Detour Ahead. Cindi Myers
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India was draped over her Salvation Army sofa and a chipped marble garden bench served as her coffee table, while an inflatable palm tree left over from a photo shoot took the place of any living plants.
He frowned at the palm tree. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes. My luggage is right over here.” She started toward the bags she’d stashed to the left of the door.
He shook his head.
She looked at him. “What?”
“I should have known a woman would pack half her closet for just a few days.”
The words set her teeth on edge. She faced him, hands on her hips. “We’ll be gone over a week. Besides, that’s not half my closet. Not even close.” One of the best features of the carriage house was a huge walk-in closet. She’d filled the space with clothes to suit her every mood, all bought at bargain prices at the city’s best thrift and vintage clothing stores.
He frowned down at her luggage. “Three bags?”
Honestly. Just because a man could get by with one suit, two shirts and pair of jeans didn’t mean a woman could! “The big suitcase is clothes and shoes. The small tote is makeup and hair accessories. The larger tote has my laptop, books, snacks and emergency supplies.”
“Emergency supplies?”
“Band-Aids, aspirin, sunscreen, stain remover and, uh, other things.” She didn’t mention the condoms she’d added at the last minute. Not that she was planning anything, but you never knew….
He picked up the suitcase and the larger tote. She locked the door behind her, then followed him to his car. “Thank you for giving me a ride,” she said, determined to start off on the right foot with him, despite his less than pleasant demeanor. He was Bryan’s friend. She was Susan’s friend. There was no reason they shouldn’t get along. “Just let me know how much my share of expenses comes to.”
“I’ll do that.” He stashed her totebag in the back seat, then turned and handed her a CD case and a sheaf of computer print-outs. “Your job is to keep the tunes spinning, read this itinerary and schedule I’ve printed out, and keep quiet.”
She stared at him. So much for thinking they could be friends. The guy was a jerk. “You obviously have the wrong impression of me,” she said, barely suppressing the urge to rip his head off.
“What do you mean?”
She reached up and removed his sunglasses. He blinked at her. “Hey—”
“I like to look people in the eye when I talk to them,” she said. “Let’s get this straight. I am not some child or some servant for you to order around or patronize.”
Without the sunglasses, he looked less forbidding, though he was still frowning. “I’m going out of my way here to do you a favor.”
“And I’m doing you one.”
“How’s that?”
“I’m keeping you company and paying half the expenses.”
“I didn’t ask for company.”
“No? You agreed to do this, didn’t you? You could have said no.”
They stared at each other in silence for a long moment. He had eyes the color of toffee, a rich brown with golden flecks. The kind of eyes that could make a woman forget what she’d been arguing about….
He was the first to look away. “You’re right. I agreed.”
She suppressed a thrill of victory. A man who’d admit he was wrong couldn’t be all bad. “So if you have regrets about that, that’s your problem, not mine. That doesn’t give you the right to make us both miserable.”
He winced. “Right again.” He took a deep breath and straightened. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a jerk. Let’s start over.” He held out his hand. “I’m Craig.”
Now this was more like it. The faintest hint of a smile replaced the scowl he’d worn earlier. Much better. The man was definitely easy on the eyes. She slipped her hand into his, warmth traveling through her at his touch like an electric current. “It’s nice to meet you, Craig. I’m Marlee.”
She didn’t know how long they stood there like that, holding hands and staring into each other’s eyes. She was dimly aware of traffic moving past, of the distant drone of a lawnmower and a slamming door. These were merely background noise for the fireworks going off in her brain. If she was writing dialogue for the commercial version of the encounter, the only word she would have been able to come up with was Wow!
He slipped his hand from hers and took a step back. “Come on,” he said. “We’ve got a long way to go. We’d better get started.”
While he guided the car toward the Beltway out of town, she adjusted her seat, then flipped through the CD selection. Lyle Lovett, Shania Twain, Stevie Ray Vaughn. Filed alphabetically. Of course. The man had eclectic tastes. Nothing boring here. She slid the Lyle Lovett disc into the player, and flipped through the sheaf of papers he’d handed her. “What is all this anyway?” she asked.
“The itinerary for our trip. It shows driving directions, mileage between major intersections and the hotels where we’ll be staying. I’ve listed our rest stops, stops for fuel and food, along with local gas prices and information on highway conditions.”
She scanned the pages of close print and columns of figures with the horrified fascination of someone perusing an autopsy report. “You must have spent an awful lot of time putting this together,” she said.
“It’ll save us a lot of time later.”
Right. With a week to go until the wedding, they didn’t exactly have to race across country to get there in time, but Craig was obviously one of those guys who didn’t consider a day on the road worthwhile unless he could set a new record for distance traveled in the shortest time.
She slipped the itinerary under the seat. They could deal with that little problem later.
She studied Craig out of the corner of her eye, trying not to be obvious. He had a good strong jaw and short hair. His hands on the steering wheel looked strong, too, with long fingers and neatly trimmed nails. No ring. Was he divorced? Involved with anyone? Not that she was interested, but she’d been playing the dating game so long such assessments were as automatic as locking her door behind her when she entered her house.
“How do you know Bryan?” she asked.
“We met in college. We were suite mates and both studying business and we really hit it off.”
Of course. He was obviously the serious, sensible businessman. Not a flighty artist like her. “What do you do now?”
“I’m a chef.” He glanced at her, as if gauging her response to this revelation. “Right now I’m in charge of the Senate Dining Room.”
Oh-ho! Not a dull businessman. Cooking was creative, wasn’t it? She leaned forward, suppressing a buzz of excitement. This trip might prove to be a lot more interesting than she’d anticipated. “I’m impressed. And I have to confess, a little intimidated by a man who can cook better than I can.”
His smile was definitely killer. “Not to brag, but I can cook better than most people I know. It comes in handy sometimes.”
Now there would be a nice twist—a man who could cook dinner for me, instead of suffering through my own uneven attempts at a meal. And then for dessert… She quickly pulled her mind back from the cliff it was about to dive off. Where had this rampant lust come from? Yeah, it had been a while since she’d had anything like a steady relationship, but since when did handsome strangers inspire such wild fantasies?
Deep breath, she reminded herself, inhaling slowly. Unfortunately, all she could smell was Craig himself, something herbal and spicy and definitely yummy.
She swallowed