Maid of Dishonor (3 page)

A player? Carter?

Gina's throat constricted as the memories she'd filed carefully
away in the ‘biggest disaster of my life' box had a coming-out party.

Yes, he'd been devastatingly handsome, and moody and magnetic
and sexy enough to make any woman salivate uncontrollably, even an accomplished
flirt like her. But beneath that potent machismo had been a man who, like
Marnie, had been determined to do the right thing—who had been honourable and
sensitive and touchingly reserved, despite the hunger burning in those cool blue
eyes. How could that man be a player?

Nobody could change that much. Even in ten years....

‘Reese told me Carter had got a divorce,' she said. The guilt
she'd worked hard to mask ever since Reese had told her the news throbbed in her
belly like a lump of radioactive waste—alongside an inappropriate rush of heat,
which she studiously ignored.

‘I'm sorry about that too,' she said. It would be conceited of
her to think she was wholly responsible for the failure of Carter's marriage,
but she still had to shoulder her share of the blame. She'd slept with an
engaged man and then tried to push the blame onto the only innocent party in the
whole thing, Carter's fiancée, Missy.

‘You don't need to apologise,' Marnie remarked with sober
certainty. ‘The divorce wasn't your fault—they had a lot of other...' her voice
trailed off ‘...issues.'

‘It's nice of you to say that.' And nicer still to see that she
actually meant it. ‘But I was there when it happened, and I know how hard he
tried to resist me.'

Marnie shot her hands out in the shape of a T. ‘All right, time
out, because you are straying back into “things I will never need to know about
my brother” territory, here.'

Gina huffed out a laugh at the look of horror on Marnie's face.
Maybe the Southern Belle had grown up, but it seemed she still had the same
demure sensibilities when it came to discussing her big brother's sex life.

‘The point is...' Marnie put her hands down ‘...I'm ashamed of
the things I said that night too.' She drew a circle on the table. ‘I wanted to
put all the blame on you, because blaming Carter would mean admitting he didn't
belong on the pedestal I'd put him on.' She sighed. ‘We're not close these
days.'

Gina felt the renewed stab of regret. ‘Oh, Marnie, I'm so
sorry. Did I do that too?'

‘I don't think so,' Marnie said, sounding adamant. ‘It would
have happened anyway once I got older and wiser and realised what he was really
like.' The wry smile on Marnie's lips did nothing to dispel the thoughtful
expression. ‘You know, I don't remember you having such an overdeveloped guilt
complex.'

Gina chuckled at the observation. ‘Unfortunately, it's the end
result of believing everything is about you.'

Marnie sent her a quick grin, the unguarded moment a reminder
of the easy friendship they'd once shared.

‘Look, I hope we're good now,' Marnie said. ‘Because my
relationship with my brother isn't as important to me as my friendship with
y'all.'

‘Yeah, we're good,' Gina said, but felt oddly deflated as
Marnie excused herself to go to the restroom.

Maybe they hadn't had a catfight, and maybe she'd finally got
out the apology that she should have given Marnie ten years ago... But somehow
it didn't feel like enough.

Maybe her thoughtless seduction that night hadn't been the only
reason Carter's marriage had ended, but it had definitely helped to screw up his
relationship with his sister. And Gina couldn't quite shake the thought that
Marnie had fallen back on her perfect Southern manners to smooth everything
over, but didn't really mean it.

The buzzing of Marnie's phone jolted Gina out of her guilt
trip, and made coffee slosh over the rim of her mug. She mopped up the spill and
made a grab for the phone as it vibrated towards the edge of the table. Then
nearly dropped it at the photo that flashed up in the viewfinder under the text
message.

Arrive @ The Standard 7pm 2nite. In NYC til
next Fri. Txt me. We need 2 discuss yr allowance. C

Her heart leapt up to bump against her larynx and the swell of
heat that she'd been busy ignoring flared. She pressed her thumb to the screen
and ran it over the darkly handsome face that had hardly changed in ten years.
His hair was longer, the brutal buzz cut now a mass of thick waves that curled
around his ears and touched his collar. Those hollow cheeks had filled out a
bit, the electric blue of his eyes looked colder and even more intense, and
there were a few distinguished laughter lines, but otherwise Carter Price looked
even hotter than she remembered him. She touched the tempting little dent in his
chin—biting the tip of her tongue as a blast of memory assailed her. The rasp of
stubble and the nutty taste of pistachio as she licked a rivulet of ice cream
off his full bottom lip.

Stop fondling Marnie's phone, you
muppet.

The sharp rap of metal on wood rang out as she dropped the
phone on the table. Carter Price's unsettling gaze continued to stare at her, so
she flipped it over—moments before Marnie appeared at her shoulder.

‘Your phone was buzzing,' she offered, as nonchalantly as she
could manage, while blood coursed up her neck and pulsed at her temples.

‘Right, thanks.' Marnie picked up the phone and slid back into
the booth.

A frown formed on Marnie's forehead as she read the text. And
Gina wondered for one agonising moment if Marnie would mention the texter—and
then wondered how she was going to conduct a conversation while having a hot
flush. But Marnie didn't say anything, she simply frowned, keyed in a few
characters, pressed send and then tucked the phone into the pocket of the
briefcase.

‘Shall I go ahead and book the Tribeca Terrace?' she asked, her
voice clear and steady and businesslike, the frown gone.

Gina's shoulders knotted with tension and the sinking feeling
in her stomach dropped to her toes.

So Marnie had lied—maybe she wanted to pretend that they were
both past what had happened ten years ago, that it didn't matter any more. But
how could it be true when she couldn't even bring herself to mention Carter's
name?

Marnie didn't trust her. And frankly who could blame her?

They made arrangements to meet up the next day for the
bridesmaids' fittings at Reese's friend Amber's bridal boutique in the Manhattan
Bridge Overpass District before Marnie—who seemed more than a little
preoccupied—rushed off to get to her office in Brooklyn.

Gina watched her leave, and realised that there was only one
way to win Marnie's trust—and prove to herself that she deserved it. And that
was to finally make amends for everything that had happened ten years ago, on
the night she'd thrown herself at a virtually married man.

She gulped down her lukewarm coffee as goosebumps prickled up
her spine. Unfortunately that meant apologising to more than just Marnie.

TWO

Gina
climbed out
of the cab under the High Line in New York's Meatpacking
District and mounted the metal steps to the linear park constructed along an old
L-train track. The concrete pathway, edged with planters of wild ferns and
flowers, bustled with joggers, canoodling couples and families enjoying the
pleasantly warm but not overly muggy New York evening.

Sweat trickled down her back as she stepped out of the heat
into the cool lobby area of The Standard Hotel. The retro chic decor—all white
plastic sculptures, distressed stone walls and dark leather scooped seats—made
her feel as if she'd stepped onto the set of a sixties sci-fi movie.

She lifted her arms, to deter the sweat from dampening the
armpits of the vintage Dior mini-dress she'd spent half an hour selecting from
her extensive wardrobe of couture originals and thrift-store finds. The plan was
to look cool and sophisticated and in control while finally confronting the
ghosts of her past, not like a bedraggled rag doll.

She lingered for a moment—feeling a bit like an alien from the
planet Zod—before taking a deep, calming breath, and stepping up to the
reception desk.

The expertly coiffured receptionist took down the message she'd
spent most of the afternoon composing. The perfect combination of polite,
impersonal and not too pushy—the single sentence gave Carter the option of
contacting her, so she could give him her apology in person.

Whether he would or not was entirely up to him. The sense of
relief as she left the desk was immense. She'd done what she had to do. It
really didn't matter now if Carter called her or not. But somehow she doubted he
would.

Because as well as spending far too much time that afternoon
composing the perfect message—she'd also spent rather a lot of it Googling
information about the CEO of the Price Paper Consortium of Savannah, Georgia.
After wasting a good twenty minutes poring over the numerous pictures, gossip
items and local news reports featuring Carter Price and the ever-changing
kaleidoscope of model-perfect ‘possible future brides' who'd accompanied him to
an array of high-society functions and charity events in the last few years,
she'd had to concede that Marnie hadn't lied.

The sensitive, conflicted Southern gentleman who had once been
so susceptible to her charms wasn't just a major player now, he appeared to be
attempting a world record for dating and dumping the entire debutante population
south of the Mason-Dixon Line.

This Carter was not the man who had rushed back to his
childhood sweetheart crippled by guilt and self-loathing at what they had done.
So she very much doubted he'd want to revisit that time in his life. But exactly
how much of the change in him was her fault?

The thought struck and stopped her in her tracks—right beside
the entrance to the hotel's lobby bar.

Damn, her throat felt as if she'd been swallowing sand. She
glanced at her watch. Ten to six. Still an hour before Carter was due to check
in. She had time for a soft drink without risking bumping into him.

She shrugged off the thought of how much Carter appeared to
have changed in the last ten years as she entered the brightly lit bar.
Apportioning blame for that now was a little late.

Crowded with New York's young and lively in-crowd celebrating
the start of the weekend and a few tired-looking tourists ready to call it a
day, the pristine blonde wooded space was already throbbing with life. One small
table right on the outskirts of the action was still vacant. She nabbed it and
waylaid a member of the wait staff.

‘A club soda, please.... No, scratch that,' she said as
indecision struck. ‘Make that a small dry martini, light on the vermouth.' One
drink couldn't hurt and she'd earned it.

When the martini arrived, Gina took a single sip, then placed
it on the table in front of her, savouring the flowery taste of the gin and
resisting the urge to down it in three quick gulps. She never drank to excess
any more. Mostly because she now knew that inebriation had a direct correlation
to stupid behaviour.

She speared the olive at the bottom of her glass with a
cocktail stick and swirled it around, savouring the light buzz from the alcohol
as the guttural chatter of the Japanese tourists at the next table cocooned her
in the blessedly anonymous corner. The muggy scent of body odour and expensive
perfumes and colognes overwhelmed the blast of cold air from the bar's
air-conditioning system, drawing her back in time to a sultry summer afternoon a
lifetime ago.

The ripples in her martini glass shimmered out to the rim and
dissipated as the hazy memory floated at the edges of her consciousness and
invaded her senses.

The phantom scent of lime polish and hyacinths tickled her
nostrils as she recalled the pleasantly cool hallway of the clapboard house on
Hillbrook College Campus. The parquet cold beneath bare feet as she tiptoed down
the compact house's corridor with her shoes clutched in her fist. Guilt tugged
at the pit of her stomach—because she was creeping home at four in the afternoon
after an all-night frat party when she had promised faithfully to spend the day
revising at the college library with Reese. And then she heard again the sound
of an unfamiliar male voice, low and brusque despite being infused with the lazy
rhythms of the Deep South, echoing down the stairs from Marnie's room on the
first landing.

THREE

‘No is my
final answer, Marnie. Mama's not going to allow you to go on a road trip with your friends and neither am I. Once the wedding is over, you will be staying in Savannah for the summer.'

Gina's brows drew down in a sharp frown. So the famous older brother, the Sainted Carter, had finally showed up to transport Marnie's stuff back to Savannah. She slipped her shoes back on and decided to stay put in her hiding place—and get some vicarious pleasure from hearing Marnie give the guy the smack down he clearly deserved.

What a tool, ordering his sister about like that.

‘I don't believe I need your permission, Carter,' Marnie replied, succinctly. ‘You're not Daddy—and Mama will come around once I've spoken to her.'

Way to go, Marnie.

Pride swelled in Gina's chest at the knowledge that a year ago, when Marnie had first arrived at Reese's house on campus from deepest, darkest Georgia, she never would have had the guts to talk back to the Sainted Carter like that. A man Gina and Reese and Cassie had all suspected was a total douche, hence the nickname they'd given him together, despite the way Marnie gushed about him.

‘Mama doesn't control the mill's finances, I do,' came the low, irritatingly patient reply. ‘So I'd like to know how you're gonna go on this road trip, if I refuse to pay for it.'

‘Daddy left me a share in the mill, surely I can—'

‘Daddy left your share in trust,' he interrupted with the same implacable calm. ‘A trust which he left me to administer until you reach your majority—and I'm refusing your request for funds on this occasion.'

‘That's not fair, Carter.'

Gina's fingers fisted into tight balls as the argument continued and slowly but surely all the confidence and assurance Marnie had gained in the past year leached away as her brother refused to budge. In fact, Gina was fairly sure from his uninterested replies that he wasn't even listening.

For that alone, Gina could have throttled him with her bare hands. Why did so many men have to be like her father, judgmental and superior and always, always right?

She pressed back into the alcove as Marnie's bedroom door closed upstairs and footsteps came down the stairs. She caught a glimpse of a tall figure dressed in a creased chambray shirt and suit trousers as he strolled into the kitchen.

She stayed in the alcove, hearing his heavy sigh, and debated the wisdom of getting involved: with her tendency to be provocative she was liable to make it worse, and it really wasn't any of her business. But as she walked to the kitchen doorway and spied on him helping himself to one of Reese's chilled diet colas from the fridge, anger and resentment flared.

He closed the fridge, his broad back to her as he twisted the cap off the bottle and flipped it into the bin, then took a long swallow of the cola. One large hand gripped the edge of the sink but the rigid line of his shoulder blades relaxed.

Why should she respect his privacy when he hadn't respected Marnie's—and how could she possibly make things worse?

Leaning insolently against the doorjamb, she gave her voice the soft smoky purr she knew made men putty in her hands. ‘You know, you really ought to take that huge stick out from up your arse. It's going to ruin the very nice line of those designer trousers.'

He swung round and her lungs seized in astonishment.

It seemed Marnie had failed to mention one fairly crucial bit of information about her big brother during all the gushing this year. Carter Price was a total hottie.

At six foot two or three, with mile-wide shoulders and the tanned skin of a pirate, he was as big and dark as his sister was small and fair, but the relationship was confirmed by the striking eyes that narrowed on her face—and shared the exact same shade of cerulean blue as his sister's. On Marnie they looked cute and appealing. On her brother they looked cold and intense.

The unblinking gaze drifted down her frame as he took another swig of the stolen cola and Gina felt the prickle of response, everywhere.

She settled back against the doorjamb, but clamped down on the urge to stretch her back—thus displaying what she knew to be an exceptional pair of breasts to their best advantage.

Focus, Gina. You're not here to flirt with the guy. You're here to tell him a thing or two about women's emancipation—and his sister's emancipation in particular.

‘You've got quite a mouth on you, miz.' The deep drawl was as slow and seductive as molasses but for the steely hint of censure beneath. ‘My daddy would have taken a hickory switch to my backside if I'd used that sort of language in the presence of a lady.'

‘I guess we're both very fortunate then that you're not in the presence of a lady,' she replied tartly.

Carter Price wasn't just a hottie, he was also a sexist control freak, but no way was he going to control her, with his cool Southern manners and his total contempt for a women's right to self-determination.

She let her gaze drift over him too. ‘Because I'd really hate to see what I can imagine is an exceptionally cute backside being whipped with a hickory switch—unless I was the one doing it.'

Let's see how you like being objectified, Buster.

Two dark eyebrows arched, and she felt the wave of satisfaction at the knowledge that she'd shocked him. Gina Carrington was no simpering Southern miss prepared to bow down to the dictates of a man. And the sooner Carter Price got that message, the better. But then his irises darkened and his lips twitched at the edges. And she had the strangest feeling she might have underestimated him, a tad.

‘Why do I get the feeling your daddy didn't take a hickory switch to...' he paused to direct his gaze pointedly at her mid-section and she had to resist the urge to tuck in her bottom ‘...what I can see is also an exceptionally cute butt, nearly often enough?'

She wanted to be outraged at the suggestion—and any mention of her father and/or the corporal punishment of a child would ordinarily do that—but unfortunately she wasn't outraged. Because she was far too distracted by the surge of heat making her nipples tighten against the confines of her bra and the way her cute
butt
was now sizzling alarmingly.

‘You're very perceptive, Mr Price. My father never hit me,' she informed him with as much dignity as she could muster while her behind was still pulsing from the imagined thrashing. ‘Because he knew he would lose an arm if he tried,' she finished, with the purr still firmly in place, even though it was starting to sound less and less like an affectation—and more and more like an invitation.

‘Seems to me an arm is a small price to pay when it comes to instilling good manners in your child.'

The outrage came without a problem this time as the sizzle fizzled out. The man was serious.

‘If you actually believe that hitting a child—or a woman—is less heinous than bad manners, then an arm isn't the only thing you deserve to lose.'

She could see she'd done a lot more than shock him this time, when he stiffened and the twitch on those firm sensual lips disappeared. ‘You mistake me, miz?'

‘Carrington. Gina Carrington.'

‘Miz Carrington. I've never hit a child, or a woman, in my life, and I never would. I respect women. Absolutely.'

‘Is that something else your daddy taught you with his hickory switch?' she said, the contempt dripping now.

But instead of the smug affirmative she had expected, something flickered across his face, and she had the feeling she'd crossed a line she hadn't intended to. He turned away, and braced one hand against the sink. Then fixed her with an unsettling stare. ‘You seem to have a problem with me, Miz Carrington. And as this is the first time I've had the pleasure of your company, I'd like to know why!'

It occurred to her that he hadn't answered her question, but this was the opening she'd been waiting for, so she took it.

‘I heard you upstairs, bullying Marnie into doing what you wanted. Not what she wanted. She's eighteen years old and perfectly capable of coming on a road trip with us this summer. And as I understand it, you'll be on your honeymoon anyway, so why is it so important to have her sitting in Savannah twiddling her thumbs instead of having fun with us?'

The grim line of his lips thinned out and a muscle in his jaw clenched. ‘So your exemplary manners include eavesdropping?'

‘It would seem so.' What did she care what some self-righteous Southern prig thought of her manners? ‘And while we're on the subject, there happens to be several things in life that are a great deal more important than exemplary manners. And letting your sister follow her heart's desire happens to be one of them.'

‘Going on a road trip with y'all hasn't got a damn thing to do with following her heart's desire.'

So much for his Southern manners, Gina thought, relishing the spurt of temper. At last, here was something she could work with; she happened to be very good at handling male tantrums.

‘How would you know that?' she said coolly.

‘Because she's my sister.'

‘And that makes you her keeper, does it? Perhaps Marnie doesn't need a keeper any more.'

His brows furrowed into a deep frown and she could almost see the frustration pumping off him. She knew he wanted to say something derogatory about her, and Reese and possibly Cassie right about now.

Because what other reason could he have for wanting to keep his sister away from them?

She waited for him to accuse all three of them of being a bad influence, but to her surprise, after several deep breaths, his shoulders relaxed and she saw him visibly draw himself back from the brink.

She dismissed the moment of admiration—control after all wasn't one of her strong points.

‘I don't consider myself to be Marnie's keeper, Miz Carrington,' he said, in a tight voice, the drawl no longer quite so pronounced. ‘But I am her brother and I intend to do what's best for her—with or without your consent.'

Her lips curved in a wry smile. Talk about getting hoisted by your own petard. It seemed Carter's perfect manners were going to prevent him from saying what he actually thought about her and her friends. Well, she hoped swallowing that down gave him heartburn. ‘And why is what's best for her your decision and not hers?'

The muscle in his jaw pulsed. ‘Because she's eighteen,' he said. But she could see what he wasn't saying in that look of calm condescension.
And because she's a woman.

‘How old are you, Carter?' she asked.

The frown deepened, as if he were looking for the trap. ‘I'm twenty-two.'

‘And how old were you when you got engaged?' she asked, although she already knew the answer, because Marnie had talked about her big brother's insanely romantic engagement to her best friend, Missy, incessantly when she'd first arrived at the house.

‘It's not the same thing,' he said, seeing the trap too late.

‘Umm-hmm. And why ever not? You were the same age as Marnie is now and yet you were mature enough to decide you were going to love your childhood sweetheart for the rest of your life.' She said the words with conviction, but couldn't help feeling a little sick to her stomach.

When had she ever been that romantic? That naïve? To believe that anyone was worth that much of a commitment?

‘It wasn't like that. Missy and I are well suited. And it was the right thing to do after my father died. My mother and Marnie needed stability and they were both in favour of the match.'

It was Gina's turn to frown. And not just because Carter's description of the engagement was in sharp contrast to the wildly romantic whirlwind of love and devotion Marnie had described. Who the hell proposed marriage because they were being sensible? And he'd made it sound as if the primary motivation had been the approval of his mother and his kid sister? She was by no means a hopeless romantic, but wasn't that taking filial duty a bit too far?

‘But you do love Missy, right?' The question popped out before she could stop it.

He looked taken aback. As well he might, because this really was none of her business. But curiosity consumed her. He'd only been eighteen. What on earth had he been thinking settling for ‘The One' so young? What about hormones? And exploring your options? And sowing wild oats?

‘Of course I love Missy. She's going to be my wife in two weeks' time. We're friends, we understand each other and we both want the same things out of life.'

None of which sounded remotely like convincing reasons for proposing marriage when you were just out of high school. But what did she know? ‘What things?'

He shrugged, the movement stiff and defensive. And she realised for the first time that he looked unsure of himself. ‘Companionship, trust, compatibility, children. Eventually.' The affirmation came out in a monotone, as if he'd rehearsed it a hundred times.

‘Why, Rhett,' Gina said, fluttering her eyelashes and affecting a simpering Southern drawl. ‘I can see how you must have swept Missy off her feet with that proposal. How romantic of you to compile a checklist for the perfect marriage.'

‘Missy knows she can trust me,' he said firmly, the look on his face delightfully annoyed and confused. Clearly the Sainted Carter wasn't used to being teased—or questioned about his carefully planned love life. ‘That's what matters.'

‘Really? What about love and passion and adventure and...' she groped for another quality that might get the message across to this indomitable and resolutely anti-romantic man ‘...and the promise of multi-orgasmic sex for the rest of your life?'

His gaze flicked to her cleavage, then shot back to her face and a dull shade of red rose up his neck and made his tan glow on chiselled cheekbones. He looked away, taking a large fortifying gulp of the cola. And suddenly she knew.