When he touched Paige’s hand he could see her resolve draining away. Although he wasn’t sure why he was so intent on getting her to hang around when it was clear that he wasn’t going to get any information out of her in regard to the inner workings of Hannah’s Hope. So why not cut her loose right now?
Because maybe what he’d told her about being lonely wasn’t an exaggeration. He hadn’t had a whole lot of female companionship lately. Hell, he hadn’t so much as looked at a woman since he caught Ashleigh with his now ex-foreman going at it in the stable two days before their wedding last winter.
But he liked Paige. She wasn’t what he’d expected when he first saw her, prim and proper behind her desk in her designer clothes. She was no trust-fund girl. It sounded as if she worked damned hard to be successful. And the fact that she would agree to go out for a drink with a man who was, as far as she knew, poor and uneducated, said a lot about her character. The fancy labels were for her clients, to give the appearance of professionalism, not because she was a snob. And he couldn’t deny that was a refreshing change from women like his ex who spent thousands on their wardrobe for no other reason than to impress their friends. Or simply because they had money to burn. In his fiancée’s case, his money.
Paige even reminded him of himself in a way. Isolated and obsessed with work. After the breakup he’d spent the majority of his time holed up at the ranch, seeing to the day-to-day operations. It was a rare occasion that he made it into town for any reason. Even a beer at the local brewery on a Friday night. He’d shut himself off from the world. And lately he’d been so obsessed with discrediting Rafe Cameron, he hadn’t thought of much else. Only now, after meeting Paige, did he feel the desire for companionship.
But he had to be very careful where and with whom he let himself be seen. He couldn’t risk being recognized and blowing his cover, not when he’d already invested more than four months in his plan. Especially if he planned to blow everything wide open at the gala—although at this point, there was nothing to blow open.
It seemed as if Paige was far enough removed from the people at Hannah’s Hope, and from the rest of the world in general, that there was no threat of exposure when he was with her. And no one was bound to recognize him in this bar. No one he knew as Brandon Worth would be caught dead in a place like this. Personally, he preferred it over the Vista del Mar Beach and Tennis Club where his father and men like him drank eighty-year-old scotch and compared portfolios. Although after fifteen years he doubted anyone would recognize him. Just like he preferred being at the ranch, in the mountains, instead of cooped up in an office. He hadn’t been built for the rat race. A trait he could only assume he’d inherited from his mother.
Paige sat across from him, gnawing the gloss from her full bottom lip, but she didn’t move her hand. Maybe she liked the way it felt wrapped in his. He did. In fact, if he had his way, they would be doing a lot more than just holding hands. Maybe it was finally time to end his self-imposed celibacy.
“I guess it wouldn’t kill me to take one night off,” she finally said. “But I do have to work in the morning so I can’t be out too late.”
“I’ll have you home before my truck turns into a pumpkin, I promise.”
“And just so we’re clear,” she said, easing her hand out from under his, “this is not a date. We can be friends, but nothing more.”
“Friends it is,” he said. The kind with benefits, maybe.
She relaxed back in her seat and took another sip of her wine. The bar was filling up. Soon people would be out on the dance floor, and at seven the band would start playing. And date or not, he had every intention of asking Paige to dance. A few more drinks and he was pretty sure he could persuade her into it. He could tell by her body language that the wine was already relaxing her.
She gazed up at him through the fringe of her lashes. Her eyes were quite extraordinary. Back in her office he could have sworn they were blue, but in this light they looked almost purple.
“You’re staring at me,” Paige said.
He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “I’m trying to figure out what color your eyes are.”
“It depends on my mood. Sometimes they’re blue, sometimes they’re violet.”
“What mood are you in when they’re violet?”
“Happy. Relaxed.”
He wondered what color they were when she was aroused, and if he would be lucky enough to find out.
“We’ve talked about me ever since we sat down. Why don’t you tell me about you,” she said, then added, “And don’t say there isn’t much to tell. Everyone has a story.”
He couldn’t tell her his. Not the full version, anyway. But he knew the fewer lies he told, the fewer he had to remember, so it was best to stick as close to the truth as possible while still keeping up the charade.
“I’m originally from California,” he said. “Not too far from here, in fact. My father lives pretty close by.”
“Do you visit him?”
“Not in a long time. Suffice it to say we don’t see eye to eye. About a lot of things.”
“You said your mom died when you were young.”
“Accidental overdose,” he said. It had never been officially ruled a suicide, but only because she hadn’t left a note. Anyone who knew Denise Worth knew she’d been miserable enough to take her own life. No thanks to his father and his extramarital affairs. Though Brandon had only been fourteen, her death had been the last straw, the final wedge in a relationship that had always been volatile in the best of circumstances. After her death, he and his father barely spoke. His mother had always favored Brandon, and his sister, Emma, had been daddy’s little princess. And still was, as far as he knew.
“Do you have siblings?” Paige asked.
“A sister. But I haven’t seen her in fifteen years.” Not since the day he’d headed off to boarding school on the east coast. Although from what he’d heard, she’d married recently and was pregnant with her first child. He would be an uncle, but in title only. He doubted he would ever see the child.
“Fifteen years is a long time not to talk to a sister.”
“It’s complicated.”
“It must be, because it’s hard to imagine that someone as personable, as nice, as you, could hold a grudge for so long.”
He grinned. “You barely know me. Maybe I’m only pretending to be nice.”
She considered that for a second, then shook her head. “No.
You’re forgetting, I’m an image consultant. I’m pretty adept at reading people. The way you handled saleslady sunshine earlier, that’s impossible to fake. You’re good with people. A nice guy.”
Maybe too nice. Definitely too trusting. Ashleigh had taught him that, and it had been a bitter pill to swallow. But she was the last person he wanted to think about right now.
“So I guess you kinda like me,” he said, grinning. “Since I’m such a nice guy.”
“Maybe I don’t like nice guys,” she said draining her second glass. “Maybe I prefer men who are bad for me.”
The wine must have been going to her head. She was starting to get flirtatious.
He leaned forward, locking his eyes on hers. “I’ll have you know, I can be very bad.”
Maybe it was his imagination, but he could swear the color of her eyes deepened. And he had the feeling this was about to get interesting.
“Why is it that a beautiful woman like you doesn’t have a boyfriend?”
“Who says I don’t?”
“If