Storming Whitehorn. Christine Scott
what she hoped was a most sincere look. “His niece is my cousin.”
“Family, huh?” the waitress asked, her gaze skeptical.
Jasmine nodded. “Family.”
“Well, okay.” Reluctantly, she handed Jasmine the card. “The bill’s still going on his account, with or without his signature.”
“I’ll be sure to tell him that. Just as soon as I see him again.”
Anxious to leave, Jasmine scooted her chair back. Her legs felt wobbly as she stood. The sound of her heart pounded so hard in her ears, she could barely hear the voices of the restaurant patrons around her. Gathering her sweater, she hurried for the exit.
Storm was a man who obviously had pressing things weighing on his mind, proof of which was resting in her hand. She hadn’t bought his Casanova routine. Beneath that cool exterior, she sensed there was a man with deep emotions just waiting to be tapped.
It was time she found out if she was right.
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