High-Society Bachelor. Krista Thoren

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СКАЧАТЬ Cam eyed her mouth. She had a full lower lip that contributed a hint of sensuality to her fresh, girl-next-door good looks. He dragged his gaze away. She didn’t seem exactly crushed about her broken engagement. Was that another example of her refusal to take anything in life seriously? Or was it only pretense, an attempt at salvaging her pride? Either explanation seemed plausible, but only one explained the story she’d told Marilyn.

      “For what it’s worth, I understand why you lied about having a boyfriend,” Cam told her.

      She grimaced. “I prefer the word fibbed.”

      “Fine. I know why you fibbed.”

      She sent him a wary look that didn’t quite come off on a face as open and friendly as hers. “You do?”

      “Sure.” He shrugged. “Her son ditched you and you looked for a face-saver. It’s a natural enough response. Egos are fragile things.”

      That earned him a scowl that looked even stranger on her face. “First off, Mark did not ‘ditch’ me, at least not the way you make it sound. He’s too civilized for that. Second, my ego is sturdy enough, thank you very much. As I said, I was trying to put Marilyn’s mind to rest.”

      Irritated that she wouldn’t come clean with him, Cam shot her a skeptical look. “Your ex-fiancé’s mother? Uh-huh. I’m sure the fact that what’s-hisname, your ex, would hear about your new boyfriend had nothing to do with it.” Why had he said that? He felt ridiculous, as if they were college kids arguing over Sunday night pizza.

      He, at least, had left his college days far behind.

      “That’s right, it had absolutely nothing to do with it.” She looked like she actually believed what she was saying. Her deep blue eyes were wide and indignant. Truthful.

      “It doesn’t matter,” Cam said finally. “You’re better off without him, anyway. Don’t the surveys say single women are happier than married women?” Barb kept up on all the surveys, and she didn’t believe in sparing him any of the good news. The rest of the survey had claimed that married men were happier than single men.

      He could still hear the triumph in Barb’s voice, but Cam knew the survey was wrong on that point. It was wrong for the simple reason that men were biologically predisposed to prefer variety. They had a natural instinct to run from entanglement. Marriage was only for those who’d lost the energy to run.

      He planned to stay energetic for life.

      Besides, he’d seen no evidence of marriage producing long-term happiness for either men or women. At best they tolerated each other and at worst, they ended up in bitter custody battles over children who could only sit there in misery, wanting to be anywhere but there, in the middle of all the shouting.

      The phone rang. When Deborah excused herself to go get it, Cam found himself disappointed. Based on her track record, her facial expression and her long silence, he figured she’d probably had something memorable to say. And now he’d miss it. His encounters with Deborah always left him strangely invigorated, as if he were a newly revved-up engine.

      Cam took advantage of her absence to glance around her living room. Except for the couch he was sitting on, the furniture was wicker, which wasn’t a favorite of his. It looked okay in this room, though, especially combined with lots of plants and a collection of brightly colored pillows. Two end tables painted with funky designs flanked the couch. The scarcity of furniture made him suspect that Deborah’s apartment had been furnished on a tight budget. But she’d done a creative job of it. The best features of the room were the large stone fireplace and the hardwood floors.

      He could hear Deborah’s voice, a distant murmur as she talked on the phone in the kitchen. She had a clear, pleasant voice that suited her. Books and other collectibles told a lot about a person, so he got up and went over to look at her bookshelves.

      She had political thrillers, which was a surprise. He recognized a couple of his own favorite authors. A few mystery novels, some romantic comedies and a variety of nonfiction titles rounded out her reading collection. There were several photographs of a teenage Deborah with another girl. Her sister? Probably, judging by the family resemblance. Nearby was another photo of a woman who had to be her mother. There was no evidence of her father.

      Cam had just put the silver-framed photo down when Deborah strode back into the room, a tablet of paper in hand.

      He liked the way she moved. It was one of the first things he’d noticed about her. She had a carefree, swingy kind of walk and the height to carry it off gracefully. She had to be five feet ten or so, with a slender, athletic build. Curves in all the right places. Dressed more classically, she would look elegant, but even in artsy clothes she was striking. Her bright blue tunic sweater and leggings accentuated her mile-long legs.

      Even though Deborah Clark was way too young for him, he enjoyed looking at her. As he’d assured himself several times, there was nothing wrong with that. But it bothered him a little to realize that he especially enjoyed looking at her now that he didn’t have to remind himself she was engaged, and he didn’t have to feel the familiar and illogical surge of irritation that the reminder always carried with it.

      The fact was that right from the beginning, he’d found it all too easy to watch Deborah. Her shapely body and streaky blond hair were eye-catching enough, but the lively intelligence in her eyes and the humor in her expression riveted his attention. Looking at her almost made him forget her flippant attitude, extreme chattiness and appalling taste in music. One thing was for sure: He would not be putting her in charge of the string quartet.

      In fact, he’d have to keep her on a tight leash with every aspect of the party planning, because although she wasn’t the doily type, tie-dye might not be far off the mark, and he wasn’t a fan of the neo-sixties look. He’d agreed to offer the planning job to Deborah based only on Barb’s assurances that the younger woman could produce elegant parties. His motherly administrative assistant had apparently added Deborah Clark to her collection of strays.

      Cam watched as Deborah finished jotting something down on her small pad of paper. A favor to Barb was one thing, but he was no martyr. Fortunately, and thanks to Deborah herself, he would reap the added benefit of a hostess for his party. An attractive one, too. Deborah might not fit his image of the ideal girlfriend, but she was easy on the eyes. Most importantly, she wasn’t going to make any demands on him during the evening. No expectations, no fits of fury, no sulking episodes. He’d be faced only with a cheerful, chatty female who would help him persuade little Heather Manders to exercise her teenage feminine wiles on someone else.

      “Sorry about the interruption,” Deborah said, looking up from her pad of paper. “But I always answer the phone during business hours since my company is home-based.”

      He nodded and focused his attention on the small, gray-striped cat that trotted behind her into the living room. “There’s a familiar face,” he commented, aware of mixed feelings. Although highly appealing, the animal reminded him of behavior he’d rather forget.

      A month ago, the cat had followed Cam from the hallway into his office, where the feline had promptly curled up on his desk and fallen asleep on a stack of legal documents, wrinkling the top one beyond redemption. When Barb had identified the cat, Cam had stalked upstairs to deliver the interloper, along with a few curt words he shouldn’t have come out with.

      It was true that the wrinkled original contract had to be completely redone. It was also true that a robe-clad Deborah had arrived at the door looking damp and tousled, with an innocent gaze that didn’t match her clothing. Still, СКАЧАТЬ