Texas Magic. Nancy Thompson Robards
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of irreverent bad boy that added to his allure.
It was crazy that she had even considered something so out of character. But she was a grown woman—thirty-three years old, for God’s sake. She had no prospects in sight and no time in her busy schedule to think about going out on a manhunt. And again, was it so wrong to want a taste of romance for herself...no matter how fleeting?
With all eyes on Claudia and Kyle this weekend, and delicious Drew at her side...well, it had been a tempting daydream.
Thank God, he was nowhere to be found in the dangerous hour when their wedding duties were done and the champagne was flowing like an endless river.
Wistful, Caroline turned her attention back to her plate, scraping up the last traces of icing. It was so good. She just might treat herself to seconds. There was nothing to feel guilty about, as long as she didn’t consider the calories in the small box of Maya’s truffles she had already consumed before the wedding had even started.
Along with the shipment of chocolate party favors, Maya had sent special boxes of truffles to Caroline and Claudia. She had called the treats “wedding survival kits.” She had claimed that Claudia’s chocolates contained calming herbs to help rid her of bridal jitters; observing how calm and carefree her sister seemed right now, they’d obviously worked their magic.
Caroline’s box, Maya had said, was a reward for seeing Claudia through the wedding stress. Maya’s note to Caroline had read: Eat these on the day of the wedding, and remember, my sweet, a gracious maid of honor always gets her reward. L’amour!
L’amour? Wouldn’t that be a nice reward?
Again, her gaze scanned the dance floor for Drew. Coming up empty, she found herself back at square one, contemplating the crumbs on her clean cake plate. The only l’amour coming her way was another piece of cake.
She was in the process of sliding her feet back into her shoes—the price she had to pay for indulgence—when a deep voice startled her out of her reverie.
“This seat taken?”
Drew Montgomery did not wait for an answer. He was already folding himself into the chair next to Caroline. Of course, given the fact that the table was empty, his question was probably rhetorical.
Caroline checked her posture and felt the involuntary reflex of her fingers sweeping across her lips, checking for errant crumbs and stray smudges of icing. Now, as Drew sat next to her—and just where had he materialized from? Never mind that—now that he was here, the first piece of cake she had eaten felt like a rock in her gut. She inhaled slowly to settle her nerves, and the bodice of her dress felt tight. That second piece of cake...well, now it just seemed like a bad idea.
“I didn’t get a chance to tell you this earlier, but nice dress.” Drew’s eyes, the same shade of dark brown as Maya’s imported chocolates, sparkled with mischief. This was another side to the sexy man who tended to make her mouth go dry and her mind go blank when he walked into the room...especially now that he was sitting next to her. Man, he looked good in that tux.
Caroline forced herself to look out at the dance floor so she wouldn’t stare at Drew. “Yeah, my sister promised us we’d get multiple uses out of it. What do you think? Is it suitable for a night on the town?”
She grabbed a fistful of pumpkin-colored taffeta and tulle underskirt and gave it a shake. It rustled like dry leaves in a trash bag.
As Drew took a long, slow draw of beer, his gaze meandered unselfconsciously from her handful of skirt, up the bodice of her dress, lingering a beat on her décolletage. She let go of the skirt and crossed her arms so that her forearm covered her cleavage and her hand rested at the base of her throat. His gaze resumed its journey, finally finding her eyes.
“Yeah, it’s kind of noisy.” Although he was nodding as if he approved. “But you wear it well, Caroline. Would be a shame to let it go to waste in the back of your closet. I say wear it and own it.”
“Own the fact that I look like someone’s Halloween pumpkin? I don’t think so, Drew.”
It wasn’t just the way he held her gaze, it was the way his dark, curly hair fell across his forehead and the teasing tilt of his sideways grin that also did her in. Suddenly she wasn’t quite so eager to retreat to that marble Jacuzzi tub...alone.
What if she asked him to join her?
Her cheeks burned at the thought.
He was her new brother-in-law’s best friend. Even though she had already dismissed the one-night-of-bliss fantasy, now that he was sitting here—so mesmerizingly close—she shouldn’t be thinking of him in the getting-naked-in-a-Jacuzzi way, either. Because if she found herself naked in a Jacuzzi with him, then that would inevitably lead to the one-night stand, which she had already dismissed. She wasn’t going to kid herself. With her workload at the firm and the extra hours she was putting in helping out her friend A. J. Sherwood-Antonelli baking desserts for Celebrations, Inc., a catering company, Caroline barely had time to sleep.
So, no, there was no time for a man in her life...well, beyond tonight, anyway. So maybe that was all the more reason she should put away her prude and just go for it.
She had to look away and bite the insides of her cheeks to rid herself of the thoughts that were ringing in her head right now. Not to mention, at this point she was surely the same shade of red as the cranberries in the table centerpieces.
What was wrong with her? Too much champagne? Sugar overload?
“Sugar,” he said.
Great. And now he was reading her mind.
“Excuse me?”
“I was thinking you looked more like a sweet sugar pumpkin in that dress rather than a carving pumpkin.” He grinned at her, relaxed and casual in his chair, obviously aware of how flustered he was making her. “There is a difference, you know? One of the reporters at the Journal just wrote an article about a pumpkin farm over in Celina. She said you should never use a big carving pumpkin for pie. It will be bitter. You have to use the small, firm sugar pumpkins. They’re much sweeter.”
Again, his eyes meandered the length of her dress.
Small, firm sugar pumpkins? Was he speaking metaphorically?
She shivered, but this time she did not cross her arms to hide herself. Instead, she blinked at him. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She reached out and swatted his arm. “If that’s the best you can do, that’s pathetic.”
See, the other dangerous thing she had learned about Drew Montgomery this weekend was that he had a way of pulling her out of that awkward, tongue-tied mire she initially found herself in when she was with him, and then it was a slippery slope into the sea of longing. Tonight, it seemed, there was no life preserver to save her. No lifeboat in which she could stash the bald truth: this man made her think and feel things she had no business thinking and feeling, because the places they led were dangerous.
He motioned to a woman carrying a tray of champagne. She wasted no time appearing at his side. Drew replaced Caroline’s empty flute with a full one.
“Pathetic, huh?” he asked.
“Pretty much.”
“Damn, I guess that means I’ll have to make it up to you. Or at least prove to you that I’m not pathetic. At least not when it counts.”
Good Lord, his smile was enough to push her over the edge of that slippery slope.
“Would you wear your sugar pumpkin dress out on the town if I wore this monkey suit? Tie and all—we match. See, pumpkin tie. Pumpkin dress.” He motioned back and forth.
She blinked, unsure of what to say. If she let herself go there, she might believe he was asking her out on a date.
“But that would mean you’d have to rent the monkey suit again, and