He congratulated himself right away. It was a good idea. Yes, that way he had the original obligation out of the way and yet didn’t do any damage to the hope of a future relationship. At the same time, he wouldn’t feel quite so guilty when he called his mother later. Brilliant!
“I … well, maybe …” Cari cleared her throat.
She wasn’t sure why she couldn’t seem to get a full sentence out. This wasn’t like her. But the fact that the man was so diametrically different from what she’d pictured had completely thrown her for a loop and she was taking some time to get over her shock. For the moment, she seemed to be putty in his hands, and the next thing she knew, she was hurrying out of the club with one of those same hands planted squarely between her shoulder blades. She was going with him, or so it seemed. She glanced back, not sure of the wisdom of heading into the dark of night with a stranger.
But he was Mara’s husband’s cousin. At least, that was what her friend had claimed.
The funny thing was, as she looked back at the noisy club, she thought she’d caught a flashing glimpse of a red rose being carried by a tall, sandy-haired young man with glasses. But everything was happening so quickly, she hardly registered that sight. And her companion tended to fill up her attention. So she went along with him, half skipping in her wobbly high heels to keep up, as they hurried to his long, low and very flashy car.
“Oh, my gosh,” she said as he opened the door to the passenger’s seat for her.
“It’s a Ferrari,” he said, frowning slightly. “Surely you’ve seen Ferraris around town. I thought Dallas was crawling with them.”
She nodded as she sank into the luxurious leather. “Of course. I’ve just never been in one before,” she told him, then winced. Maybe she should have kept that to herself.
He lowered himself into the driver’s seat and leaned forward to punch the address they were aiming at into the GPS, then turned to look at her with one slick eyebrow raised. “From what I’ve heard of your background, I would have thought fast cars and living in luxury were right down your alley.”
She frowned at him, puzzled. Did he have her mixed up with some other blind date? “Who would have told you a thing like that?”
He gazed at her for a moment, then shrugged, looking reasonably adorable in his faux bewilderment. “Texas,” he muttered, starting the car. “This place always surprises me.”
And that statement surprised her. She was about to mention that Mara had said he’d grown up outside of Galveston, but her power of speech got lost as she noticed again just how incredibly good-looking this man was. Everything about him screamed wealth and power. His suit had probably cost more than her secondhand car. His gorgeous black hair, his wonderful tanned skin, the way his thighs swelled against the fabric of his slacks, all created a picture guaranteed to set off the female heart rate. His shirt was open at the neck, revealing more tanned skin and just a hint of crispy, crinkly chest hair. If she were the swooning type, she’d be out cold by now.
But she wasn’t, she reminded herself sharply. Not her style at all. And there was another thing. All this embarrassment of hunky male riches didn’t add up somehow. Mara’s husband was basically a cutie, but to think that he had someone like this in his family boggled the mind.
But it was too late to say anything, anyway, because the low, slinky sports car had taken off like a rocket. As her body slammed back against the soft leather seat, she felt as though she had to hold on for dear life, her heart in her throat.
The car came to a stop at a light. She gulped in a mouthful of air and turned sharply toward him, letting him know she hadn’t loved it.
“Wow. Do you always drive like this?” she asked a bit testily, pushing her hair back with one hand. “If so, you must have a permanent seat named after you at traffic court.”
He seemed surprised by her strong voice and point of view, but laughed.
“I’m just trying this baby out. I picked her up at the showroom earlier today and I wanted to see what she can handle.” He grimaced. “But I don’t know the streets around here very well, so I think that will do it. Sorry. I should have warned you.”
He gave her a lopsided grin, feeling no chagrin at all over the pleasure that surge of power had given him. But his grin faded as he looked at her.
That crazy, curly hair kept falling down over her eye and he had the oddest impulse to reach out and brush it back for her. The thought made his fingers tingle. He found himself looking at where her tiny, shell-like ear was peeking out from among the curls, and then staring at the smooth, creamy skin of her neck and imagining his lips there and his tongue …
The car behind them honked and he realized the light had turned green. He turned his attention back to his driving. But his mind was on the woman next to him in the car. Something about her tickled his fancy in a strange and unfamiliar way.
And suddenly her name came back to him. Celinia Jade Kerry. How could he have forgotten a name like that? Celinia Jade. Rather a mouthful, wasn’t it?
“Mind if I call you C.J.?” he asked her a bit sardonically.
She blinked, truly puzzled. “Why would you do that?”
“For short. It’s easier to remember.”
She frowned, her nose wrinkling. “But …”
He turned the car onto the freeway and they were off again. Her words disappeared in the roar of the engine, and he had to merge with a tangle of speeding traffic, which didn’t leave him time to ask her to repeat them.
Funny, but now that he thought about it, his mother had told him Celinia Jade Kerry would fit right in with the type of woman he usually dated—the sort his mother, Paula Angeli, actually tended to roll her eyes at.
Not that she knew C.J. very well, but she did know the woman’s mother. Or had, years ago.
“Betty Jean Martin was her name before she married Neal Kerry, the man who stole my family’s ranch,” his mother had told him over morning cappuccino just days ago. They’d been sitting on the terrace of her Italian home, overlooking the Venice canals. “She was my best friend, but when she married Neal behind my back, she became my worst enemy.”
He’d nodded, having heard the story so often, it was a family legend. He had a sneaking suspicion that his mother had thought she was going to marry the man—before her friend Betty Jean had whisked him to the altar—and that in that way she would have been able to get her ranch back. All things considered, he couldn’t be too sorry that hadn’t happened at the time. Besides, his mother had met his father, Carlo Angeli, shortly after, and her life had changed for the better, at least monetarily. That often happened when one married a millionaire.
Still, Max knew the marriage hadn’t been a happy one. His father had rarely been around, and his affairs with the wives of his best friends were legendary. His mother’s life had been wrapped up in her two sons—and in bittersweet memories of a childhood on the Triple M Ranch outside of Dallas, Texas.
“I’m sure Celinia Jade will be just what you’re used to,” his mother went on, waving the letter that had come from the daughter of her old friend. “I still keep in touch with enough old Texans to know what’s going on. She’s a clotheshorse with nothing on her mind deeper than the latest hemlines and whether her newest shade of lip gloss makes her mouth more kissable. Sound familiar?”
“Have you been listening in on my phone conversations again?” he’d teased her.
And that was when she’d rolled her eyes.
“Don’t you get it, Mama?” he told her with loving humor. “I don’t date women for their conversation.”
“Then you’ll probably get along perfectly with the young Miss Kerry.” Paula had frowned, looking at the letter again. “It’s odd to hear from her after