Maid of Dishonor Read online

  ‘You’ve improved with age,’ he said, his tone low and amused. ‘Like a fine wine.’

  So had he, she thought. The few strands of grey at his temples, the new creases round his mouth, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the waves of thick dark hair that now touched the collar of his white shirt only adding to the confident, take-charge charisma that had been all too evident in the paparazzi pictures.

  Say something, you silly cow!

  ‘It’s flattering of you to say so,’ she murmured, struggling to maintain cool distance and not give in to the throaty purr.

  His gaze strayed to her cleavage and her breathing quickened again, keeping a natural rhythm with the pounding beat of her pulse. But then the heavily lidded gaze met hers. The deep, lazy Southern accent reverberated across her nerve-endings. ‘It’s good to see you again. Marnie told me you were living in New York now,’ he said, surprising her.

  So he had asked Marnie about her. And Marnie had answered.

  Then, to her utter astonishment, he took her hand in long, cool fingers and lifted it to his lips. The quick gallant buzz on her knuckles spun her back in time to the clean-cut young man he’d once been. But then his thick dark lashes caught the overhead light as he blinked slowly, and the inscrutable gaze had all thoughts of the boy disappearing—until all she could see was the man.

  ‘How about we catch up in the bar? And you can tell me what’s on your mind?’

  ‘Okay, that would work,’ she said, thinking no such thing. His hand settled on the small of her back as he directed her towards the bar.

  Terrific! How the heck was she going to get her head round the perfectly simple apology she’d planned, while her mind was being fried to a crisp by all the zaps of electrical energy now radiating up her spine?

  FOUR

  Carter Price blinked eyes gritty from jet lag after his flight from Russia that afternoon, the fog in his brain blown off course by the pulse of heat in his gut.

  After ten years of denial, the two-line message the receptionist had handed him had confused him—and shaken him a little. More than a little if he was being entirely honest. He’d thought about Gina Carrington way too much over the years. So the sight of her dashing towards the exit doors had an effect on his senses somewhere in the region of a category five hurricane.

  She looked hotter than he remembered her. And he remembered a lot. The beestung lips, the wide green, slightly slanting eyes, the mass of chestnut hair that had tumbled over her shoulders in riotous curls back then, but was now piled on top of her head, making his fingers itch to send it tumbling again. Her tall, slender figure had filled out some since her college days—her high breasts were fuller, her hips more generous, and her legs looked never-ending in the ice-pick heels. The overall effect made all those lush curves even more mouth-watering.

  He’d dated a lot of women since popping his cherry with Gina Carrington, and divorcing his wife, most of them a lot more conventionally beautiful—but not one of them oozed pure, unadulterated sex the way Gina did. Or sent a right hook to his senses with a single whiff of their spicy, sultry scent.

  He shook off the thought as she perched on a bar stool.

  Get your mind out of your pants.

  Boy, did he need ten hours straight—he really had to be losing it if he was fantasising about the woman who had once blown his life to smithereens.

  Not that he blamed her for that. He’d been like a firecracker, waiting to explode. All she’d done was light the fuse.

  He caught the barman’s attention. ‘What’ll it be?’ he asked Gina.

  ‘Club soda.’

  ‘Make mine a Sam Adams,’ he added, propping himself on the stool beside her.

  He watched her throat bob as she swallowed heavily—and felt the surge of satisfaction. She seemed a little jumpy—and she’d definitely been planning to run out on him. Which gave him the upper hand. He made a habit now of never being at a disadvantage with women—and that went double for this woman, because she’d once had him at the biggest disadvantage of all.

  But there had been a whole lot of water under the bridge, not to mention ladies in his bed, since that night. And he wasn’t that lust-driven sex-deprived delusional kid any more. His pulse spiked as she pursed her full lips around the straw in her club soda and sucked.

  He took a sip of the yeasty micro-beer.

  Relax.

  So what if he had some lingering lust issues where Gina Carrington was concerned? He had the control not to act on them now. Or at least not straight away. Not until he knew the score. His gaze skimmed over the silky dress and noticed how her magnificent rack rose and fell in staggered rhythm against the snug bodice.

  Yeah, definitely edgy. A gratifying change from their first meeting, when she’d had all the moves and he’d been the one playing catch-up.

  He took a long draft of his beer and waited for her to speak. She’d been the one to contact him, after all.

  She glugged down a good portion of the soda, getting more jumpy by the second, but didn’t elaborate, so he decided to push it. Her note hadn’t exactly given much away. ‘So I hear you’ve got your own business—website development and social-media strategy, right?’

  Her eyes darted to his, the wary look gratifying. ‘How do you know that?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’ve been thinking of investing in a social-media strategist for the mill. Your name came up in the research we did.’

  And after the shock of seeing her name on the report, he’d looked her up on the Internet and discovered she was now living in the U.S. Not that he planned to tell her that.

  Once he and Missy had called it quits, he’d been able to let go of the guilt over his night with Gina, and how much it had snuck into his dreams during the years of his marriage.

  Given his current reaction to Gina, it was clear guilt wasn’t the problem any more.

  ‘Nice site, by the way,’ he added. ‘Clean and clear, and you’ve got some great testimonials there.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She watched him intently and he noticed the beguiling flecks of gold in the green of her irises.

  ‘Is that why you contacted me?’ He pushed some more.

  Her eyebrows launched up her forehead. ‘God, no! I’m not that desperate for new business.’

  He grinned at her outraged denial, surprised to realise he was glad she hadn’t gotten in touch just to tout for business. She took another long sip of the soda, but didn’t say anything else. ‘Then you’re gonna have to give me a hint—because your message was kind of cryptic.’

  She let out a puff of breath. ‘Right.’ She faced him, her long legs crossed at the knees and her short dress riding up to display a distracting amount of toned, lightly tanned thigh.

  ‘I was having coffee with Marnie this morning and saw your text message,’ she began. ‘When I discovered you were going to be in town for the week, I decided to take the opportunity to...’ She hesitated. ‘To come here and apologise for what I did to you ten years ago.’ The last bit came out in a rush as if she’d had to push the words out.

  The heat kicked harder in his gut. She looked totally sincere. Was she actually serious? And what the hell had brought this on, ten years after the event?

  ‘You’re gonna have to be a lot more specific,’ he said, exhilarated when her eyes flashed with annoyance. It felt good to have this particular woman at this much of a disadvantage. ‘Because as I recall we did a lot of things that night.’

  * * *

  Gina’s temper simmered at the wry comment. Was he making fun of her? And if so why? The failure of his marriage was hardly a joking matter, surely?

  ‘I’m apologising for all of it,’ she said, more sharply than she had intended when his lips twisted with amusement. ‘For seducing you, and taking your virginity and ruining your marriage.’
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  The glass he’d been lifting to his lips hit the bar with a snap as his brows shot towards his hairline. ‘You have got to be kidding me?’ A choked chuckle burst out.

  ‘Actually I’m not.’ The retort did nothing to cut through the rumble of incredulous laughter. ‘I’m sincerely sorry for what I did to you.’

  Heat spread across her chest as he continued to chuckle.

  She lifted her purse off the bar, slid off her stool, the sincerity of her apology drowning in a puddle of humiliation. She’d made a twit of herself; time to make a dignified exit. ‘I should go. Thanks for the drink, Carter.’

  But as she went to walk past him strong fingers snagged her wrist. ‘Where are you off to in such a hurry?’

  ‘I’m leaving. Obviously this was a mistake.’ She twisted her arm; his fingers tightened.

  ‘Not a chance, sugar.’ The casual endearment became shoo-gah in his low Southern drawl—and sounded so ridiculously sensuous she lost the will to resist for a moment.

  He took the opportunity to place both palms on her waist and drew her towards him. She tensed, her will returning in a rush when she found herself positioned between his spread thighs. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Settle down, Gina. You wanted to talk, now it’s my turn.’

  She lifted her arms, in an attempt to step free without making too much of a scene, but his grip remained firm, anchoring her to the spot.

  ‘Relax,’ he said, still sounding amused. ‘You’re not going anywhere until I get to say what I wanna say.’

  ‘Fine.’ She folded her arms across her chest, disturbed by the long slow pull of arousal as his large hands drifted down to bracket her hips. ‘You have my undivided attention. But I’m not sure what else there is to say.’

  ‘That’s because you’ve had your say.’ He had the cheek to chuckle again. ‘Now you get to listen.’

  ‘Okay then, speak,’ she snapped. They did not need to be standing this close, but short of putting on a show for the rest of the bar’s inhabitants, who were already taking more of an interest in their conversation than she would have liked, she didn’t appear to have much of a choice.

  ‘I can see you’re as quick-tempered as you ever were.’

  She sent him a bland look. ‘Is that what you wanted to say?’

  He barked out another laugh. ‘Point taken. I’ll get on with it. I sure wouldn’t want to bore you.’

  One muscled thigh touched her hip and she shifted away from it, only to get trapped against the other one. Bored wasn’t the word that was first and foremost in her mind at the minute.

  ‘First off, you can shove your apology in one of those sweet places where the sun doesn’t shine.’

  She sucked in a breath, shocked by his crudity. ‘That’s nice, I must—’

  ‘Hush, I’m still talking here.’

  She shut her mouth.

  Well, really. What had happened to those genteel manners?

  ‘Second of all. You might have been my first, but I wasn’t that much of a sap. You didn’t take me, I took you.’

  Heat cascaded through her at the seductive growl, which made her even more aware of the muscled thigh pressing against her hip.

  ‘And thirdly, I screwed up my marriage all on my own, with no help from you.’

  ‘I fail to see how you can say that, when I seduced you two weeks before your wedding day,’ she argued, getting a little miffed at the lecturing tone. Where did he get off talking to her as if she were a two-year-old? ‘I knew you were engaged and yet I set out to seduce you, deliberately, without a thought to your fiancée or anything else.’

  ‘I believe I already covered that in point two,’ he remarked, his eyes brightening with amusement—which only caused her temper to sizzle alongside the heat. ‘You didn’t force me to do a damn thing I didn’t want to do. So you can quit getting your panties in a twist ten years after the fact.’

  ‘Oh, pur-lease,’ she hissed, struggling to keep the decibel level down in the face of his stubbornness. ‘Just because you now want to look at that night through testosterone-tinted glasses it doesn’t alter the fact that I put the moves on you, not the other way around. For goodness’ sake, I had to practically throw myself at you before you’d even so much as kiss me.’

  ‘So I was a slow starter. So what? I got the message eventually.’

  ‘I know you did, that’s not what I was trying to—’

  His hands rode up to her waist, cutting off her protest in mid-sentence.

  ‘Excuse me? Do you mind?’ she yelped as those piercing blue eyes went from dark to dangerous and he leant forward to sniff at her hair.

  ‘Not at all.’

  She shifted back, but he only grinned, obviously enjoying her skittishness.

  ‘You smell different,’ he murmured. ‘Did you change your shampoo?’

  ‘In ten years?’ she said, disarmed by the perceptive enquiry. ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘I like it. More sophisticated but still sexy as sin.’

  ‘Right.’ She eased back, the pulse of arousal getting out of control. ‘I really have to go.’

  His hands dropped, but then he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘No, you don’t.’ He patted the stool she had vacated. ‘Stick around. One more drink. Let’s talk. We never did get much of a chance to do that ten years ago.’

  She should say no. Sitting next to him and sharing a companionable drink was a dangerous game to play while her erogenous zones were in meltdown. But when he shifted, his hand pressing into her waist to direct her to the stool next to him, and whispered: ‘What’s the matter, sugar? Scared you won’t be able to resist seducing me again?’ the tension snapped inside her and she laughed.

  The statement should have sounded impossibly arrogant, but with that wicked light dancing in his eyes it sounded more like a challenge. And she’d never been able to resist one of those.

  She gave him a deliberate once over, allowing her gaze to linger on the broad muscles of his chest and the sprinkle of chest hair revealed in the open neck of his shirt. ‘I’m sure I can manage if I put my mind to it.’

  He let out a rough chuckle. ‘Touché.’ He sat back on his stool. ‘Take a seat. You know you want to.’

  While she was sorely tempted to call him on the arrogant assumption, unfortunately she couldn’t, quite. Because he was right. She did want to stay—and not just because of the potent arousal pulsing through every pore. She wanted to know why and how he’d changed so much—because the relaxed, charming, sexually confident hottie in front of her was nothing like the earnest and extremely uptight hottie she remembered.

  ‘Okay, you’ve got me,’ she said, conceding. ‘One more club soda for the road.’ She hopped back onto the stool beside him.

  ‘Only a soda? It’s Friday night? You didn’t become a good girl when I wasn’t looking, did you?’

  ‘Hardly.’ She snorted out another laugh at the wry comment. ‘I’ve simply discovered that alcohol adds pounds where it’s exceptionally hard to take them off again. And half an hour in the gym every morning is mind-numbingly boring enough.’ And she had a feeling that keeping her wits about her in the next twenty minutes or so while they had their one drink for old times’ sake was going to be fairly important.

  His lips curved, shooting her blood pressure up a notch. Make that very important.

  His gaze drifted down her figure, making her nipples tighten and her thigh muscles loosen. ‘It sure appears to be time well spent.’

  Make that completely imperative.

  ‘I’ll let my personal trainer know,’ she quipped, fidgeting with the straw of her dead soda—and ruthlessly stifling the wave of warmth. ‘I’m sure she’ll appreciate the compliment.’

  ‘You do that,’ he murmured before turning to signal the barman.
r />   The sleeve of his shirt stretched across his biceps as he did so, drawing her gaze, and the wave of warmth crested. She tore her eyes away from the bulge of muscle flexing under the white linen and cleared her throat.

  You can survive one more drink with the guy, surely.

  She’d turned over a new leaf in the years since she’d jumped Carter Price at Hillbrook College and kick-started a chain of events that had changed both their lives irrevocably... But one drink was all she planned to risk.

  * * *

  If only she could have kept that resolve front and centre. And she probably would have, if he’d carried on flirting with her so openly—because she happened to be an expert at verbal foreplay. But it turned out the new Carter was a whole lot craftier than she’d given him credit for.

  One drink turned into two and then three, until she stopped counting, as the man captivated her—not so much with those damn biceps, or the openly hungry looks, but with his knowledge and enthusiasm, when she steered the conversation to what she had thought would be the neutral topic of their working lives.

  He talked with an infectious pride and dispassionate insight into the challenges he’d faced and overcome to drag the paper mill he’d inherited from his father when he was only seventeen into a thriving business. Then he’d listened with interest—and a surprising lack of criticism—to the string of careers she’d tried out before starting her web-design business last year.

  They’d touched on a few personal topics—such as the hellish heat in Savannah in August, and her move from London to New York five years ago—but had neatly sidestepped anything too personal such as his marriage or his sister, or the apology that she’d originally come to deliver. Until, after two solid hours of non-stop conversation, Carter Price had managed to lull her into a sense of security.

  Unfortunately, during their very grown-up, surprisingly comfortable conversation, she’d found herself becoming more and more aware of him on a purely physical level: the low appreciative rumble of his laughter that made the skin on her spine tingle; the flash of interest in his eyes that made her voice slip instinctively into the smoky purr of her youth; the intense expression when he was outlining the different funding options she might want to explore for her business, which reminded her of the expression he’d once worn when exploring her.