her natural attraction to Mike Davis, she decided, was a losing battle.
And when he claimed her mouth with his, she knew it wasn't only battles they were talking. They were playing for the highest stakes. Every ounce of her hurting interior was at war with what her body was doing. Reveling in, encouraging, his bittersweet, luxurious kisses. Carrie wasn't even sure it was legal to kiss that well. Especially in the state of Virginia. Where exactly was that turnip truck, anyway? Carrie wondered, feeling herself spiral further and further away into the magic of Mike's embrace.
"Carrie," Mike said, pulling back, "maybe we ought to find someplace more private..."
A fanning burn in her throat prevented her from answering. She was hot and tipsy, his raging fire still tearing through her like the strongest scotch whiskey. And this was a drink she wanted straight up. No ice.
Mike bucked as the icy chill raced through his sports coat and centered in on his spine.
"Oh! Oh, my goodness!" the befuddled voice called behind him as a hard metallic clank echoed from somewhere near his feet. Cold water sloshed forward, followed by a parade of ice cubes. Mike whirled to find the red-faced young woman who'd just poured her champagne bucket down his back.
"Oh, gracious!" she continued to babble, kneeling to scoop the miraculously intact bottle of champagne of the brick walk. "I'm so sorry! Must have run straight into---"
From just over his shoulder, a woman erupted in raucous laughter.
Mike spun to find Carrie cupping a hand over her mouth as her whole upper body quaked with mirth.
If only he'd known what she'd been thinking! What was it about Mike Davis, Carrie wondered, that always seemed to attract him to water? Or vice versa, Carrie thought, exploding once again in giggles.
Mike ignored the woman at his feet, busily scooping ice cubes back into her silver bucket, and kept a watchful eye on Carrie as he stealthily removed his dripping sports coat and shook it out at arm's length.
"Feeling all better, I see," he said, cocking one eyebrow and looking--- what? Carrie wondered---amused at her amusement?
"Sir, I---"
"Don't worry about it," Mike said, nearly deaf to the stranger's apologies as he stooped to gather ice cubes and toss the cleaner ones back into the bucket. "Accidents happen." But what had happened between him and Carrie just now hadn't been an accident at all. For the briefest moment, she'd been all his. And it had been wonderful. So wonderful he'd been itching to continue things on an even more intimate level back in his room. And now---this.
Finally, their embarrassed interloper straightened and made off with her champagne. Carrie, Mike noticed, still looked as if she was going to burst into hysterics at any moment.
"I---" She sputtered a laugh, then stopped and collected herself. "I am feeling much better, thank you. But you're---all wet..."
"Nothing that I haven't been before," he assured her, holding up his jacket to examine it in the moonlight. "I'm sure my clothing and I will survive."
To her embarrassment, Carrie's stomach growled loudly.
"Still hungry?" Mike asked, feeling for the ice cube that had wedged itself between his belt and waistband at the small of his back and plucking it free.
Carrie giggled again as he offered it as further proof of his ordeal.
Carrie lifted the ice cube from his palm and hurled it into the darkness. "Starved. But how about you? Don't you think you'd better, uh...change?"
"Change?" Mike grinned. "Thought you were starting to like me just the way I am."
Carrie felt herself color from head to toe. "You, Mike Davis, are---"
He cocked one eyebrow and waited.
"---a very nice man," she finished, feeling renewed heat in her cheeks.
Mike chuckled and brought a tender hand to her face. "Ah, Carrie. Yes. And you, my dear, are very---sweet."
Mike leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead, something akin to affection sparkling in his eyes. No man had ever looked at Carrie like that before. With hunger, anticipation, yes. But this was a different sort of appreciation altogether, and it warmed her through and through.
"Want to see if dinner's still on the table?" he asked, taking her hand.
"Great idea," Carrie said, wondering what on earth was happening to her. This wasn't love. At least, not like she'd ever known it. Carrie St. John was falling "in like" with a man who looked like a god, and neither her heart nor her head knew precisely what to make of that.
\*\*\*\*
Mike draped his still-damp clothing over the wooden hangers he'd suspended from the shower bar. All in all, things hadn't gone badly. Even if he had taken a bath, in a manner of speaking, the look on Carrie's face had been worth every ounce of icy discomfort. Somehow, Mike suspected, Carrie didn't get the opportunity for laughs often. Though laughter suited her beautifully. So well, in fact, Mike was going to make it his personal ambition to ensure she wore it more often.
Mike puzzled at his instant attraction to the woman he'd met a day ago. Yet, somehow, when he looked in her deep-brown eyes, he had the notion he'd known her a lifetime.
Now he was getting sappy, Mike thought, sitting down on the bed to tug off his socks. Thinking that things between him and Carrie had, in some way, been preordained. Just who did he think he was kidding? Mike's judgment in the past regarding women had left much to be desired. And yet, what he desired more than anything was a chance to prove---to himself and Carrie---that perhaps this time his instincts were dead-on.
There was something about her that got to him on more than just a physical level. He liked Carrie. Honestly enjoyed spending time with her. And, looking back, Mike wasn't sure he could make that unequivocal statement about any of the previous women in his life. Up until now, Mike had always looked at romance as a love/hate proposition. The woman you loved was supposed to drive you mad, wasn't she? Feminine wiles were supposed to be mysterious, impossible to understand. And, up until now, Mike hadn't given one iota whether he'd understood them or not. Wooing women was something Mike had experience in. Plenty. But befriending them? That was a totally new concept altogether. And a woman who could prove both a lover and a friend...?
Mike fell back on the bed and pulled a fluffy pillow over his head. Maybe once he got down to the Caymans, he wouldn't have to deal with such bubbleheaded notions. A woman as a friend! Hoo! Who in Hades did he think he was fooling?
Carrie fluffed the pillow and repositioned it beneath her elbow, making believe she was reading the magazine. But truth be known, she'd been staring down at the same article on backyard decorating for the past twenty minutes and hadn't absorbed a thing.
The rest of the evening had gone like a charm. The two of them swapping humorous stories over their second bottle of complimentary Merlot. Though he'd had nothing to do with it personally, the innkeeper had been quite embarrassed by Mike's earlier run-in with the champagne bucket and had insisted on more wine as an apology.
Mike had accepted graciously, asking if it would be too much trouble to sample a different vintage, a sweet Virginia red perhaps, as they'd already moved on to dessert.
It still struck Carrie as odd that a realtor knew so much about wine. Not that he didn't have a right to be a connoisseur if he wanted. It was just that Carrie couldn't help the niggling sensation that something about Mike didn't add up.
He seemed so out of character as a realtor. And yet, if he professed that was what he did, what gave her reason to doubt him? Perhaps it was merely her own guilt seeping through. Guilt over not being completely honest with him about who she was or what she did. Though she'd informed him of the generalities, she'd very purposely ignored the particulars.
Mike seemed to like her so much, just as she was---the homespun girl from Virginia. And she, Carrie admitted truthfully, laying a palm over her fluttering heart, had been very much enjoying his down-to-earth, manly attentions. Finding out her net worth would surely change how he looked at her. And, at thirty-three, Carrie St. John had tired of being looked at as nothing more than a financial opportunity. Both of her boyfriends thus far, even the younger one in college, had seemed to sense she was going places and had wanted to latch on to her coattails. At least temporarily.
And that, probably, was why the romance had never lasted. No man had ever truly been attracted to who she was inside. No matter what her bank account said now, on the inside, Carrie was still the same simple girl who had sewn her dress from scratch in order to afford the prom.
But understanding her humble roots was not something even a nice man like Mike Davis could likely relate to. He, after all, had grown up in the lap of privilege himself. Ashton Academy cost more per year than Carrie's full university scholarship had provided per annum.
Carrie snapped off the light and sank back into the mattress, wondering just who she thought she was fooling. Mike was simply a nice man who had taken pity on her present circumstances. And no matter how badly her heart ached to be near him, it was high time Carrie started listening to her head. They were far too different from one another---she and Mike---to ever form anything long-lasting. She might as well just lie back and enjoy the temporary ride of having him in her life as her fiancé. From the looks of her life, it was as close to the real thing as Carrie would ever get.
"Ready to go?" Mike asked, standing in her open doorway. After a quick, cordial breakfast together, they'd each headed to their separate rooms to pack up.
He looked even better this morning than Carrie'd remembered, his well-tailored slacks and sports coat over open-collared shirt accentuating his exceptionally fit form. Carrie heaved a sigh, grateful, at least, for the dynamite impression he was going to make. But in some ways, having him wow her family was going to make it that much harder to disillusion them in the end. Somehow, she'd never considered that angle. Although it was definitely far too late to go having second thoughts now.
"Having second thoughts?" Mike asked, leaning forward and picking up her suitcase.
"Not at all," Carrie reported, fighting the fire in her cheeks. "Let's get started."
Mike took a cursory scan around the gravel parking area. "Your car or mine?"
Carrie cast a sideways glance at her shiny teal-blue BMW convertible. "Yours would be better, I think. Mine---needs work..."
"Oh?" Mike asked. "Maybe I can take a look at it. I'm pretty handy with cars, you know."
As far as Carrie was concerned, Mike seemed pretty handy with just about everything. "Uh, no. Thanks, I'll just take it to the shop when I get back."
"Seriously," Mike said, dropping the bags dangling at his sides to the ground. "Might be something really simple. I'd hate to think of you spending the---"
"Maybe when we get back," Carrie said, tugging at his elbow. "We really can't be late. My Grandma Russell would have a fit."
"Okay. Let me just put your suitcase in your car, then."
Carrie blew a hard breath and nervously latched on to a loose strand of hair. In all her boardroom negotiations, she'd never come across anything like this. Still, a very large part of her success had come from thinking on her feet.
"Actually," she said, motioning to her bag, "I've got some gifts in there for my aunts and grandmother. Too cumbersome to get it all out now."
Mike shrugged, seeming to buy that easily. "Oh, all right. I'll just toss it in my trunk, then."
Mike strode over to a late-model Mustang. Ancient but meticulously restored. Candy-apple red.
"Love the car," Carrie said, appreciatively patting the hood as Mike laid the bags in the trunk. "She's a real..." Carrie stopped short of saying "investment goldmine." "...beaut. You've done a great job with her."
"Thanks," Mike said, smiling as he came around to unlock Carrie's door. "I guess I do pretty well at taking care of the things that are important to me."
Carrie swallowed hard and stepped into the car without uttering a word. Did his words really carry the weight she thought he'd intended them to? No, Carrie, she admonished herself, don't be stupid. Get through this day, that's all. One day at a time. She'd think about the coming weekend, and Mike's reunion, and her miserable life afterward---tomorrow.
\*\*\*\*
Paulette Pierce held out her narrow grip. "My, my, how time improves," she said, unabashedly looking Mike up and down. The moment they'd arrived, Carrie had been lost to a swirl of old ladies in pastel brocade, and Mike hadn't seen her since.
"Why thanks, Paulette," Mike said, shifting on his feet and taking her hand. The woman was birdlike and gaunt, probably Carrie's age, though her thinness made her appear much older. "I take that as a compliment."
Paulette enclosed his hand in her viselike flesh and leaned forward. "A compliment meant for you, not Wilson Haywood," she said in a hushed tone.
Mike fought the urge to wince in her talons and forced a tight smile.
Paulette kept hold of his hand and took a step forward, straight honey-colored hair swinging over her shoulders. "That stuffy old suit, Wilson," she continued in a whisper. "I can barely remember. But you, sweetheart, a gal's not likely to forget."
She leaned in and brought her mouth very close to his ear. "Is it serious?" she asked, just as Mike felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Paulette," Carrie said, stepping between the two of them. "How nice to see you getting reacquainted with Wilson." Carrie slipped an arm through one of Mike's and linked him in tight. "Isn't he even better than you remembered?"
"Quite," Paulette said, eyes narrowing. "In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd say---"
"Of course, the plastic surgery helped a lot."
Paulette's jaw dropped open. "Wait a minute. You're not saying---"
Mike raised his free hand and massaged his rugged jaw. "A little here, a little there. Filling in the face, that is. Worked wonders. Maybe you ought to try it."
Paulette huffed, but Carrie just bit into her bottom lip and raised her eyebrows.
"And the gym helped too, of course," Mike continued, finding himself getting more and more carried away. "But I said to myself, I said, nothing's too good for my Carrie. She wants a certain type of man, she's going to get it..."
Carrie held her breath and watched Paulette's eyes widened.
"I mean, why not?" Mike asked. "You women do it all the time, reinvent yourselves for your men. Breast augmentation---"
Paulette went positively white and glanced down at her own flat chest.
"Come on, Wilson," Carrie said, nudging him soundly with her elbow. "Time you talked to a few more of our guests..."
"And not," she whispered sternly in his ear, when they'd left the mortified Paulette behind them, "about breast implants." In spite of her admonition, Carrie found herself fighting the urge to giggle. From the time she'd been fourteen, Carrie's first cousin Paulette had made it her personal goal to steal every man in Carrie's life right out from under her. Well, not this time, Carrie thought, glowing brightly as the man on her arm looked down into her eyes with a naughty grin.
"She deserved it," he whispered back. "Not only did she suspect the truth, she was coming on to me besides."
Carrie looked back over her shoulder at Paulette, who was downing a fast cup from the punch bowl, then broke into a chuckle. "Oh Mike," she said, patting his arm. "You're absolutely right. Busybody Paulette got just what she deserved. But do you think she'll tell?"
Mike looked straight over the top of Carrie's head. "I think she's leaving. Hope she wasn't your maid of honor or anything important like that."
Carrie spun around to see the back-porch door swinging shut at Paulette's back. "Holy cow!" Carrie exclaimed, stretching up on her toes and giving Mike's cheek a firm peck. "How on earth did you do that? I've been trying to get Paulette to keep her nose completely out of my business for nearly twenty years and never even came close to succeeding until now."
Mike's cheek tingled where Carrie's warm lips left their mark, reminding him ever-so-pleasantly of the type of fiancé he was expected to be. Touchy-feely. Amen, Mike thought, winding his arm around Carrie's shoulders like a prayer. She was truly radiant today. Looking very bride-like in her white linen dress, its clean lines unintentionally outlining every curve. Even its scooped neckline, which professed its innocence by camouflaging itself with a hint of lace, looked positively villainous in its enviable position right next to Carrie's bosom.
"What? What is it?" Carrie asked, bringing a hand to shield her briefest hint of cleavage. "There something wrong with my dress?"
Mike gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze and planted a light nibble on her tantalizing neck. "Nope, nothing at all. I was just thinking about how great you look in white."
Carrie slapped a palm into the side of Mike's head. "Behave yourself! Grandma Russell's coming!"
"Just playing the part," Mike said, drawing her into an affectionate hug and kissing her lightly at her temple. "Of the loving fiancé."
Carrie blinked as her world went cold and hot. Hot and cold. No, wait! Her palms were sweating, but her belly was a pit of ice.
"Carrie, darling!" An elderly lady with more salt than pepper in her short curly hair scuttled over and wrapped frail arms around the two of them.
"Wilson," she proclaimed, beaming up at Mike and whacking him soundly on the shoulder. "I do declare, you are a hunk!"
Somewhere in the heat of the moment, Carrie found her tongue. Which was, dammit, stuck to the roof of her mouth.
"Grandmother!" Mike exclaimed, lifting the 110-pound woman into the air with his bear-hug embrace. "It's so good to finally meet you."
Well, now, Carrie thought, Mike was carrying things a little far. Paulette was one thing, but...
Mike set Grandma Russell down as she reached up and pinched his cheek. "He is a doll, Carrie! An absolute doll! Just somehow I never pictured him as a blond. You should have told me he looked like Robert Redford but green-eyed, young, and sexy."
Mike laughed out loud but felt his ears tinge hot just the same. Though he was used to compliments from women, up until now, most of those offering their rabid appreciation had been under fifty.
"Come on, darling," Grandma Russell said to Mike. "Let me show you off..." She gave a little chuckle. "Show you around, that is. Carrie's aunties are all dying to meet you."
Carrie swirled the ladle nervously around the near-empty punch bowl. The shower had gone off without a hitch. She and Mike---uh, Wilson---had even gotten some lovely gifts. A blender, cooking utensils. Towels. All the nice little odds and ends that help make a newlywed house a home. This wasn't such a good idea, after all. In fact, it was terrible. So many people had gone to so much time, trouble, and expense. Even Nellie's place cards were beautiful. A keepsake for the happy couple. Carrie frowned at her murky reflection centered in the twirling ice ring.
And to make matters worse, Mike had been an absolute champ. Everybody adored him implicitly. He'd been warm, witty, and charming the whole afternoon through. His act as her fiancé had almost even seemed real; at least his hugs and affectionate glances had seemed authentic enough. And those few unexpected kisses, though innocent enough in their placement---one at her temple, one on the back of her hand, the one at her neckline... Well, all right, maybe the one at her neck hadn't seemed quite so innocent in intent as the others. But still, no matter where his kisses had landed, each time Mike had surprised her with the warm contact of his lips, her world had caved in and her heart had let go. Let go of any notion that this thing between them was little more than make-believe. Because, though words could deceive, feelings seldom lied, and when Mike brought his flesh to hers... Carrie dropped the ladle into the punch bowl as goose bumps tore down her spine.
Carrie felt the hair swept from her nape. "Ready to leave?" Mike whispered, bringing his mouth close to her ear.
Carrie turned in surprise and found herself directly in his arms, her backside pinned against the table that held the punch bowl. "Never," she said, bringing her arms up and around his neck and pulling him in close as their lips melded in the final consummation of what they'd both been desiring all afternoon.
"Why don't you kids run on home?" Grandma Russell asked, blinking the dining room chandelier on and off above them.
Mike pulled back in a damp sweat. "Let's!" he said, giving Carrie a firm, virgin peck on the lips.
Carrie sat in Mike's car, anxiously fiddling with his radio and waiting for his return from the grocery store. Though he'd said he'd only be a minute, she could only guess at what he'd buy. Champagne? Wine and roses? Were things between them really moving that fast?
And where on earth would they go? She wasn't sure she was ready for Mike to see her place. Besides, she was totally unprepared for company, and her cottage was a total wreck. Though the setting, at the western edge of the county, was gorgeous, the inside of her home looked like it had been hit by a black tornado. If there was one thing Carrie didn't do well, it was clean. Well, in truth, her laundry skills weren't so hot either. All the whites always seemed to come out a weird shade of neon pink. Even after all this time, Carrie couldn't figure out which of her red sweater tops had been doing all that running.
The driver's door popped open, startling Carrie from her reverie.
"Miss me?" Mike asked with an earnest grin.
"Absolutely," Carrie said, hoping her face didn't look nearly as hot as it felt. "What you got there in the bag?"
"Uh-uh," Mike said, scrunching the paper roll at the top of the bag a bit tighter and slipping it into the backseat. "It's a surprise."
The only problem was, Mike still hadn't settled on the perfect place to share it. Not at his place, for sure. His apartment was a pigsty. Not that it was usually that bad... Mike slumped back against his bucket seat at the inner half-truth. The fact was, compared to its usual state, his apartment looked good. Which wasn't saying a whole heck of a lot.
Mike could tell from meeting her family and seeing the tidy home she'd grown up in that, though she hadn't been raised rich, she'd definitely inherited class and style. A style that would be severely undone by the sight of his dirty boxers strewn all across the backs of his chairs. And those beers cans... Mike scratched the back of his head, trying to remember if he'd put that last batch of trash out to recycle. Better not chance it, he decided, heading the car west of the city.
"Where to?" Carrie asked, a fine sweep of color caressing her cheeks, but only half as tenderly as Mike wanted to at this moment.
"Someplace special," he said, lowering his window just a crack to let in a refreshing breath of cool evening air.
But deep inside, Carrie knew that it scarcely mattered. Someplace special seemed to be right here with him.
\*\*\*\*
Mike hoisted Carrie down from the top of the split-rail fence and led her into the vineyard.
"Well, what do you think?" he asked, clutching his mystery paper bag to his chest.
Carrie inhaled deeply, absorbing the scent of summer hills and lilac. For acres before them, rows upon rows of trellised vines bloomed in lush splendor, their endless trails spilling toward the tumbling Blue Ridge. Mountain upon haze-tipped mountain fell backward in smoky array, blending infinitely with the settling twilight.
"It's gorgeous, just gorgeous," Carrie said, talking not only of the scenery around them. For in this afternoon alone, she'd seen something altogether different in Mike. Not the tempting bachelor, nor the friend with a penchant for making her smile. But a regular family man. Carrie was certain now he hadn't been fabricating his desires for that white picket fence. Mike was good in a crowd, great with people---young and old alike. And playful to boot. Carrie was sure he'd make an excellent father.
"Care to sit?"
Carrie looked down, realizing Mike had removed his jacket and laid it as a cushion on the ground for her to protect her clothing.
"You know," she said, taking a seat and arranging her dress on the jacket to defend it from the spreading clay-dotted grass around them. "Alexia was really a very stupid woman."
Mike grinned in surprise and scooted in beside her on the splotchy earth. "Kind of you to say so."
"I mean it," Carrie assured him. "But she was smart in one regard."
Mike raised his brow in expectation.
"Picking you out in the first place."
Mike sputtered a laugh. "Alexia always was a good shopper."
Carrie tried to keep her eyes focused ahead of her, but it was impossible not to be drawn to the man beside her. Never in her life---nowhere in the world---had Carrie St. John come across the likes of Mike Davis. He was handsome and charming, absolutely. But much more importantly, he was genuine.
"You know the thing about Alexia---"
Carrie reached out and latched on to his rugged chin. "Mike."
He stopped midsentence and questioned with his eyes. Beautiful, earth-moving, sea-green eyes.
Carrie settled her other hand at the side of his face. "Shut up and kiss me."
"Thought you'd never ask," he hummed, closing in.
After they'd necked like teenagers for nearly twenty minutes, Carrie felt something moist and clammy seeping onto her outer thigh.
"Oh my God!" Mike said, looking down in horror at the leaking paper bag pressed up against Carrie's leg. "Your beautiful dress!"
Carrie puzzled at the mysterious green stain on her leg. She wiped a hand against the sticky mess, then brought a palm to her nose. "Mint?"
"Mint chocolate chip," Mike said, sheepishly unrolling the bag. "Ice cream sandwiches."
Carrie threw back her head with a belly laugh. "Ice cream sandwiches! And there I thought you'd gotten us another elegant vintage of wine."
"Carrie," he said, pulling a clean handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing the side of her clothing. "I'm so sorry about your dress. I forgot all about---"
"That's all right," she said, giving his chin an affectionate nuzzle. "I did too. And no worries. The dress will wash." And if it didn't, she could always get another. But Carrie was as certain it wouldn't be so easy to replace Mike Davis. "Think they're still any good?"
"Of course! A little soggy, maybe," he said, pulling the soppy package from its dripping bag. "But edible, nonetheless. How about it?"
"I'd love one." Carrie smiled. "Mint chocolate is my absolute favorite. How on earth did you know?"
"Wild guess," Mike said, grinning naughtily. "And your Grandma Russell told me."
"Cheater!" Carrie said, swatting him playfully across the chest. "You just wait till I corner some of those old high school chums of yours and get the dirt on you!"
"So, you're not disappointed, then?"
Carrie warned herself to proceed with caution. "In...?"
"The ice cream. I mean, it may not be the rare vintage you were---"
"I love the ice cream. I don't think any man has surprised me with ice cream before." Much less spread it on my thigh, she heard herself thinking but thank God didn't say. All of a sudden, Carrie was developing lots of innovative ideas about what she and Mike could do with ice cream. But not here, not now, not in the middle of somebody else's vineyard.
"What is this place?" Carrie asked, taking a bite out of her dripping sandwich and delighting in its fresh minty taste. Nightfall was almost upon them, shadows stretching long over the vineyard. The top third of the mountains had already faded to black. If they didn't head back soon, they might have difficulty finding the car in the darkness.
"Just a place I stumbled on long ago."
"It's yours?" Carrie asked, surprise and delight firing her eyes. "I should have known you were a vintner! Now, it all makes perfect---"
"Carrie," Mike answered, crestfallen. "It's not mine." He couldn't bring himself to tell her that he'd only worked here as a hired hand during his high school summers. That his background was much more modest that hers ever was. He and his dad never had a nice home---of any size---to call their own. They had rented and lived out of trailers. His graduation from Ashton had been thanks to a full athletic scholarship.
"Maybe you should buy it, then?" she continued, seeming happily excited by the notion. "It would make a wonderful investment!"
"Investment?" Mike had never been able to invest in anything beyond his next month's rent.
Carrie appeared to pick up on his mood and halted. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, wadding up her ice cream sandwich wrapper and balling it in her fist. "It wasn't my place at all to suggest that."
And why, indeed, would she suggest it? Just as breezily as if wishing could make it so. Did Carrie St. John actually have that sort of money herself? "Would you invest in it, Carrie?" Mike pressed, wanting to know if his hunch was accurate.
Criminy. Carrie had really painted herself into a corner this time. Here she'd been all this time not wanting to let on she had money, and then she went and said a stupid, unthinking thing like that. "Why, no. No." Carrie felt herself growing warm in the chill of the evening. "Just making conversation, that's all," she lied, scrambling to her feet. "You know, it's getting late..."
"I know," Mike said, looking deep in her eyes as if trying to discern something.
"Think you could drive me back to the inn so I can collect my car and get on home? I have to work tomorrow and I'm sure---"
"No problem," Mike said, scooping their litter off the ground and trying to discern what she was hiding. Mike weighed the dichotomy of her simple, small-town roots against the exceedingly preferential treatment Carrie had been afforded by Charles Gilpatrick back at the inn. Was Carrie St. John filthy rich, someone famous to be reckoned with?
"Who are you, Carrie St. John?" Mike asked as the breath of night threaded silken silence between them.
"Just a simple old girl from Virginia," she said, needing him desperately to believe it.
\*\*\*\*
Carrie made the forty-five minute drive from the country inn to her country bungalow with her top down. The nippy evening air lit up her senses and helped her focus her attention on the issues at hand, as weaving wind whipped fingers through her long, loose hair. At least she'd had her wits about her when Mike had dropped her back at the parking area and had been able to concoct that missing earring story that had allowed her to duck back inside. She'd watched out the window of the inn until a few minutes after Mike had driven away. Though here he'd been insistent about staying and seeing her to her car, she'd fabricated an excuse about also having to settle some business arrangements with Mr. Gilpatrick that might take a while.
While in looking at his watch, he'd seemed dubious, Mike had finally acquiesced and settled for a formal good-bye on the steps of the inn. The same stone steps where Carrie had first beheld him in his dripping-wet, near-naked glory on that fated night they'd met.
Carrie's throat went dry at the recollection as she sailed through the yellow light. Carrie quickly checked her rearview mirror, but saw, with relief, that even the cops in this sleepy berg were already in bed tonight. Carrie felt the spreading heat at her collarbone and inhaled deeply, fighting off the thought of anything that put Mike Davis and beds together in her mind. She was falling for him. Falling badly. And there didn't appear to be a darn thing she could do about it except for trying to keep this silly illusion from blowing up smack in her face.
How long did Carrie really believe she could go on like this? A week, a month? In the outstanding event their relationship endured beyond Mike's reunion, sooner or later he was bound to start asking questions. Already had started asking questions, Carrie reminded herself.
Criminy.
Carrie ran a hand along the back of her stiff neck as she wheeled her car onto the exit ramp that led to the isolated country route that would take her home.
Oh what a tangled web we weave...
Carrie slowly shook her head.
All she'd really wanted was for Mike to like her for herself. But now she wondered precisely what that was. A liar? A manipulator? Someone with just as little integrity as Mike's old fiancée Alexia?
Carrie blinked hard as hot tears pressed with biting force from her bleary eyes. It was no wonder she'd never found a man. There, without even trying, she'd gone and done it again. Screwed her love life all to heck and back. Love life, ha! she thought, laughing bitterly into the wind. As if she'd ever truly known the meaning of the phrase.
Mike scurried around his apartment, tossing empty aluminum cans into the recycle bin. Holy cow! He didn't know why he had so much nervous energy. But whatever the reason, he might as well put it to good use.
Mike paused in the threshold to his bedroom, mentally trying to calculate when he'd last changed the sheets. Well, if he couldn't remember, then the likelihood was they needed changing again.
Mike tugged back the fitted sheet, trying to recall the last time he'd actually had a woman in the place. Alexia, neatnik that she was, had always insisted he come to hers. Alexia had always insisted on a lot of things, like her pleasure first, for example. Not that Mike minded giving a woman pleasure. That aspect, in fact, excited him. But when it was that woman's pleasure to the exclusion of everything else in the world, including the presence of her partner...
Mike shook his head and carried the pile of sheets to the washer. He was quite certain Carrie wouldn't be like that. Carrie was a warm and sensuous woman. Inviting yet giving all at once. It was there in the way she kissed, the way she teased and beckoned with her eyes. The way her tantalizingly womanly curves ached for a masculine touch...all...over...her body...
Christ.
Mike looked down at his boxers, realizing he was going to need another cold shower. His second since he'd dropped Carrie off at the inn and come home. And, for crying out loud, their parting kiss had been nothing if not chaste.
Maybe that was what it was. She was driving him to distraction by holding back. Though, when he was being honest, Mike had to admit that Carrie wasn't the only one who seemed adept at putting the brakes on their relationship. While their mutual attraction was too strong to deny, there was something else holding each of them back. Mike couldn't put his finger on it exactly. But his gut told him it had to do with more than just the faux-fiancé game going on between them.
Mike heaved a heavy sigh and flipped on the cold water. What was it about Carrie St. John that always left him all wet?
Carrie rolled over in bed and lazily lifted her cell. "Hello?"
"A dillar, a dollar..."
"Grandma Russell?" Carrie asked, her head pounding. She squinted against the bright light streaming in through the tilted Venetian blinds.
"Lands sakes, child, did I wake you? I thought you investment types were up catching worms well before dawn!"
Carrie reached out her free hand and angled her clock radio toward her so she could read the time. Ten thirty. She'd missed her nine-thirty appointment. Carrie's head fell back against her pillow with a thunk.
"No, Grandma." She held aside the receiver and yawned. "Been up for hours."
"Well, sweetheart, you're not really sounding too chipper."
"Just a stress headache," Carrie said, massaging her throbbing temple. "It will get better." Already, Carrie was making a mental list of all the conference calls she'd have to rearrange. Mondays! What a mess!
She must have been exhausted. Totally wiped out from her weekend experiences. And it was all Mike Davis's fault.
"Well, maybe my cheery bit of news will leave you feeling better... That fiancé of yours---"
Carrie sat bolt upright in bed, not knowing quite what to expect.
"---is such a doll. You'll never believe what that Wilson did!"
"No, I probably wouldn't," Carrie said, meaning it absolutely.
"He sent the sweetest note---with the flowers."
"Flowers?"
"Yes, indeed, perfectly gorgeous arrangement. Must have cost the man a fortune, but, of course, like you've told us, the man is dirty rich, so it really is the thought that counts."
Carrie's temples constricted and pounded anew. "Filthy, Grandma. The term is fil---"
"Well, now, sweetie, you may call the man a dirty rascal if you want to for outfoxing you with this sweet surprise, but I wouldn't go as far as to insult his personal hygiene. In fact, he looked exceptionally well-groomed to me!"
Carrie's head thumped back against the headboard, ramrodding the base of her skull with another lightning bolt of pain. Flowers? He'd sent flowers? How in the world would she ever explain breaking off an engagement to a wonderfully thoughtful man like him now! Her grandmother was totally smitten! "It was a very sweet gesture, but I'd caution you against taking anything he said too much to heart."
"To heart?" Grandmother Russell shot back. "The man has a heart the size of Nebraska! Looking forward to being a part of your beautiful family was what he said. Brought tears to Nellie's eyes it did. Real tears, not just the ones she sometimes puts on during confession."
Carrie sighed and squeezed shut her eyes, wondering how on earth she was going to get out of this mess, while her grandmother continued to wax poetic on "Wilson's" attributes.
"Wasn't that just the most eloquent..."
Carrie could practically feel the steam blowing out of her ears. Nice job, Mike Davis! Playing the perfect gentleman and leaving poor Carrie holding the bag. The time for beating herself up over her own duplicity had ended. Now Mike was the one with the answering to do. And Carrie was going to see to it personally he did some talking.
Mike was just going out to get his mail when Carrie roared into his apartment's parking lot like a storm cloud on the wings of---holy cow---a new-model BMW convertible. She did have money. And lots of it.
That wasn't the only thing, Mike saw, backing up a step as she leapt from her car and made for him like a thunderbolt. "You!"
Mike inched back toward the mailbox. He'd never seen a woman so positively incensed. Not even any of the several who'd dumped him.
"Hi, Carrie," he offered lamely, as she walked right up to his chin, then poked him in the chest.
"Thanks...one...whole...heck...of a...lot!" she said, emphasizing each word with the pressure of her pointy finger. "You, Mike Davis, have single-handedly ruined my existence!"
"Hey, whoa..." He tried to lay a steadying hand on her shoulder but backed off when the look in her eye told him she just might bite it off.
"What right," she asked, again with the pointy finger that---dammit---was starting to hurt, "do you have...sending flowers...to my grandmother?"
Mike gripped his hand around the offending digit and held it in place.
"Let me go!" Carrie charged.
"Only if you promise to stop poking."
Carrie glared at him and pulled back her hand, massaging its aching joints. Poking into his chest had been painful for her as well, though she didn't dare let him know it. It had taken her over three hours to find him. She'd gone through six other Michael Davises in Redfields before she'd finally happened upon this place here. And now he owed her some answers.
"Like some iced tea?" Mike asked, pinned to the mailbox, his eyes darting furiously between Carrie's still-idling car and the woman in front of him.
Carrie ran a frustrated hand through her tangled hair. "Well, for heaven's sake," she said, her shoulders sagging just a tad so their positioning didn't look quite so combative. "I'm not a bee that's going to sting you."
"Tea?" Mike repeated, his voice coming out an octave higher than intended. Okay, Mike, he told himself, now would be a good time to think up the reason you did that. She obviously wants an explanation. But do you understand it first?
All he knew was that when he'd awakened that morning feeling sunny, sending flowers seemed the perfect thing to do. Gracious. Thoughtful. And the truth was, he adored Carrie's grandmother---along with the rest of her extended family.
Carrie set a hand on her hip and shook her head. "All right, I'll come in for tea, but under one condition. You promise to be completely honest with me."
"That cuts two ways, Carrie," Mike called as she walked back to her car and yanked her keys from the ignition.
Criminy. She hadn't even considered that.
Carrie sat across from Mike at his kitchen table in his tiny but tidy efficiency apartment. Carrie looked around, somehow finding all the cleanliness disheartening. More undeniable proof of just how highly unsuited to each other the two of them were. What had she been thinking?
"Well," Carrie asked, setting down her glass. "I'm waiting."
Mike was waiting too. Waiting for something brilliant to occur to him. But all he could come up with was the very embarrassing truth: he'd wanted to impress Carrie's family.
"It wasn't meant in malice, Carrie," he began tentatively, pushing aside his tea glass.
"Well, of course, I know that!"
"Well, then...?" he asked, gently pacing his words, lest her iced-tea glass wind up on his head. "Why are you so darned mad?"
"I'm mad because... Because..." Carrie faltered. She was so furious she could barely form her words. But what, in truth, drove her anger was even beyond her comprehension. All she knew was it had something to do with Mike inserting himself deeper in her life than he had a right to go.
"We made a deal, you and I."
"That was ages ago."
"Three days," she corrected without blinking.
"Well, it seems like ages, Carrie. It seems impossible I've only known you that long. The two of us, we..."
"What?" she demanded, looking him square in the eye.
"You can't tell me you don't feel it too?"
Carrie pushed back from the table and stood. "No way. No way, Mike, are you turning the tables back on me. We are not here to discuss my feelings!"
"Okay," Mike said, taking a lingering sip of tea. "Shall we discuss mine, then?"
Panic gripped Carrie by the throat. What was happening here? No! She was here to confront him. She was furious! And there he was looking---what? Humble? Self-effacing? Forgivable?
Carrie bit into her bottom lip and dropped back down into her chair. "What do you mean by that?"
"What I mean," he said, looking right through her with earnest green eyes, "is that you said you wanted honesty. I'm prepared to fess up, if you are."
Carrie gulped and grabbed her tea glass, which was empty.
"Refill?" she asked weakly.
"In a moment," he said, reaching across the table and encircling the hand that gripped her glass with both of his. "First, we talk flowers."
Carrie tried to steady her resolve, remind herself of just how infuriated she was. But when she looked at him, really looked at him, Carrie knew in her heart Mike was telling the truth. He hadn't sent those flowers to upset her. Or anybody else, for that matter.
"So why?" she asked, the still air settling around them as Mike released his grip on her hands and laid his palms on the table.
"I can't tell you what it felt like. Being there in that room of people---with your family. I felt so included. Really a part of things. I didn't mean to make anything harder on you. Truly, I didn't. I just wanted to say thank you."
The gratitude part she could buy. He seemed sincere enough in his emotion, but... "The note?"
Mike wrinkled up his brow. "Guess I crossed the line on that one. My apologies. I sometimes get so swept up in things, I act before I think."
Carrie held her tongue, knowing very much what that felt like. Okay, so maybe he had acted on impulse. And maybe out of good intention. But what a viper she was going to look like now when she announced her relationship with Mike had ended.
"How about your family?" she asked after a long pause. "Don't they make you feel---included?"
Mike gave a slow, sad smile and studied the tabletop. "Well, I guess family's a pretty subjective word, isn't it? Mine isn't all that big, really. Just me and my dad."
"Oh, I'm sorry." But Mike didn't offer any more. He just sat there being very quiet. Abnormally quiet.
Carrie studied the man with the gorgeous green eyes and shoulders broad enough to take on anybody's troubles. It wasn't only his trick with the flowers that was going to make ending this charade difficult.
After what seemed like eons, Carrie reached across the table and laid a hand on his arm. "Mike?"
"My dad's sick, Carrie," Mike said, looking up with moisture-tinged eyes. "Very sick. For the past two years, almost all of my income has gone to his care."
Carrie felt the raw burn in her throat. She'd never known her parents. They'd died in a house fire when she'd been barely a year old. By a twist of fate, she'd been staying with her grandmother as her parents were planning on going away together for their second anniversary trip. They'd never made it, and Carrie, thanks to the luck of the draw, had survived to be raised by her Grandmother Russell and doting great-aunts.
Still, she couldn't imagine what it would feel like to lose someone who'd looked after you, somebody you'd equally loved and cared for. Carrie bit back the sting in her own eyes, realizing her Grandma Russell's time probably wasn't that far away.
"I'm so sorry," she said. "I had no idea."
"Well," Mike said with a shaky smile, "Dad's had a good life. A good hard life, lived the way he wanted to live. I can't fault him for that."
"What's he got?"
"It's more like what hasn't he got? His liver's going, he's got heart trouble. But, you know, the great thing is he's still out there kicking. Tough old coot..." Mike's voice faltered. "My dad. Still got that great sense of humor. In fact, just to look at him, you'd never..."
"Oh, Mike." Carrie stood from the table and walked to where he sat, putting her arms around him. Her heart went out to this man. This man who always tried to put on a good face, who had worked so hard to make her laugh... Who had sent her grandmother flowers. Who could kiss like nobody she'd ever known.
"Now, don't go feeling sorry for me," Mike cautioned, looking up and returning her hug.
"What I feel for you," Carrie said, for the first time admitting it to herself, "goes way beyond sorry..."
Oh great, Mike thought, she pities me. That's even worse.
"And the love I see in your eyes for your father only reconfirms it. I've seen somebody very different here today. And yesterday, at the shower also. It's not just that you're a warm, caring person. Not just that you can make me laugh..." Not just that he looked like sin, she told herself.
Mike drank her in with his eyes, beholding a million new possibilities. Then stood to cradle her in his arms.
She was going out on a limb here, and she knew it. But the words that were welling within her were so fierce, so true, she was losing all power to hold them back.
"Mike, I think that I'm falling in love."
Mike nestled her closer and brought his forehead to hers, kissing her sweetly on the lips. "Only think?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye.
"Oh Mike." She brought soft hands to his cheeks and looked at him deeply. "More than think. I know it's brazen of me to say so. That it will probably take a while for you to feel the same way. I don't understand what has happened to me. How all of this has happened so fast. I never really thought..."
Mike hushed her by tracing the tender line of her lips with one finger. "You don't know how long I've waited to hear you say that."
"But Mike!" she said, splaying her hands against his chest. "We've only known each other three days."
But three minutes was all it had taken for Mike to know. The moment he'd seen her holding court at the top of those stairs at the inn, Mike had ached inside at the feeling someone like her could never be his. And now, every ounce of his being ached at the possibility that she could.
Mike couldn't believe that any woman as warm, as wonderful, as completely genuine as Carrie, could be standing here professing her love. But she was. And not just with her words---with her eyes. Eyes that searched his soul and begged answers to so many questions.
"Carrie," he said, kissing her at first lightly and then feverishly before pulling back. "I want to make love to you. With you. For as long as you can possibly stand."
Carrie grinned as the smallest---daintiest---tingle took hold of her tailbone, then spread like rapid fire. "That's the best offer I've had all day," she said with a kiss.
\*\*\*\*
Mike took Carrie's hand and led her back into the sparsely lit bedroom. At the height of the afternoon, it was unmistakably the brightest room Carrie had ever had occasion to make love in. She'd always required it dark and comfortable. For her, that was, and her multitude of figure flaws. But here, in the light of day, with nothing but Mike's king-size bed before them, there was nowhere to hide.
Carrie thought of asking Mike to close the blinds but then saw the single shade was already drawn.
"Come here," Mike said, pulling her down onto the bed beside him. "Let me look at you."
She was as beautiful as ever, a patterned sarong skirt wrapping around her curvaceous hips. Her knit sweater top highlighted every curve.
"I think," Mike said, reaching up to touch her face as they lay sideways on the bed, "that I've died and gone to heaven."
"You're not dead yet," she assured him with a kiss.
"Then why do I feel like I'm floating?" he asked, running a stroking hand up and down her bare arm.
Carrie's skin ignited at his touch as his caress wandered lower, strumming over her hip, wending around to her bottom, where he gave her tush a playful squeeze.
Carrie colored in spite of herself.
"You're not inexperienced, are you?" Mike asked, bringing his nose to hers and nesting a hand in her hair.
"Heavens no," she said, coloring again. And feeling all the while like a liar. She'd never experienced anything quite like him. Her heart was beating so furiously she was certain it would break free from her chest cavity at any moment and make a mess of the bed.
But Mike assured her with his heated kiss they'd find others ways to dirty the linens entirely.
"I knew from the moment I saw you," Mike said, rolling her onto her back and straddling her legs with his own, "that something would develop between us."
"You knew this?" Carrie asked doubtfully, tugging lightly at his derriere and situating him comfortably on top of her. Boy, he felt like heaven. All six foot two of manly heaven. And, positioned just right.
"Well, I hoped it actually. You looked so pretty standing there. So defenseless---"
"Defenseless?" she challenged, lifting her head from the pillow.
Mike chuckled and kissed her sweetly. "No, my love..."
Carrie's heart fluttered at the sound of that.
"You are absolutely right. You are many, many things, but defenseless is not among them."
"Mike," Carrie said, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, "it's getting hot in here."
"Baby," he replied, bringing his mouth to hers. "You don't know the half of it."
With that, he clambered off her, taking her elastic-waist skirt along with him in one swift, tugging motion.
Carrie brought her hands self-consciously to her outer thighs, but Mike reached out and held her wrists captive.
"You, Carrie St. John, are the most exquisite woman I've ever seen. Please, don't hide from me."
With that, he released his grasp and gripped the hem of her knitted top, yanking it deftly up and over her head in one smooth move. Carrie willed herself not to dwell on his apparent ease at clothing removal but to focus instead on the calming lull of his eyes. Eyes that seemed to be looking down and into her. Steadying, reassuring that nothing---and no one---else on this earth mattered.
"Carrie," Mike said, bringing his lips to her cleavage, just above her bra, his hands cupping both breasts. "You're beautiful."
Carrie sighed, leaning back against the mattress, sure she must be dreaming. Savoring the sensation of his touch as she reached out and explored the leanness of his hips, the tautness of his derriere.
Carrie felt for his belt buckle and unhitched his pants as he kissed her with the desperation of a dry man in the desert seeking water.
"Carrie," he said, cradling her head in the muted light of the room. "I've waited a lifetime for you."
Though all reason argued against it, her heart dared to believe as she reached for his shorts and slid them down toward his knees.
Mike briefly righted himself and did away with his clothing. All of it.
Carrie marveled at his size, at his rigidity, longing to make him all hers.
"Here," she said, pushing down her panties and urging him to help her.
He stripped away those and the last barrier of her bra with skilled ease.
"Mike, don't you think---"
But he was already miles ahead of her and unrolling a condom onto his ready form.
And Carrie was ready too. Oh so ready, like she'd never been in her lifetime.
Mike reached up and gently gripped her breasts in his hands, then rocked slowly onto her, carefully aligning their bodies until their lips and every other inch of them met exactly where they were meant to.
"Ready?" he asked, sliding his hands up her rib cage, alongside her shoulders, up her neckline and into her hair.
"As ready as I'll ever be."
"Then I," Mike assured her, filling her slowly, single-mindedly, with his manly need. "Am going to show you just what loving is..."
He gave her a tender smile. "Until you cry uncle," he said, bringing the furnace of his mouth down on her own.
"Uncle!" Carrie cried, several hours later.
Mike raised a moist chin from between her legs.
"Uncle, uncle, uncle!" she yelped, slapping him on the shoulder. "My God, are you trying to kill me?"
Mike grinned and fell down on the mattress beside her. "Just trying to take you to heaven, angel."
"Been there and back. There and back. And then some," she assured him breathlessly, tugging at his arms.
"Good, then that means you liked it?" Mike asked, sweetly stroking her knees. The sensation of his touch---lingering, strong, tender---sent shivers racing to her core.
"Liked it?" Carrie exclaimed, raising herself up on her elbows. "Gracious. Now that I've, uh, tasted it, I fear I'll never be able to live without it!"
Mike fell down on the mattress beside her and pulled her tightly into his arms. "Precisely what I wanted to hear."
"I've really got to go," Carrie said, trying halfheartedly to escape once again.
Mike linked his arms around her naked torso and nibbled the small of her back. "Uh-huh."
"Don't you have a job?" Carrie asked in exhaustion. Already it was Tuesday. Heaven only knew where the past eighteen hours had gone.
All Carrie knew was that she was hungry---and late for work.
"Probably not anymore," Mike answered. "But real estate was never really my calling anyhow."
"No," Carrie said, turning on the bed and kissing the man behind her fully on the lips. "Your talents run much deeper than that."
Mike hooted and sprang from the bed. "I've got it! How about we go to breakfast!"
"Breakfast?" Carrie asked, sitting up and clutching the comforter to her chest. "But I have to get to work! I never even reported in yesterday."
"Great," Mike said, coming around the bed and kissing her on the top of her head. "Then you've set a precedent."
Carrie's eyes traveled the nude expanse of his body, thinking over all the precedents the two of them had set within the last several hours. There was no denying it. Mike Davis had positively swept her away. "Well, I suppose I could phone my secretary..."
Mike shot her a triumphant grin. "Get showered," he said, striding to the bathroom and returning with a towel, which he lobbed in her direction. "I'll make the coffee."
"Like that?" Carrie asked, observing his stunning form.
"What's a matter?" he teased, "too sexy for you?"
"Goodness, no," she answered. "Just sexy enough. Just don't count on getting to breakfast anytime soon," she said with a growl as she leapt from the bed and tackled him to the carpet.
Mike bit into his bagel with gusto. Apparently, he'd been just as starved as she was. "You know, Carrie," he said between mouthfuls, "I don't think this reunion thing is going to be very hard to pull off."
Carrie laughed affectionately and ran a tender hand down his face. "No," she answered, "I think we've got that touchy-feely part down pretty well."
In between their hours of lovemaking, they'd also done some soul-spilling. Among other things, they'd both revealed how much each one had been itching to get physically close to the other. Carrie had confessed that the whole "touchy-feely" pose regarding Wilson had been a total sham, and Mike had admitted how he'd eagerly planned to take advantage of that idea.
Well, she supposed they both were satisfied now. Carrie blushed at the thought as the waiter refilled her coffee.
They were in a small diner a few miles from the hometown university. The place, it turned out, where both Carrie and Mike had secured their undergraduate degrees and Carrie had later gone on to graduate school in pursuit of her MBA.
Mike still didn't know about the money. And Carrie still wasn't sure if she was willing to tell him. There she was, a hopeless, helpless mess. Totally in love with a man she'd known for less than a week but who'd seemed in tune with her soul for a lifetime. Could she really risk messing it all up now? They hadn't even made it past the hurdle of the reunion and her hidden mission of impressing his friends.
Not to mention the very pointed fact that, in spite of all of his words of love, despite the way he looked at her and made her feel, Mike still hadn't said "I love you."
"Penny for your thoughts," Mike said, clinking his coffee cup to hers. "Feeling tired this morning?"
Carrie lifted her coffee cup to her lips and smiled naughtily over its rim. "Not as tired as I could be."
Mike laughed in surprise. "Why, Carrie St. John," he returned with a sly wink. "You are insatiable."
Only with you, she replied in her heart. Only with you.
"Okay, here's the plan," Mike informed her as he stood kissing her good-bye at her car. "First of all, you and I phone in to be sure we still have our jobs."
Carrie laughed and mussed his hair. Tuesday had somehow melted into Wednesday, and then Thursday had come along straight out of nowhere. In between it all, they'd gone out to restaurants, called in to their respective offices occasionally with "no show" excuses, and done plenty of dirtying of Mike's sheets.
"You probably ought to do the laundry while I'm gone," she teased with a poke at his chest that had now become a silent joke between them. At one point during their hours of lovemaking, Mike had maintained she'd merely given him her rigid finger as a phallic encouragement. Carrie swore to herself with a grin, she'd never give anyone but Mike Davis that sort of finger again.
"Hey, baby," he said, leaning in close and nibbling her neck. "You trying to tell me something with that finger...?"
"Mike!" she said, swatting him on the backside. "You don't watch yourself, the two of us will not only be out of jobs, we'll entirely miss your reunion."
"And what a tragedy that would be," he said, enfolding her in his arms.
"Okay," she said, reaching behind her and popping open the driver's door. "I'm going this time. Really, really going."
Mike raised one sexy eyebrow. "Well, personally, I like it better---"
"Don't you even say it, you beast!" she said, climbing into her car. "Heavens, I've become involved with an animal."
"Aw, come on now, Carrie," he said, leaning in over her door, "you know you love it."
The truth was she did. But for now, she decided, the satisfaction of that knowledge would be hers and hers alone.
\*\*\*\*
Carrie unfolded the tissue and heartily blew her nose. "Oh, Grandma Russell," she sobbed. "It's no use. There isn't going to be any wedding!" She'd decided it was time. Time to tell the truth about the whole sordid affair. Now that she'd fallen in love with Mike, she couldn't have her grandmother go on thinking he was Wilson. And---with Wilson out of the picture---there was that little matter of a wedding to cancel. Something that she'd been putting off and putting off, and finding excuses not to do.
"Now, now, honey," her grandmother said, reassuringly patting her hand. "Don't go blowing things all out of proportion like you sometimes do. I swear, you must get that from your Aunt Nellie."
Grandma Russell leaned forward and lifted her china teacup off the low tabletop in front of them. "Drink your chamomile, dear. It will make you feel better."
Carrie wrung her tissue in exasperation. Her grandmother apparently hadn't heard a word she'd said. She'd come here first to confess and secondly to beg moral support. Possibly even to seek approval---and forgiveness---for her new choice. But all she'd received thus far had been tea and crumpets with some prattle on pre-wedding-day jitters.
"You don't understand," Carrie sniffed. "Tonight's the big night."
"The reunion. Very sweet." Grandma Russell smiled as if in fond remembrance. "Dear Wilson told us all about it. He was so very proud at the prospect of having you on his arm. Never knew that New York man of yours had such local roots." She shrugged with a thoughtful smile. "Well, I suppose that does explain the accent."
Carrie set down her teacup and rummaged through her purse for her aspirin.
"If you ask me," her grandmother offered, unsolicited, "you keep popping those things, you're gonna get a hole in your stomach."
Carrie ignored that bit of advice and downed two tablets with her, by now, room-temperature tea. "It's not just the reunion, Grandmother. It's looking serious. He's taking me to meet his father!"
"Wonderful!" Grandma Russell said, clapping her hands together. She paused a moment, looking puzzled. "Are you saying you've not yet met him? And what do you mean by serious. Of course it's serious. You're getting married, aren't you?"
"No," Carrie said, dropping her eyes to the sofa and wishing with all her might she could sink right between its cushions. "No, Grandmother, I'm so sorry. There isn't going to be any wedding."
Grandma Russell set her cup down so firmly on its saucer the two pieces rattled. "Nonsense, Carrie girl! That's just pre---"
"Grandma," Carrie said, looking up through streaming eyes. "No. I'm sorry. Really, really sorry I waited until now to tell you. But I..."
Her lower lip began a violent tremble that prevented her from finishing.
Grandma Russell turned sideways and swept her into her arms. "There, there, child. Everything's going to be all right. I promise it will. Nothing at all that Wilson could have done could merit all this. There is always a way---"
"He left me, Grandmother," Carrie said, finally finding her voice. "Just like that. No warning at all. And," she said, her voice taking on a renewed tremble. "For another woman."
Grandma Russell stiffened in shock. "That letch! I never in a million years would have believed that charming man capable of---"
"Not that charming man," Carrie corrected with a shake of her head. "Wilson."
Grandma Russell's ebony eyes went wide as saucers. "Wilson? What are you saying, child? That the man you brought home---"
"An imposter," Carrie admitted, hanging her head.
Grandma Russell straightened her spine. "Well, he looked real enough to me."
"No," Carrie said, forcing herself to press ahead. "It was all a ruse. We met at the Sawyers House."
"That local inn you financed?"
Carrie nodded and kept going, lest she lose her nerve. "It was really kind of funny, in fact. When I met Mike---his name is Mike, by the way."
"Good, solid, masculine name," Grandma Russell interjected.
Carrie gave her grandmother a twisted smile. No matter what the rest of Carrie's story, Grandma Russell had quite obviously made up her mind.
"Mike Davis. Guess you like the Davis part too?"
Grandma Russell smiled warmly. "It does have a certain ring to it. Listen, sweetheart, you can fill me in on the particulars you'd like to. But it really isn't necessary. Like the television commercials say, life happens.
"So Wilson was a creep and left you. Good riddance to that one, I say! And this Mike---Mike Davis, the man who not only can't keep his eyes off you in a crowded room but also wowed your family, just happened to be at the right place at the right time. I think it's beautiful. It's fate. And he's a hunk. You're three for three on this one. Looks, tenderness, compassion... What on earth are you staring at, child? Did I forget to wax my mustache?"
"Do you really think so?" Carrie asked, studying her grandmother's face for wisdom. "Believe Mike and I met for a reason? That in spite of our odd beginnings, it was somehow meant to be?"
"Certainly, I think so! Didn't I ever tell you how your grandpa and I met?"
Carrie shook her head. She'd thought she'd heard all of Grandma Russell's stories by now, but this, apparently, was a new one.
"It was back in the days of panty raids..." her Grandma began sheepishly.
Carrie chortled. "They still do those, Grandmother."
"Do they now? Well, how prehistoric! At any rate, as I was saying, it was back... Well, whatever! I'll just cut to the chase and tell you. The October of my Freshman year at the Women's College, there was a panty raid on my dorm one night. And your old grandpa just happened to be below my window in the marauding crowd."
"You threw your panties at Grandpa?" Carrie gasped. From the little she remembered of her grandfather, he'd always seemed such a straight arrow.
"Not my panties, heavens no. Needed those. Tossed something much more enticing..."
Carrie waited patiently as her grandmother drew out the moment for suspense.
"Myself!"
"Yourself? You threw yourself out the window?"
"Well, not intentionally or anything like that. But I was young, you see. A brand-new student. And it was all so exciting and hedonistic. The very idea of panty raids."
Carrie giggled, trying to envision her white-haired grandparents in the picture Grandma Russell was painting.
"Well, anyhow," her grandmother continued. "I was leaning out the window just a bit, trying to get a better look at the boys down below. One was quite handsome. Tall, redheaded, sure of himself. Looked to me like a Scot."
"Grandpa," Carrie guessed.
Grandma Russell smiled, then chuckled at the faraway memory. "Indeed, it was your grandfather. And a very striking young man, at that. Well, I happened to catch his eye, you see. I could tell because there he was at the bottom of the window looking straight up at me. Not chanting or carrying on like the other boys. Just very stoically standing there, looking up with the most curious smile. And then it happened. Somebody moved behind me, and I lost my balance and fell. Tumbled right out the window and over the sill---straight into your grandfather's arms!"
"He caught you?" Carrie gasped.
"More or less." Grandma Russell grinned and turned a curious shade of plum Carrie didn't think she'd ever seen on her grandmother. "But the important thing is, even the parts he didn't catch survived the fall. It was only half a story, with the back of our building constructed into a hill. But still, from that time on, your old grandfather and I had a lot of fun joking about that fateful day I 'fell' for him."
Carrie studied her grandmother, trying to discern whether what she'd just shared was honest-to-goodness family lore or a simple cock-and-bull story. Either way, Carrie knew and appreciated exactly what her grandmother was trying to do.
"So, then," Carrie said, balling up her tissue and tucking it into her purse. "There's something to this fate business after all."
"Not a doubt in the world."
Carrie's face fell. "But we'll still have to cancel the wedding, Grandmother. I've been avoiding making all the calls. Every time I've picked up that telephone, something inside just wouldn't let me do it."
"Well." Her grandmother smiled. "Maybe that something inside knows there is going to be a wedding after all."
Mike stared into his closet and frowned. Less than two hours to showtime and not a thing to wear.
He scratched his head, thumbing through the several designer suits Alexia had given him. It was no wonder he didn't like his wardrobe. It was all a patent reminder of not-so-pleasant times gone by. Well, all right, maybe not all of it.
Mike pulled out a charcoal gray suit, one of the few he had purchased on his own. The others, he realized, would have to go. Not to mention that glaring ring on his dresser.
Why Mike had waited so long to return Alexia's ring, he really couldn't say. For sure, he needed the money. And the Caymans...
Mike laid out his suit on the bed, recalling the long, lazy, and often playful afternoons most recently spent with Carrie. Was chasing his dive-shop dream really all it was cracked up to be? If that was still what he so desperately wanted, why hadn't he already cashed in that ring---or called the jewelers, at least, to make arrangements.
Mike walked to the mirror hanging above his dresser, realizing the startling truth. There were simply far too many things holding him to Virginia. His dad, of course, was currently on his own. But eventually, he'd need more personal looking after. Mike had already done some investigating. Private-care arrangements were expensive. No way could Mike realistically budget for those and still be able to sink money into starting a new business.
And then there was Carrie to think of. Carrie St. John, the woman who'd admitted with a full heart that she loved him and whom his own raging insides told him he loved back. And yet Mike hadn't been able to find the words to tell her. Perhaps because he was still coming to terms with the concept himself. Or maybe, more critically, because he believed on a superstitious level that, by admitting his feelings, he would somehow jinx what was happening between them.
In spite of his track record, Mike had never told any woman he loved her. Not even, surprisingly, Alexia. Adore, yes. Worship, on occasion. But love? Those three little words had never slipped from his mouth. And the reason for this was crystal clear, Mike saw, looking in the mirror.
The day he finally uttered those words would be the day he was prepared to ask a woman to be his wife---and really mean it. None of this marriage of convenience BS or racing to beat any sort of artificial time clock. Just a true, honest desire to share the here and now, and forever after, with the woman of his dreams.
Mike's eyes dropped to Alexia's ring, glistening on the dresser top. Maybe returning it wasn't what he needed to do after all. Perhaps that was what the hesitancy in his gut about taking back the ring had been trying to tell him all along.
Mike walked to his nightstand and picked up the telephone to call the jewelers---with one very important question.
Carrie reached behind her and zipped the back of her red-sequined dress. She straightened and studied her reflection in the mirror, hoping she wasn't going overboard. The plunging neckline, though not untasteful, still might be a little much.
Carrie held a couple of dangling earrings up to her lobes and considered the picture. A little too uptown? Licentious, even? The lady in red...
Carrie walked to her closet on her tiptoes, carefully lifting the hem of her dress off the polished oak floor. With heels on, the length was perfect. And the height difference between her and Mike certainly allowed for any size heel Carrie desired.
With Wilson standing five foot ten, only two inches above her own five eight, she'd always had to be more careful.
Carrie stopped considering the two pairs of shoes in her hands and realized for the first time she hadn't thought of Wilson in days. Of course, she'd mentioned him in her conversation with her grandmother. But, in truth, even in speaking his name then, she'd thought more of his imitator Mike than Wilson himself. In fact, it appeared Wilson had been replaced entirely by Mike Davis.
Oh dear. Carrie made her shoe choice, then gripped her hem and tiptoed back over to the bed, wondering if this was good. She'd warned herself sternly about the rebound thing. But surely this wasn't what this was. It was fate, a preordained opportunity---just like Grandma Russell had said. And if she ever thought of Wilson Haywood again, she conceded, it would have to be in gratitude. For had he not dumped her on precisely that day at precisely that time, she wouldn't have wandered down to that pool.
Carrie sighed, recalling her startling introduction to her "swim god." Not nearly as dramatic as what had happened to her grandmother but certainly unforgettable in its own special way. Carrie would never forget how Mike had taken her breath away when he rose from the water, dripping wet, insinuating moisture racing down every trail of his muscular body.
Carrie swallowed and sat to slip on her shoes. Well, maybe the dress was a little showy. But she'd clearly seen enough of Mike that he deserved reciprocation.
Carrie blushed at the notion that he found her beautiful. That he found her body enticing, alluring...feminine. Not only had he failed to mention her "figure flaws," he, in his manly appreciation, appeared totally unaware they existed.
Carrie slid in the earrings, then stood to examine the total effect. The dress was exquisite, the shoes and jewelry the perfect complement. But what shone out among it all was the light in her eyes. The fresh color in her cheeks. The first dewdrops of love everlasting.
If Mike could do this to her now, Carrie realized, she'd be a real stunner by the time she reached Grandma Russell's age.
\*\*\*\*
Mike took the winding country road that snaked through the open tract of undeveloped land. As per Carrie's instructions, he started counting mailboxes when he got to the top of the hill. When he hit number four, he made a hard right and steered down the gravel drive that led through a covering of trees. And then his passage through the cluster of woods spilled out into open pasture. A huge purple-blue sky draped with lazy clouds danced high above the nearby mountains. The scenery took his breath away.
Mike spotted the small white-stucco house nestled back against the edge of the property. And, as he drew closer, he spied its immaculate gardens forming a meticulous border around the cottage's outside. Boxwoods and azaleas, tastefully interspersed by wild flowers, lavender, and zinnias. And nearer the railing of the small wraparound porch, towering sunflowers strained skyward to catch their last glimpse of the fading day.
Up on the porch there was a swing, patently built for two. Mike sighed, taking in the idyllic picture, thinking the only thing that would make it complete would be a passel of kids playing in the grassy yard that butted up against the neighboring orchard.
Mike suddenly looked down at his watch, realizing he'd been sitting there daydreaming. Daydreaming about a home and a houseful of kids. His kids, he realized with vibrant shock. His and Carrie's.
Mike scrambled from the car, warning himself to take things slow. Follow through with his premeditated plan. For all of his previous slipups, this was one thing he was going to get right.
Mike stepped up onto the porch, straightened his tie, then rang the doorbell. When nothing sounded inside, he tried waiting a few moments, then knocking instead.
A few seconds later, Carrie pulled back the door. "Oh, I'm sorry, did you try knocking? I've been meaning---"
But Mike stopped her with a deep, rumbling, "Wow! Carrie, you look like a million bucks."
Another point she'd made plans to discuss with him, Carrie reminded herself, making space for him to scoot by her into the room. "Thanks, you look terrific too." And, boy, did he ever. Very stylish in his charcoal gray with muted pinstripes.
Carrie shut the door behind them and looked down at her dress. "You sure this isn't too much for tonight? I mean, I didn't really know how formal the dinner-dance was going to be."
"You look perfect," he assured her, a panther-like look in his eyes. "Absolutely perfect. In fact," he said, pulling her into his arms, "if I hadn't already promised you dinner..."
"Mike!" she protested, pushing back on his shoulders, "you'll muss my hair!"
"That won't be all," he said, kissing her sweetly but then pulling back when she exploded in laughter.
"Have my skills deteriorated that badly?" he asked, offended.
"Oh no," she said, laughing as she reached for a tissue from the entrance table and dabbed his lips. "It's just that you're wearing my Magenta Rose." She chuckled again. "And, I'm not so sure that's the impression you wanted to give at this reunion."
"Ah," Mike said, smiling and kissing the tissue in understanding. "Better now?"
"Don't know." Carrie brought a hand to her chin. "Maybe we ought to try it again, just to be sure?"
Mike gave her a teasing wink. "Why, Carrie St. John, if you keep threatening me with kisses..."
"No, no," she said, lifting her purse off the table. "You promised your dad we'd be there at six and it's already half past. If we're going to have any opportunity for a visit before the dance, we'd best get going."
"Only if you promise we can play that little lipstick game later on."
"All you want," she said, beaming up at him as he held back the door.
Mike pulled open the screen door of the trailer, letting Carrie inside.
Jack Davis stood from his chair at the kitchen table with a cat-calling whistle.
"Dad!" Mike admonished, standing beside Carrie just inside the door.
Carrie's cheeks lit with color, but she remained composed as she crossed the small room and extended a warm hand in the older man's direction. "Mr. Davis---"
"Nope," he broke in, taking her hand and surprising her by pulling her into a bear hug. "You, young lady, can call me Jack."
Carrie returned his firm squeeze.
"Jack," she said, patting his back. "Mighty glad to meet you."
Jack pulled back and gave her a broad, welcoming grin. "She's even prettier than you let on, boy," he directed at his son. "Might just think about keeping this one for myself."
Mike walked over and whisked Carrie out of his father's arms. "Sorry about that, old man. But I got to her first, and you know what they say---"
"Finders, keepers," Mike and Carrie parroted together.
Jack's eyes sparkled. "Quite a handsome pair the two of you make. So, when's the big day?"
Mike swallowed hard.
"June 23rd," Carrie raced in. "The church has been reserved for months."
Jack shot Mike a quizzical look. "That so? I was under the impression the two of you had only recently met."
"Yeah, but I'd been hoping," Carrie said, giving Mike a megawatt smile.
June 23rd? What on earth...? Oh, okay, Mike got it. Maybe this was all a little part of the rehearsal for Carrie's big performance at the reunion. Well, fine, he could play along with that. For now. Assuming Carrie accepted his authentic proposal---and that was still a big "if," his dad certainly wouldn't mind a change in dates later on. Jack wasn't, and never had been, a stickler for details.
"It's a really long story," Mike said, reaching down and taking Carrie's hand. "The important thing is, we've already set some of those...uh, wheels in motion."
Mike didn't know the half of it, Carrie thought, giving his hand a squeeze. Not only did they have a church and a reception hall reserved but also a caterer and a three-hundred-dollar wedding cake. Mint chocolate, through a little creative rearranging, on Carrie's part, she thought, feeling rather proud of herself. The only thing standing in their way was the minor detail of the formal marriage proposal. And that little nuance of Mike's admitting he loved her, which, by now, she was quite certain he did. He'd brought her home to meet his father, hadn't he? Even Alexia, as it turned out, hadn't gotten that far.
"Yes," Carrie said, taking the chair at the table Jack had offered. Mike pulled out another and sat beside her. "But we can get to all those details later. We still have plenty of time."
Jack shook his head with an eye on his wall calendar. "Looks more like two weeks, by my calculation. Now I don't know much about women stuff, planning weddings and all that, but it really seems to me the two of you might be cutting things a bit tight here."
Carrie and Mike looked at each other.
"Not that I'd want to do anything to discourage ya!" Jack said, whacking Mike across the shoulder in a sign of approval. "You just tell me what I'll need to do from my end."
"Not a thing, Dad. Not a thing."
"You could walk me down the aisle," Carrie raced in impetuously. She bit her lip in hesitation as Mike dropped his jaw and stared. "I mean," she continued tentatively, "I never knew my father, and Grandpa's been gone for years..."
"I'd be honored," Jack said, a barely perceptible moisture gathering in the corner of one eye.
Holy cow! Was she nuts! How could she even do this to him? Why would she even do this do him? Nothing like this was in his presupposed plan. Though he'd hoped to ask that big, big question. He was still smack dab in the middle of finessing the hows and whens. Now, if he didn't act soon, he'd be lunch meat in his father's eyes. Just look at him! Less than ten minutes flat, and his dad was already eating right out of Carrie's hand!
"Uh, Carrie, sweetheart," Mike said, laying a hand on her forearm resting on the table. "Don't you think that invitation is a little---premature?"
"Premature? Heavens no!" she said, wriggling her arm out from under his grasp and glowing at Jack. "Like your dad said, our wedding is only two weeks away."
Our wedding. It was the first time Mike had actually heard her say it. And it sent simultaneous shivers of delight and terror straight through him. This was really going to happen. He and Carrie. All pretending aside. Holy cow.
Mike withdrew a hanky from his breast pocket and dabbed his dampened brow.
"I agree," Jack said. "Two weeks is no time at all. Besides," he said, looking very pointedly at Mike, "she asked me, not you, young man. So, stay out of it!"
Jack returned his affectionate gaze to Carrie. Though his hair had gone completely gray, Carrie could definitely see where Mike had gotten the gorgeous green eyes from. "So, young lady, tell me a bit about yourself. You from these parts?"
"Yes, sir, grew up in Mill Creek, right around the bend. And Mike and I, as it turns out, both went to the university."
"Not together, I would guess? You seem a good bit younger than Mike."
Carrie grinned. "Only a few years, sir. But, you're right, we're far enough apart that we weren't in school at the same time."
"Ships passing in the night," Jack commented with a rather melancholy smile.
"More like swimmers," Mike mumbled under his breath.
"What's that?" Jack asked when Carrie burst out laughing.
"He's just being silly," Carrie said, kicking Mike under the table.
"Won't be the first time," Jack said. "Well, at least it's good to see his taste in women has improved. Are you working in the area?" he asked Carrie.
"Yes, I'm an investor."
Jack whistled. "Big money in that, hear tell."
"Dad..." Mike cautioned in a low vibrato.
Not here, not now, Carrie told herself. "Uh, yes, sir. Yes, sir, there is."
Carrie glanced down at her styled gold watch, the one she reserved just for evening wear. "Oh my gosh, will you look at that! Seven fifteen. How far a drive did you say it was?" she asked, turning to Mike.
"Hey, yeah, we'd better get going," he said, standing from his chair. "Dad," he said, giving his father's shoulder a pat. "You take care, now. And no more flirting with those nurses. If I get one more call from Dr. Shafer's office about your hitting on the staff..."
Carrie laughed all the way to the car.
"Does your dad really hit on the nurses?" Carrie asked once she'd adjusted her seat belt.
"Only the pretty ones."
Carrie smiled and shook her head as Mike started the ignition. "Now I definitely see where you get it from." But what Carrie secretly found herself wondering was if any of her and Mike's children would be half as bad.
\*\*\*\*
The parade of oaks leading up to Ashton Hall was magnificent. Though Carrie had heard of the all-boys boarding school, she'd never once been there. Likely because the high school circles she'd run with didn't exactly involve a "moneyed" crowd.
Carrie had plans to discuss her financial "predicament," meaning the fact that she was exceedingly wealthy, with Mike tonight. The time for pretense was over. He'd proven well enough, in a million different ways, that the woman he cared for had nothing to do with her bank account. Of course, he'd seen her car and knew she worked in finance. What he didn't know was that her title in New York was Venture Capitalist and that her account balance registered in the seven digits.
Carrie prayed inwardly that it wouldn't make too much difference. Mike certainly didn't strike her as the sort of man who would feel emasculated by a wife who made more money. The impression he'd given her was that Alexia had been well-off, and that, in and of itself, apparently hadn't fazed him in the least. "Thank you for doing this," Mike said, shutting off the engine and pulling his keys from the ignition. "You don't know what it means to me to have you on my arm tonight."
Oh yes, she did. Because whether or not he suspected it, it meant just as much to her. And not simply because she planned to pose as his fiancée for the night. But, more importantly, because she hoped to soon make that role a legitimate position.
Mike walked around the car and opened her door. "You ready to be my bride-to-be?" he asked with a grin that sent her stomach all aflutter.
More than he knew. But she just said, "Yes."
Ashton Hall was an impressive two-hundred-year-old red-brick building, elegant, high white columns flanking the tall main entrance. The striking Georgian architecture reminded Carrie of parts of the college campus where she and Mike had both studied.
"Wow," Carrie said as Mike ushered her in the door.
The domed central ceiling, in and of itself, must have reached over forty feet. Elegant crystal chandeliers dripped light like sparkling teardrops onto the well-placed circular tables that dotted the perimeter of the room.
White linen tablecloths lapped hand-sewn oriental carpets. And above the clatter of clinking glasses and conversation, a band played jazzy eighties tunes from a stage set up far against a back wall.
The mood was all genteel opulence. They'd been standing there scarcely five seconds when a server strode briskly over, offering up a tray of champagne.
"Carrie?" Mike asked, lifting a single flute off the tray and extending it in her direction.
From the trailer park to this. All at once, the disparity hit her. "Thank you," Carrie said, accepting the champagne.
Mike picked up a glass of his own, and the white-gloved server made himself scarce.
Carrie took another look around the room. "I said it before, but it bears repeating. Wow."
"I know it must seem odd," Mike said. "I mean, after seeing the place I grew up."
Carrie heated at the notion that he'd read her thoughts. How embarrassing. He probably assumed her to be judging him. "No, actually---"
"It's all right. Really. Though I may have been somewhat ashamed of my humble roots as a teenager..."
"You should never have felt ashamed of your father, Mike. He's a wonderful man."
"Easy for me to accept now," he told her as they made their way into the busy room. "Not so easy for a boy in high school. I landed at Ashton Academy like a total fish out of water."
"Scholarship?" Carrie guessed.
"Swimming."
She might have known. "Well, I think it's fantastic you had the opportunity. When I was a teenager, I didn't even know places like this existed."
An attractive couple wandered over. A pretty blonde and a stocky brunet about Mike's age. The husky fellow set his glass on a nearby table and took up Mike's free hand with great gusto. "Mike the Spike!" he said, cheerily pumping Mike's arm. "Great to see you, buddy!
Mike's eyes lit up. "Figaro? Oh, my... How are you?" he asked with unfeigned delight. "Uh, oh, forgive me. Carrie St. John, this is Fig."
"Fig's not his real name," the blonde interjected. "It's Paul. Paul Westinghouse III."
Mike chuckled and turned his eyes on the woman. "Why, hello. Are you the lucky missus?"
"Am at that." She smiled. "My name's Wendy. And you, officially, are...?"
"Mike Davis," Carrie supplied, easily following the protocol where the women spoke for the men. She could get used to that. "But I want to know where that 'spike' part came from," she said, playfully poking Mike in the chest.
Mike looked down at her rigid finger and chuckled at their private joke. "Now, don't go getting any dirty ideas," he whispered in her ear. He turned and winked at Paul. "Spike comes from the way I used to dive."
"Straight out like this," Paul said, striking a pose by extending his arms arrow-straight over his head. The group broke out laughing.
"And Fig?" Carrie asked with a grin. "I can't fathom that one."
"That's because he swam like a song," Wendy reported. "You know, Figaro, Figaro, Figaro..."
"Yeah, a swan's song," Mike chimed in.
More companionable laughter.
"So, you two were on the swim team together?" Carrie asked.
"Yes, ma'am," Paul answered, "though it looks like your husband's keeping much more fit than I am. Congratulations, by the way," he said, turning to Mike and once more pumping his hand. "Somebody made an honest man of you after all."
"Well, not quite," Mike began.
"Yeah," Carrie said. "He's still as dishonest as they come."
Paul and Wendy roared.
"Know what you mean," Wendy added. "Once incorrigible, always incorrigible. Wedding band or no."
Wait a minute! What was happening here? He was assumed to be married? Mike shifted and dug his left hand into his pocket.
"Well, buddy," Paul said, lifting his glass in Mike and Carrie's direction. "Guess you had us all fooled. Heartiest congratulations on your excellent taste."
When Paul and Wendy had made their polite good-byes and departed to mill with other guests, Mike turned to Carrie. "Holy cow, those guys thought we were married!"
"Imagine that," Carrie said with a curious poker face. "Well," she said after a brief silence, "stop staring. It's what you wanted, isn't it? To be known as the man who beat his perpetual bachelor status?"
"Well, yes, but---"
"Look," Carrie interrupted. "People are getting seated. We'd better find our places before they start serving."
Mike and Carrie were lucky enough to find their place cards at the same table with Paul and Wendy and a few more of Mike's old swim-team cronies. Mike looked around the room, seeing that many of the other groups that hung together in high school had also been placed together at their respective tables. Whoever had been in charge of the seating chart had done an excellent job.
The various courses flowed by with good conversation and wine, both of which seemed in endless supply. Everyone at their table was duly impressed with Carrie, both her financial acumen and her personal style. Mike could tell by the body postures of his former fellow athletes who seemed intent on angling close to Carrie to absorb her every informed word on the financial markets. Either that or to catch a whiff of her heather perfume, which made Mike more than just a little bit jealous. Though he didn't know why. She was doing exactly as he'd hoped she would, knocking the socks off every one of his buddies. If only they didn't look like they'd be happy to also have Carrie knock their boxers off...
"You've been quiet," Carrie whispered in his ear. "Getting tired?"
"Just tired of the conversation," Mike whispered back.
"Ah," she replied, her tone still hushed, "finance bores you."
"No," Mike said, his voice coming out louder than intended. "Men putting the moves on my 'wife' bore me."
The two couples seated across the table from them stopped conversing and stared.
Oh Jesus. Mike pushed back his chair and stood. "Excuse me, I'm going to get some air."
"Then I'm coming with you!" Carrie said, scrambling to her feet and hurrying after him.
Carrie followed Mike out a large glass door that led to a sweeping veranda, then settled beside him on a carved marble bench. She couldn't believe it. He was jealous! All rationale told her that was a bad sign. The books, the magazines all told you that jealousy meant possessiveness. But way deep inside, Carrie's heart was doing a jig, shouting yes, yes, yes!
He loved her; she knew he did. All she had to do was get him to say it.
"If any of those men were flirting," Carrie lied, "I certainly didn't know it."
"Flirting? Carrie, Billy Smith looked like he was ready to up and carry you away! That, with his wife Elizabeth sitting next to him!"
"Mike," Carrie said, scooting in toward him. "Only one man in this crowd could carry me away. And I think you know exactly who that is."
Oh, if only, Mike thought, looking up at the big, bold moon. But what if when he really asked, she said no? Mike had nothing to offer her. Nothing but what was in his heart. And Carrie already had it all. He knew from talking to her grandmother. Feeling it only right, he'd gone by this afternoon to discuss his intentions. Grandma Russell had assured him that the money business didn't really matter one way or another. And, at the time, feeling hopeful, he'd believed it.
Now he just didn't know. Mike had seen the way Carrie's jaw had dropped when she'd walked in here. Though she came from more humble roots like he had, this was the sort of world she was meant for. That ambition was what had taken her to New York. And to see the way she had meshed with his Wall Street buddies at the table, he guessed that was where she belonged. Certainly not stuck permanently in Central Virginia with the likes of him, much less down in the far-off Caymans. Mike heaved a sigh, his heart heavy with the moment.
"Penny for your thoughts?" she said, lightly touching his arm.
"Carrie," he began, "there are some things I need to tell you."
"No," she said, laying a hand on his thigh. "Me first."
Mike looked up into her beautiful dark eyes sparkling with starlight.
"I think," she began, then stopped. Come on, Carrie, don't lose your nerve. But what if he couldn't love her for who she really was, a woman with money? What if he said they were too different, that their lives were worlds apart?
"What do you think?"
"Mike, I have something personal to tell you. I mean, personal about my job. Of course, normally, it's nobody's business, so I don't discuss it at all. But with a man I... What I meant to say was... Criminy!"
"Criminy?" Mike asked, leaning in and raising her chin.
"Oh gosh, it's an expression I picked up from my grandmother."
"Speaking of your Grandma Russell..."
"No, Mike," she said, lightly brushing aside his hand. "Let me finish. It's very important to me I get this out---before I lose my nerve."
Mike set his palms on his thighs and waited.
"Mike, I'm---"
"Dirty rich," he said, turning his eyes on hers.
Carrie gasped. "Have you been talking to my grandmother?"
"Carrie, beautiful Carrie," he said, cupping his hands over her satiny shoulders. "Did you for one minute think that wealth would be a hindrance?"
Carrie nodded but saw nothing besides her own confusion mirrored in his eyes.
"Honey, the only one setting up roadblocks here with his miserable life is me. You, Carrie St. John, have everything any woman could ask for. You're intelligent, attractive, accomplished at your job---and rich. I, on the other hand---"
"Oh," she said, scooting back and out of his grip. "So you are holding my bank account against me."
"That's not what I said."
"Well, it's certainly what you implied by telling me I already had it all. For your 411, I don't. At least not what I most want in here." She stopped and thumped her chest. "And in case you haven't heard, money can't buy you love."
"Oh, I know that for certain," Mike assured her. "And for your information, though I had suspicions you had money, my falling in love with you had nothing to do with your bank account!"
"Your what?" she asked, her voice softening in disbelief.
Holy cow! He'd gone and done it. And for crying out loud, right smack in the middle of the closest thing they'd had to an argument yet.
Carrie reached up and pinned his face between her hands. "Repeat what you just said."
Do it better this time, Mike warned himself. Much better.
"I, uh..." Mike swallowed hard past the lump in his throat. "Carrie, it's true. I know I was a jackass at dinner..." Oh great, he was doing just wonderfully. Curse words and all. "I mean, I know I overreacted. But, in truth, it drove me crazy seeing those other guys vying for your attention. And it made me think about... Realize just what a danger it would be to have you on the open market." Nice, Mike. Real smooth, you unromantic doofus! Well, at least she wasn't laughing.
It was all Carrie could do to stifle a chuckle. He was trying so hard it almost hurt her to watch. For all his experience with women, it was overwhelmingly obvious Mike Davis was, at this moment, mapping uncharted territory.
"Carrie St. John," he said, the words erupting from his throat like red-hot lava. "I love you."
Carrie wasn't sure whether he looked more amorous or petrified, but whatever it was, she understood that Mike had just put his heart on the line.
"And I love you back," she said, bringing the cushion of her mouth up to his.
"Now," she said after their long, languorous kiss, "let's go dance while the two of us still seem to be agreeing on something."
"I don't like to dance," Mike protested.
"Oh yes, you do," Carrie answered with a mysterious grin. "I'll prove it."
Carrie was right about the dancing part, Mike thought, reveling in the comfort of her curvaceous body snuggled up against his own. The song playing was a band arrangement of Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven." It had been the only song in high school, Mike recalled, shutting his eyes, that even the nerdiest guys could get a dance for. Though he wasn't prepared to tell Carrie just yet, in his day, the swim-team fellows weren't the most sought after of the jocks. Mike's early successes with women came later, in college. But now, thinking back to his Ashton days and gently swaying to the music with Carrie, he was glad for every forgotten dance. Every pigtailed, pug-nosed girl who'd ever rejected him. And yes, even snooty Alexia. For if it hadn't been for any of them, he would have had no way of knowing exactly what he held in his arms now.
The music slowed to a stall and polite applause, and Mike feared the band leader would pick up his tempo. But instead he sent a smile over Carrie's shoulder and gave Mike a knowing wink as he began a slow, jazzy rendition of "Lady in Red."
Carrie didn't know if the music was still playing, or if it was merely the pulse of her heart that was lending rhythm to her feet. All she knew was that she felt protected, sheltered, and loved. Wholly and unconditionally drawn straight into Mike's warmth. They couldn't have been more connected had they been in bed together. Or maybe they were, and she was dreaming.
Mike reached up and stroked her hair, causing her to melt into him another inch. He'd never peel her off now. Carrie couldn't even say where Mike ended and she began. The only thing she knew for certain was that she never wanted this feeling to stop.
"I'm sorry, folks," the band leader said, lightly tapping Mike's shoulder. "But we're closing up."
Carrie opened her eyes in astonishment to find the room had cleared. Only a few staff persons remained, busily bussing tables and stacking up chairs.
"Holy cow," Mike said, squinting into the brightness of the lights that were now turned way, way up.
"Holy cow is right," Carrie said, bolting back into foggy reality and sweeping a hand through her hair. "We've shut the place down!"
\*\*\*\*
A few hours later, Carrie stroked a hand down Mike's naked chest and snuggled deeper into the crook of his arm. "You know," she said as moonlight threaded through the spreading oak outside and danced with the sheers at the open window, "I really loved being your wife tonight."
Mike tightened his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. "And I really loved the honeymoon," he said with a growl.
"Mike!" she said, swatting his biceps.
Her hand relaxed against his skin and began to massage. He was all solid muscle but with just enough give. Rock hard, with a covering of bristly masculinity. Carrie shivered as she felt a renewed stirring in her loins. It was true. She was insatiable with Mike. But then what woman in her right mind wouldn't be? No woman who would ever get the chance to find out again, Carrie told herself securely.
"You know," Mike said, trailing a finger down her back to the point where it met the sheet. "You were right about that dancing part. I sound like a sappy movie, but I could have danced all night."
"Hmm," Carrie said, laying a light kiss on his shoulder. "But I'm awfully glad we came back to tango here."
Mike chuckled and patted her backside. "I could get used to this."
Carrie's heart stilled.
"Carrie?" Mike asked, as the wind rattled the window panes. "How would you feel about making things more permanent?"
Carrie's insides did cartwheels, but somehow she'd gone mute.
"I mean, I'm not asking---yet."
"What?" she asked, finding her voice.
"You'll have to trust me on this. I really want things to be perfect. You deserve perfect."
Carrie didn't understand. Nor could she imagine anything more perfect than this. "This---"
Mike rolled sideways and shushed her with a kiss. "You'll have to trust me, okay? Just swear you won't go running off with any of my old swim-team buddies within the next couple of days."
"Not a chance," Carrie said, her heart thundering as he threaded his fingers in her hair and brought his mouth to hers.
"So?" Grandma Russell asked. "Tell all, sweetness! Details, details! You haven't been answering the phone all morning."
Carrie walked to the kitchen with her portable phone and poured her coffee. "I'm answering now, aren't I?"
"Yes. But that only proves he's finally gone."
Carrie smiled into her coffee mug, feeling wicked. For some reason, Grandma Russell's accurate suspicion that Mike had stayed over didn't embarrass her. She was a grown woman, after all. And her grandmother, for one, didn't sound the least bit offended. "Why, Grandma Russell!" Carrie said, feigning shock.
"Goodness, child," her grandmother retorted, "I wasn't born yesterday. So, tell me. I'm all ears. Did he pop the question?"
Carrie frowned. "No."
"No?" her grandmother said with surprise. "Well, that's a man for you. Probably waiting till the time is right."
Now it was Carrie's turn to be surprised. "Grandma Russell, you are one cagey old bird, aren't you? How ever did you know?"
"Tweet, tweet," her grandma said with a chuckle. "Oh darling, just because my hair's gone mostly gray doesn't mean I've forgotten entirely how the male species operates. You can chase them back all you'd like during the courting stage, but when it comes to asking the 'big one,' most men still want to feel like it's their idea. Even if it generally isn't."
Carrie took a sip of her coffee and sat in the big easy chair that afforded her a view of the mountains. "Men!" she said, but her mood was lighthearted. He'd said he loved her. Loved her! And then that talk about making things permanent.
"Indeed," Grandma Russell answered. "But who, honestly, wants to live without them?"
Carrie knew that she didn't, not any longer than she possibly had to.
"So," her grandma asked. "We still on for the 23rd? The caterer phoned this morning, wanting the second half of her money."
Carrie hesitated. Talk about risky investments... But now was not the time to push Mike with a timetable. Her grandmother was right. At this point, it was important for him to take things on his own terms. To go at his own pace. Carrie thumped the table nervously with her free hand. "Sure," she said, biting into her bottom lip. "Why not? It's only money."
Grandma Russell laughed. "You, child, are probably the only person I know who could say that and really mean it."
Mike got down on one knee and looked up at his father. "Okay, Dad, tell me how this sounds..."
"What you got your elbows all sticking out for? You trying to imitate a chicken?"
Mike pursed his lips and stood. "Are you going to cooperate or aren't you? I thought you liked her."
"Love her, son. She's a regular doll. And, not so incidentally, probably way too good for you. But I can't for the life of me understand what you're all so hellfire worried over. You never practiced up for any of the others."
Mike blew a hard breath and ran his fingers through his hair. "Well, maybe the other times weren't nearly as important."
His dad laughed and shook his head. "You, boy, are the only man I know who asks women to marry him just as easily as most ask girls out for burgers."
"You aiming to insult me?" Mike asked, setting his hands on his hips.
"Nope. Just wondering. Does Carrie know about the long line of others before her?"
"She knows about Alexia."
"And what about Marianne? The one with the big..." Jack made a curvy motion in the air with his hands.
"You really do have a one-track mind, you know that?
Jack twisted his lips in scrutiny. "You're really going to do it this time, aren't you? What about that island thing? You always said if you found the right girl to share your dream..."
Mike felt the sweat form at his brow. "Carrie doesn't even know about that island thing. Besides," he said, unable to keep his face from falling just a bit, "like you're so fond of saying, Dad, you can't have it all. At least, not if you come from the same side of the tracks we do."
Jack raised his eyebrows and studied his son. "If you'll recall, boy, another thing that I'm fond of saying is, it never hurts to ask. Have you even talked with her about it?"
"Ridiculous," Mike said, shaking his head. "The whole notion is pie-in-the-sky at this point. Besides, if she says yes to my proposal, I'm going to have to find a way to up my income here. Not go tossing pennies in a far-off well. I've been thinking that maybe I could talk my broker, Colleen, into making me a partner. My sales have been really high lately, after all."
"I thought Carrie was well-off."
"Exceptionally well-off. Precisely why I can't let her think I won't carry my weight. Maybe it's old-fashioned of me, but I inherited my values from you."
His dad gave him a proud smile.
"Now," Mike said, dropping back down on his knees. "You going to help me with this or not?"
Jack held out a leathered hand. "Yes, dear," he said, in a high falsetto. "You were saying that I hung the moon...?"
Carrie walked into her office and dropped some files on her secretary's desk. "Mary?" Carrie said, looking down at the trim young woman. "Didn't expect to find you here on a Sunday."
Mary pushed her gold wire-rim glasses up a bit higher on the bridge of her nose. "Yes, ma'am. Well, it seems that we've fallen a bit...uh, behind this week."
Carrie flushed, knowing that was because of her series of unexcused absences.
"Just here catching up."
"Great," Carrie smiled. "Me too." Since she and Mike had slept in, they'd completely missed the opportunity for the Ashton Academy reunion picnic. Yet somehow that thought hadn't mattered to either of them.
Carrie walked back to her desk, dismayed to find the pink message notes practically spilling off it. She really had been gone awhile. And now, she thought, looking down at her watch, since it was Sunday there wasn't much she could do about the phone calls. Well, there was computer work to do. And, she could check up on the stock reports, compose some letters.
Carrie plopped down in her chair, the brilliance of an idea hitting her. He hadn't mentioned it in days. But then again, in spite of her deepest desires, Carrie hadn't exactly been spouting picket fences either. Mike was just the sort of man to give up his dream for the woman he loved. But what he still didn't know was that in love, all things were possible.
"Mary," she said, calling out to her secretary. "Do we still have that old file on the Caymans?"
"Acquisition proposal?" Mary called back.
"That's the one." The thick one that contained all that research Mary'd done on property availability and Mom-and-Pop investment opportunities.
"Yes, ma'am. Got it around here somewhere. Though some of that information is bound to be dated."
"How long will it take you to correct that?"
"About twenty-four hours," Mary said, carting the heavy file over to Carrie's desk with a smile.
\*\*\*\*
Mike strode purposefully into his broker's office, a broad smile on his face. "Colleen," he announced. "I'm getting married."
Colleen raised her eyebrows above the listings she was perusing but didn't look up. "That's nice." She laid down the papers and pulled a pen from her desk drawer. "Mike," she said, circling a few of the real-estate offerings detailed before her. "These are the ones I want you to call on first."
Mike stepped forward and snatched the stack off her desk. "Colleen! Didn't you hear me? I said---"
Colleen cocked her head to the side and called out in a big, bellowing tone that attracted the attention of two agents working at the copier, "Call a news conference! Send out the releases! Mike Davis is getting married..."
He glared at her.
"Again," she finished more quietly.
The other agents, a man and a woman, both junior colleagues of Mike's, went back to work with respective shrugs.
"Listen, Mike," Colleen said, clearing her throat and looking combative. Her eyes were an icy blue that matched the color of the glasses' chain around her neck. Glasses, Mike had noticed, she never seemed to wear but often seemed to look for. "Your little absences last week put us in quite a pinch here. You owe Megan and Kurt over there, and owe them big-time for picking up your slack."
Mike sank down in the chair opposite her desk, figuring now might not be the best time to ask for a raise.
"You don't watch yourself, young man, you're going to be out of a job."
Oh no. That would be even worse than failing to secure a promotion. Mike gave a pleading smile and strove to look humble. "I'm so sorry, Colleen. Really, I am. But the thing that came up last week was---unavoidable."
"Unavoidable for five days running?"
"No, I came in on Friday."
Colleen squinted.
"For half a day," Mike said, hanging his head.
She sat there waiting like a Mother Confessor.
"Listen, Colleen. Haven't you ever been in love? I mean, really in love?"
"Yes," she answered flatly. "But apparently not as many times as you have."
Mike leaned forward and accepted the real-estate listings she was extending in his direction.
"The top ones first," she said. "They need screening for an out-of-town client. And since not all of them came with pictures---"
"No problem," Mike said, standing. "I'll get on it right away."
Carrie had tossed and turned all night, excited at the prospect of her new project. But was she really doing the right thing? What if Mike hated the idea or resented her getting involved in his professional life? Unasked, no less.
Carrie looked in the mirror and tugged at her cheeks, dismayed to see the puffy bags under her eyes didn't dissipate. Maybe she should just ask him. Flat out.
But no. That would completely ruin the surprise. Carrie had seen the way his eyes had sparkled at the mention of moving to the Caymans. Once, she was certain, that had been his goal. But now, with her in the picture, could it be he was planning to put it aside? He hadn't even mentioned it since that early conversation back at the inn. Maybe he thought the idea wouldn't appeal to her.
Carrie considered how awful it would be to have something, or even somebody, unwittingly discourage your dream. Since the time she'd entered college and worked her way through, Carrie had pursued everything that was important to her. Nobody had ever told her that she couldn't. And her Grandma Russell, bless her, had always said that all she had to do was try.
Having been employed by a large New York investment firm right out of grad school, Carrie had been lucky in business. It wasn't long before she was making good money, and, because she honestly didn't have a lot of places to spend it, the money had amassed quickly. Before long, people were coming to her for favors, or opportunities for helping people just seemed to land at her feet. There was her favorite hot-dog vendor with his dream of opening up his own deli, her coworker whose aunt's independent bookstore was on the brink of foreclosure and badly needed refinancing, her apartment manager who was quite sure, if he had the funds, he could turn his dilapidated building into some of the finest condominiums on New York's Upper East side.
All of those dreams had become realities thanks to Carrie's personal investment in each of these ventures. The results had given her more than satisfaction; they had given her purpose. Within a year, she'd become incorporated and established her own independent investment firm. Two years later, she made the cover of Forbes. But in spite of the increasingly lucrative opportunities that poured her way, Carrie stayed true to her initial calling of helping the small businessman. Though she'd never been precisely poor, her background had been modest. And she'd seen from her own experience that a "rags to riches" existence was possible. All so many people needed was just a chance to get them started. And if the man she loved needed that same kind of chance, she would move heaven and earth to make it happen.
Carrie scooped the morning paper off her front porch and sat down to browse the financial section over coffee. She had figured Mike for some sort of real-estate venture. High-end sales, perhaps combined with property management of some of Grand Cayman's larger estates.
Carrie laid down her paper, a surprising thought taking hold. What if Mike hadn't planned to work in real estate at all in the Caymans?
But what else was there? Certainly not early retirement for a man as clever and energetic as Mike. He still seemed way too ambitious, not to mention physically...
Physical! But of course, Carrie thought with a grin. Her "swim god" wanted to go to the Caymans to capitalize on his native expertise. And Carrie wasn't talking about lovemaking... Though she was certainly hoping there'd be plenty of that.
The moment Mike stepped from the car, it hit him with a one-two punch. This was it, he thought, looking around. This was home.
The white Cape Cod was nestled in a quiet grove just west of the city. It was zoned for the best school system, one of his client's priorities, and had enough bedrooms---four---to accommodate a houseful of children.
Mike stood on the front circular drive looking up at the dormer windows protruding from the second story. Those would give plenty of light, and most likely have window seats, to the children's rooms.
When Mike stepped inside and walked through the foyer and directly to the back of the house, he was not disappointed. The high stone hearth made the open family room connecting to the kitchen look cozy. Mike's trained eye swept over the kitchen appliances, which all looked to be less than five years old. A good sign for a house that had been built in the 1940s. It was an indication the owners had routinely kept it up and not just bandaged things at the last minute for the sale.
At the back of the kitchen area sat a large bay window looking out onto immaculately tended gardens. One hosting several rows of summer vegetables, another sporting colorful flowers surrounding a sparkling pond.
Mike's heartbeat picked up a notch as he circled back through the formal living area and dining rooms, both of which needed painting but boasted gorgeous ceiling and chair-rail moldings.
Though it was his job, Mike felt surprisingly like Goldilocks as he took the stairs two at a time and hurried upstairs into the bedrooms. He went to the front of the house first, where he found, as he'd suspected, a couple of cheerfully decorated children's rooms complete with sun-dappled dormer windows.
The master bedroom was good-sized but not so large a couple could get lost in it. And the fourth bedroom, which was currently used as an office, and two upstairs baths were inviting and well maintained.
Mike felt he was bursting at the seams as he took it all in. He'd always heard buying real estate was an emotional experience. Had witnessed that enamored expression on the faces of many of his clients. But never in a million years did he dream that besotted feeling would happen to him.
Carrie would love it. He just knew it. Though her current place was charming, it was nowhere near big enough to accommodate a large family. And this house here, situated at the crest of a sleepy knoll, was not only roomy enough for plenty of children, all the rug rats Mike secretly hoped he and Carrie would make---it also afforded the same stunning view of the mountains.
Mike went downstairs and walked out onto the back patio, eyeing the one accoutrement that had cinched the deal from the moment he'd hit the property line. Fanning the border of the house's perimeter was a neat arrangement of flowers and shrubs. And behind those---gleaming in the sunlight---stood a freshly painted white picket fence.
\*\*\*\*
Carrie picked up her office phone and dialed. Though she quite obviously sometimes gambled with her heart, when it came to business dealings, Carrie was exceedingly cautious. Before she went and did anything involving money, she needed to make certain her hunch was accurate.
"Hello?" Jack Davis answered.
"Jack, good morning. This is Carrie, Carrie St. John."
"Why, Carrie!" he said, sounding genuinely pleased to hear her voice. "How are you? That son of mine behaving himself? 'Cause if he's not, I'm still available, you know."
Carrie chuckled. "Oh Jack, you are bad."
"Thank you, my dear. So, what can I do for you this morning? Time to start practicing our wedding march already?"
Carrie blanched before remembering she'd impetuously invited Jack to walk her down the aisle. An act she still wasn't sorry for. Mike's dad was adorable. "Oh no, not that. But I'll certainly let you know.
"Actually, I was calling with a question---about Mike."
"Mike?" Jack exclaimed. "Well, I can't completely promise you I've figured that boy out. But go ahead and shoot, if you'd like. I'll do the best that I can."
Carrie hoped she wouldn't disillusion her prospective father-in-law by seeming too forward. But, in for a penny, in for a pound, she told herself. "It's about the British West Indies. The Cayman Islands, specifically."
Jack seemed to be waiting on the other end of the line. Not commenting, just waiting for Carrie to finish. She wasn't sure if this was good but decided to press on ahead.
"Anyhow, I realize Mike has an interest in the Caymans---"
"That so?" Jack butted in. "Didn't know he'd discussed it with you."
Ah, Carrie thought, then there was something to discuss, and something to her gut feeling after all. "Well, he mentioned it somewhat. Some time ago, actually. But I could tell, even at the time, how very important it was to him."
"I think Mike's just recently found what's most important to him."
Carrie colored at the compliment, despite the fact Jack couldn't see her. "I appreciate that, really I do. And Mike is very special to me. Extra special. I hope to marry him."
Jack was quiet for a moment before speaking. "That's wonderful! He's asked you, then?"
"Well, uh...not exactly. But let's just say I see it coming."
"Then I say, your vision's twenty-twenty, my girl."
That extra bit of reassurance warmed Carrie through and through. "But because I love him, Jack, I'd hate to think of Mike giving up any long-term dreams on my account."
"Oh, now, fluff," Jack said, huffing into the phone. "Don't you go worrying your pretty little head over that. I never really believed the boy was going to open that dive shop anyway."
Carrie hung up the phone after thanking him and promising Jack she'd let him know just as soon as they'd scheduled the wedding rehearsal. Wedding rehearsal? They still hadn't invited half the guests. The ones who would fill in the slots Wilson's missing family would have occupied. Oh well, Carrie decided, she could think of that tomorrow. Today, she had some phone-calling to do.
"Mary," she called into the next room. "Do you have a moment to come in and make some notes?"
"Yes, ma'am," Mary said, appearing at the threshold.
"Great," Carrie said, her grin as wide as the big outdoors, "because we're slightly revising our project. Ready to dive in?"
"You sure about this?" Colleen said, staring up at Mike in disbelief. "A four-bedroom house is a big investment for a bachelor."
Mike patiently shook his head. This afternoon, not even Colleen was going to sour his mood. "Already told you, Colleen, not going to be a bachelor that much longer."
Colleen dropped into her chair in shock. "You're dead serious about this, aren't you?" For the first time for as long as he could remember, Colleen lifted the dangling bifocals from her neck and shoved them up on her nose. "Shut the door, Mike."
Mike walked to the back of Colleen's office and closed the door, giving the two of them privacy.
"Have a seat," she instructed when he returned.
"Now," Colleen said once he was seated. "Tell me honestly, what kind of trouble are you in?"
"Trouble?"
"Is the girl pregnant? Because, if she is---"
"Pregnant? Holy cow! Pregnant, Colleen?"
Colleen motioned downward with her outstretched palms. "Just calm down there, Mike. You won't be the first one on my staff who's gotten himself into a bit of a, uh...personal pickle."
"Colleen, I'm not asking you for money! I have enough for the down payment in my account. I've been saving it up for a while now for...for... Well, never mind. It's not important anymore. What is important is that I'm not asking you for any special favors here. Only the standard cut on the price based on reduced commission since someone in this office is buying it. I don't see the big deal. It's accepted protocol. I've seen you authorize such sales at least a dozen times."
"So she's not pregnant?" Colleen asked, as if she hadn't heard a word.
"Give us a couple of months," Mike said, settling back in his chair.
"How much is the house?" Colleen asked, sighing and eyeing him quizzically.
"Two-forty."
Colleen raised her eyebrows. "Joint mortgage?"
"Absolutely not," Mike told her. "This one has to be all mine." His to own and his to give away---with a full heart, Mike thought with a deep inner peace that spread from his heart to his belly.
Carrie couldn't believe her luck. There was a small store for sale just at the edge of trendy Seven Mile Beach. With all the major resort hotels nearby, the location couldn't have been more perfect. The shop, just outside of George Town, was even guaranteed docking privileges. It couldn't have been more perfect. Of course, as the store had formerly served as a knickknack-and-jewelry shop, they'd have some remodeling to do. Probably plenty of remodeling to do, given the bargain-basement price of the property, Carrie decided.
Still, if the appraiser she'd contacted at the Grand Cayman bank came back with the report Carrie expected, the place was a steal. An investment waiting to happen. Carrie's palms moistened at the possibilities. She couldn't wait to see the look on Mike's face.
And yet, she'd have to proceed cautiously. Make certain he didn't mistake this for some kind of handout and become offended. But Carrie had never planned to give him the money, only loan it---on a long-term repayment, low-interest basis like she had for each of her other clients. It could give him the chance he needed, if he wasn't too darn proud to accept it.
Carrie paused at that last thought, considering. What if he became furious at her intrusion? What if he accused her of trying to run his life? What if he truly couldn't see that this was no sort of manipulation; it was a gift from the heart?
Carrie slouched back against her high-backed leather chair and spun to face the window. She supposed it all depended on timing. First, they had to get beyond that proposal part, so Mike wouldn't think she was trying to buy his affections. But when, oh when, was that proposal part ever going to waltz along?
Mike had said to trust him. But for how long?
She wondered if he'd even considered the wedding angle, or if he'd find using her premade arrangements tacky. To Carrie, it just seemed a terrible waste to let all that planning and expense go, just to reinvent the wheel.
Well, they would sort all of that out soon enough. First things first. She'd found the ideal property for Mike's dive shop, and if she didn't move on it quickly, somebody else would, she knew. The location was just too hot.
And, if after all her trouble, Mike hated the idea? Had completely changed his mind, and no longer wanted to move to the Caymans? Well, then, she'd just have to cross that bridge when she came to it. The shop would be a surprise, a wedding gift. And if he didn't care for it, Carrie would just have to find someone else, another entrepreneur, to take advantage of the opportunity. But that wouldn't happen. She was sure of it. Once Mike was advised of all the particulars, he was going to be over the moon.
Mike sat at his desk mooning over a picture of the house he was about to purchase and wondering how soon it would be available for occupancy. Colleen had already phoned the owners with his offer and would be letting him know that detail along with their counteroffer, when it came.
Now, if he could preoccupy---and be in within a month---that would be even better. He'd asked Colleen to inquire about the possibility. Mike couldn't wait to get started on a life with Carrie. Real stroke of luck she already had the wedding arranged. Though they hadn't talked it over officially, he guessed since he hadn't proposed "officially," Mike assumed that was what they would do. Go ahead and use the facilities and services Carrie had already arranged. She'd never canceled them, as she'd threatened to do earlier. Grandma Russell had told him so. It made his heart spring-dive just to think she'd forgone canceling those arrangements because she'd held out hope for a future with him. With him! And, holy cow, it was happening.
The house he'd found was perfect, so perfect that...
Mike stopped congratulating himself as his blood ran cold. Oh my goodness. What if he'd done the wrong thing? What if Carrie became incensed at him making such a major decision for the two of them? Without even consulting her first?
What if she didn't even want to live in Virginia but had someplace else in mind entirely? They hadn't even had a chance to discuss those kinds of future plans. Mike had just seen the house, the white picket fence and---whammy! He'd gone and done something huge, something impetuous, something nearly irrevocable. Holy cow. Mike blew a hard breath and sat back against his chair as fear settled into his belly.
Surely, Carrie wouldn't fault him for a wedding gift? Yes, that was what he'd call it. And, if she didn't like it...? Well, though they couldn't exactly return it, they could surely work something out. Find renters, resell after a while. But Mike didn't want to resell. He absolutely loved the place. And Carrie would too. He just knew it.
\*\*\*\*
Carrie nervously bit into her bottom lip, smearing her lipstick against her teeth. Darn it! She'd have to start all over again. Ever since Mike had called this afternoon, she'd suspected something was up. There was an urgent expectation to his voice. No, it couldn't be tomorrow; it had to be tonight. Even though Carrie had loads to do at the office and was expected to work late, she'd come home early, showered, and put on a fresh sundress. And he wasn't even expected until seven thirty! Seven thirty. What was Carrie going to do with herself for the next forty-five minutes while waiting for him to come?
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she should probably eat something. No, she was going to throw up. Carrie raced to the toilet, thinking she was going to lose her lunch. But after a few moments of staying still, the clench in her belly eased.
Criminy! She was a wreck. Didn't even know for certain tonight was the tonight.
Like hell she didn't, Carrie thought, racing back to the bathroom.
The telephone rang, and she limped into the bedroom to pick it up, all the while clutching her midsection.
"Darling?"
"Oh, Grandma Russell, thank goodness! I am such a wreck. Such a wreck. Mike called and said---"
"Hold on there, child. Slow down. Can't make out a word you're saying."
"I'm, um..." Carrie sat down on the bed and started to cry. "Oh Grandma, I've never wanted anything more in my life."
"Calm down. Just take a deep, deep breath."
Carrie inhaled.
"Now let it out."
She did.
"Go on, a few more times. In and out. I'm not going anywhere; I can wait."
Carrie wiped the moisture from her cheeks and sat up a little straighter.
"Now, you still with me?" her grandmother asked. "Or should I call the rescue squad?"
Carrie let out a laugh that released more tears. But this time, she felt more in control. "Thanks, Grandma," she said, taking another deep breath. "You're the best."
"What's all this about wanting? You mean the dang hunk hasn't proposed by now?"
"Not yet, but it's coming," Carrie said, holding out her trembling left hand and examining the bare ring finger. "I can feel it. Just like that musky heat right before a rain."
"Well," Grandma Russell said, "he's been waiting for a reason. So don't you go jumping all over him with kisses and I-do's before he can get two words out. First, give the rascal a chance to say his piece."
"Jumping...? Why, Grandma Russell, what do you take me for, an impatient woman?"
Her grandma chuckled. "Just a woman who knows what she wants. And I can't say I blame you. He is a dish, that Mike Davis, he is."
"Grandmother! It's not all about the way he looks, and you know it!"
"Yes, I know. But I also know enough to know looks don't hurt. Especially when the man in question looks just like a young Robert---"
"There you go with that movie-star thing again. I swear, that's not helping."
Grandma Russell hooted. "I can't wait for the big day. It will be so nice feeling like you are finally anchored in Virginia, Carrie love. I just know with that man of yours at home, those week-long trips to New York won't seem nearly as enticing."
Carrie thought about telling her but decided against it. Why spoil her grandmother's jovial mood? Besides, Carrie was finally feeling better herself. Perhaps if she had some yogurt and a bit of soda. She definitely needed something in her stomach, and the soda would help her queasies.
"I think I'd better go and grab something to eat before he gets here," Carrie said, standing and walking to the kitchen. "Keep those fingers crossed for me."
"Absolutely," Grandma Russell reported, "and all my lavender-painted toes."
Carrie hung up the phone, wondering if her grandmother had really painted her toenails purple or was just being funny. With Grandma Russell, one never really knew. Perhaps expressly why Grandpa Russell married her in the first place.
Okay, Mike told himself, scooping the brand-new engagement ring off his carpet for the third time. This wasn't good. Not good at all. He was all thumbs tonight. What a wonderful night to propose. Plus, it was predicted to rain. How romantic. He had planned to take Carrie to his special spot, right there in Norton Vineyards. He'd even bought a Norton Sweet Virginia Red and a whole box of mint chocolate chip ice cream sandwiches to complement the evening.
Before, when he'd acted rashly and proposed to the wrong women, he'd charted a course for disaster. Not this time. Not this time, indeed. Tonight was special. Carrie was special. And the dag-blasted ring he'd traded for Alexia's had cost only a few hundred more. A few hundred, but worth every dime.
Yet the custom setting Mike had arranged had taken time. An unsettling amount of time. On a couple of occasions, in fact, Mike had actually feared Carrie was going to propose to him instead, if he didn't hurry it up.
Well, now all that was neither here nor there because he had the ring, he thought, wedging it back in its box and shoving it down in his pocket. He walked to the kitchen counter, completing his mental checklist. He had the wine. Check. He felt his other pocket for the Swiss Army knife with the corkscrew. Check. And the ice cream... He opened the freezer to find it bare.
Mike whirled on his heels toward the center of the kitchen where a soggy brown-paper bag wilted against the table. Holy cow! Not again. But it was, in fact. Even worse than the first time.
Carrie fiddled with her watch and paced the living room. She picked up the remote and switched on the television. News and game shows. She switched it off again.
She checked the mantel clock. Seven forty-five. All right, Carrie, she told herself, fifteen minutes late does not a disaster make. He could be running a bit behind, could have stopped for gas.
Carrie felt like she was getting a sick headache. No, not tonight, she prayed. Not tonight of all nights. She went to the kitchen and poured some water from the tap, preparing to take two aspirin, when a firm knock sounded at the front door.
Carrie's stomach revolted.
She raced to the door and tugged it open, just before making a beeline for the bathroom. Carrie slammed the door at her back and fell to her knees.
Mike trailed Carrie to the bathroom, only to have the door slammed in his face. Poor thing, she looked positively awful. White as a sheet. Holy cow. What was happening here?
Mike tapped lightly at the door. "Carrie? Honey, you all right?"
"Fine, fine," she muttered through running water. But she sounded less than perfect.
Mike looked down at the two bags clutched in his hands, thinking that neither the new ice cream he'd just picked up nor the wine would look too appealing to Carrie at the moment.
After a few minutes of silence, he tried knocking again. "Carrie?"
Finally, she pulled back the door, looking ghostly.
"Oh sweetie," Mike said, "come over here and sit down. You don't look so hot."
She gave him a twisted smile, remembering the first time he'd said that. "Bet you say that to all the girls."
"No," he said, depositing his bags on the coffee table and sitting beside her on the sofa. "Actually, it's just the opposite..." He reached out and took her hands in his. "Is it the flu? Did it hit suddenly?"
"You could say that," she answered, smiling past her queasiness.
"Stay put," he said, releasing her hands and giving her knee a light pat. "I'll go and get you some ginger ale."
"What did you bring me?" she asked when he returned from the kitchen and handed her the glass.
Mike followed her gaze to the two paper grocery bags on the table. "Probably nothing you'd feel much like having now. How about I tuck them in the fridge?"
Carrie nodded and took a very slow, small sip from her glass.
Mike shook his head as he stored the wine and ice cream in the refrigerator. Sick? She was sick? After everything he had planned---rehearsed---to make this night perfect? Holy cow.
Just when he thought things couldn't possibly get any worse, Mike heard the hard rhythm of rain beating against the kitchen window.
Carrie wanted to curl up into a ball and die. Whatever he'd planned... All the trouble he'd gone to, and now she couldn't even lift herself off the sofa. This was not the way she'd envisioned things at all. Maybe she was jinxed, or perhaps she'd already gotten her fair share of uneventful proposals. Whatever the reason, she was damned upset it was happening to her now.
Carrie glanced up toward the ceiling, hearing a sound smacking the red-slate roof. Perfect, it was raining.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Mike said, coming back over to the sofa and sitting beside her.
"Oh Mike," she said, her voice breaking up, "I'm so sorry..."
"Hush," he said, bringing a hand to her lips and gently stroking her chin. "You can't help any more that you're sick than I can the color of my eyes."
Oh, she wished she could believe it. But no, she felt responsible. As if the whole disastrous evening, one that could have been the most memorable ever for the two of them, was all her fault. If only she hadn't worked herself into such a tizzy. If only she'd had a regular dinner. If only...
"Carrie," Mike said, laying a hand on her forearm. "How do you think the air would do you?"
"Air?" she asked, not understanding.
"I was thinking of the porch swing."
Carrie agreed that it was a fine idea and that being outdoors might actually help her. So she accepted Mike's assistance and leaned on him heavily as he helped her outside and onto the porch swing, all the while thinking that this was how life would be. The two of them leaning on each other, growing old together. Each one forever supporting the other.
Carrie felt the moisture on her cheek and raised a casual hand to her eye, hoping Mike hadn't seen. He already thought she was falling apart. Why give him further proof?
"Need a blanket?" he asked as a heavy gust of wind dusted a spray of rain in their direction.
"Just your arm," she said, smiling up at him.
Mike sat and wrapped his arm around her, scooting in close. Carefully, slowly, when he felt her capable of tolerating the motion, Mike sent the swing into a gentle rock.
Far away, the mountains dripped and bled color in the evening rain. And, closer at hand, an occasional whistling wind across fresh flowers sent lazy summer fragrances wafting onto the porch. Mike held her and stroked her shivering arm until it steadied in his warmth.
Brushstrokes of light streaked into blackness in the darkening sky as her head dropped against his shoulder in easy comfort and they continued to rock. And when she grew heavy and still, Mike knew that she'd fallen asleep.
It was just like the dancing. And he wanted it to go on and on and on... Yes, he was sorry about the evening and his lost opportunity for fulfilling plans. But he was doubly grateful for the chance just to hold her now, with nothing but the scent of the rain between them. If this snapshot was an indication of the next sixty years, Mike was awfully glad he'd seen the big picture early.
Carrie awoke with a start to see the sun peering over the purple mountains. It was only when she heard the low rumble that she realized Mike was sitting and snoring beside her.
"Mike?" she said, raising a hand to his face. "Mike?"
"I'd like to counter that offer," he said, snapping to attention.
"What offer?" she asked, laughing in surprise. "Were you dreaming about real estate?"
Mike opened his eyes wide, then blinked at his surroundings. "Yeah, I guess that I was," he said, rubbing the sore back of his neck. "Did we sleep here all night?"
"Unless little trolls carried us to my bed, then replaced us on the swing before sunup."
Mike pulled her into his arms and nuzzled her neck. "You know," he said, "that's the first time I've ever done that. Pulled an all-nighter with a woman on a swing."
Carrie smiled, enjoying his warmth, enjoying the new day. Savoring the implausibility of the moment. And thinking that she'd happily wake up with Mike Davis anywhere.
"You stick with me, and you'll get lots more opportunities for firsts," she said, feeling playful. And, thank goodness, so much better.
"You're looking brighter this morning," he said, stroking her cheek. "I was so sorry to see you so ill."
"Thanks for staying with me. Being with you really helped."
Mike turned to the woman beside him. All night on the porch after an evening of illness, and Carrie St. John was without a doubt the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. The only woman with whom he could envision sharing a lifetime.
"Think you could get used to it?" Mike asked, moving his hands to her shoulders and looking deep in her eyes.
Carrie nodded but didn't say a word. Because her heart was on fire. She knew, unmistakably, what was coming next. But this time, Carrie wasn't anxious or afraid. Every nerve ending was ready.
Mike slipped out of the rocker and got down on one knee.
"Carrie," he said, taking her left hand in both of his. "I have something very important to ask you. And just so you know, I want to tell you I already did the proper thing and talked with your grandmother."
"Yes!" Carrie said, springing off the porch swing and into his arms as he stood in surprise to catch her. "Yes, yes, oh Mike, yes," she said between vibrant kisses that ran from his mouth to his cheek to his neck to his forehead.
"Carrie---" he said, stopping her when she was almost to his mouth again. "You didn't even let me finish asking."
"Oh," she said, consumed by a groundswell of heat. "Sorry." Carrie primly smoothed out her hair and sat back down on the swing. "Continue," she said, looking up, a million constellations in her eyes.
Mike smiled to beat all get-out and pulled a ring box from his pocket. "Before I say what I have to say," he told her while her heart beat fiercely with anticipation, "I want you to promise me you'll keep that level of enthusiasm for the next say, oh...fifty to sixty years."
"It's a deal," she said with a sexy grin that almost made him drop the box and cart her straight inside.
"Carrie St. John," Mike said, dropping back down on one knee, half wondering if he might get tackled. He pulled back the velvet lid, revealing a beautiful blue diamond surrounded by six perfect rubies.
"Oh Mike..."
"I'm sorry it took a while, but this ring was sort of a symbolic gift. I wanted to get it just right."
Carrie wrinkled her brow as Mike plucked the ring from its box.
"The diamond... Well, of course, you know what the diamond means, love everlasting and all that." He grinned, and she shot him a look with her eyes that dazzled.
"And the rubies?" Carrie asked. She counted. "Six of them?"
"Well, these first two," Mike said, pointing to the stones set at the top. "These are you and me."
Carrie's eyes watered.
"Because, well..." He looked at her and smiled. "I figured out some time ago that you and I are---two of a kind. Destined for each other. Meant to be."
Carrie swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. "And the others?"
He gave her a hopeful smile, green eyes glistening. "Jack, Amanda, little Carrie, and Mike Junior," he said, touching the stones one by one with his right index finger.
Salty tears streamed from Carrie's eyes. Amanda was her Grandma Russell's name, though how Mike had known, she couldn't fathom.
"Of course, if you don't like those names, we could choose others," he said, reaching up and wiping her cheeks.
"I love those names. But...four?" she said, her voice warbling.
"For starters, anyway," Mike said with a Cheshire-cat grin as he slipped the ring on her finger. "Carrie St. John," he said, looking into her deep-brown eyes, "will you be mine, to have, to hold, and to cherish from this day forward...?"
Carrie nodded and kissed his hands still holding her own. "Oh, I will. I will, I will, I will!" She smiled, giving the morning sun a run for its money. "But...Mike, I kind of think you're supposed to save those words for the wedding."
"The wedding?" Mike asked, pulling her up and into his arms. Right where she belonged. Torso to torso, heart to thundering heart.
"But that's only six days away," he said, closing in for a kiss. "Shouldn't we start practicing up?"
What, oh what, was she going to do with this man?
Keep him, she supposed.
"Absolutely," Carrie said as she kissed him back, and he swept her away.
\*\*\*\*
After a private ceremony and small family reception, featuring mint-chocolate wedding cake, Mike took Carrie on a long country drive, after which he surprised her by carting her over the threshold of a darling Cape Cod with a white picket fence. After crying several million tears and drinking the sweet Virginia wine Mike had stocked in the fridge, Carrie told him about his new investment opportunity in the Caymans.
Once they'd gotten over the initial shock of just how alike they truly were, the delighted couple arrived at a happy compromise. They would rent out the new house for a year while they lived on Grand Cayman and got Mike's dive-shop business off the ground. Afterward, they would settle back in Virginia and begin fulfilling Carrie's engagement-ring promise of creating four beautiful children.
So they could keep an eye on him, Mike's father, Jack, would be invited to join them in the islands for that first year. They would rent him someplace scenic, not too far from their own home, where he could watch the saucy Caribbean sun stretching its long fingers over the morning waters---and enjoy the personal attentions of his own private nurse.
Once back in Virginia, they'd continue to vacation on Grand Cayman, and Mike would make occasional business trips, as needed, to check up on his shop. Then eventually, once Mike found the perfect piece of real estate, they'd build a breezy getaway on the island's east end and summer there on a regular basis.
And while they plotted, planned, and worked out all these intimate details, the newlyweds, Mr. and Mrs. Michael John Davis, sat on the front steps of their perfect new home and ate a whole box of ice cream sandwiches---before they melted.
###
A Note from the Author
Thanks for reading The Sometime Bride! I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please help other people find this book.
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