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Say You Want Me
Cindi Myers


Joni Montgomery needs a guy to pretend to be her boyfriend long enough to persuade certain family members to let up on the marriage thing. Her last hope is a blind date.Carter Sullivan is tall, gorgeous and agreeable to her scheme. Perfect! He's also too tempting for Joni to resist. But a little between-the-sheets time will just make their brief charade more believable, right?Carter believes in love at first sight. And when he meets the beautiful, sexy Joni, he falls hard and fast. Too bad she's insisting this relationship is temporary. After some steamy embraces, he's convinced she feels the same way about him… even if she won't admit it. Fine. He'll just tantalize her senses until she says she wants him, too!









It would be so easy to lean down and kiss Joni…


But Carter needed answers first. “Do I make you tremble, Joni?”

She drew in a ragged breath, but didn’t answer him.

He slid both of his hands up her arms to her shoulders, kneading away the tension there. “Because you sure as hell shake up my world.”

This time he didn’t stop himself. When she turned her head away, he leaned in and kissed her neck, his lips resting against her skin as he spoke. “You’ve got me thinking about things…wanting things…I haven’t dared think about before.”

He moved up, feathering kisses along her jaw, until he was hovering over her mouth. He pulled her closer, crushing her to him. He kissed the side of her mouth, and then her lips, nipping, licking, suckling, lavishing attention on her sensitive mouth. “I want you,” he whispered. “And I’m not going to let you pretend anymore that you don’t want me.”

She let out a gasp. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I want you!”


Dear Reader,

Do you believe in love at first sight? In finding your soul mate? I’ll admit I believe in these things. What can I say—I’m a true romantic.

The hero of this book, Carter Sullivan, started out to be an entirely different type of man. But the moment I wrote his first scene I realized that underneath this experienced street cop was a romantic who believed that Fate would send him the woman of his dreams.

My heroine, Joni Montgomery, thinks finding the right man requires a practical approach, like choosing a financial investment or planning a schedule.

When practical and romantic meet, sparks fly. Whose approach is the right one? Open the book and find out.

I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. I love to hear from readers. Write to me in care of Harlequin Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, M3B 3K9, Canada, or e-mail me at CindiMyers1@aol.com.

Best wishes,

Cindi Myers




Books by Cindi Meyers


HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

902—IT’S A GUY THING!

HARLEQUIN BLAZE

82—JUST 4 PLAY


Say You Want Me

Cindi Myers






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For Lynda and Trent.

Thank you, Lynda, for all your help with this one.




Contents


Prologue (#uff114bd8-0da8-5732-913b-7f6a3e11df0c)

Chapter 1 (#u0ae20f56-7af5-5f0d-82b7-30e0a1702c6a)

Chapter 2 (#u9345872c-d856-56b1-b0f9-d40eb8b12692)

Chapter 3 (#u163d0d28-772d-59c4-a76e-5d65aeeb9b0a)

Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)




Prologue


AS EMERGENCIES WENT, this one was definitely a Code Blue. Joni Montgomery leaned back against the nurses’ station counter at San Antonio’s Santa Rosa Hospital and stared at the phone in her hand as if it might morph into an octopus at any moment. After all, things like that happened in nightmares, didn’t they? And this couldn’t possibly be real.

She put the phone back to her ear and tried to sound calm. “Now, Mama, maybe you misunderstood. G.P. couldn’t possibly be coming here this time of year. She’s always in Charlotte for the V.A. Air Show.”

“I wish I was wrong, but I know what she said. Your grandmother Pettigrew is coming to San Antonio in two weeks and she’s staying until she finds you a husband.”

Joni ground her teeth and thrust one hand into the pocket of her nurse’s smock. She could have sworn she’d stashed some samples of extra-strength headache pills there earlier. All of a sudden, she could feel a mother of a headache coming on. “Why does she have to do this now? In fact, why does she have to do this at all? Doesn’t she think I can find my own man?”

“Apparently not. She said she’s waited twenty-six years and she’s not going to wait any longer for you to find a suitable husband.”

Joni squeezed against the counter to allow an EKG cart to pass. “Mama, you know the kind of man G.P. thinks is suitable.” She closed her eyes, picturing the parade of race-car drivers, fighter pilots and bull riders her grandmother had sent her way. There’d even been one bomb demolition expert. Give a man a dangerous job or a reckless attitude and he was prime husband material as far as G.P. was concerned.

“She thinks you need more excitement in your life.”

“Being an emergency department nurse isn’t exciting enough?” Joni looked at the row of crash carts ready for use, the curtained exam rooms and the half-dozen doctors and nurses moving busily among them. One Saturday night around this place made a person long for the mundane and ordinary.

“What’s wrong with a boring man?” she asked. “You married a boring man.” Joni’s father was a tax assessor whose idea of excitement was Friday night at the video store.

“Your father may seem boring to you, but he’s actually very romantic.”

Joni resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Her entire family was addicted to romance, leaving Joni the odd woman out. “Romance is overrated,” she said, not for the first time. Other things were much more important in a relationship: dependability, stability, integrity. Things she hadn’t found in the right combination yet, but she was sure she would, given time to do things her own way.

“Romance is not overrated to your grandmother. And not to you, if you’d only admit it.”

Joni groaned. “I won’t do it, Mama. I won’t marry some adrenaline junkie just to please G.P.”

“You’ll have to discuss that with her when she gets here. I only called to warn you.”

“Thanks, Mama. For the warning, anyway.” She hung up the phone and slumped against the counter. She’d scream, but that tended to upset the patients. So she settled for reaching behind the counter and helping herself to the staff supply of M&M’s. Headache pills were fine for some things, but serious crises called for chocolate.

“Joni, we need a hand over here.”

Soon, both Joni’s hands were occupied giving a breathing treatment to a thirteen-year-old girl who’d had an allergic reaction to peanuts. While she monitored the girl’s vitals and waited for the treatment to take effect, Joni considered her options.

She could leave town. But she only had a week’s accumulated vacation, and she couldn’t afford to travel very far. G.P. would either stay in town until Joni returned or come looking for her.

She could refuse to cooperate. After all, she was a grown woman in the United States of America. The idea of her grandmother choosing a husband for her was ridiculous.

Except that G.P. wrote the book on stubborn. She’d simply smile and keep going her own way, and the next thing Joni knew, she’d be standing at the altar with a motorcycle stunt rider or a professional mountain climber by her side.

She checked the oxygen sensor attached to the girl’s index finger. “You’re doing really good,” she said, patting the child’s shoulder. “Keep breathing.”

If running away and putting her foot down didn’t work, that left one other choice: she had to convince her grandmother that she already had a man in her life. That G.P. didn’t have to hunt up a husband for her granddaughter, because marriage was already imminent.

All she had to do was find a guy to hang out with for the week or so G.P. was in town.

She looked around the room for likely candidates. There was that good-looking new resident…. No, residents worked killer hours. Even if he could get an evening free to take her out, he’d likely fall asleep.

The paramedic from Lone Star Ambulance? She made a face. G.P. would love him. He raced motorcycles when he wasn’t careening through the streets behind the wheel of an ambulance. No thanks.

Her gaze lit on a policeman at the front desk. He was kind of cute, in those motorcycle boots and tight pants…. No! Definitely not a cop. Cops were the worst adrenaline junkies of all. Her friend Connie had married a cop. And since her husband was always involved in an investigation or doing off-duty work, Connie was practically raising their three sons by herself.

There you had it. The reason she didn’t have a man in her life was that all the men she met were too involved in their jobs. She wanted a man who would be there for her and their children—not someone who spent all his time risking his life, even if it was to save mankind.

A plump, curly-haired woman pulled back the curtain and peered into the treatment room. “Mandy, are you okay?”

Mandy, who had been doing just fine until that moment, burst into tears. “Mama!”

The woman rushed forward and gathered the girl in a hug. “I came as soon as the school called.”

Joni stepped back to allow mother and daughter a little more privacy. Five years as a nurse hadn’t inured her to such scenes. What was more special than the bond between mother and child? It was a bond she intended to experience for herself one day, as soon as she found the right man to stand by her side.

She consulted the chart clipped to the corner of the exam room. “Mandy’s going to be fine, Mrs. Wilson. She just needs to stay away from peanuts. The doctor will be in to talk with you in a minute.”

She left the room and returned to the nurse’s station for a refill of M&M’s. That settled it, then. If she couldn’t find a man on the job, she’d have to look farther afield.

She glanced at the wall calendar. She had two weeks. Surely she could find a man in two weeks.




1


TWO DAYS. Joni had two days to find a man—any man—to keep Grandmother Pettigrew off her back. She’d exhausted her list of old boyfriends and available male acquaintances in one week and now had resorted to blind dates. If she didn’t find a man soon, she was going to end up with a Pamela Pettigrew special and the makings of a full-blown family feud.

She pulled into the restaurant parking lot and checked her hair in the rearview mirror. After enduring dates with a man old enough to be her grandfather, another who ended the evening by asking if he could lick her toes, and a third man who claimed to be the offspring of aliens, she was pulling out all the stops for tonight—mascara and eyeliner, vampy red lipstick, and a blue silk minidress that showcased her curves and long legs. She’d curled her hair, painted her nails and spritzed on the expensive French perfume G.P. had given her for Christmas. She had reason to believe this guy might actually be relatively normal, and she wasn’t going to let him slip away.

She studied her reflection in the mirror. Not a bad looking chicklet, if she did say so herself. Maybe a little too serious. She tried a smile. There. Didn’t she look like a woman who could make a man’s dreams come true?

Not that she had any intention of dream fulfillment, but it didn’t hurt to give a man aspirations. Besides, this man had to be the one. She didn’t know how many more blind dates like this she could survive. Her coworker, Marcelle, had sworn her cousin was a nice, ordinary accountant. Thirty years old. Sweet. “Just don’t say anything about his hair,” Marcelle had cautioned. “It’s getting thin and he’s sensitive.”

Hair or no hair, if he didn’t have alien blood or a foot fetish, he was a winner in Joni’s book. She slid out of the car and smoothed her skirt over her hips. She didn’t have any more time to be picky. Even the sleep-deprived residents at the hospital were beginning to look good.

A blast of air-conditioning and the aroma of garlic and oregano greeted her when she opened the door of the restaurant. She blinked in the dim light. She could just make out a wall lined with wine bottles and a leather upholstered bar to her left. Candles flickered in raffia-covered Chianti bottles on tables draped in red linen.

Her stomach gave a nervous shimmy. She’d chosen this place because it was near her apartment and she liked Italian food, but she hadn’t remembered it being so…romantic. What she had in mind was more of a business transaction, not romance.

She hoped her date was already here. What was his name again? Brian?

“May I help you?” The maître d’ materialized out of some dark corner and looked down his nose, straight at her cleavage.

She resisted the urge to tug at her dress. “Um, I’m supposed to meet someone here.” She tried to see past him, into the dining room.

He moved over to block her view. “Perhaps if you describe this person, I can tell you if they’re present or not.”

She frowned. Well, of course she couldn’t describe him. What had Marcelle said? “He’s, uh, he has dark hair and dark eyes. Not too tall. Average.”

The maître d’ raised one eyebrow. She realized she’d just described half the population of San Antonio. She stared right back. She had even less patience with rude people than she did with daredevils. Not to mention that five years of dealing with medical residents had taught her how to handle men who thought they were superior.

The maître d’ turned away. “I’ll see if there’s anyone here who fits that description.”

As soon as he was gone, she moved to the doorway and peered into the dining room. The romantic theme continued here, with grapevines twined around wooden beams and candlelit tables for two. One end of the room had been left empty for a dance floor, a crystal chandelier suspended overhead.

At this early hour, the place was only half full, and it was easy to spot the only person by himself. A dark-haired, broad-shouldered man in a western-cut sports coat sat at a table on the left side of the room. He looked up from the wine list and she sucked in a deep breath. The men in Marcelle’s family must be something else if Marcelle thought this one was ordinary.

He had a strong face, with dark eyes and thick brows, a square jaw and Roman nose. His skin was the weathered bronze of a man who spent a lot of time outdoors. Fine lines radiated from the corners of his eyes and a small scar to the right of his mouth kept him from being too pretty. He had nice lips—the kind that looked as if they knew how to kiss a woman.

She blinked. Where had that come from? This was a blind date. Who said anything about kissing? She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. She had one goal tonight: to convince this man to accompany her to a family barbecue and pose as her boyfriend.

If it took kissing to do that…well, a girl had to make some sacrifices, didn’t she?

CARTER SULLIVAN stared into his glass of wine and listened to the Italian folk songs emanating from the speakers overhead. What was the expression? Wine, women and song. He sighed. Maybe two out of three wasn’t bad…. No, it was bad. Because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a date. His job didn’t leave a lot of time to meet eligible women.

Or, if he was honest, he could admit he hadn’t made the effort lately to get off his ass and find Ms. Right. Busting auto thieves and chasing down muggers was less daunting to him than playing the dating game. If the rejection didn’t get you, the emotional roller-coaster ride would. Most of the time it was easier to stay on the sidelines and hope that fate would send someone his way.

Which meant a lot of evenings like this one, where a craving for manicotti like Mama Calabria made had brought him to Trattoria Fabrizio. He poured another glass of Chianti and raised it in a silent toast. To Ms. Right. Wherever you are.

He blinked at the image of a woman that appeared in the glass in his hand. The kind of woman fantasies are made of. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and wondered if it was time to switch to water.

When he looked again, he saw that the image was a reflection of a real woman, who was walking toward him. She looked even better in real life than she had in his glass, with long strawberry-blond hair, legs a Las Vegas showgirl would envy and a figure that made every man in the room put down his fork to watch her walk by.

Carter rose when she stopped at his table. “Hello. I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” she said. She pulled out the chair across from him and sat. “I didn’t think I was running this late.”

“That’s quite all right.” He sat also, unable to stop staring at her. If the fates really had sent this woman to him, they couldn’t have done a better job. Up close, she had skin like porcelain, delicate features, and large blue eyes framed by thick lashes. Bedroom eyes. He let his vision move lower, to the generous breasts swelling at the neckline of her little blue dress, and the belt cinching her trim waist. Yes, this was his fantasy woman all right.

Any minute now, he’d wake up and reality would come crashing down around him, but while the fantasy lasted, he intended to enjoy himself. “Would you like some wine?” he asked.

“Yes, that would be nice.”

He signaled the waiter for a glass and poured for her, then topped up his own glass. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” he said.

She smiled. “Didn’t Marcelle tell you? It’s Joni. Joni Montgomery.”

He nodded. “Pleased to meet you, Joni. I’m Carter. Carter Sullivan.”

She froze with the wineglass halfway to her lips. “I thought your name was Brian.”

Ahh. So she was someone else’s fantasy after all. Well, whoever this Brian character was, he was going to have to wait his turn. “No, it’s Carter.”

“I must have misunderstood.” She sipped the wine. “To tell you the truth, I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.” She glanced at him. “I don’t know how much Marcelle told you about my situation.”

“Marcelle didn’t tell me anything.” Which was, of course, absolutely true.

The waiter arrived with two gold-tasseled menus. Carter pretended to read his while studying her. No rings on her fingers. Tasteful but expensive gold earrings. Neatly trimmed nails and a plain gold watch. Classy, not flashy. Exactly the kind of woman he favored.

The way she was staring, he wasn’t sure he’d made such a great impression on her. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

She flushed, a rosy glow like candlelight against ivory. “It’s just…your hair. It’s not thin at all!”

He put one hand to his head. When he was younger, he’d complained because his hair was thick and hard to style, but now he was at the age where he was grateful it was all there. He grinned at her. “No, it’s not. Guess I’m lucky that way.” He sat up a little straighter. So she liked his hair. That was a start.

The waiter arrived to take their order. She had the chicken piccata while he went with the manicotti. “You said something about your situation?” he prompted when they were alone again.

“Oh yes.” She smoothed her napkin in her lap. “Well, I don’t usually go on blind dates. I mean, not that it isn’t a perfectly nice way to meet people but…well, to tell you the truth, I’m so busy I really haven’t had much time to date.”

“Believe me, I understand.” He sipped his wine. “What do you do?”

“Marcelle didn’t tell you that either?” She laughed. “I’m going to have to talk to that girl. I’m a nurse. She and I work together in the emergency department at Santa Rosa Hospital.” She smiled at him. “And I understand you’re an accountant.”

He was tempted to go along with the story, but he’d always been a lousy liar. “Actually, I’m a cop,” he said.

Her smile melted away and something like anger flashed in her eyes. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

He shook his head. “’Fraid not.” He took out his wallet and flashed his I.D. and flat badge. “San Antonio’s finest, at your service.”

She sat back, silent for a long moment, staring into the wine. Carter wondered if now was the time to come clean with the whole story—that he didn’t know Marcelle, or the missing Brian, and that he wasn’t her blind date for the evening, though he’d gladly volunteer for the job.

She began to chuckle. “What’s so funny?” he asked.

“I just realized, this must be Marcelle’s idea of a joke. She knows how I feel about cops.”

He stiffened. “And how is that?”

She blushed again, a deeper red. “Oh, I didn’t mean anything by that. I’m sure you’re a very nice person. I just don’t want to date a cop. I mean…not usually.”

He was saved from having to respond by the arrival of their dinner. As he silently ate his manicotti, he was acutely aware of the beautiful woman seated across from him. His fantasy woman who didn’t want to date a cop. It figured.

She pushed her chicken piccata around on her plate, not eating. “Is something wrong with the food?” he asked.

“No. No, it’s delicious.” She pushed her plate away and looked at him. “I’m sorry. I’ve really gotten off on the wrong foot, haven’t I? Can we start again?” She held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Joni Montgomery.”

He smiled and took her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Joni. I’m Carter Sullivan.”

“My pleasure, Carter.” They sat there like that for a long moment, smiling and holding hands. Carter felt a surge of something like hope. Maybe this night had some magic in it after all….

“Excuse me, did you say your name was Joni Montgomery?” A short, balding man in a three-piece suit approached their table.

Joni turned to him. “Yes?”

“I’m Brian Anderson. Marcelle’s cousin.”

JONI STARED at the man. Short…balding…three-piece suit…he even had Marcelle’s squint. She looked again at the man across from her. Tall…gorgeous hair…a sports coat he filled out to perfection. What had she been thinking? This wasn’t a man who needed a cousin to fix him up with a date. Women probably followed him around like puppies.

So what was he doing sitting across from her now?

“I…I can explain,” he said.

“Oh, and you will,” she muttered. She turned to Brian. “I’m terribly sorry, there must have been some mix-up.” She glanced at Carter, then back at Marcelle’s cousin. Should she stay or go? After all, Brian was her real date. But she and Carter had been having such a nice time. Brian was probably nice, too, but what if he wasn’t? She was running out of time to find a man who could convince G.P. to leave well enough alone. She looked at Carter again. Did she stick with a known danger—a very handsome danger at that—or try the unknown danger, who might very well turn out to be another toe-licking alien?

Carter chose that moment to wink, a slow, seductive lowering of one eyelid that sent a hot shiver through her. She swallowed and turned back to Brian, giving him her best smile. “Um, I must have gotten my days mixed up. Maybe we could try again some other night?” Marcelle wouldn’t be happy about this, but Joni would think of something to tell her.

“Oh, well…” Brian glanced at Carter, who sat with arms folded across his chest, silent challenge in his eyes. “Uh, yeah. Maybe some other time.” Brian backed away from the table. “Uh, guess I’ll go now.”

When he was gone, Carter refilled her wineglass. “What now?” he asked.

She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Now, you explain. Why didn’t you speak up when you realized what was happening?”

He smiled. A devastating grin that warmed her like a shot of good brandy. “Imagine you’re a man sitting in a restaurant, down in the mouth because once again you’re eating alone. Suddenly, a beautiful woman sits down at your table and announces she’s your date.” He shook his head. “I haven’t learned many lessons in my life, but I know that when the fates hand you a gift like that, you shut up and take it.”

His words sent another tremor through her middle. No one had ever referred to her as a gift before. She ran her fingers up and down the stem of her wineglass. “I’d think a cop would be too hard-nosed to believe in something as ephemeral as fate.”

“Then you’d be wrong. My persistence in believing nothing happens by chance has kept me safe and sane out there on the streets.”

The streets where he got his thrills chasing down the bad guys. Of course, somebody had to do that job, but that didn’t mean she had to get involved with them. “I still think you should have said something when I first showed up.”

“You’re here now. Your accountant is gone. We might as well enjoy ourselves.” As if on cue, a new song began. Carter offered his hand. “Would you like to dance?”

She stared at his outstretched fingers. “I…I don’t know how.” What a shameful thing for a grown woman to admit. G.P. had sent her to dance class when she was in junior high school, but Joni had played hooky every week, preferring to visit the zoo instead.

Carter stood and pulled her up beside him. “That’s all right. I’ll show you.”

Reluctantly, she allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor. G.P. would probably say her lack of dancing ability was one reason she was still single, but who had time for something as old-fashioned as dance lessons?

Apparently Carter Sullivan had taken the time. He moved with the assurance of someone at home on the dance floor. One hand rested at the small of her back, strong and reassuring, while the other helped to guide her in the steps. He leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “Relax. Feel the music.”

But all she could feel was him. His body pressed against hers, warm and strong, muscular without being overbearing. She could easily imagine this powerful man chasing down robbers, rescuing children, and performing all sorts of other heroic acts.

She’d obviously had too much wine if she was letting herself get caught up in such a romantic fantasy. After all, she knew well enough that for every hero spotlighted on the nightly news, there were loved ones standing in the shadows. And when the heroics were all over, the wife and kids were the ones who got hurt.

“Hey, it’s not that bad, is it?” He put his finger under her chin and tilted her head up. “You look like you lost your best friend.”

She raised her eyes to meet his, and too late realized her mistake. He had beautiful eyes—not black, but dark blue, almost violet. They looked at her with an intensity that made her feel, not physically undressed, but emotionally naked.

She looked away again, at her feet, and stumbled against him. “It’s all right,” he soothed, and pulled her closer.

She fought the urge to rest her head on his shoulder, to savor the feeling of his arms around her. Despite her misgivings about his profession, she had to admit that Carter Sullivan was one-hundred-percent attractive male. The kind of man any woman would admire.

“G.P. would love you,” she murmured.

He blinked. “Who is G.P.?”

She sighed. Now was as good a time as any for the story to come out. “G.P. is my grandmother Pettigrew. She never seemed like an ordinary grandmother to me when I was growing up, so I called her G.P.”

The music stopped and he led her back to the table. The dinner dishes had been cleared, replaced by a carafe of coffee and two demitasse cups. “I take it your grandmother likes cops?”

“Cops. Firemen. Soldiers. Pilots. Race-car drivers. If a job is dangerous or daring, she’s in love.”

“But she didn’t pass this love to her granddaughter.” His expression was serious, but his eyes laughed at her.

She added sugar to her cup. “Let’s just say I prefer someone who’s more…stable.”

He nodded. “That’s me, all right. Mr. Unstable. It’s a wonder they let me on the force.”

She made a face. “I get your point and I’m not going to argue with you. In fact, I hope you’ll agree to help me with something.”

His gaze on her had the intensity of a physical touch. “I’m listening.”

She leaned toward him, looking into his eyes. “Carter, I need a man. I need you.”

CARTER SWALLOWED HARD, sure he was back in dream world. Wasn’t this the same woman who’d said she didn’t like cops? Then again, she had chosen to stay with him instead of the accountant. And she hadn’t exactly protested when they’d cuddled up on the dance floor. He grinned. “So my devastating charm has won you over.”

She picked up a coffee spoon and studied her reflection in it. “Do you remember when I told you I had a lot on my mind?”

“Yes, and you were going to tell me about it, but you never got around to it.”

She glanced around them. “Let’s go somewhere a little more private and I’ll explain everything.”

He wasn’t too surprised when she tried to pay the check, but he pushed her credit card back into her hand. “Call me old-fashioned, but I’ll pay.”

She frowned. “That’s ridiculous. This wasn’t even your idea.”

When the waiter returned, Carter signed the credit card slip and tore off his copy. “Let’s just say my fragile male ego will be crushed if I let a beautiful woman, whose company I’ve enjoyed by the way, pick up the check.”

He wasn’t surprised to find her blushing again. Maybe he hadn’t lost his touch after all.

He walked her to her car. “Where do you want to go?” he asked.

“Here is fine.” She leaned against the driver’s-side door, facing him. “It’s just that this story is kind of embarrassing and I didn’t want anyone to overhear.”

“The suspense is killing me.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, though what he really wanted to do was hold her again.

She fiddled with a row of beads on her key chain. “In two days, my grandmother Pettigrew is coming to San Antonio for the sole purpose of finding a husband for me.”

He chuckled. “You’re not serious.”

“Serious as a heart attack. G.P. has decided it’s time I was married and once she makes a decision, there’s no stopping her.”

“Where do I come in?” He stood up straighter. “Not as the potential groom?”

“No!” She dropped the keys and stooped to retrieve them, but he got them first.

He returned the keys to her. “No bridegroom.”

She nodded. “No, but I want you to pretend to be my boyfriend, just for a few days. You could come to the barbecue we’re having in her honor.” She met his gaze again. “Once she meets you, she’ll realize her services aren’t needed.”

So she wanted him, but only long enough to fool her grandmother. Should he be insulted, or pleased? A man with more pride would probably tell her to find some other guy for her charade.

But a man with more pride would end up alone. Why not take the chance to spend more time with the woman fate had sent his way?

“What’s in it for me?” he asked.

“The chance to do a good deed? Free barbecue?”

He shook his head.

She frowned. “What do you want?”

“I want you to give me a chance to prove that a cop can be relationship material. That whatever opinion you’ve formed about me is wrong.”

“You won’t change my mind.”

“Oh, but I’ll enjoy the challenge.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “After this is over, go out with me again. Not just to pull one over on your grandmother, but on a real date. For yourself.”

She looked away, her lips in a tight line. He could almost see her weighing the pros and cons of his proposal. But where was she going to find another guy to agree to her crazy plan on such short notice? She must have reached the same conclusion. “All right. I guess I can do that.”

“Good. Then what say we start right this minute?”

She looked wary. “How?”

“With a good-night kiss.”

Her eyes widened in surprise as he brought his lips to hers. He slipped his arms around her, pressing her tightly against his chest, stroking her back in a soothing motion as his mouth teased away her resistance.

He kissed the corners of her mouth and traced his tongue along the seam of her lips, then bent to kiss the tender flesh of her throat, her skin like satin against his tongue. He returned to her mouth, sucking gently at her lips, every sensitive nerve of his own mouth alive to her.

Triumph filled him as she melted against him, and her lips parted. She tasted of the wine they’d shared and smelled of exotic flowers. And she felt…God, she felt like heaven. He moved his hand to her waist, bringing her closer against his erection. He wanted her to know how she affected him. Instead of drawing away, she pressed into him, her hands on his back, fingers digging in.

Somewhere nearby, a car door slammed, making him aware that they were in a public place. Reluctantly, he drew away, and tried to catch his breath.

She leaned back against the car, eyes glazed, lips swollen and slightly parted, hair mussed. She truly looked like a woman in need of a man now, and given the slightest encouragement, he’d have been happy to oblige. He clenched his fists, hoping she wouldn’t see his hands shaking.

He saw the moment reason returned to her, watched her face pale and her eyes widen. She straightened and smoothed her hands over her hair, down her dress. “I…I’d better go.” She turned and fumbled with her keys, missing the door lock completely.

He stepped forward and took them from her hand, opened the door for her, then leaned in and fit the key in the ignition. “Maybe you’d better sit here a minute before you drive home,” he said.

She slid into the driver’s seat and shook her head. “No. I’m fine.”

He wished she’d look at him. He put his hand on her shoulder. “Listen, I didn’t mean for things to get so carried away just now.”

She nodded, still avoiding his eyes.

“But I think maybe it means something. Maybe we’re not such a bad match after all.”

“I think you shouldn’t read more into this than there is, Mr. Sullivan.” She turned the key in the ignition, starting the engine. “Unlike you, I don’t believe in fate.”

He had to leap back as she slammed the door. Then she sped out of the parking lot, in violation of half a dozen traffic laws. He stared after her, then started to chuckle. Oh, she was a pistol all right. He was going to enjoy proving to her how wrong she was about fate. And about them.




2


JONI WOKE the next morning from a restless sleep, thinking of Carter. How was it possible for a man she scarcely knew to disturb her so? Surely she’d never met anyone who infuriated her more. Take that whole business of him paying for dinner. Fragile male ego—hah! He was about as fragile as a concrete wall.

And that kiss—that incredible, mind-blowing kiss. He’d just assumed she’d wanted him to kiss her. Yeah, so she’d enjoyed the kiss. It probably ranked among the top five kisses she’d received in her lifetime. Maybe even number one. That kiss had lit up every nerve in her body like Fourth of July fireworks.

But that was beside the point. Any woman would be physically attracted to a man like Carter. She still knew better than to get involved with him. After all, he was a cop. A man addicted to the power trip of being an authority figure and hooked on the danger rush that went along with the badge. A man who would leave a wife and children at home while he went out the door every day to put his life on the line. Not the kind of man she wanted as a husband and father to her children.

He’d spouted all that nonsense about fate. She didn’t believe in fate. A person had to be responsible for her own life. Make her own choices. Something she’d been trying to tell G.P. since she was ten years old and her grandmother had made her take those stupid dance lessons.

She sighed. Okay, maybe they weren’t so stupid. Maybe it would be nice to learn to dance. But because she wanted to, not because G.P. or anybody else thought it was a good idea.

You sound like a two-year-old. Her conscience jabbed her, and she frowned at her face in the bathroom mirror. It was too early in the morning to grapple with her conscience. A grown woman ought to be able to declare her independence without sounding like a toddler. The point was, she didn’t, didn’t, didn’t want to get involved with a man like Carter Sullivan.

Which took her back to the problem of what to do about G.P. and her plans to see her granddaughter happily married. She wrestled with this dilemma while she munched down a bowl of cereal and packed her lunch. By the time she arrived at work, she knew she had only one real choice.

She found the number for the San Antonio Police Department in the phone book and asked to speak to Officer Carter Sullivan. The operator transferred her to the patrol sergeant. “Officer Sullivan isn’t in right now,” the sergeant told her. “Can I help you with something?”

“No, I…can I leave a message for him?”

“I can put you through to his voice mail. Are you one of his kids?”

“Uh, no.”

“Uh, okay. Well, here’s his voice mail.”

Kids? All the breath rushed out of her. Carter had kids? What else had he failed to mention last night? An ex-wife…or several? Not that they’d gone into much depth about their backgrounds, but you would think a man would remember something as important as children….

“You’ve reached the voice mailbox of Officer Carter Sullivan. Leave a message…”

“Uh, Carter, this is Joni Montgomery,” she stammered. “Call me.” Then she recited her phone number.

She returned to the nurses’ station and tried to concentrate on work, but thoughts of Carter kept intruding. Thoughts of that incredible kiss. Memories of him holding her. Would you get out of my head? she wanted to shout.

“Joni, there’s someone here to see you,” a nurse told her before headed down the hall.

She looked up from her charts at a broad-shouldered man in the crisp blue uniform of a San Antonio police officer. Her heart did a back flip and she felt the blood rush to her face. How was she supposed to deal with Carter calmly when her body reacted so fiercely to him?

“I get a kick out of the way you blush so easily.” He grinned and moved closer to the nurses’ station. “I didn’t think women did that anymore.”

“Blushing is merely an involuntary physical reaction.” She busied herself straightening a stack of patient charts that didn’t need straightening. “Like hiccups, or sweaty palms.”

“Hmm. More attractive, though. Especially on you.”

She could feel his gaze like a hot caress on her skin. When she raised her head, she found him regarding her with a half smile on his lips that would have made a nun have second thoughts about her vocation. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“You forgot to tell me how to get in touch with you. Then I remembered you said you worked at Santa Rosa. I took a chance you’d be here today.”

“I just called and left you a message at the station.”

His smile broadened. “Then you didn’t chicken out.”

She’d wanted to, but she hadn’t been able to think of any other way to appease G.P. Or any other man who would be sure to have her grandmother packing her bags and heading out of Texas in short order. “We made an agreement. I intend to keep my part of it.” After all, how hard could it be to endure one date with him?

“I stopped by to find out what the plan is for tomorrow night, and so we could get our stories straight before the big event.”

“Speaking of getting stories straight…” She moved out from behind the nurses’ station. “Let’s go back to the break room for a minute and talk about a few things.”

The closet-size room at the end of the hall had just enough space for a table and two chairs, a small refrigerator and a cart that held a microwave, a coffee-maker, and assorted boxes of crackers, cans of coffee and jars of tea bags. A half-empty box of donuts sat on the table.

Joni shut the door behind them and turned to face him. “Why didn’t you mention last night that you have children?”

His smile vanished. “What the hell?” He stared at her, true astonishment on his face. “I don’t have any children. Where did you get an idea like that?”

She clutched the back of a folding chair. “When I called the station, the man who answered asked if I was one of your kids.”

Laughter exploded from him. She tightened her grip on the chair. “What’s so funny about that?”

Carter shook his head. “He wasn’t talking about my children.”

“Then who was he talking about?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “The area I patrol attracts a lot of street kids. Runaways. I try to get to know them—let them know if they ever need anything, they can call me.”

“Street kids.” Her heart gave a little twist. “That…that’s really nice of you.”

“Yeah, that’s me. A regular saint.” He cocked one eyebrow. “Sorry to disappoint you. I know you were expecting worse things from me.”

Touché. She looked at the floor. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“So what’s the deal here?” He leaned toward her, his hands on the table between them. “Did you date a cop once and he did you wrong? Did you have a runin with a bad cop once upon a time? Did your parents threaten to turn you over to the police when you were little and you were bad? Or do you just not like the cut of the uniform?” He looked down at his blue shirt and pants. “I hear women really go for the brown sheriff’s department getup. Maybe I should try that.”

She bit back a smile. Did they teach cops how to ask serious questions in such a nonthreatening manner? No, she’d bet this particular approach was a Carter Sullivan original. “The uniform is great,” she said. And he looked great in it. Every female in the emergency department, including one woman lying on a stretcher, had checked him out when he walked in.

She crossed her arms under her breasts. “I don’t like adrenaline junkies.”

He straightened and drew his eyebrows together. “Try that one again.”

“You know. Men who get off on danger. Cops. Firefighters. Test pilots. Race-car drivers.”

“So the danger thing doesn’t turn you on?”

Why did he put the question that way? This had nothing to do with sex. “Men into those things are selfish.”

He rubbed his chin, considering. “How do you figure that? Haven’t you heard the term ‘public servant’?”

She shifted her weight to one hip. “I’m not saying you don’t provide a public service, or that what you do isn’t important. But nobody stays in that kind of work long if they don’t get a rush from courting danger. Only, when they get hurt—and odds are they will—their families are the ones who pay the price.”

He nodded. “So you figure you’ll just avoid that hurt altogether and stick with nice, safe guys. Like accountants.”

“That’s it.” Her shoulders relaxed. Maybe he did understand.

“What if I told you I pulled an accountant out of a wrecked car just two days ago? Head-on collision with a dump truck.”

“I’d say it sounded like a story you made up to prove a point.”

Laughter lit his eyes. “Okay, so it was a shoe salesman. Same difference.”

“The odds are still in the accountant’s—or the shoe salesman’s—favor.”

He moved around the table to stand in front of her, uncomfortably close. “So love to you is a matter of playing the odds?”

She raised her chin, staring past his shoulder, and tried not to breathe too deeply of his leather-and-soap scent. “Who says I can’t love a safe man as much as a danger junkie?”

“That’s only if we really get to choose who we love.”

She jerked her gaze to his. Why did he look so sure of himself? So certain he was right. “Of course we do. That’s what the whole dating thing is about. Choosing.”

He shook his head. “Uh-uh. Love’s not like that at all.”

“Who made you an expert?”

He stepped closer, backing her up against the door. She couldn’t move away without pressing against him, could scarcely draw a breath without the tips of her breasts brushing his chest. But more than his physical proximity, his gaze held her, silencing her protests, stealing thought. “So when you kissed me last night, it was because you chose to do so?”

She swallowed. “Of course.”

He leaned over and pressed his lips to her throat, barely catching her flesh between his teeth. Heat knifed through her, melting a path from his mouth to between her legs. “And when you practically came in my arms, it’s because you chose to do so.” His voice rumbled through her, making her heart pound.

“I did not…do that.”

He raised his head to meet her eyes once more. “You were turned on though. I’ll bet you were soaking wet.”

If he only knew…She closed her eyes against his penetrating gaze and shivered as his mouth moved down her throat to her collarbone, trailing heat along the V neck of her uniform top. “Physical reaction…is different…from love,” she gasped.

“Maybe. Let’s call it lust then.” He cupped her right breast in his palm. “Tell me you’re not lusting after me right now.”

“Of…of course not.”

He ran his thumb across her erect nipple, sending shock waves rippling through her. “Liar.”

She tried to pull back, but only managed to flatten herself against the door. “What if I am? It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Then it won’t hurt to act on those feelings.” He put his hands on either side of her, flat against the door. “If I locked this door and we went after it right now, it wouldn’t make any difference in how you looked at me tomorrow?”

She glared at him. “You do that and I won’t be looking at you at all tomorrow.”

He stepped back, startling her with the suddenness of the movement. She sagged against the door, shaken and panting. She didn’t know whether to be angry at him for putting her in this position, or for leaving her like this, hungry for more.

“I will never force you to do anything,” he said, retreating to the table. “But don’t lie about what you’re feeling either. If you want me, don’t be afraid to say so.”

Of all the conceited, arrogant—She glared at him. “In your dreams.”

He grinned. “Oh, you’re already there, sugar.” He fished a donut from the box on the table and took a bite. “So what time is Grandma’s get-together tomorrow?”

His question cut off the biting remark forming in her head. She blinked. Was he changing the subject to unsettle her further, or to give her time to cool off?

She thought his fingers trembled as he raised the donut to his lips again and she held back a smile. Maybe he was giving them both time to calm down. “It starts at five o’clock, though my dad will probably be up at five that morning to start the brisket cooking.”

“What time do you want me to pick you up?”

She rubbed her arms. She hadn’t planned on letting him know where she lived. That made this all too personal. “I thought you could meet me at my parents’.”

He shook his head. “That won’t work. Not if we’re supposed to be crazy in love. We should show up together.”

She frowned. “I don’t see what difference it makes.”

“You want to convince your grandmother, don’t you?” He wiped his hands with a paper napkin. “I’ll pick you up and we’ll come in, the inseparable lovebirds. Your grandmother will go home satisfied you’ve found the perfect man at last.”

“Don’t get too far into the role, okay?” She scribbled her address onto another napkin and handed it to him.

He read it and stuffed it into his pocket. “What should I say when people ask how we met?”

“That’s easy. Tell them we met at the hospital. Cops come in here all the time.”

“And we’ve been dating how long?”

“Six weeks.”

“I’m a fast worker, huh?”

“G.P. knew my grandfather six weeks when they got married.”

“How long were they married?”

“Forty-one years.”

He laughed. “And you don’t believe in fate!”

“G.P. and Grandpa were lucky. That doesn’t happen very often.” She didn’t want to talk about her grandparents’ marriage with him. She opened the door. “I have to get back to work.”

He stopped and kissed her cheek on his way out. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening. I’m looking forward to it.”

She stared after him, still feeling the warmth where his lips had been. One moment she was furious with him, and the next he did something that made her positively melt. He’d crashed into her quiet, ordered life like a meteorite. She figured the sooner they ended their deal and parted company, the better off she’d be.

His earlier words to her echoed in the back of her mind (or was that her conscience again?): Liar.

CARTER ARRIVED at Joni’s apartment promptly at 4:45, having circled the block half a dozen times to avoid showing up too early. He ate half a pack of breath mints while he was waiting and cranked the air conditioner full blast, praying his antiperspirant didn’t fail. Though he hoped he didn’t show it, his stomach was in knots at the thought of meeting Joni’s family, especially the infamous G.P.

He didn’t have much experience with families, though as a cop he’d seen plenty of family feuds gone wrong. If the rest of the family was anything like prickly Joni, he’d have one hell of a time keeping his cool tonight. But he intended to give it his best shot. Joni might be difficult at times, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the two of them could make some magic together. Call it destiny, fate, or mere coincidence, but Joni had come into his life from out of nowhere, and he wasn’t about to let her leave too soon.

She greeted him at the door, dressed in an orange tank top and white shorts. He had a tough time not staring, and had to continually pull his gaze away from her long, tanned legs and soft curves. “You look great,” he said.

She smiled and surveyed his jeans, boots and knit polo. “You clean up pretty good yourself.”

“I brought you something.” He handed her a pink rabbit’s foot key chain.

“What’s this for?” She inspected the rabbit’s foot.

“For luck. You said you don’t believe in it, but the rabbit’s foot works whether you believe or not.”

She laughed. “All right. I’ll humor you.” She clipped the key chain to her purse. “Are you ready?”

He took a deep breath. “I’m ready. By the end of the evening, your grandmother will love me.” And maybe her granddaughter’s feelings will be a little more affectionate as well.

The drive to her parents’ home in Alamo Heights took only a few minutes. The house was already surrounded by cars, and a trio of little girls chased each other across the front lawn. “You have a big family,” he said.

“Not that big. I have three brothers, Matt, Greg and David. Then there are their wives and children—the girls on the lawn belong to Greg and Matt. David has a baby boy. Aunt Lisa and Uncle Richard will probably be here, and my cousins Marcus and Larry. Uncle Leo and Aunt Lucy, and their sons, Bruce and Peter. Bruce’s wife Penny and their two boys, Zach and Thomas…”

“Like I said. A big family. Must be nice.” He found a parking space down the street and guided the car in. “Three brothers, huh? So you’re the only girl. And the youngest, I’ll bet.”

“David is younger, but, yeah, I’m the only girl.”

He grinned. “No wonder you don’t like being bossed around.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. He was still chuckling when they walked through the front door. The roomful of people fell silent. He looked at her and saw the telltale flush creeping up her neck. “You didn’t tell them you were bringing me, did you?”

She gave him a look of apology. “I, uh, I forgot.”

A woman in her fifties with Joni’s eyes moved toward them. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come in!” She took Carter’s arm and led him farther into the room.

“Mama, I’d like you to meet Carter Sullivan. Carter, this is my mother, Adele Montgomery.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Carter said. “I’d have known you for Joni’s mother anywhere.”

“And I’m Joni’s grandmother.” A thin, angular woman with a thick crown of snow-white hair inserted herself between them and offered her hand. “Pamela Pettigrew, but everyone here calls me G.P.”

“Pleased to meet you, G.P.” Carter shook hands with the old woman, who had a surprisingly strong grip.

She kept hold of his hand and looked him over, starting at the polished toes of his boots and ending at the top of his head. He tried not to squirm, though he had the feeling he was being sized up like a side of beef. G.P. turned to Joni, who stood with her fists clenched at her sides. “Why have you been keeping this man a secret?”

“Well, I, uh…” She looked at him, telegraphing panic.

He put his arm around her. “I think Joni wanted to be sure of my feelings before she sprung me on the whole family.”

G.P.’s eyes narrowed. “And what are your feelings?”

He leaned closer and spoke in a confiding tone. “Just between you and me—I love her.”

He’d meant the words as a dramatic gesture, but a sudden tightness in his chest when he glanced at Joni told him they might be true. This beautiful, aggravating woman had gotten under his skin in a hurry.

JONI STARED AT HIM, openmouthed. Why had he thought it necessary to say something like that? Especially with her whole family watching and grinning like kids at the circus.

She slid her gaze over to G.P. Her grandmother was still holding Carter’s hand, studying him with considerable interest. “Come sit over here and tell me something about yourself,” she said, leading him to the sofa.

Aunts Lisa and Lucy moved over to make room, so that Carter ended up sandwiched between G.P. and the grinning aunts. “Tell me how you and Joni met,” G.P. said.

Carter leaned back against the sofa cushions, long legs stretched in front of him. Joni stood behind her mother’s chair, while the rest of the family arranged themselves around the room. Carter glanced at Joni, then delivered his lines: “I was sitting at a restaurant all alone, depressed because I didn’t have someone special in my life, and all of a sudden, this beautiful woman walks right over and sits down at my table.”

Joni gasped, drawing curious looks from those near her. She dabbed at her eyes with her fingers, pretending to be all choked up. In reality, she was furious. What did he think he was doing, telling her family the truth?

“She’d mistaken me for the man she was supposed to meet at the restaurant,” Carter continued. “One look and I knew fate had sent me the woman I’d been waiting for. We talked all evening, and I guess you could say we really hit it off.”

“What a romantic story.” Aunt Lucy sighed.

“When was this meeting?” G.P. asked. “How long have you known each other?”

Joni held her breath. If he dared tell the truth this time…

Carter smiled fondly at her. “Six weeks.”

A collective sigh issued from her entire sappily romantic family. G.P. beamed. “That’s how long my late husband George and I knew each other when we got married.” She touched Carter’s hand. “We had a wonderful forty-one years together.”

“So Joni tells me.”

“I wish you could have known him. He was a wonderful man, so full of life. When I met him, he was a barnstorming pilot, flying around to small towns and performing stunts. Our first date, he took me up in his plane and performed two barrel rolls and a backward loop. I knew right then, he was the man for me.”

“He sounds like quite a daredevil.” Carter had the audacity to wink at Joni.

“Oh, he was. He flew in Korea and worked as a crop duster in the Rio Grande Valley, then flew reconnaissance for Customs. On weekends, we’d go to air shows and he’d fly stunts for fun.” She patted his hand. “But you didn’t come here to listen to an old woman talk. I want to know about you. What kind of work do you do?”

“I’m a patrol officer with the San Antonio Police Department.”

G.P.’s laugh was closer to a cackle. She looked at Joni. “Is that so? What did I tell you?”

Joni crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not happy about his job.”

“I predict you’ll get over that soon enough.” She turned back to Carter. “Now tell me about your family. Where do they live?”

“I don’t really have a family. I grew up in several different foster homes. I stayed the longest with the Calabrias, five years when I was in junior high and high school. I still see them from time to time.”

Joni felt like she’d swallowed hummingbirds. She thought of the runaways and homeless kids Carter said he tried to help. Did he see himself and his own childhood when he looked at them?

“You can consider us your family now,” G.P. announced. “I always said Joni needed a strong man who could show her how to really live.” She leaned toward Carter and lowered her voice, though not so low Joni couldn’t hear. “She has a tendency to guard her feelings too well,” she said. “Maybe you can teach her to take a few more risks.”

He nodded solemnly. “Maybe I can.”

Joni turned away. Really, this was getting ridiculous. Carter was acting like this was all real, instead of a ploy to fool her grandmother.

A few minutes later, Carter caught up with her in the kitchen, where she was helping her cousin Bruce slice onions and pickles. “Everything’s going pretty good, huh?” he said softly, helping himself to a pickle slice. Bruce was arguing baseball scores with their cousin Marcus.

“Why did you tell them how we really met?”

“Because I’m a lousy liar. Besides, the truth is a better story. I think it really won them over.”

She made a face. “Oh, G.P. loves you.”

“I like her, too. I like all your family.”

She concentrated on making perfect, even slices. “I didn’t know that…about your family. I guess that’s kind of rough, huh?”

Carter shrugged. “That’s the hand I was dealt.”

She laid aside the knife and dried her hands on a dish towel. “Don’t you have any disgusting habits or annoying traits I can dislike without feeling guilty?”

He laughed. “I can swear in three languages, though that can sometimes be an asset. I can cuss out people in Italian and they don’t know if I’m dissing them or ordering spaghetti.”

She fought hard to hold back a smile. He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, so he could whisper in her ear. “I wouldn’t call it annoying, but I do have the very frustrating habit of getting turned on whenever I’m around you.”

She wanted to scold him and remind him theirs was supposed to be a business agreement, but when she opened her mouth, all that came out was giggles. Honestly! What was happening to her?

Her father stuck his head in the back door. “Hey, can you two lovebirds break it up long enough for Carter to come out here and play a game of horseshoes? I’ve already beaten everybody else.”

“You haven’t beaten the horseshoe champ of the SAPD West Substation.” Carter released her and followed her dad into the backyard.

Joni leaned back against the counter and sighed. Carter didn’t act like any cop she’d ever known—like any man she’d ever known. He was strong, but soft at the same time. He wasn’t afraid of revealing himself. After all, what kind of man stood up in front of a bunch of people he’d just met and declared his love for a woman?

Even if it was only an act?




3


EVEN THOUGH Carter and Joni were seated directly across the picnic table from one another, Joni refused to look at him. That’s how he knew he was getting to her. Every time he glanced up, her eyes darted away and she pretended a deep interest in the potato salad. You didn’t work that hard at avoiding someone’s gaze unless you secretly craved it. He grinned and leaned toward her. “The potato salad is excellent, isn’t it?”

“Huh?” Her head jerked up and her eyes met his for a split second before focusing somewhere over his left shoulder. He didn’t think he’d ever get enough of looking into those eyes, trying to discover all the things they’d teach him about her.

“The potato salad? You were so engrossed in it, I thought maybe it was some secret family recipe.”

She set down her fork. “Um, I think Mom gets it from a deli over on San Pedro.”

He took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. “It’s delicious. It’s all delicious.”

“The secret to a good brisket is to take it slow.” Joni’s father spoke from the end of the long picnic table set up under an oak tree in the Montgomery backyard. “You can’t rush something this good.”

Carter nodded. “I’ll have to remember that.” Good advice for briskets, and for relationships. He glanced at Joni again. She was studiously cutting her meat into tiny pieces, her cheeks flushed as if she’d had too much sun. Ah, Joni, I don’t want to rush you, he thought. I just want you to give me a chance.

G.P. pushed aside her plate and surveyed her guests with a satisfied smile. “As soon as everyone’s finished eating, we’ll start the games.”

The announcement was met with groans.

“Do we have to?”

“Aren’t we too old for that?”

“I think I sprained my ankle.”

“Nonsense,” G.P. countered. “The games are a tradition at every family gathering.”

Carter leaned across the table to whisper to Joni. “What kind of games is she talking about?”

Joni rolled her eyes. “Stupid ones. Kid stuff like three-legged races and balloon relays. She thinks they build closeness and togetherness.”

“They keep you all from being too serious.” G.P. directed her comment to her granddaughter. “I have very good hearing for a woman who’s almost seventy,” she added.

Carter shoved his chair back from the table. “Sounds like fun.” He nodded to Joni. “Can I be partners with Joni?”

G.P. smiled. “But of course.”

So half an hour later, Carter found himself standing hip to hip with Joni at one end of the backyard with her siblings, cousins, nieces and nephews paired up alongside them, ready to compete in a three-legged race. He slipped his arm around her and hugged her close. “This could be fun,” he said.

She stared down at the pink ribbon that bound them together at the ankles. “I feel ridiculous.”

“Actually, you feel very nice to me.” He bumped his hip against hers. “Your grandmother’s right. This togetherness thing is great.”

“Don’t get any ideas.” Her voice was stern, but her eyes were filled with barely suppressed mirth.

He glanced along the starting line at the competition. “So what do you think our chances are?”

She craned her neck to follow his gaze. “Bruce and Peter won last year. The little kids generally fall apart giggling halfway across the yard. But Larry is pretty good. If he and Susan can stay together, they might have a chance.”

He looked back at her. “Have I mentioned that I have this competitive streak? I hate to lose.”

“Why doesn’t that information surprise me?” She put her arm around him, hooking her fingers through the belt loop of his jeans. “I’m something of a sore loser myself.”

“Is everybody ready?” G.P. climbed onto a folding chair in the middle of the yard and raised her arms. She beamed at the ragged line of contestants. “Ready. Set. Go!”

Carter leapt forward, dragging Joni along with him. “Hey, wait for me!” she cried. Wrapping both arms around him in an attempt to stay upright, they came to an abrupt halt.

“Sorry. This is harder than it looks.” He checked the competition. “Damn. We’re already way behind.”

“If we want to win, we have to work together. Like this.” She hugged him tight against her, pressing her thigh firmly against his. “Now when I say go, we take one step together.”

“I could get used to this togetherness thing.”

She rolled her eyes and said, “One, two, three, Go.”

“Go. Go. Go.” They fell into a hopping rhythm, covering ground at a surprisingly fast pace, passing everyone as they headed toward the length of surveyor’s tape held by G.P. and the youngest Montgomery grandchild.

“Here come Joni and Carter, in first place. But Bruce and Peter are gaining fast. Who will be the winner?” Joni’s father provided commentary from his perch in a lawn chair alongside the finish line.

“Go. Go. Go.” Joni and Carter made a frantic dive for the tape, arriving inches ahead of her cousins, and collapsed into each other’s arms.

“Did we win?” Carter gasped, rolling onto his side to face Joni. They were both breathless and laughing, still clinging together.

“I think we won.” She smiled into his eyes, her previous shyness forgotten in the moment.

How was it you could be surrounded by other people and suddenly be so aware of one other person? He could feel her heart beating wildly against his chest, echoing the pounding of his own. Her hair had come undone and fallen across her forehead. He reached up to push it out of her eyes and left his hand there, cradling her cheek. She grew still, eyes still locked to his, her lips parted as if in silent invitation.

It would be so easy to lean down and kiss her….

“There’ll be time for celebrating later, you two.” G.P. stood over them, a grin splitting her face. “We’ve got more games to play.”

She nudged Carter with her toe and he had no choice but to shove onto his knees and offer a hand to Joni. “What’s the next challenge on the list?”

“Next we have the orange relay.”

Joni groaned. “G.P., no!”

“What’s the orange relay?” Carter asked.

“Oh, you’ll see.”

She started to walk away, but Carter pulled her back. “We’re partners, remember?”

“You don’t need a partner for this game.”

“Then I need you to make sure I don’t embarrass myself by not following the rules.”

Joni shook her head. “The whole point of this game is to embarrass yourself.”

“Everyone line up now.” G.P. clapped her hands. “Form two lines, right in front of me. Ben, where are those oranges?”

Carter found himself in line between Cousin Larry and Joni. “The object of the game is to pass an orange down your line without using your hands,” G.P. explained. “If you drop the orange, your team has to start over.”

“This looks easy enough,” Carter said.

Joni gave him a pitying look. “It’s not.”

The thing about an orange, he discovered, is that it is small, round, and surprisingly slippery. Studying the other players, he decided that the key to accomplishing the exchange was to flex your knees, relax your neck, and let the other person do most of the work.

Larry, for instance, was a pro. The two men were about the same height, which made it easier. With a minimum of fumbling, Carter had the orange under his chin, to the admiring applause of his team and worried glances from the competition.

Feeling confident, he turned to pass the fruit to Joni and immediately saw that anatomy was not on his side. For one thing, Joni was a good six inches shorter than he was—and considerably better endowed in the chest area. From this angle, he had a tantalizing view of her cleavage which was, to say the least, distracting.

“Hurry up,” she prompted, and angled her neck up to take the fruit.

He bent to tuck the orange beneath her chin and found himself pressed against her breasts, much closer than he’d planned on getting with her entire family looking on.




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