Maid of Dishonor (9 page)

Not gonna happen, sugar.

It was just plain dumb to throw a physical connection this perfect away over something so insubstantial.

The two of them were the perfect match. Last night had proved it beyond any reasonable and several unreasonable doubts. Having spent five torturous years suppressing his more basic sexual urges so his wife wouldn't freak out on him—and then five more trying to find someone who was happy to satisfy those needs without demanding more—he knew how rare Gina was.

He'd found her once and lost her, because of some dumb notion that he was a better man than his daddy. That he could be the marrying kind if he put his mind to it. Well, he'd been there, done that, and now had the decree absolute and a few thousand dollars a month in alimony payments to show for it.

He didn't plan to make the same mistake twice. He wasn't the marrying kind. But he did have a healthy sex drive—which he now had the chance to indulge in for a whole week with a woman who enjoyed sex as down and dirty as he did.

So he didn't plan to let Gina go so easily a second time. Not until they'd gotten their fill of each other while he was in New York. And whatever weird notions Gina had about Marnie—she could forget trying to persuade him they'd got their fill of each other in one night.

Something he would have to make clear to her, when she finally stopped hiding out in his shower.

Of course, he should probably ask her nicely instead of telling her. That would be the polite Southern thing to do. Especially as he knew how ornery she could be.

He saw the slow smile forming on his lips reflected in the glass.

Forget it.

He wasn't a gentleman. And he'd stopped asking nicely when he'd figured out that nice wasn't part of his nature.

And anyhow, taming Gina and that quick-fire temper of hers was all part of the attraction. She might have a history of wrapping men round her perfectly manicured pinkie—him included, once upon a time—but he was more than man enough to take her on today.

And harnessing all that fire and passion would make this wild ride even wilder.

* * *

Gina dashed into the bedroom of Carter's suite almost an hour later to find him flicking through
The Wall Street Journal
with the remains of his breakfast in front of him.

It had taken her longer than she'd planned to shower, wash and dry her hair, put on a semblance of decent make-up from the inadequate emergency supply in her purse and steam out the wrinkles in her dress—not to mention formulate exactly what she was going to say and how she was going to say it so that she could end her night of madness as quickly and cleanly and with as little fuss as possible. She had to pitch the brush-off just right. Most of all, she didn't want Carter getting any ideas that her refusal to see him again was in any way a challenge. Because if there was one thing she'd learned during their epic sex session last night, the new Carter, not unlike the old Carter, was a man with a sizeable ego and a well-honed competitive spirit—who was not a good loser.

Unfortunately, the fact that she'd spent an extra twenty minutes in the bathroom than she'd bargained for meant she was going to have to do all that in ten minutes flat—if she didn't want to turn up for her fitting more than half an hour late, and encourage even more probing questions from her friends.

‘There you are.' He folded the paper on his plate. ‘I ordered you up some breakfast, but it arrived a while back. It may be a mite cold now.'

He lifted the silver dome on the plate opposite to reveal a splendid assortment of freshly cut fruit, waffles and syrup. Saliva pooled under her tongue. ‘I'm sorry, I really don't have time to do that justice. Maybe just a quick cup of coffee?'

‘Sure thing.' He plopped the dome back over her breakfast, apparently unconcerned by her refusal, and picked up the silver pot next to his plate.

Maybe this was going to be easier than she had assumed. The heady aroma of fresh coffee filled the air as he poured her a cup. ‘Cream and sugar, sugar?' he teased.

‘Black's fine.' She took the cup, gulped the bitter liquid down, not quite as pleased with his nonchalant tone as she probably should be.

After fortifying herself. She popped the cup back on the table and toed on her stilettos. ‘Well, I guess this is goodbye, then?' she said, feeling stupidly nervous all of a sudden. ‘It was quite a night.'

‘It sure was,' he said, his gaze roaming over her and making all the sizzles and shimmers buzz like alarm bells.

‘Right, I'll just...' She shot a thumb over her shoulder. ‘Leave.'

She headed for the door. She hadn't given him a single word of her carefully planned speech. Because she obviously hadn't needed to. Clearly she was just another of the many, many notches on his bedpost.

‘Hold up, Gina.'

She swung round, the odd leap in her heart completely counterproductive, but there nonetheless. ‘Yes?'

‘I got you something.' He lifted a pale blue paper bag off the bed with the logo of an exclusive designer boutique on the front and handed it to her.

She took the package, somewhat dazed by the intensity of his gaze. Why had he bought her a gift? And why was her heart practically beating its way through her chest wall?

Opening the bag, she lifted out a pair of exquisite red lace panties—and laughed. ‘Oh...' She didn't know what to say—at once touched that he would have thought of it, and turned on, as she suddenly became one hundred per cent more conscious of her current lack of underwear. ‘Thank you. That was very thoughtful of you.'

‘Not really.' His lips curved into a tempting grin. ‘More like a necessity. That's a mighty short dress. I don't want anyone else getting a load of your naked butt but me.'

The blush fired up her neck. As heat swelled in her sex. Dropping the bag, she slipped her shoes off, and shimmied the red lace up her legs to cover her naked butt before she got any ideas about that teasing grin and the husky tone of his voice.

Not gonna happen, Gina. You're wearing your big girl panties now.

Grabbing her purse, she pressed her palm to his cheek, rubbed it over the rough stubble and gave him a quick kiss on the lips—keeping it short, but sweet.

She fluttered her eyelashes as she drew back. ‘Why thank you, Rhett. My naked bum is now safe from unwanted attention.'

But as her hand dropped from his face, he snagged her wrist, and the light in his eyes darkened. ‘How about I give it some wanted attention? Back here. Tonight?'

Even though she'd prepared herself for the request, her breathing slowed, her heart thumping harder against her ribs as his thumb stroked her wrist. ‘We can't, Carter. This isn't going to happen again.'

‘That's a shame. When we both enjoy it so much.'

She could hardly argue with that, given that her pulse was currently doing the foxtrot under his stroking thumb.

His eyebrow lifted. ‘Do you have a reason, or am I gonna have to guess what it is?'

She pulled her wrist free, and gripped the strap of her bag. ‘I just don't want this turning into a...a...'
What?
‘
A thing
.'

‘A thing, huh?' He ducked his head, and ran a finger across his bottom lip, as if considering her response, but she could see he was struggling to suppress a grin. ‘You're gonna have to tell me why a
thing
would be a problem.' His eyes lit with amusement. ‘Because I've gotta tell you, I think we've already got a thing going here. It certainly felt like a hell of a thing last night.'

She clamped down on her temper, because with temper came heat, and she knew he'd exploit that straight away. ‘A
thing
would be a problem,' she said patiently, ‘because a thing can so easily turn into a fling.'

‘O-kay.' He nodded sagely. ‘And a fling is bad because...?' He gestured with his hand as if encouraging her to continue.

‘You're not taking this seriously.' There was a limit to how patient she could be when he was deliberately taking the Mickey.

‘Ya think?' He took her hand, linked his fingers through hers—that aggravating grin still firmly in place. ‘That's because you're taking it way
too
seriously, Gina. All we're talking about here is great sex.' His thumb did that sizzling thing again, pressing into the palm of her hand. He gave her a little tug and kissed her. The touch of his lips oddly tender, behind the usual heat. ‘There's no need to get your new panties in a twist. Okay, sugar?'

‘Carter! You...' She huffed out a laugh. The cheeky comment and the tempting kiss making her temper dissolve into something liquid and warm.

Good heavens, the man really was dangerous. If she couldn't even stay mad at him when she needed to.

She slapped a hand on his chest, to wrench herself away from that handsome face, those tempting lips, and the wicked promise in his eyes. ‘I have to shoot. Thanks for the panties.'

He let her go, and remained silent as she rushed to the door, far too aware of the soft lace stretching over her moist sex. But as she left the room without risking a backward glance she knew she hadn't finished their fling—or thing, or whatever the heck it was—quite as quickly or cleanly or concisely as she had intended.

And that was a definite worry.

Much more of a worry, though, was the intoxicating spurt of endorphins that accompanied the thought.

SEVEN

Gina stepped off
the cobblestone street into the exclusive bridal boutique nestled under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass. Rails full of fanciful white and ivory dresses crowded the front of the shop, but she could already hear the musical lilt of female laughter from the back of the store. Reese appeared in her usual pristine combo of skinny designer jeans and a chic
fitted blouse, her hair pinned up in an unfussy chignon and with a champagne flute full of what Gina hoped was something alcoholic in her hand.

‘Late as usual. Where have you been? The start time was eleven a.m. prompt, not—' she shot a look at the gold watch on her wrist ‘—quarter to twelve.'

Gina opened her mouth to deliver the white lie she'd been working on during the cab ride to the hip-and-happening Brooklyn neighbourhood when Reese simply waved her hand and passed her the flute. ‘Don't bother, I can take a wild guess. I just hope he was worth it.'

‘Good to know I'm that transparent,' Gina remarked dryly, taking a healthy sip of the fruity mimosa to cover the tremor in her fingers and project her usual cool. Reese didn't know about her new leaf, so she'd probably just assume last night had been another of her casual hook-ups. Which of course it was, she corrected herself smoothly. Completely casual.

Reese grinned and looped her arm through Gina's to lead her to the back of the shop. ‘I know a well-screwed look when I see one.'

Gina spluttered, the second sip hitting her larynx. Was it
that
obvious?

‘Why, Gina?' Reese stopped to study her.

Heat leached into Gina's cheeks.

‘That's not a blush, is it? Have we slipped into an alternative reality?'

‘Hardly. I just didn't get a lot of sleep last night—as you so correctly assumed.' Gina pressed the cool glass to her cheeks to get the stupid blush under control as they entered a small, intimate salon.

The remains of bagels, take-out coffee mugs and a fruit plate littered the low table in the centre of the room beside a half-full bottle of champagne and a large jug of iced orange juice.

‘Gina, you're here!' Cassie sent a slightly desperate smile from her seat on one of the soft leather sofas that framed the table. ‘Nearly an hour late, as usual.' She frowned. ‘I wonder if you can have a genetic compulsion to inefficient time-keeping?' Dressed in her geek's uniform of battered jeans and a shapeless T with the proclamation ‘Soil Scientists Know All the Dirt' printed on it in bold pink lettering, she had that rabbit-in-the-headlights look she always got when forced to make fashion choices.

‘There you go, Reese,' Gina chimed in, grateful for the change of subject. ‘It's a genetic compulsion. I can't help being late.'

‘Given what you were up to last night,' Reese chirped in, dragging the subject back to where Gina didn't want it, ‘inefficient time-keeping's not your only genetic compulsion.'

‘Hey, Gina.' Marnie caught her gaze in one of the salon's mirrored walls as she modelled a stunning off-the-shoulder chiffon gown for Reese's petite friend Amber—who looked like an industrious pixie buzzing around Marnie with a row of pins held between pursed lips. Amber threw a quick wave of greeting, which Gina returned, before getting back to the business of popping the pins into the gown's hem. The deep aquamarine of the material intensified the blue of Marnie's eyes—and gave Gina an uncomfortable memory flash of another penetrating gaze. She broke eye contact and shrugged off the guilt.

None of her friends would ever know who she'd been with last night. Least of all Marnie. It had been a one-off. A steamy swansong to that night ten years ago brought on by chemistry and curiosity. Well, they'd both satisfied that curiosity now. Maybe not completely satisfied it, because the chemistry was still super hot, but satisfied it enough. So there would be no need for a replay and nothing to feel guilty about.

Reese leaned in and whispered theatrically, ‘I'll want the full story on your coffee morning later. But Marnie says you booked an awesome venue for you know what.'

Gina gulped down the last of the mimosa and sent Reese a bland stare. ‘Be aware, I still haven't forgiven you for setting me and Marnie up with your little disappearing act.'

Reese's grin only widened. ‘What are you talking about?' she said, not even attempting to look innocent. ‘I was unavoidably detained.'

‘Where exactly? In Mason's boudoir?'

‘Possibly.' Reese wiggled her eyebrows, the grin taking on a cheeky quality.

‘What are you two whispering about?' Cassie came over to join them, popping a piece of melon in her mouth.

‘Mason's bondage techniques,' Gina said dryly. ‘What else?'

Cassie rolled her eyes, comically. ‘What?
Again?
'

Reese laughed. ‘Excuse me, but who was it who was just regaling us with Tuck's amazing powers of recuperation?'

Cassie frowned, nonplussed. ‘I was simply trying to contribute to the apocryphal data being accrued. I never mentioned Tuck's name.'

Reese patted Cassie's cheek with loving condescension. ‘Let's just say we all made an informed decision about who your subject matter was based on the factual data you logged in the discussion. And the fact that my cousin is the only guy you're sleeping with now and for ever. Unlike our friend Gina.' She sent a sly glance Gina's way. ‘Maybe you'd like to contribute to Cassie's research on the performance capacity of the adult American male with a contribution of recorded data from last night's mystery man? Assuming of course he was another Yank.'

‘Actually, he's not a...' Gina cut off the wry quip—before she blurted out far too much recordable data about her mystery man, who'd once explained to her on a moonlit night in Hillbrook that calling a Southerner a Yankee ranked right up in the league table of unforgivable national slurs with calling an Irishman English.

‘So not a Yank?' Reese's brows rose with interest. ‘How very cosmopolitan of you.'

‘Why don't those who are getting regular sex stop boasting about it?' Marnie cut in from across the room. ‘So Amber can get the rest of these glorious bridesmaids' gowns fitted and we can get down to the important business of finishing the mimosas.'

‘I'll second that.' Gina rushed to re-direct the conversation, again, and avoid any more out-of-character blushes. ‘Amber, you've outdone yourself. That design is absolutely stunning. And the colour looks fabulous on you, Marnie.'

‘Thanks, that's real sweet of you.' Marnie nodded, acknowledging the compliment, the smile on her face less reserved than their last meeting. ‘It's like wearing a work of art.'

Amber smiled brightly as she stood to stretch her back and admire her own handiwork. ‘Reese and I wanted a design that would flatter you all without being too overblown. I've done yours in emerald. You want to strip off and I'll go get it?'

‘Absolutely,' Gina replied, sending up a silent prayer of thanks for Carter's knicker gift as she stripped down to her underwear—and the conversation lapsed into a debate about styles and fabrics and colours, and the brilliance of Amber's designs, and sashayed comfortably away from the subject of her mystery man.

She didn't miss the irony though as the morning wore on in companionable girl talk, the five women enjoying some serious bonding time together in preparation for Reese's big day at the end of next month, and—while Cassie was firmly out-of-earshot in the dressing room forced to try on some push-up bras—in the whispered preparations for Cassie's impromptu wedding to Tuck. Who would have predicted ten years ago the once hopelessly romantic Marnie would be the only one of the Awesome Foursome—apart from her—not to find the man of her dreams?

Gina wondered if Marnie still harboured any of those fanciful hopes about finding Mr Right—that she had once sneered at.

It was pretty ironic that the only wobble she'd ever had in that regard had been Marnie's big brother. After ten years and the roller coaster she'd been forced to ride after that long ago summer, she doubted she would make that mistake again—but given her history with Carter, steering clear of him for the rest of the week until he was safely back in Savannah made sense. What made it imperative though was a morning spent observing Amber and Reese and Cassie. Because the evidence of how far gone the three of them were over the men in their lives was both irrefutable, and pretty damn scary.

Take Amber and her insane decision to sublet her apartment above the shop and move into Parker's place located near his job in the fifty-seventh precinct—thus giving herself an hour-long commute into work every day—just because her taciturn cop had said he'd rather be shot in the head than live above a bridal boutique. Or Reese and her equally insane decision to set up a non-profit organisation with Mason to utilise the skills of military veterans in disaster zones. Second Chance, First Response sounded like a worthwhile concept, but also like a lot of hard work, something she wasn't convinced Reese had considered before she'd committed to the project. Because it was pretty obvious when Reese had explained how tough it was for veterans to adjust to civilian life, using Mason's ongoing struggle since his honourable discharge as an example, that Reese had made the decision to commit to the non-profit with her heart first and her head a distant second.

But by far the biggest shock of the morning had been the change in Cassie—grounded, academically brilliant, IQ-off-the-charts Cassie—the person Gina had always relied upon to give her a no-nonsense, pragmatic perspective on her own sometimes volatile emotions. Cassie had actually emitted something that sounded suspiciously like a giggle when talking about her upcoming wedding. Since when had her friend become a giggler? What else could have caused that but the Tuck Effect?

So now she had conclusive proof. Great sex could lead to dementia. And while she found it unbearably sweet that Reese, and Amber, and Cassie had found men who they were prepared to change their lives for, risking getting a dose of that dementia wasn't for Gina. She was a single girl, who loved living her life solo. Men were great in small doses, especially when you needed that special flesh-on-flesh endorphin fix, but they were not an option for the long haul. Not for her.

She didn't want to compromise her life, to adjust her dreams, to shrink her own ambitions to fit somebody else's. And while Carter had certainly proved he could hit her happy buttons with a great deal more style and panache than any other guy she'd ever dated, he had also been the only man ever to come close to making her want more than great sex and stimulating small talk. And while that had happened a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away—she wasn't interested in a return journey.

‘Hey, earth to Gina?' Cassie waved a hand in front of her face.

Gina's head jerked, making her bobble the mimosa she'd forgotten she had in her hand. She saved it in the nick of time from splattering her dress.

‘Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you, but Amber was asking if you had a preference for gold or silver trim on your gown.'

‘Oh, right, yes, I think silver,' she said off the top of her head, trying to remember what colour her gown was, while four pairs of eyes looked at her quizzically.

‘Where were you?' Cassie asked, a small frown on her brow. ‘You looked several light years away.'

‘Nowhere in particular.'

‘I think I can take a wild guess.' Reese refilled her glass. ‘You weren't somewhere in the vicinity of the Mystery Studmuffin, were you?'

‘The mystery what?' Marnie asked.

Damn
. She should have been paying attention to the conversation instead of wasting time thinking about the mystery studmuffin she was never going to see again.

Heat seared Gina's neck as Reese toasted her with her flute.

‘Bingo.' Reese winked at Marnie. ‘The Mystery Studmuffin is the hot guy Gina was with last night—and this morning while she was supposed to be with us. All we know about him so far is that he isn't an American, he's a hot enough date to give Gina a genetic compulsion to terrible time-keeping...'

‘Her date can't have caused it if it's a genetic compulsion, no matter how hot he is,' Cassie corrected her.

‘Point taken...' Reese continued, undaunted. ‘But he is hot enough to make the Unflappable Miss Carrington blush. So on a hotness scale of one to ten, I'm guessing the Mystery Studmuffin goes all the way to eleven.'

Marnie and Amber both laughed, while the blush climbed into Gina's cheeks.

‘So who is he?' Reese teased. ‘Enquiring minds want to know every intimate detail.'

‘Well, enquiring minds can mind their own business,' Gina replied, pretty sure the blush was about to reach her hairline. ‘Unlike you lot, I'm not into shag and share.'

‘Since when?' Reese looked genuinely surprised.

‘Since I became a grown-up.' She slapped her glass down on the table, the hot ball of resentment in her stomach only intensifying the guilty heat now scalding her scalp. ‘And stopped banging every guy that took my fancy. Not that anyone here would believe that of Gina the Unflappable Whore.'

Reese's teasing smile disappeared as her jaw went slack, while the other women's eyes popped to the size of dinner plates.

‘Gina, I'm sorry, I was only messing with you,' Reese murmured, looking thoroughly crestfallen.

Gina hoisted her purse off the floor and stood. ‘I should go,' she said stiffly, wanting to apologise for the petulant outburst, but not sure how to do it without making things worse. ‘I'm tired and it's making me more of a bitch than usual.'

Reese jumped up to press a hand to her arm. ‘Please, Gina, don't go. I feel awful. No one thinks you're a whore.'

Gina caught Marnie's eye, and the other woman blinked, her face ashen, clearly shaken by the mention of the word that had once torn them all apart.