To Catch A Bride. Renee Roszel

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СКАЧАТЬ won’t be hard,” she said, sweeping her own arm out. “There’s just the one left!”

      “Why don’t I get that for you, ma’am.” He gave a slight, mocking salute and turned away.

      She crossed her arms and scowled at the back of his head, deciding she could be as closemouthed as he. A few minutes later she was strapped into a sleek, two-seater sports car. Her belongings had barely fit into the trunk. Another indication that he hadn’t put a great deal of thought or care into this assignment.

      As they sped northward, she found herself wondering about this delivery guy who’d been delegated to drive her to the remote Varos estate. She hoped it wasn’t too remote, since sitting beside a glowering grouch was not the most fun she’d ever had.

      There were positives about the ride, though. The sun felt good on her face, mild and friendly—not a thing like the short-tempered sphinx at the wheel. She lay her head back to enjoy the cool breeze and the benevolent sunshine. After a time, she realized they were crossing the Golden Gate Bridge, a symphony in steel, recognizable around the world. She sat up to take in the spectacular view of ocean and the cliffs off to the west. On the eastern side, green hills spread out all around. Far below, lay San Francisco Bay, with its teeming marinas. Sailboats glided among verdant islands that dotted blue water. The tangy scent of the sea rose up to greet her and she inhaled, enjoying the extraordinary experience.

      She looked at her unfriendly companion and her smile evaporated. His neatly trimmed hair ruffled in the breeze. Glossy brown tendrils skidded and cavorted across his forehead. Bathed in early-afternoon sunlight the way he was, Kalli had to admit he was deliciously handsome—except for the cantankerous set of his jaw. There was a coiled strength about him, a rugged vitality, that both attracted and troubled her. Clearly this was a man who didn’t give a tinker’s damn about what she or anyone else thought about him.

      Unfortunately, even as moody and grouchy as he was, there was something in him that sent tremors of feminine attraction zinging through her veins. She hated conceding such a thing even for one fleeting instant. Why did she have to find him tempting? He was a rude, tight-lipped jerk. The sooner he dropped her off and drove out of her life, the better she’d like it.

      Sitting more erect, she decided she might as well attempt conversation one more time. It was better than admiring the gleam of his hair or the appealing ridge of his cheekbones.

      “Nice convertible,” she said. “Is it yours?”

      “It’s one of the Varos cars.”

      She nodded. That made sense. Not many people would be able to afford a snazzy vehicle like this. “So you’re the chauffeur?”

      “Sometimes.”

      “When you’re not teaching the sensitivity training seminars?” she asked, trying to get a rise out of him. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because he could so easily get one out of her.

      She didn’t succeed. He merely stared at the highway. No, that wasn’t totally accurate. He flexed one hand. She wondered if that meant he was clutching the steering wheel so tightly his hands were cramping. Ha! Good! If he had to exasperate her then she might as well return the favor.

      “Do you have a name?” she asked, “Or are you an android with a glitch in your disposition software?”

      His square jaw tensed, and she canted her head in his direction, fascinated by the play of light and shadow on his sharply defined features. As soon as she realized she was admiring him, she shifted to glare at the highway. When he didn’t respond, she had no choice but to reroute her glare in his direction. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she shouted, “I said, do you have a name, or—”

      “I heard you, Miss Angelis.”

      She continued to glower at him, but refused to say another word. If he chose to be a boor, it was his business. She didn’t care if he had a name or not.

      After another ponderous accumulation of minutes, he startled her with, “Some people call me Pal.”

      When she stopped reeling from shock that he’d actually spoken to her, she stared at him. “No kidding?” She made a disbelieving face. “No doubt due to your laugh-a-minute personality?”

      He said nothing more, just drove.

      Pal? It didn’t fit with the obnoxious image she had of the man. She decided to delve into the possible spin-offs of Pal. Out loud. If nothing else, her droning on might annoy him, and that was dandy with her. “One thing we can cross off the list is ‘Pal’ as in buddy or friend. The reasons for ruling them out are so laughably obvious I won’t even go there.”

      She wanted to peek at him to see if his jaw muscles reacted to that dig, but she resisted. “Let’s see. Pal…” She scrunched up her forehead. “This is a hard one.” She peered at him. “Care to give me a hint?”

      His only reaction was to check the rearview mirror and slide into the passing lane. What was this? Speeding up in order to get rid of her that much quicker? Her antagonism kicked into high gear along with the sports car. “I’ve got it!” She snapped her fingers and beamed at his profile. “You’re nicknamed after the palm crab! The reasons for that would be self-explanatory. And—no, wait, Paltry! That’s it!” She clapped her hands together with glee. “Paltry—meaning wretched, pettifogging and contemptible!”

      She presented him with a victorious grin. Proud of herself and her wit, she was positive she’d showed ol’ “Pal” here, a thing or two about exactly who he was dealing with. “Am I right, or am I right?” she asked, a jubilant lilt in her tone.

      “Pettifogging?” He stared at her for an instant as he downshifted at an exit.

      “It’s a word,” she shot back, her triumphant smile intact. “It means trashy, shoddy—”

      “Pal is short for Palikaraki. A nickname from my grandfather. “

      “Palikaraki?” Kalli’s smile mutated into a confused frown. “But—but that’s Greek for ‘little hero.”’

      The sports car sped along a hilly country road winding through a forest of pines and California live oak. As her companion drove, he slowly and deliberately lowered his head, then raised it. Kalli had to assume the move was a nod.

      “Little hero?” She gave him another once-over. “Well, without getting into the delusions of your grandfather—does that mean you’re, by some freaky chance—Greek?”

      Again he did that slow up and down thing with his head, another positive, if mute, response.

      “I’m Greek, too.” She eyed him with curiosity, concluding it wouldn’t be strange for Mr. Varos to have other Greeks in his employ. There were probably lots of Greeks in California. As a matter of fact, it would make perfect sense. On two levels.

      If Mr. Varos would go to the extreme of marrying a woman he didn’t know just because she was Greek, he would surely hire Greeks. And that solved the other burning question. How anybody as bad-tempered as Pal, here, could even get a job—certainly only by playing the Greek card.

      “And I thought ‘little hero’ was just a good guess.” He glanced her way. “I’m disappointed.”

      Her annoyance flared at his taunt. “You’re disappointed?” she said. СКАЧАТЬ