May The Best Man Wed. Darlene Scalera

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      Chapter Two

      Savannah had expected that Cash would drive a sleek sporty number made for speed and sin. He didn’t disappoint her. The roadster was cherry-red and topless.

      “Good night, Cash.” She headed toward her four-door sedan—rated first in its class for safety.

      “Good night?” He had thought her behind him. He now slouched against the roadster’s side, recklessness meeting recklessness, and folded his arms. Every already-more-than-sufficient upper torso muscle expanded into “Body by Jake” territory.

      She reached her car. “Don’t worry. I’ll wait until you pole-vault into that little number to make sure you don’t injure any vital parts.”

      A thick lock of hair fell charmingly across his brow. “Mine or the car’s?”

      She met his shameless features. “I imagine both are extremely precious to you.”

      The lazy sweep of his hand as he combed back his hair was echoed by the easy curve of his lips. “You imagined right.” He pushed off from the car. “So, no drink?”

      She opened her car door. “You couldn’t keep up with me.” She liked too much the sound of his laughter floating behind her. She slid into the driver’s seat, careful not to slam the door and reveal her aggravation. Her first instinct about Cash Walker this morning had been correct. He was a dangerous, dangerous man.

      He strolled over to her car, propped his forearms on the opened window. “You still owe me a bourbon.”

      So much for a clean getaway. She smiled indulgently. “I don’t recall ever making a definite date.”

      He leaned in closer. “I believe we just did…about three minutes ago.”

      “No, three minutes ago you made up an excuse to get out of there without looking as if you were running away.”

      “Is that what happened, sis?”

      She eyed this man who so effortlessly elicited a rare impulse in her—to leap over any barrier and throttle him. This same man who would soon be forever linked to her as family. She couldn’t decide if she should be ashamed or rueful that she hadn’t acted on her first and only-ever primal urge this morning.

      “You do have a pattern.”

      Again, she stared at that column of bronzed flesh as if ready to reach out, take its length between her hands as if only to feel the pulse of life beneath her palms. For a woman who didn’t scare easily, she suddenly was afraid.

      “I’m sorry,” she said to herself as well as to him.

      He smiled. “Don’t apologize—not when you’re right.”

      She’d kill him yet.

      “Yes, I made up the excuse, but—” He held up an index finger. “You knew it, and here you are. Here we both are. You see, I’m what’s commonly known as a bad influence.”

      She considered her murderous instincts and the man’s face too close to hers. “And you enjoy every second of it.”

      His smile became laughter. She couldn’t remember when she’d ever heard such unfettered enjoyment. Her shoulders eased from the rolling wave of it alone. Such a dangerous man.

      “That’s why you won’t have a drink with me?”

      She realized she’d been staring at that mobile, full mouth. She stopped her own smile that had come uninvited. “Why do you want to have a drink with me?” Her voice had become as honestly earnest as his had been tempting. For a moment, the element of surprise was on her side.

      “I like you.”

      The surprise rebounded to her, but stayed concealed beneath her dry tone. “You like me?”

      “You’re fascinating.”

      She would have rolled her eyes, but she refused to show reaction. She knew good and well she was hardly the kind of woman men found fascinating. That was her sister’s department, along with the vast bevy of breathy, curvaceous beauties that after tobacco and cotton seemed to be the South’s greatest crop.

      She propped her chin on her fist. “How so?”

      “For starters, you’ve been the only one not to accuse me of putting evil ideas inside my brother’s head. That’s as close to a defense as I’ll get within a hundred-mile radius of these parts.”

      She let him study her.

      “How do you know I didn’t tell McCormick to chuck it all and take off for the wide-open spaces?”

      She looked into his eyes. “I don’t.”

      His laughter was so close this time it seemed to sing inside her.

      “But I don’t believe in condemning a man without cause.”

      “Many would say a man’s past is enough cause for conviction.”

      “And I would say everyone makes mistakes. I’m not fascinating. СКАЧАТЬ