Falling for the Wrong Twin (10 page)

Anna turned. She couldn’t see Mike from the dining room, but she knew he’d come downstairs. She could hear the soothing rumble of his voice through the doors. Nothing distinct, but she knew it was him.

“I think,” she said slowly, “that such a thing would change anyone.”

“He’s a good man,” Dee said. “We just want him to be happy.”

And that pulled them right back to her earlier discomfort. Matchmaking was fun and all, but she and Mike were never going to last. He was her vacation fling. And if ever anyone needed some casual sex, it was Mike. He was strung so tight he was going to explode. Which meant that these ladies had to back off fast. The last thing Mike needed was women pressure from his well-meaning relatives. “You ladies aren’t giving the man enough credit. He’s handsome and family oriented and—”

“Exactly dear! Which is why—”

Anna ran right over her. “You need to leave his romantic life to him.”

“But—”

She pushed up to her feet, unwilling to discuss this anymore, though inside her heart ached. After all, it was all too easy for her to build a fantasy life around the dream of Mike and her together. She kept dreaming about his hypnotically intimate stare, but they hadn’t even gone on a date yet. Meanwhile, the door swung open and Rick sauntered in with the twin boys. Behind them came the boys’ parents. The little kids squealed in greeting and Chrissy--who had been involved in a juice vs. soda argument with her son--managed to wave a greeting while she stuffed a muffin in her mouth.

The moment was interrupted which saved Anna from answering. Then she politely excused herself, running to her room to take care of some emails and the like. But no matter how much work she focused on, her mind refused to be distracted.

Was there something wrong with Mike?

…

Something was wrong, and Mike didn’t have to think hard before he got a clue what. After all, Anna was deeply embedded in his family. It had only been a day, but he knew she’d been talking to his mother and aunt. Who knew what the two ladies had said to her.

Then there was what happened while he’d been knee deep in his sister’s taxes. She’d been playing Monopoly with his brother and the twins. He’d heard the laughter and Rick’s not-so-subtle flirting. Damned man couldn’t help himself even though he knew Mike was interested. Which meant Mike kept looking over there, watching to see if Anna was falling for his brother’s massive charisma. Apparently not because he kept catching her staring right back at him. Then she’d flush and look away, though always with a thoughtful expression on her face.

In short, his family was scaring her off. Something they were saying or doing was spooking her, and that was flatlining his chances with her.

Probably better that way, he told himself. But his libido wasn’t convinced, so as soon as possible, he grabbed her arm and steered her out the door. Time to check out her car and the sketchy garage she’d found.

She went easily enough, and their walk to the garage was filled with the usual stuff. Her work day, his work day. How many people did they supervise, where did they go to college. Was there anyone special in their lives.

All the answers were as expected, though she surprised him by saying she had no full time employees but over two dozen part timers. The organizational skills required for just that made his head spin, but she must excel at it. After all, he’d seen her website–complete with pictures of events she’d managed and a list of client referrals. All very impressive.

In fact, she was turning out to be quite a woman. Well, until he started talking to the mechanic. What kind of together woman drove possibly the worst car ever made?

“A Chevette? Seriously?” And not only a Chevette but a 1976 diaper brown three-door hatchback. Probably the ugliest car he’d ever seen and she’d run it so deep into the ground that it had to have passed China.

“It’s a good car,” she said as she faced off with both Mike and the mechanic.

“You understand that it’s a miracle you haven’t been killed in this thing.”

“I put new tires on it just last year.”

“You should have put a new engine in it.”

“Ma’am--” the mechanic began, but Mike held up his hand.

“Save it. She’s attached to the thing. I can see it in her eyes, though it makes me question everything about her claim to a brain.”

“My brain said it would be okay to go to dinner with you too. Obviously, I’ve had an aneurism.”

He wasn’t going to touch that. Instead, he took her arm and gestured her out the door. To the mechanic, he added, “I’ll see if I can talk her into something more progressive over dinner. I’m thinking a donkey and a cart might be closer to this century than that thing.”

“Things have more value than just their book value, you know,” she shot back.

“Yeah,” he said. “Machines are valuable for the tasks they can accomplish. That machine won’t get you across the street, much less across the state.”

She huffed out a breath, but didn’t argue. And as it was still too early for dinner, he turned her down a street that would head toward the river walk. It really wasn’t much of a river, if you asked him. Cherry Moon, MO had seen its heyday even before her ancient vehicle had come off the factory floor. But it was pretty and whatever draw the town had to tourism would be there.

“So give,” he said when they had settled into a comfortable pace. “What is so important about that thing that you’d risk your life every time you turn the ignition?”

She winced at that, but then shrugged. “Maybe I’m sentimental.”

He snorted. “There’s sentiment and then there’s suicide.” He frowned for a moment, and thought through the most obvious possibility. “You can’t afford a new car, can you?” He’d assumed she was well off simply because her clothing was stylish, though he was no true judge of that sort of thing. But good attire would be a requirement for her job. Perhaps her company wasn’t doing nearly as well as she pretended.

“I can afford one,” she said. “Not a Lexus or anything, but I can afford a new car. I’ve been thinking about it for…” She shrugged. “Well since the last time the car broke down.”

“Last week?”

“Ha. Ha,” she said dryly.

He waited. When she didn’t respond, he turned to her. “Seriously. When?”

Her eyes went flat and suddenly her hands became animated. Her voice rose a half step and she started speaking very fast. “Oh well, it was at this party I was doing right downtown. Routine stuff, you know, but I’d spilled coffee on my gown. I don’t do the serving anymore. As owner, I supervise, you understand, and I was trying to get the stupid stain out of my dress when I look up and there she is. Annie Lennox. And you wouldn’t believe--”

“I can tell when you’re lying, you know.”

She stopped mid-gesture. “What?” Then she straightened, her expression as haughty as any society matron’s. “I’m not lying!”

He waved his hand. “Fine, evading. Whatever.”

She gave him an arch look. “Maybe it’s none of your business the last time my car broke down.”

“Then say it’s none of my business. Don’t try to distract me with party gossip and celebrity appearances. Especially since I couldn’t care less even if I did know who Annie Lennox was.”

She cocked her head to one side. “Seriously? I pegged you for an eighties rock kind of guy.”

He blinked. “Oh. The Eurythmics. Sweat Dreams are Made of This.”

“That’s the one.”

“Still couldn’t care less.” Then he frowned, his mind going back over her words. “Seriously? Annie Lennox showed up at your party?”

She blinked and took a breath, obviously about to launch into her tale.

“Damn, you’re about to lie to me again, aren’t you?” In truth, he wasn’t annoyed. He understood that casual conversation wasn’t always spot-on accurate. But the more he was with her, the more he wanted to pin her down. He wanted to lock her in place in his mind—and under his body—but she constantly escaped his grasp. So he poked at her, and she bristled with the most endearing mock-insult-face he’d ever seen.

“I’m not lying.” She folded her arms. “I don’t lie.”

“So you actually sat next to Alan Alda at the Academy Awards?”

She sighed. “Look, I’m on vacation, okay? Back at home, I’ve got to walk the straight and narrow, but out here with strangers I’ve never going to see again? It’s possible I--”

“Lie your sweet little ass off?”

She stuck her pink little tongue out at him and his groin had the predictable response. “I embellish. I pretend. What’s wrong with a little fantasy?”

It ended up giving him wet dreams, that’s what. But he didn’t say that aloud, and thankfully she kept talking.

“If you had let me finish my story, I would have told you that the woman I met looked just like Annie Lennox but she had a voice like a fog horn.”

He nodded. “And is any of that tale true?”

She opened her mouth, but he held up a finger.

“When you lie, your eyes disconnect. I see it with bad actors. They’re reciting lines and watching to see your reaction to their words. There’s no actual connection to what you say. Or not as much. Once you know what to look for, it’s really obvious.”

She slowly shook her head. “Your mom was right.”

“About what?”

“You are detail oriented. Annoyingly so.”

“I count that a virtue.”

“It would be for an engineer,” she agreed dryly. “Not so much in a date.”

He shrugged. “We’re not on the date yet,” he said. “That starts at dinner.”

“Then what is this?”

“A friendly mechanical engineer advising you that your car--and I use that term loosely--needs to be put down. For your own sake and the sake of all the people near you on the road.”

She slowed down. They had reached the end of the street and were now looking at the river--dirty, sludgy thing that it was. It wasn’t the Mississippi, but a minor tributary to it. Once it might have been pretty, but now it was polluted, smelled better than he’d feared, and was rushing fast from the recent rains. She stared at it as if it held the secret to life.

He didn’t say anything. Sometimes people just needed to stare for a bit before they came to the right conclusion. But as he waited, he couldn’t resist touching her. He stroked his fingers down the side of her arm, and was pleased when she didn’t sidle away. She was a cagey one, he realized. She could talk with anyone, had infused herself seamlessly into his family, and yet when it came to something personal—something real about herself—she slipped away. Would she finally give up a piece of herself to him? Would she trust him that much?

“I know it needs to be junked, okay?” she said, and he wanted to pump his fist for the win. She was really talking to him.

“Too expensive?” he asked, straining to keep his voice neutral.

“Disgustingly so. Every year, I pour more and more money into that thing. It never runs smooth, the seats hurt my ass, and it smells funny.”

“So why keep it?”

“It was my mom’s. Just about the only thing of value she ever had.”

He squeezed her arm as he tried to keep his tone light. “I hate to break it to you, but---”

“There was no value there to begin with. Yeah I know. She bought it for a few hundred dollars and her mechanic of a boyfriend kept it alive for us.”

“But now it’s the last thing you have from her and you’re trying to hold on even though you know it’s potentially suicidal.” There was no condemnation in his voice. After all, he knew from personal experience how hard it was to lose a parent. He was still raw from his dad’s death, and he had a loving family around him.

She turned to look at him. “You think I’ve got a screw lose about this.”

He smiled. “I definitely think you’ve got a screw loose, but not because of the car.”

“Don’t hold back, Mike,” she drawled. “Tell me how you really feel.”

His smile widened. “Okay, I will. But first answer me this: do you have any family other than your mother? What happened to your father? Any siblings? Close friends?”

She looked back at the river. “That’s more than one question.”

“I’ve been storing them up.”

“It was just me and mom growing up. Boyfriends came and went, the mechanic longest of all. But in the end, it was just her and me.”

“When did she die?”

“Four years ago. She lived to see me graduate from college, though she couldn’t make it to the ceremony.” Her expression softened. “I had a friend record it from beginning to end. Every boring minute of it. We must have watched that a hundred times. It was playing on the tv when she died.”

“Sounds like she was very proud of you.”

She nodded. “She was. My biggest fan.”

“So you hold onto her car like you can’t hold onto her. I get it. I really do. I’ve got my dad’s tackle box even though I hate fishing, and I’m not giving it up for any reason.”

She nodded, her body stiff and her expression distant. God, she looked so isolated like that. So he went with his gut and wrapped his arms around her. He simply enfolded her from behind while she stared out at the muddy water. And in time, her body relaxed back against him. Soft, womanly, and so sweet in his arms, he ached from the lust thrumming hard in his blood.

“But Anna--that tackle box isn’t going to kill me. Or someone else if you lose control.”

She turned sharply toward him. “You seriously think that could happen?”

“Yes, I seriously do.”

She winced then looked away. He body was a still thing against him as if frozen there. He didn’t fight her, didn’t even try to coax her into breathing again. He simply waited—he was a patient man—because he knew she was smart enough to see the truth. And in time, he was proven right.

Her shoulders trembled and her head dropped back against him. “I don’t know anything about cars. Sure I can change a spark plug and pour water in the radiator, but that’s not the same thing as buying a new one. About fighting for a good price.”

He released a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. “You’ll junk it?”

“I’ll…I don’t know. Maybe I’ll haul it home as art and put it on my mantle.”

“That’d require an awfully big mantle.”

“Fine, I’ll let it rust in the parking lot outside my apartment. Lawn sculpture.”