The Sometime Bride

asked, taking her hand.
    “Great idea,” Carrie said, wondering what on earth was happening to her. This wasn’t love. At least, not like she’d ever known it. Carrie St. John was falling “in like” with a man who looked like a god, and neither her heart nor her head knew precisely what to make of that.

Chapter Seven

    Mike draped his still-damp clothing over the wooden hangers he’d suspended from the shower bar. All in all, things hadn’t gone badly. Even if he had taken a bath, in a manner of speaking, the look on Carrie’s face had been worth every ounce of icy discomfort. Somehow, Mike suspected, Carrie didn’t get the opportunity for laughs often. Though laughter suited her beautifully. So well, in fact, Mike was going to make it his personal ambition to ensure she wore it more often.
    Mike puzzled at his instant attraction to the woman he’d met a day ago. Yet, somehow, when he looked in her deep-brown eyes, he had the notion he’d known her a lifetime.
    Now he was getting sappy, Mike thought, sitting down on the bed to tug off his socks. Thinking that things between him and Carrie had, in some way, been preordained. Just who did he think he was kidding? Mike’s judgment in the past regarding women had left much to be desired. And yet, what he desired more than anything was a chance to prove—to himself and Carrie—that perhaps this time his instincts were dead-on.
    There was something about her that got to him on more than just a physical level. He liked Carrie. Honestly enjoyed spending time with her. And, looking back, Mike wasn’t sure he could make that unequivocal statement about any of the previous women in his life. Up until now, Mike had always looked at romance as a love/hate proposition. The woman you loved was supposed to drive you mad, wasn’t she? Feminine wiles were supposed to be mysterious, impossible to understand. And, up until now, Mike hadn’t given one iota whether he’d understood them or not. Wooing women was something Mike had experience in. Plenty. But befriending them? That was a totally new concept altogether. And a woman who could prove both a lover and a friend…?
    Mike fell back on the bed and pulled a fluffy pillow over his head. Maybe once he got down to the Caymans, he wouldn’t have to deal with such bubbleheaded notions. A woman as a friend! Hoo! Who in Hades did he think he was fooling?

    Carrie fluffed the pillow and repositioned it beneath her elbow, making believe she was reading the magazine. But truth be known, she’d been staring down at the same article on backyard decorating for the past twenty minutes and hadn’t absorbed a thing.
    The rest of the evening had gone like a charm. The two of them swapping humorous stories over their second bottle of complimentary Merlot. Though he’d had nothing to do with it personally, the innkeeper had been quite embarrassed by Mike’s earlier run-in with the champagne bucket and had insisted on more wine as an apology.
    Mike had accepted graciously, asking if it would be too much trouble to sample a different vintage, a sweet Virginia red perhaps, as they’d already moved on to dessert.
    It still struck Carrie as odd that a realtor knew so much about wine. Not that he didn’t have a right to be a connoisseur if he wanted. It was just that Carrie couldn’t help the niggling sensation that something about Mike didn’t add up.
    He seemed so out of character as a realtor. And yet, if he professed that was what he did, what gave her reason to doubt him? Perhaps it was merely her own guilt seeping through. Guilt over not being completely honest with him about who she was or what she did. Though she’d informed him of the generalities, she’d very purposely ignored the particulars.
    Mike seemed to like her so much, just as she was—the homespun girl from Virginia. And she, Carrie admitted truthfully, laying a palm over her fluttering heart, had been very much enjoying his down-to-earth, manly attentions. Finding out her net worth would surely change how he looked at her. And, at thirty-three, Carrie St. John had tired of being looked at as nothing more than a financial opportunity. Both of her boyfriends thus far, even the younger one in college, had seemed to sense she was going places and had wanted to latch on to her coattails. At least temporarily.
    And that, probably, was why the romance had never lasted. No man had ever truly been attracted to who she was inside. No matter what her bank account