Under Her Skin. Susan MalleryЧитать онлайн книгу.
much for feeling special.
She opened the driver’s side door and slid onto the seat. Everything was exactly as she remembered. She rubbed her hands along the steering wheel then turned to look—
A small Tiffany’s box sat on the passenger seat. It was square and the right size for a ring. An engagement ring.
Because they were engaged now.
Lexi stared at the box. When she’d been a preteen, she’d spent hours daydreaming about falling in love and getting married. She’d imagined this moment over and over. Sometimes the faceless man of her dreams had proposed over dinner at the top of a tall building in a dark restaurant with candles everywhere. Sometimes it was on the beach, at sunset, or in Paris. But never had it been by a casually placed box left on the passenger seat of an old car.
“Open it,” he said.
She did and stared at the cushion-cut stone. Three carats, she would guess, with another carat or so of smaller stones on the shank. Flawless. Perfect. And without any meaning at all.
She took the ring out of the box, then stepped from the car.
“Put it on,” he told her.
She would. In a second. When the disappointment wasn’t quite so sharp and pressing.
It was a deal, she reminded herself. Just a business transaction. This wasn’t about her girlish dreams or falling in love or any of those things. The romance would come later…with someone else.
She slid the ring on. It fit perfectly.
“Thank you,” she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze. Not that she could tell what he was thinking. “It’s beautiful.”
“It suits you.” He studied her hand. “You can keep it. After.”
After the six months were over. “Traditionally the woman is supposed to return the ring unless the groom-to-be breaks the engagement or cheats. At least I think that’s how it goes.”
He grinned. “Already forgetting those fancy lessons on manners?”
“Some. As a kid I spent a few weeks every summer with my mother. The visits were more like classes than anything else. Plenty of instruction.” Lots of coldness. Her mother hadn’t been especially cruel or unkind, she just didn’t believe in displaying affection or coddling, as she called it. Hugs were unnecessary in her world.
“Skye spent a couple of years in a Swiss finishing school,” she continued. “She would know for sure. You could ask her.”
“No, thanks.” He took her hand in his and rubbed his thumb over the ring. “You can keep the car, too. Sell it.”
“Give it to my housekeeper?” she asked.
“Sure.”
“I don’t have one.” She pulled her hand free, mostly because the feel of his skin on hers was too distracting and she needed to be able to think. “Why did you put the notice in the paper?” she asked.
He shoved his hands into his front pockets. “I wanted to get things moving along. You’d cashed the check. Why wait?”
“You thought I might back out on our deal. I wouldn’t do that.”
“I didn’t think that.”
He had to. Why else would he be in such a hurry to tell the world they were engaged?
“What do you know about a guy named Garth Duncan?” he asked.
She frowned, trying to place the name. “Not much. I’ve never met him. He’s wealthy. Has a lot of businesses. Doesn’t do the party circuit very much. He lives somewhere around here. Why?”
“He’s the one who made the original loan. The callable one.”
“What? Why would he do that? Why would he invest in my spa in the first place and then try to bankrupt me? I’ve never met the man.” The way things had been handled felt so personal. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
“I agree. I’ll do what I can to find out more. Garth Duncan is a private man. It’s going to take some digging and time. But I’ll find out what you want to know.”
“Thank you,” she said, confused by the information. Why would a stranger want to hurt her?
“All part of the deal,” he reminded her. “And I’m sorry about the announcement. I should have thought it through.”
There was something about the way he said that. She shook off her questions about Garth. “Because it’s making trouble for you, too?” She could only hope.
“My mother. She read it and now she wants to meet you.”
His mother? As in…his mother? “Um, no.”
“You don’t have a choice. We’re engaged. She lives in Houston. We’ll drive down and have lunch.”
“No we won’t. I’m not lying to your mother.”
“I’m lying to your father.”
“That’s different. Your mother is probably nice.”
“She’s a lot of things. You can discover each and every one of them when you meet her at lunch.”
Suddenly the diamond ring on her left hand felt very heavy. Lexi sighed. “I’ll have to check my schedule.”
“You do that. And you have less than four days left to move in.” His dark eyes gave nothing away. “Until Saturday night.”
“You’re very anxious to claim what’s yours.”
One corner of his mouth turned up. “I know.”
She wanted to tell him she needed more time. That while she could easily move into his house, she wasn’t ready to be in his bed. They were practically strangers. They couldn’t sleep together. Except they’d been strangers that first night and it hadn’t mattered at all.
“I’ll be there,” she murmured. “A friend is helping me move.”
“What kind of friend?”
She rolled her eyes. “Her name is Dana and she’s a deputy, so don’t piss her off or she’ll arrest you.” She put her hands on her hips. “I said I wasn’t seeing anyone and I’m not. I wouldn’t lie about that.” Besides, why would he care? Or was it a guy-pride thing?
“I believe you.”
“Obviously not, if you’re asking all those questions.”
He touched her cheek. “You have a temper. I like that.”
“Then you’ll be a very happy man. I’m a pretty crabby person.”
That made him laugh. “I doubt that, querida.”
He leaned in and kissed her. Just once, for a heartbeat. Then he straightened and pressed a set of keys into her hand. “For your car.”
She watched him walk away.
Not sure what to make of any of it, she got back in the car and started the engine. It sounded good—as if someone had taken care of it. Probably Cruz’s housekeeper, she thought grimly. Although the woman had apparently been incredibly clean. There wasn’t a mark on it and no sign of—
Her gaze fell on the odometer. The car had only been a few months old when she’d lost it to Cruz. She’d driven to California and back with her girlfriends, then to college and home a few times. She didn’t remember the exact mileage, but it had to have been under ten thousand miles.
The odometer read 8962.
There was no way someone had been using this car, she thought, beyond confused. But it had been kept in good working condition. Had Cruz really kept her car all this time? It was the only answer that made sense, except it didn’t make sense