Bride Candidate #9. Susan Crosby

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      He heard his office door open and close.

      “Luke, your two-o’clock appointment is here.”

      He searched his memory, drawing a blank, before he turned around. “I have an appointment?”

      The assistant he’d inherited strode to his computer, punched a few keys and brought up his date book. “There. Two o’clock. Ariel Minx.”

      “Ariel Minx?” He leaned forward to look at the monitor himself. “Hell must’ve frozen over.”

      Silence hovered between them for a few seconds before his assistant spoke again. “I don’t think I’ll ask. She called early this morning and said she needed to see you, that it was urgent. You were in conference. Your message icon is lit, Luke.” A long-suffering sigh was built into her words.

      “I haven’t mastered that function yet.” A sudden, clear image of Ariel Minx came to mind—blond, delicate, average height. She’d filled out a basic black one-piece swimsuit to perfection. Nice shoulders, too, he recalled, and an elegant back—things he didn’t usually notice on a woman.

      “Is this business or pleasure with Miss Minx, Luke? Do you need me to take notes?”

      His gaze drifted to the list of names, which he then shoved into his top drawer. “Business, I suspect. We met on that charity cruise last summer. Give me a minute, Marguerite, then show her in. If I need you, I’ll let you know.”

      As soon as Marguerite left the room, Luke scooped up the crutches leaning against his desk and propelled himself across his office, swiping his suit jacket from a rack as he passed it. His crutches belonged in the bathroom, out of Ariel’s sight and curiosity, on the off chance this wasn’t a business call.

      He had no intention of becoming another of her charitable causes.

      

      Ariel Minx’s instincts were usually good, but she hadn’t pegged Lucas Walker at all. The office of the former star receiver of the San Francisco Gold Dusters and now president of Titan Athletic Shoes should have been gaudy with masculine pretense. It wasn’t.

      Ariel turned a slow circle as she waited for him to arrive. She’d anticipated a giant trophy room of gleaming tributes to his years as a professional football player. At the very least, his six Sports Illustrated covers, framed for public viewing and admiration, should have peppered his walls. Perhaps even a mounted animal head or two, in keeping with his all-American-male image.

      She figured he fished and hunted with the best of ’em, given his penchant for tall tales. But, if so, such manly pursuits weren’t in evidence here in his amazingly understated, tastefully decorated office, the furnishings of which were chosen for comfort, the arrangement cozy. She was drawn to the view of the Sierra Nevada mountains, and knew that beautiful Lake Tahoe was nestled a ridge away. She’d passed it on the way to Luke’s office building.

      Damn the man, anyway. She couldn’t even fault him for having poor taste—and he’d been hard enough to resist with his more obvious liabilities.

      “Well, Miz Minx, if you aren’t a welcome sight for these sorry eyes.” He filled the room with his presence as he came through a door, shutting it before he added, “What brings you out of the big city?”

      In casual wear he had been imposing, she recalled. In a tuxedo, he’d all but sent her into a swoon. But then, most men looked good in a tux. Dressed for success, however, he overwhelmed. The navy blue fabric of his suit matched his eyes. A splash of burnished gold in his tie coordinated with his hair, gleaming brilliantly in the mid-afternoon sun shining through a picture window, freeze framing him in her mind.

      “Cat got your tongue?” His eyes danced with friendly humor, as if he’d last seen her six days ago instead of six months.

      Ariel frowned. He’d flustered her from the moment they’d met. She, who was always in control, chairing committees, not just serving on them. She, who managed a portfolio worth millions; she, who successfully sweet-talked celebrities and politicians into giving time and money to charitable causes, was reduced to struggling to find the right words with him.

      Which was why she’d avoided him since the cruise she’d arranged and he’d attended as a sports celebrity—before his unexpected retirement. And if she’d been surprised or even a little disappointed that he’d taken her at her word and not contacted her during the ensuing months, she hadn’t thought about it more than, oh, a couple of times a day.

      She focused on the ever-present cigar that he grinned around. “Good afternoon, Mr. Walker. Still stinking up rooms, I see.”

      With a chuckle, he pulled the cigar from his mouth and ground it out in a nearby ashtray. He led her to a burgundy leather sofa, then sat beside her. He fingered the sleeve of her red wool suit. “Dressed like this, you must mean business.”

      He was a toucher. She’d forgotten that. He must be a wonderful lover—Ariel blinked, cannoning the image away, not for the first time. “I have a favor to ask,” she said abruptly. “I thought it should be in person.”

      “Would you like something to drink?” He didn’t wait for her answer, but pressed a button on a speaker phone. “Marguerite, would you get Miz Minx and me a fresh pot of tea, please?”

      “I’d be glad to, Luke,” came the immediate response.

      “‘It should be in person’?” he repeated to Ariel, not skipping a beat.

      She shifted her gaze from the intercom to his face. “What if I’d wanted coffee?”

      “You don’t drink coffee.”

      “And how do you know that?”

      “Why, Ariel, we shared quite a few meals on the cruise. You always ordered tea. Plain tea. No fancy flavors. No sweetener. No milk. A smart man pays attention to what a lady in his company prefers. Now, the woman who sat on my other side—”

      “The one you were setting your sights on that first night, until her husband joined her?”

      His eyes twinkled. “I was just bein’ friendly.”

      “Uh-huh.”

      “She liked margaritas—and keep ’em coming. And the lady across the table drank only milk. Six months pregnant, you recall.”

      “Which leaves Mrs. Kent...”

      “She enjoyed her sherry, didn’t she?”

      He waited, a challenge in his silence.

      “Am I supposed to be flattered that you remember my tastes, Lucas, when you can also remember everyone else’s?”

      “Can’t say the issue was whether you should be flattered, darlin’. Only that I noticed.”

      Reluctantly Ariel smiled. Something else she’d forgotten—how easily he’d made her laugh. How much fun he was with his born-and-bred Texas drawl and understated humor. He’d been the only unmarried celebrity on the cruise, so at times—most of the time, actually—they’d ended up as a pair. He hadn’t harassed her. He hadn’t even looked at her with lust. But as soon as they’d become a couple by default, СКАЧАТЬ