Читать книгу Say You Want Me - Cindi Myers, Cindi Myers - Страница 9

TWO DAYS. Joni had two days to find a man—any man—to keep Grandmother Pettigrew off her back. She’d exhausted her list of old boyfriends and available male acquaintances in one week and now had resorted to blind dates. If she didn’t find a man soon, she was going to end up with a Pamela Pettigrew special and the makings of a full-blown family feud.

She pulled into the restaurant parking lot and checked her hair in the rearview mirror. After enduring dates with a man old enough to be her grandfather, another who ended the evening by asking if he could lick her toes, and a third man who claimed to be the offspring of aliens, she was pulling out all the stops for tonight—mascara and eyeliner, vampy red lipstick, and a blue silk minidress that showcased her curves and long legs. She’d curled her hair, painted her nails and spritzed on the expensive French perfume G.P. had given her for Christmas. She had reason to believe this guy might actually be relatively normal, and she wasn’t going to let him slip away.

She studied her reflection in the mirror. Not a bad looking chicklet, if she did say so herself. Maybe a little too serious. She tried a smile. There. Didn’t she look like a woman who could make a man’s dreams come true?

Not that she had any intention of dream fulfillment, but it didn’t hurt to give a man aspirations. Besides, this man had to be the one. She didn’t know how many more blind dates like this she could survive. Her coworker, Marcelle, had sworn her cousin was a nice, ordinary accountant. Thirty years old. Sweet. “Just don’t say anything about his hair,” Marcelle had cautioned. “It’s getting thin and he’s sensitive.”

Hair or no hair, if he didn’t have alien blood or a foot fetish, he was a winner in Joni’s book. She slid out of the car and smoothed her skirt over her hips. She didn’t have any more time to be picky. Even the sleep-deprived residents at the hospital were beginning to look good.

A blast of air-conditioning and the aroma of garlic and oregano greeted her when she opened the door of the restaurant. She blinked in the dim light. She could just make out a wall lined with wine bottles and a leather upholstered bar to her left. Candles flickered in raffia-covered Chianti bottles on tables draped in red linen.

Her stomach gave a nervous shimmy. She’d chosen this place because it was near her apartment and she liked Italian food, but she hadn’t remembered it being so…romantic. What she had in mind was more of a business transaction, not romance.

She hoped her date was already here. What was his name again? Brian?

“May I help you?” The maître d’ materialized out of some dark corner and looked down his nose, straight at her cleavage.

She resisted the urge to tug at her dress. “Um, I’m supposed to meet someone here.” She tried to see past him, into the dining room.

He moved over to block her view. “Perhaps if you describe this person, I can tell you if they’re present or not.”

She frowned. Well, of course she couldn’t describe him. What had Marcelle said? “He’s, uh, he has dark hair and dark eyes. Not too tall. Average.”

The maître d’ raised one eyebrow. She realized she’d just described half the population of San Antonio. She stared right back. She had even less patience with rude people than she did with daredevils. Not to mention that five years of dealing with medical residents had taught her how to handle men who thought they were superior.

The maître d’ turned away. “I’ll see if there’s anyone here who fits that description.”

As soon as he was gone, she moved to the doorway and peered into the dining room. The romantic theme continued here, with grapevines twined around wooden beams and candlelit tables for two. One end of the room had been left empty for a dance floor, a crystal chandelier suspended overhead.

At this early hour, the place was only half full, and it was easy to spot the only person by himself. A dark-haired, broad-shouldered man in a western-cut sports coat sat at a table on the left side of the room. He looked up from the wine list and she sucked in a deep breath. The men in Marcelle’s family must be something else if Marcelle thought this one was ordinary.

He had a strong face, with dark eyes and thick brows, a square jaw and Roman nose. His skin was the weathered bronze of a man who spent a lot of time outdoors. Fine lines radiated from the corners of his eyes and a small scar to the right of his mouth kept him from being too pretty. He had nice lips—the kind that looked as if they knew how to kiss a woman.

She blinked. Where had that come from? This was a blind date. Who said anything about kissing? She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. She had one goal tonight: to convince this man to accompany her to a family barbecue and pose as her boyfriend.

If it took kissing to do that…well, a girl had to make some sacrifices, didn’t she?

CARTER SULLIVAN stared into his glass of wine and listened to the Italian folk songs emanating from the speakers overhead. What was the expression? Wine, women and song. He sighed. Maybe two out of three wasn’t bad…. No, it was bad. Because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a date. His job didn’t leave a lot of time to meet eligible women.

Or, if he was honest, he could admit he hadn’t made the effort lately to get off his ass and find Ms. Right. Busting auto thieves and chasing down muggers was less daunting to him than playing the dating game. If the rejection didn’t get you, the emotional roller-coaster ride would. Most of the time it was easier to stay on the sidelines and hope that fate would send someone his way.

Which meant a lot of evenings like this one, where a craving for manicotti like Mama Calabria made had brought him to Trattoria Fabrizio. He poured another glass of Chianti and raised it in a silent toast. To Ms. Right. Wherever you are.

He blinked at the image of a woman that appeared in the glass in his hand. The kind of woman fantasies are made of. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and wondered if it was time to switch to water.

When he looked again, he saw that the image was a reflection of a real woman, who was walking toward him. She looked even better in real life than she had in his glass, with long strawberry-blond hair, legs a Las Vegas showgirl would envy and a figure that made every man in the room put down his fork to watch her walk by.

Carter rose when she stopped at his table. “Hello. I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” she said. She pulled out the chair across from him and sat. “I didn’t think I was running this late.”

“That’s quite all right.” He sat also, unable to stop staring at her. If the fates really had sent this woman to him, they couldn’t have done a better job. Up close, she had skin like porcelain, delicate features, and large blue eyes framed by thick lashes. Bedroom eyes. He let his vision move lower, to the generous breasts swelling at the neckline of her little blue dress, and the belt cinching her trim waist. Yes, this was his fantasy woman all right.

Any minute now, he’d wake up and reality would come crashing down around him, but while the fantasy lasted, he intended to enjoy himself. “Would you like some wine?” he asked.

“Yes, that would be nice.”

He signaled the waiter for a glass and poured for her, then topped up his own glass. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” he said.

She smiled. “Didn’t Marcelle tell you? It’s Joni. Joni Montgomery.”

He nodded. “Pleased to meet you, Joni. I’m Carter. Carter Sullivan.”

She froze with the wineglass halfway to her lips. “I thought your name was Brian.”

Ahh. So she was someone else’s fantasy after all. Well, whoever this Brian character was, he was going to have to wait his turn. “No, it’s Carter.”

“I must have misunderstood.” She sipped the wine. “To tell you the truth, I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.” She glanced at him. “I don’t know how much Marcelle told you about my situation.”

“Marcelle didn’t tell me anything.” Which was, of course, absolutely true.

The waiter arrived with two gold-tasseled menus. Carter pretended to read his while studying her. No rings on her fingers. Tasteful but expensive gold earrings. Neatly trimmed nails and a plain gold watch. Classy, not flashy. Exactly the kind of woman he favored.

The way she was staring, he wasn’t sure he’d made such a great impression on her. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

She flushed, a rosy glow like candlelight against ivory. “It’s just…your hair. It’s not thin at all!”

He put one hand to his head. When he was younger, he’d complained because his hair was thick and hard to style, but now he was at the age where he was grateful it was all there. He grinned at her. “No, it’s not. Guess I’m lucky that way.” He sat up a little straighter. So she liked his hair. That was a start.

The waiter arrived to take their order. She had the chicken piccata while he went with the manicotti. “You said something about your situation?” he prompted when they were alone again.

“Oh yes.” She smoothed her napkin in her lap. “Well, I don’t usually go on blind dates. I mean, not that it isn’t a perfectly nice way to meet people but…well, to tell you the truth, I’m so busy I really haven’t had much time to date.”

“Believe me, I understand.” He sipped his wine. “What do you do?”

“Marcelle didn’t tell you that either?” She laughed. “I’m going to have to talk to that girl. I’m a nurse. She and I work together in the emergency department at Santa Rosa Hospital.” She smiled at him. “And I understand you’re an accountant.”

He was tempted to go along with the story, but he’d always been a lousy liar. “Actually, I’m a cop,” he said.

Her smile melted away and something like anger flashed in her eyes. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

He shook his head. “’Fraid not.” He took out his wallet and flashed his I.D. and flat badge. “San Antonio’s finest, at your service.”

She sat back, silent for a long moment, staring into the wine. Carter wondered if now was the time to come clean with the whole story—that he didn’t know Marcelle, or the missing Brian, and that he wasn’t her blind date for the evening, though he’d gladly volunteer for the job.

She began to chuckle. “What’s so funny?” he asked.

“I just realized, this must be Marcelle’s idea of a joke. She knows how I feel about cops.”

He stiffened. “And how is that?”

She blushed again, a deeper red. “Oh, I didn’t mean anything by that. I’m sure you’re a very nice person. I just don’t want to date a cop. I mean…not usually.”

He was saved from having to respond by the arrival of their dinner. As he silently ate his manicotti, he was acutely aware of the beautiful woman seated across from him. His fantasy woman who didn’t want to date a cop. It figured.

She pushed her chicken piccata around on her plate, not eating. “Is something wrong with the food?” he asked.

“No. No, it’s delicious.” She pushed her plate away and looked at him. “I’m sorry. I’ve really gotten off on the wrong foot, haven’t I? Can we start again?” She held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Joni Montgomery.”

He smiled and took her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Joni. I’m Carter Sullivan.”

“My pleasure, Carter.” They sat there like that for a long moment, smiling and holding hands. Carter felt a surge of something like hope. Maybe this night had some magic in it after all….

“Excuse me, did you say your name was Joni Montgomery?” A short, balding man in a three-piece suit approached their table.

Joni turned to him. “Yes?”

“I’m Brian Anderson. Marcelle’s cousin.”

JONI STARED at the man. Short…balding…three-piece suit…he even had Marcelle’s squint. She looked again at the man across from her. Tall…gorgeous hair…a sports coat he filled out to perfection. What had she been thinking? This wasn’t a man who needed a cousin to fix him up with a date. Women probably followed him around like puppies.

So what was he doing sitting across from her now?

“I…I can explain,” he said.

“Oh, and you will,” she muttered. She turned to Brian. “I’m terribly sorry, there must have been some mix-up.” She glanced at Carter, then back at Marcelle’s cousin. Should she stay or go? After all, Brian was her real date. But she and Carter had been having such a nice time. Brian was probably nice, too, but what if he wasn’t? She was running out of time to find a man who could convince G.P. to leave well enough alone. She looked at Carter again. Did she stick with a known danger—a very handsome danger at that—or try the unknown danger, who might very well turn out to be another toe-licking alien?

Carter chose that moment to wink, a slow, seductive lowering of one eyelid that sent a hot shiver through her. She swallowed and turned back to Brian, giving him her best smile. “Um, I must have gotten my days mixed up. Maybe we could try again some other night?” Marcelle wouldn’t be happy about this, but Joni would think of something to tell her.

“Oh, well…” Brian glanced at Carter, who sat with arms folded across his chest, silent challenge in his eyes. “Uh, yeah. Maybe some other time.” Brian backed away from the table. “Uh, guess I’ll go now.”

When he was gone, Carter refilled her wineglass. “What now?” he asked.

She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Now, you explain. Why didn’t you speak up when you realized what was happening?”

He smiled. A devastating grin that warmed her like a shot of good brandy. “Imagine you’re a man sitting in a restaurant, down in the mouth because once again you’re eating alone. Suddenly, a beautiful woman sits down at your table and announces she’s your date.” He shook his head. “I haven’t learned many lessons in my life, but I know that when the fates hand you a gift like that, you shut up and take it.”

His words sent another tremor through her middle. No one had ever referred to her as a gift before. She ran her fingers up and down the stem of her wineglass. “I’d think a cop would be too hard-nosed to believe in something as ephemeral as fate.”

“Then you’d be wrong. My persistence in believing nothing happens by chance has kept me safe and sane out there on the streets.”

The streets where he got his thrills chasing down the bad guys. Of course, somebody had to do that job, but that didn’t mean she had to get involved with them. “I still think you should have said something when I first showed up.”

“You’re here now. Your accountant is gone. We might as well enjoy ourselves.” As if on cue, a new song began. Carter offered his hand. “Would you like to dance?”

She stared at his outstretched fingers. “I…I don’t know how.” What a shameful thing for a grown woman to admit. G.P. had sent her to dance class when she was in junior high school, but Joni had played hooky every week, preferring to visit the zoo instead.

Carter stood and pulled her up beside him. “That’s all right. I’ll show you.”

Reluctantly, she allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor. G.P. would probably say her lack of dancing ability was one reason she was still single, but who had time for something as old-fashioned as dance lessons?

Apparently Carter Sullivan had taken the time. He moved with the assurance of someone at home on the dance floor. One hand rested at the small of her back, strong and reassuring, while the other helped to guide her in the steps. He leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “Relax. Feel the music.”

But all she could feel was him. His body pressed against hers, warm and strong, muscular without being overbearing. She could easily imagine this powerful man chasing down robbers, rescuing children, and performing all sorts of other heroic acts.

She’d obviously had too much wine if she was letting herself get caught up in such a romantic fantasy. After all, she knew well enough that for every hero spotlighted on the nightly news, there were loved ones standing in the shadows. And when the heroics were all over, the wife and kids were the ones who got hurt.

“Hey, it’s not that bad, is it?” He put his finger under her chin and tilted her head up. “You look like you lost your best friend.”

She raised her eyes to meet his, and too late realized her mistake. He had beautiful eyes—not black, but dark blue, almost violet. They looked at her with an intensity that made her feel, not physically undressed, but emotionally naked.

She looked away again, at her feet, and stumbled against him. “It’s all right,” he soothed, and pulled her closer.

She fought the urge to rest her head on his shoulder, to savor the feeling of his arms around her. Despite her misgivings about his profession, she had to admit that Carter Sullivan was one-hundred-percent attractive male. The kind of man any woman would admire.

“G.P. would love you,” she murmured.

He blinked. “Who is G.P.?”

She sighed. Now was as good a time as any for the story to come out. “G.P. is my grandmother Pettigrew. She never seemed like an ordinary grandmother to me when I was growing up, so I called her G.P.”

The music stopped and he led her back to the table. The dinner dishes had been cleared, replaced by a carafe of coffee and two demitasse cups. “I take it your grandmother likes cops?”

“Cops. Firemen. Soldiers. Pilots. Race-car drivers. If a job is dangerous or daring, she’s in love.”

“But she didn’t pass this love to her granddaughter.” His expression was serious, but his eyes laughed at her.

She added sugar to her cup. “Let’s just say I prefer someone who’s more…stable.”

He nodded. “That’s me, all right. Mr. Unstable. It’s a wonder they let me on the force.”

She made a face. “I get your point and I’m not going to argue with you. In fact, I hope you’ll agree to help me with something.”

His gaze on her had the intensity of a physical touch. “I’m listening.”

She leaned toward him, looking into his eyes. “Carter, I need a man. I need you.”

CARTER SWALLOWED HARD, sure he was back in dream world. Wasn’t this the same woman who’d said she didn’t like cops? Then again, she had chosen to stay with him instead of the accountant. And she hadn’t exactly protested when they’d cuddled up on the dance floor. He grinned. “So my devastating charm has won you over.”

She picked up a coffee spoon and studied her reflection in it. “Do you remember when I told you I had a lot on my mind?”

“Yes, and you were going to tell me about it, but you never got around to it.”

She glanced around them. “Let’s go somewhere a little more private and I’ll explain everything.”

He wasn’t too surprised when she tried to pay the check, but he pushed her credit card back into her hand. “Call me old-fashioned, but I’ll pay.”

She frowned. “That’s ridiculous. This wasn’t even your idea.”

When the waiter returned, Carter signed the credit card slip and tore off his copy. “Let’s just say my fragile male ego will be crushed if I let a beautiful woman, whose company I’ve enjoyed by the way, pick up the check.”

He wasn’t surprised to find her blushing again. Maybe he hadn’t lost his touch after all.

He walked her to her car. “Where do you want to go?” he asked.

“Here is fine.” She leaned against the driver’s-side door, facing him. “It’s just that this story is kind of embarrassing and I didn’t want anyone to overhear.”

“The suspense is killing me.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, though what he really wanted to do was hold her again.

She fiddled with a row of beads on her key chain. “In two days, my grandmother Pettigrew is coming to San Antonio for the sole purpose of finding a husband for me.”

He chuckled. “You’re not serious.”

“Serious as a heart attack. G.P. has decided it’s time I was married and once she makes a decision, there’s no stopping her.”

“Where do I come in?” He stood up straighter. “Not as the potential groom?”

“No!” She dropped the keys and stooped to retrieve them, but he got them first.

He returned the keys to her. “No bridegroom.”

She nodded. “No, but I want you to pretend to be my boyfriend, just for a few days. You could come to the barbecue we’re having in her honor.” She met his gaze again. “Once she meets you, she’ll realize her services aren’t needed.”

So she wanted him, but only long enough to fool her grandmother. Should he be insulted, or pleased? A man with more pride would probably tell her to find some other guy for her charade.

But a man with more pride would end up alone. Why not take the chance to spend more time with the woman fate had sent his way?

“What’s in it for me?” he asked.

“The chance to do a good deed? Free barbecue?”

He shook his head.

She frowned. “What do you want?”

“I want you to give me a chance to prove that a cop can be relationship material. That whatever opinion you’ve formed about me is wrong.”

“You won’t change my mind.”

“Oh, but I’ll enjoy the challenge.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “After this is over, go out with me again. Not just to pull one over on your grandmother, but on a real date. For yourself.”

She looked away, her lips in a tight line. He could almost see her weighing the pros and cons of his proposal. But where was she going to find another guy to agree to her crazy plan on such short notice? She must have reached the same conclusion. “All right. I guess I can do that.”

“Good. Then what say we start right this minute?”

She looked wary. “How?”

“With a good-night kiss.”

Her eyes widened in surprise as he brought his lips to hers. He slipped his arms around her, pressing her tightly against his chest, stroking her back in a soothing motion as his mouth teased away her resistance.

He kissed the corners of her mouth and traced his tongue along the seam of her lips, then bent to kiss the tender flesh of her throat, her skin like satin against his tongue. He returned to her mouth, sucking gently at her lips, every sensitive nerve of his own mouth alive to her.

Triumph filled him as she melted against him, and her lips parted. She tasted of the wine they’d shared and smelled of exotic flowers. And she felt…God, she felt like heaven. He moved his hand to her waist, bringing her closer against his erection. He wanted her to know how she affected him. Instead of drawing away, she pressed into him, her hands on his back, fingers digging in.

Somewhere nearby, a car door slammed, making him aware that they were in a public place. Reluctantly, he drew away, and tried to catch his breath.

She leaned back against the car, eyes glazed, lips swollen and slightly parted, hair mussed. She truly looked like a woman in need of a man now, and given the slightest encouragement, he’d have been happy to oblige. He clenched his fists, hoping she wouldn’t see his hands shaking.

He saw the moment reason returned to her, watched her face pale and her eyes widen. She straightened and smoothed her hands over her hair, down her dress. “I…I’d better go.” She turned and fumbled with her keys, missing the door lock completely.

He stepped forward and took them from her hand, opened the door for her, then leaned in and fit the key in the ignition. “Maybe you’d better sit here a minute before you drive home,” he said.

She slid into the driver’s seat and shook her head. “No. I’m fine.”

He wished she’d look at him. He put his hand on her shoulder. “Listen, I didn’t mean for things to get so carried away just now.”

She nodded, still avoiding his eyes.

“But I think maybe it means something. Maybe we’re not such a bad match after all.”

“I think you shouldn’t read more into this than there is, Mr. Sullivan.” She turned the key in the ignition, starting the engine. “Unlike you, I don’t believe in fate.”

He had to leap back as she slammed the door. Then she sped out of the parking lot, in violation of half a dozen traffic laws. He stared after her, then started to chuckle. Oh, she was a pistol all right. He was going to enjoy proving to her how wrong she was about fate. And about them.