Carrie felt the hair swept from her nape. “Ready to leave?” Mike whispered, bringing his mouth close to her ear.
Carrie turned in surprise and found herself directly in his arms, her backside pinned against the table that held the punch bowl. “Never,” she said, bringing her arms up and around his neck and pulling him in close as their lips melded in the final consummation of what they’d both been desiring all afternoon.
“Why don’t you kids run on home?” Grandma Russell asked, blinking the dining room chandelier on and off above them.
Mike pulled back in a damp sweat. “Let’s!” he said, giving Carrie a firm, virgin peck on the lips.
Chapter One
Carrie St. John strode to the edge of the pool and tugged the ring from her finger. One year, six months, and four days exactly.
Yank.
The dang thing was stuck.
Carrie looked down in frustration at the glittering diamond offset by tiny emeralds. Beautiful, yes. But—
yank
, the ring worked free of her knuckle and glided off her narrow upper finger—only a poor reminder of a relationship gone sour.
Carrie clutched her hand around the meager gems, wondering if Wilson had paid more for them, he’d have been more reluctant to leave. Hogwash, she thought, tossing back her arm and prepping for a long throw. Wilson would have left regardless. And if it hadn’t been for Teresa, it would have been for someone else.
But of all the rotten things to do! Take Carrie to a scenic country inn, then drop the bomb. More like a blazing comet, Carrie thought, feeling the raw burn in her heart as she lobbed the ring forward over the water. The engagement ring pitched in a perfect arch toward the water, then plopped beneath the surface with a deafening calm.
Mike Davis ran a flat palm along the bumpy bottom surface of the pool. It had to be down here somewhere, darn it! Four months of hard-earned commission down the chlorinated drain!
If Mike had had any inkling how callous Alexia could be, he would have never gone to the trouble. Not to mention the biting expense. Now if he couldn’t find the darned ring, he’d be set back financially for nothing!
Already was set back financially for nothing, Mike reminded himself, feeling his lungs drain of air. This was his third dive under and still nothing doing.
Hey, wait a minute…
Mike fishtailed over to the center of the pool where something glistened against its bottom. Yep, that was it! Had to be…
Mike swept toward the gemstone like an alligator on the prowl, then plucked the tiny ring off the pool bottom, examining it through the blurry haze caused by pool lights and chemicals. No way. But it was. Somebody else’s ring entirely. The ring Mike had presented to Alexia had been a solitaire.
Despite years of high school swim-team accomplishments, Mike felt his wind quickly abating. He’d been down here too long, he realized, angling toward the surface and pressing his heels off the bottom.
Mike rocketed skyward, another woman’s engagement ring clutched in his hand. Another woman who was likely just as heartless as his Alexia. When Adam gave his rib to Eve, Mike thought, breaking into the chill of the evening, the poor schmuck hadn’t realized the woman had plans to barbeque it!
Carrie let out a shriek as water barreled forth and a man emerged from the center of the pool.
He shook out his honey-blond head, then paddled over to the side where Carrie stood.
“Lose something?” he asked as Carrie backed up a step.
Carrie raised a hand to her cheek and stroked back hot tears. “Where on earth did you come from?” she demanded of this Poseidon-like god, whose eyes, she noticed, were as green as the Caribbean Sea. Though she didn’t know why she’d noticed, or—more importantly—why she particularly cared.
“I came from the bottom of the pool,” he said, his tone not the least bit friendly. “Where I ran into a little something that might just be yours.”
With that, he pulled his right hand out of the water and gingerly steadied Carrie’s engagement ring between his thumb and forefinger.
Despite his hostile tone, Carrie grudgingly admitted that this swim god was actually quite attractive. Alarmingly attractive, in a way that would make most women swoon. But not Carrie, she told herself, backing up another step. Attractive meant trouble, and, in the last four hours, Carrie St. John had endured enough trouble to last a lifetime.
“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head, “you’ve got the wrong girl.”
Well, that was one way to look at it, Mike thought, shifting his gaze between the ring pinched in his fingers and the enigmatic woman on the pool deck.
She was dressed in a summer sundress, wavy brown hair flowing to her shoulders. Her eyes, he thought, were just as dark. Although from this angle it was pretty hard to tell.
Mike braced himself on his arms as he rose from the water.
“Don’t think so,” he told her, lightly shaking off and extending his hand, palm up, in her direction.
“Excuse me?” she asked, trying her best to look indignant. There was a little pout to her mouth that looked almost appealing. Almost, Mike reminded himself, not quite. Brunettes, in general, meant trouble. And Alexia had taught him that trouble not only hurt like the dickens, it was darned expensive too.
“Your ring,” Mike said, stepping forward.
“You have a lot of nerve…” she said, setting her chin. Yep, Mike told himself, they were definitely brown. Chocolate-brown eyes that could probably look enticingly warm were they not so heated with vehemence. “…intruding on my private moment!”
Mike laughed. “Intruding? But I was here first!”
She shuffled sandaled feet beneath the low hemline of her dress. Feet that were attached, Mike couldn’t help but notice, to two very well-formed feminine ankles. “Well, if you were, I certainly didn’t see…”
Mike arched his eyebrows, and she stopped. By the way her appreciative eyes had traveled from his damp pecs to his navel, sure as heck looked to Mike like she’d been seeing something.
“What I meant to say was—”
Mike walked forward and lifted a balled-up fist from the woman’s side. “Here,” he said, prying her fingers loose as she looked on with incredulity.
Mike pressed the ring into her palm. “Someone spent hard-earned money for that. Don’t think it’s very good of you to go throwing it away.”
Carrie glared at the insolent man, wondering how he’d known exactly what she’d been doing. More puzzled still at how he dared intrude on her life. “Don’t think it’s very good of you to go telling a complete stranger how to run her affairs!”
“Oh, so it was only an affair, was it?” he asked, with a cool sheen to his evergreen eyes. Eyes that Carrie was quite certain could look enticing under different circumstances. “Somehow I imagined it was a heck of a lot more serious than that.”
“Well, maybe,” she said, flipping over his wrist and cramming the ring back into his hand. “You ought to think of something better to do with your overactive imagination than torment women you don’t even know.”
Carrie turned her back on him and started toward the inn. Of all the indignities. To be trounced upon by one man during dinner, then have a hunky dish like this one serve up insults for dessert.
“Hang on!” he called, hurrying to catch up with her. “Your ring!”
“Finders, keepers,” she said, picking up her pace. But what Carrie most desperately didn’t want to find herself doing was falling for another man. Especially one who looked like that in a pair of swim trunks—all six foot something of virile man, dripping wet… Criminy! Carrie scurried up the cold stone steps to the main building’s front door. The flame was barely extinguished on her relationship with Wilson and here she was already playing with matches!
Carrie struggled against the notion of turning back toward her predator but knew he stood silently watching her at the bottom of those stairs. Silently—rugged, handsome, yes, darn it, handsome. And wet. Carrie’s throat went dry at that last thought.
“What?” she asked, spinning abruptly on her heels. “What in the world are you staring at?”
But Mike, who truthfully didn’t know, just stood there dumbfounded with this beautiful stranger’s ring in his hand. Beautiful, indeed. There was a fine sweep of color that just dusted her cheekbones, and somehow—given all the crying she’d apparently been doing—Mike didn’t imagine it was the magic of makeup. No, there was something much more powerful going on here. Something that made absolutely zero sense. And, for a lunatic instant, Mike found himself wishing he hadn’t wasted his heartfelt offering on Alexia but had given it to this goddess instead. Lunatic was right. Mike gazed up at the powdery quarter moon threading stardust through the trees, deciding he’d been out in the night air too long.
But whether he was crazy or not, Mike knew one thing and one thing only. Before she disappeared into the inn, and perhaps for eternity, he had to get her name.
“I was just wondering,” he began tentatively, feeling the heat expand from his temples to the tops of his ears. “What your name is.” Holy Christ. He was insane! Alexia’s ring was still at the bottom of the pool, and here he was…what? Making eyes at another woman who’d just now broken some Romeo’s heart?
“Why?” she asked, holding court at the top of the stairs but not looking half as menacing as she apparently intended.
“Just in case the law comes after me for stealing your ring,” Mike raced in, thinking quickly. He gave her his best smile but found it impossible to tell whether she was charmed by it or not.
“Very funny.”
He guessed not. “Seriously, I—”
“Name’s Carrie, if you must know. Carrie St. John, and you can rest assured, uh…”
“Mike,” he filled in with a grin.
“Mike,” she said, clearing her throat and averting her eyes from his naked upper torso, which he’d noticed her perusing just the same. “You can rest assured I won’t be calling the police on you anytime soon.”
“Ah, so you do admit the ring was yours, after all.”
Her eyes flashed as she turned and headed through the door.
Conniving male! They were all the same, every last one of them. And what, pray tell, did this dripping hunk of flesh plan to do with that information? Blackmail her? As if the entire world wouldn’t find out soon enough. With Carrie’s luck, it would make the morning edition.
Carrie let herself into her room and fell in a heap of emotion onto the bed. Her life couldn’t possibly get any worse! First, Wilson brought her all the way here, to this gorgeous historic home—to tell her he’s fallen in love with another woman. Then he left her, more like deserted her, in this love nest built for two, and had the gall to tell her to enjoy the rest of the weekend. His treat.
Carrie pressed her palms to her forehead to ward off her ensuing headache. But knew that it would come regardless. This was stress with a capital “S”! She’d been such a fool, had already invited six women to be her bridesmaids! And now she’d have to call each one and confess her misfortune.
And what was worse, what would truly be the worst part of all would be in facing her matchmaking grandmother. The grandmother Carrie had finally managed to convince she’d found a dashing bachelor to make “an honest woman” of her.
Carrie rolled over on the bed and clutched her pillow to her streaming cheeks. One time. Okay. But this was the second disaster she’d endured at the near-altar. What was it about her, Carrie wondered, that made men want to cut and run? Or worse still, rush straight into another woman’s arms? Carrie had actually seen Teresa, knew exactly who the woman was. And though as a fellow stockbroker of Wilson’s she certainly shared Wilson’s business savvy, Carrie truthfully didn’t find Teresa that much to look at.
And that made matters all the worse, Carrie admitted to herself, as her throat swelled tight and tears blazed trails down her cheeks. She couldn’t blame Wilson’s leaving her on something as base as hormones, or his sheer physical attraction to another woman. No, what had caused Wilson to leave ran deeper than that. When he’d looked beneath the surface of his relationship with both Teresa and Carrie, Teresa had won hands down.
Mike took another dive below the surface and cursed himself once again for his inability to find Alexia’s ring. If she wasn’t going to use it, she could have at least had the good grace to return it, not toss it in the pool.
What was it with all the women in this place? Had they made a silent pact to simultaneously ditch their men in this affronting fashion? Maybe that was what this vacation locale was all about. Some sort of fantasy dumping ground for all disenchanted females. Bring your man to the Sawyers House and be rid of him for good! Elegant starlight pool, suitable for ring-tossing!
Mike was just about to call it a night when he saw something shimmer at the far corner of the pool bottom. Aha! It was his ring all right. One perfect solitaire that obviously hadn’t been enough to do the job.
“Marry you?”
Alexia had scoffed.
“You can’t be serious?”
Only as serious as a heart attack, a heart attack Mike had sorely wished he’d had rather than face the blistering look in Alexia’s cool blue eyes.
“But, sweetheart,”
she’d told him,
“everything’s been so good so far. Why would you want to go and ruin it now?”
Gee, call him a fool, but somehow Mike hadn’t seen wanting to spend the rest of his life with someone as “ruining” things. What an idiot he’d been, believing that someone like Alexia could possibly care. Even in refusing his ring, she’d been the quintessential ice woman. Couldn’t she even have pretended to have been impressed by the half-carat diamond?
Instead, when their server had arrived with dessert, she’d pushed the small velvet box aside and urged Mike to be “mature” about things. She certainly wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment—and he could keep the ring.
Mike had shoved the box back in front of her, saying she could hang on to it until she felt ready. She’d given him a thin smile and said,
“Fine.”
It was only because he’d followed her when she’d excused herself to the ladies’ room that he’d witnessed her break the delicate ring free from its velvet prison and lob it into the pool before climbing into her black Jaguar and driving out of his life.