Downhome Darlin' & The Best Man Switch (24 page)

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Authors: Victoria Pade

BOOK: Downhome Darlin' & The Best Man Switch
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Maybe that same electric current was doing wild things to her brain. She couldn't believe she was going to say what she was about to say. And she sure didn't know how to say it.
Ever since she was a teenager, she'd always aimed for long-term relationships. The idea of having a naughty weekend had never really appealed to her. Now, when she'd about made up her mind that a string of short-term dalliances might be more wise a pursuit than one long-term entanglement that was bound to blow up in her face eventually, she barely knew where to start.
Grant wondered why Mitzi was so silent. She'd seemed a regular chatterbox with every other partner she'd had that evening. “You're a wonderful dancer,” he told her.
As conversation starters went, it was lame, not to mention a lie. Actually, Mitzi dragged her feet and wore an expression that said she'd rather be toiling on a chain gang. But there was the undeniable fact that their bodies fit perfectly together. He could have spent the next fifty years just yanking her around this small dance floor.
One of her dark eyebrows arched up and she peered at him. “You sound surprised.”
Had they danced together before? “Look, about last night—”
She shook her head frantically, cutting off his apology before he could even spit it out. “I know, you're going to apologize. Kay probably told you to. She has a habit of treating her friends like recalcitrant fifth-graders.”
He laughed, but attempted to refute the idea that Kay had put him up to this. “No, I—”
She interrupted again. “We both spoke fairly bluntly last night.”
Grant remembered his brother's muttering about being a lout, and decided that Mitzi must have really let him have it. Good.
“But what I've come to realize,” Mitzi continued, “is that I got so angry because I didn't want to admit you were correct”
The last thing he wanted was for Mitzi to accept his Neanderthal brother's assessment of her personality. “Listen, Mitzi, you were right to call me a lout.”
“Maybe so, but there's something I didn't speak truthfully about.”
“What was that?”
She took a deep breath. “You were right. I am too prickly. Too careful.”
She didn't feel prickly in his arms right now. She felt soft and delicate and she smelled like some wonderful flower dreamed up by a love-mad Parisian chemist.
“Listen, Mitzi,” he began gingerly, wanting to clear the air.
“No, no, I have to say this now or I never will.” She looked up at him, her face twisted with emotion. Her eyebrows knit together adorably.
Something about her earnestness made him smile. He chuckled under his breath. “Okay, shoot. What is it you want me to know?”
“Just that, if your offer still stands, I want to take you up on it.”
He cocked his head, uncomprehending. “My offer?”
She swallowed. “I want us to have that fling.”
3
F
IRST HIS BLUE EYES bugged out in surprise. Then, his feet stopped moving. Finally, his hands let go of her and his arms dropped to his sides. He looked like the victim of a zombie curse.
Mitzi's cheeks blazed. They were standing still in the middle of a dance floor teeming with people, with Grant gawking at her as if she were something out of his worst nightmare. So far, her first attempt at a sexy, spur-of-the-moment proposition didn't seem to be going over so well.
“I...” His voice trailed off in a low broken rasp. “You want to have a fling with me?”
She crossed her arms. “No, I meant with the invisible six-foot kangaroo standing right in front of you.”
Her sarcasm barely fazed him. “A fling,” he repeated.
And just last night he had practically propositioned her! Now he was staring at her as if she'd lost her mind.
“I believe that's the correct word. At least, it was the one you used”
He blinked again. “You mean I...I asked you to...?”
“Yes, you did.”
“Oh, but you see, I don't remember.”
He remembered her calling him a lout, but not hitting on her? “Well, you did.”
A bronzed eyebrow shot up speculatively. “And now you want to...?”
What could she say now that wouldn't make her look like a fool? “Only because you suggested it.”
He nodded. “I see. You would have never thought of it on your own?”
“Well, of course I would have thought it,” she snapped. When her statement reached her own ears, she felt more of an idiot than ever. “I mean...”
He grinned. “I know what you mean.”
Heat prickled across her skin, making her want to take a step backward, or better yet, run, but her lime-green pumps remained firmly rooted to the floor. Awkwardness and embarrassment began to turn into steamy anger. How could he proposition her one night and then the very next day treat her as if she was about as desirable as a wart?
Thankfully, “Unforgettable” ended, the band took a break and people started milling around, making Mitzi and Grant's standoff a tad less obvious.
“Okay, forget it,” she said.
He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “I'm not sure I want to. It's not every day a virtual stranger propositions me.”
“That's what I thought...yesterday.” She lifted her chin in an attempt to feign nonchalance. “Besides, I assumed our altercation last night made us closer than strangers. I don't just go around walloping every man I meet, I'll have you know.”
He chuckled. “I was wondering about that.” Then his smile died. “I'm assuming that you don't ask every man you meet to sleep with you, either.”
She scowled, looking for exits out of the corner of her eye. Only great effort kept her from skittering out of the room like a cockroach when the lights came on. “No, and considering the fact that my one attempt at seduction has gone over like a fly in a punch bowl, you might just be the only man I ever ask.”
“Good,” he said, still grinning. “I mean, I didn't mind being asked for a fling one bit.”
She pursed her lips skeptically. “Is that why you looked at me like I had galloping leprosy?”
“You just startled me.”
“Horrified you, you mean.”
He looked alarmed. “Not at all.”
“Are you saying that you want to have a fling now?” She almost was salivating in anticipation of his answer. Because if it was yes, she was going to have the greatest pleasure telling him to go climb a rope. There was something so unbearably smug about this man, maybe because she still, in spite of everything, found him too sexy for her own good.
He looked as if he was about to pick his way through a verbal minefield. “I wouldn't dream of it.” Her jaw dropped, and he quickly said, “Not that I don't feel honored. ”
She would feel honored to punch his lights out. Again. Her jaw clenched tight enough to crack walnuts. What was it about this man that made her—an usually peace-loving person—want to resort to physical violence?
Of course, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he bothered her. Remembering that she was supposed to be a member of a wedding party, not a potential brawler, she glanced around at the tables decorated with graceful white swags and filled with generous trays of finger food. Sanctuary.
“Excuse me,” she said in a frosty voice. Then she pivoted on her heels and marched quickly toward a pickle tray.
Grant watched in amazement as she flounced proudly away, her head high. Had what just happened really happened, he wondered, or was it some sort of subconscious wish fulfillment?
It was too amazing. He hadn't even thought she liked him.
And maybe she didn't. After all, the woman had to think that she was propositioning Ted. That in itself was disturbing, although he comforted himself with the fact that when Ted had suggested he and Mitzi sleep together, she'd belted him. It wasn't until she'd met Grant that she'd changed her mind. And no one need ever know that she'd propositioned the wrong—or, in his opinion, right—man. Especially Ted.
A fling... He couldn't remember the last time he'd contemplated such a thing. That short-term love-‘em-and-leave-' em approach was always more his brother's style. Grant valued permanence, responsible behavior, marriage.
On the other hand, he'd married Janice, and look where that had gotten him.
A fling...the idea had definite appeal. And Kay had just been telling him that he was passionless. Maybe this was his cue to cast off the bonds of responsibility and go wild.
A ringing sounded from the general direction of his chest, and it was a few moments before he realized the sound wasn't his heart sounding off, but the cell phone inside his jacket. He turned his back to Mitzi and answered.
It was Ted. “Are you still in one piece?”
“Yes, although you're lucky you are!” Grant whispered into the phone. “Do you realize that you behaved like a complete ass last night?”
“Me?” Ted asked, his tone all innocence. “What did
I
do?”
“I can't go into details here, but let's just say you should be glad you got away with a poke in the jaw. Where are you?”
“work.”
Dread pierced Grant's heart. Ted, at work? On a Saturday? Hungover? “For heaven's sake, get out of there!” He spoke with the urgency of someone instructing a friend to exit a burning building. “What are you doing there to begin with?”
“The boat was making me seasick, and I couldn't find my house keys, so I came here for my spare set. But the minute I walked through the door, I was inundated with work.”
“Imagine,” Grant quipped. “Work at work.”
“There are three phone messages here from Horace Moreland. He's apparently been calling every hour on the dot, trying to set up a dinner on Wednesday. What should I say?”
“I'll take care of that,” Grant answered. “Every dinner we have with the man is one less opportunity for him to get to Mona and Truman.”
“Good thinking,” Ted agreed.
“What else?”
There was a moment of silent confusion on the line. “Nothing. That's all.”
Only Ted would label three phone messages an inundation. “Okay, Ted, you've done great. Now, listen closely. Slowly and carefully lock up your office and go home,” Grant said, talking him through the process. He was uncomfortable with the idea of Ted wandering around Whiting's unchaperoned. In fact, after last night, he was wondering whether his brother didn't need a permanent keeper. “Don't worry about minding the store, that's what we hire a manager for.”
Grant hung up the phone, feeling unnerved. He hated being away from work. What if Ted had agreed to dinner with Moreland? That retail tyrant, an ex-marine, could eat his brother alive, business-wise.
And to think he'd been toying with the idea of having a fling, this of all weeks! He wasn't exactly on vacation here. He had pressing business that screamed for his attention. If he didn't devote this week to the store, his entire future could be in jeopardy. And it wasn't only himself he had to keep in line. He had to ensure that Ted was on his toes, and watch out for Mona and Truman. Just thinking about all that responsibility made sweat break out on his forehead.
A fling? He didn't have time for that kind of nonsense when so much was at stake.
As he stuffed his phone back into his tux pocket, Mitzi turned and darted a glance back at him. Once again Grant felt the powerful allure of those green eyes. Even in a fleeting instant, he read their meaning. She was half checking to make certain he wouldn't join her, and half wondering if he would. When she saw that he was watching her, two splotches of bright red colored her cheeks and she whipped her head back around, focusing her gaze intently on a cauliflower floret
Of course he couldn't have a fling. He didn't have time, and couldn't spare the emotional energy it would cost him, in any case. He was just getting over Janice. He didn't know what kind of person Mitzi was, or if he could trust her....
But his feet didn't seem to understand any of these arguments. They carried him right over to her. “Mind if I join you?” he asked.
Mitzi felt her pulse leap, then frowned. She didn't want him here, she reminded herself. She looked around, hoping to spot Marty or Brewster, anyone who could be a buffer between her and Grant. “Unfortunately, being maid of honor doesn't give me the privilege of chasing you away from the finger food.”
He smiled as if he hadn't heard her caustic tone. “You know, Mitzi, it seems to me that we've gotten off on the wrong foot. I'm really not that bad, you know. I don't bite.”
She gaped at him.
“What?” he asked innocently.
Was he kidding?
He stepped back. “Did I say something wrong?”
“Do you really have that short a memory?” she asked.
A look of pure anguish crossed his face as he riveted his eyes on the bandage covering her hand. “Oh, my Lord! Don't tell me I bit you!”
She laughed. “No, you told Kay to tell me that you don't bite. Outside the church? Remember?”
Apparently, he didn't. She stared at him, bewildered. He had either been hitting the bottle earlier than she'd suspected, or he had the memory of a gnat. And either way, she trusted him less and less. Not that she trusted him much to begin with.
He lifted his shoulders and smiled. “I know it seems strange...”
“Uh-huh.”
“But really,” he said, “I'd like to make up for all my blunders. Say, maybe, coffee sometime?”
This had to be a joke.
She eyed him steadily. He wasn't kidding. “And maybe coffee could lead to...?
His expression was a blank. “Maybe a movie?”
“Right,” she said skeptically.
“Good,” he said, popping a sweet gherkin into his mouth. “I'll give you a call.”
She rolled her eyes. Now she knew he was playing games. “I didn't mean ‘right' as in ‘sure,' I meant ‘right' as in
‘forget about it.”'
“Oh.” He looked thunderstruck. “May I ask why?”
He edged closer to her, giving her little elbow room as she tried to pile her plate with raw veggies and little crustless sandwiches. She couldn't wait to get back to a table and talk to someone else, anyone else, besides Grant The man could curl her toes with just a look, and he made her say outrageous things. A fling, for God's sake! What had she been thinking? She felt so flustered, her shaking hand flipped a paper-thin cucumber slice onto the floor. It hit the high-glossed wood with a muted wet splat.
Mitzi sighed. “I don't know if I can put this clearly enough, but I really don't relish the idea of furthering our relationship, which, in case you haven't noticed, hasn't worked out so well so far.”
“That's what I'm trying to remedy.” His tone was dead earnest.
She tilted her head. “Right.”
He raised a cautionary finger. “There you go using that word again. It's very confusing.”
She took a breath for patience. Yesterday the man had wanted nothing to do with her, but today he was as clingy as tumble-dry polyester. Of course, five minutes ago she herself had propositioned him. Now she wished she could retract her words and, while she was dabbling in wishful thinking, she also wouldn't have minded if she could have been magically transported back to New York City.
“Look, for all I know, you might be a perfectly charming person,” she told him. “Kay certainly thinks you are. But at this point, I don't want to have coffee with you, or go to a movie with you, and I certainly don't want to sleep with you.”

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