Valentine's Day. Nicola Marsh
by bus to Dallas.
His brother, Gino, had died just months before. Sheila hadn’t surfaced at the time, but she’d contacted Max months later to say she’d had Gino’s baby. When he’d asked for proof that the baby was indeed his brother’s, she’d vanished again. He’d almost given up hope. And now, to hear that she’d been found…
“You found her?” he repeated hoarsely. “Are you sure?”
“Well, yes and no.”
His grip hardened on the mobile. “Damn it, Tito…”
“Just get over here, Max. You’ll see what I mean.” He rattled off an address.
Max closed his eyes again and memorized the information. “Okay,” he said. “Sit tight. I’ve got to get out of this blind date thing I got myself involved in. I’ll be right there.”
“Okay. Hey, boss? Hurry.”
Max nodded. “You got it.” He snapped the phone shut and turned back to the noisy room, tempted to head straight for his car and forget the woman who was waiting for him somewhere in all this annoying crush of revelers. But even he couldn’t be quite that rude. Besides, his mother would make him pay. She might be sitting in a terraced penthouse in Venice at the moment, but she had ways of reaching across the ocean to Dallas and turning on the guilt machine. Even though she was American, he was the Italian son, and he’d been raised to value keeping his mother happy.
Hesitating on the threshold, he scanned the room and searched for a woman holding a red rose—the match to the poor, straggly item he’d belatedly retrieved from his suit pocket. All he needed to do was find her and let her know something had come up. Simple. It should only take a minute.
Cari Christensen bit her lip and wished she could drown her red rose in the glass of wine that sat untouched in front of her.
“Five more minutes,” she promised herself. “And then, if he’s not here, I’m going to drop that rose into a trash basket and melt into the crowd. Without that, he’ll never know who I am.”
He was almost half an hour late. One half hour. That ought to be good enough. She’d promised her best friend, Mara, that she would go through with this, but she hadn’t promised to spend all night at it. She sighed, carefully avoiding eye contact with any of the interested males shouldering their way past the bar, wishing with all her heart that she was home snuggled up with a good book. Mara meant well, but couldn’t understand that Cari wasn’t looking for Mr. Right. She wasn’t looking for mister anyone at all. She didn’t want a man. She didn’t want a relationship. She didn’t even want a husband. She’d done that once already and it had turned her life into a living hell. “Once bitten, twice shy,” was her motto. She had no intention of going through that sort of heartbreak again.
But how could Mara understand that? She’d married her childhood sweetheart, settled down in a cute little ranch house and had two adorable kids. Her life was full of piano recitals and pictures on the refrigerator and picnics and kittens. Cari’s marriage hadn’t turned out that way. They were two very different people, despite the fact that they had been best friends forever.
“Some people find the golden ring swimming in their cereal in the morning, slip it on their finger, and go skipping through life,” was how Cari tried to explain it to Mara. “And others drop it in the sand at the beach and spend the rest of their life digging to get it back.”
“That’s just silly,” Mara had retorted. “Do you think my life is perfect or something?”
“Yes, Mara, I do. Compared to mine, it is.”
“Oh, Cari.” Mara had taken her hand and held it tightly. “What happened with Brian and…and the baby…well, it was just horrible. It shouldn’t have happened to anyone, much less someone like you who deserves so much better.” She blinked rapidly as tears filled her dark eyes. “But you’ve got to try again. There’s someone out there for you. I just know it. And once you find the right man…”
The right man. Was there such a creature? Even Mara didn’t know the details of what her marriage had really been like. If she did, she might not be so quick to try to throw her back into the deep end of the pool.
“Mara, will you please give it up? I’m perfectly satisfied with my life the way it is now.”
“Oh, Cari!” She sighed tragically. “I can’t bear the thought of you sitting at home sniffing over old movies on one more Valentine’s Day.”
Was that what this was all about?
“Wait! Hold it. I don’t give a darn about Valentine’s Day. It’s a made-up holiday. Who cares?”
“Don’t try to fool me, Cari Christensen. I know you better than that.”
“Mara, no!”
“You need a man.”
Mara looked so fierce, Cari had to laugh. “I don’t know why I let you be my friend.”
“Because you know I’m looking out for what’s best for you.”
Cari sighed. She knew she was beat. But she had to pretend to fight on. “I don’t need anyone looking out for me.”
“You do, too. I’m your assigned fairy godmother. Get used to it.”
“No.”
Mara, of course, wouldn’t give up at all, and that was why Cari was sitting here in the Longhorn Lounge, holding a sad little red rose and waiting for a man named Randy who Mara had assured her was the exact match for her.
“Just wait. He’s special. You’ll be surprised.”
So she was doing this for her friend. She planned to smile a lot and act interested in Randy’s tales of male world conquests, eat a nice dinner in the dining room here at the lounge, get a headache about time for ordering dessert, make a nice apology and head for home. From then on, her answering machine could take care of things for her. And maybe Mara would give up. After all, she’d tried.
The door opened and a man entered, opening his cell phone as he came. Tall and dark and dressed in a beautifully cut suit instead of the jeans and casual shirts most of the men here wore, he grabbed the attention of a lot of onlookers. Something about the way he held himself drew the eye. Or it might just have been the fact that he was the most ruggedly handsome man she’d ever seen this side of the cinema. His thick, dark hair was exquisitely cut and yet managed to give the impression of being a bit long and a bit careless—as though it had just been ruffled by a renegade breeze or a lover’s fingers. His broad shoulders strained the silk suit as he turned, and the knife-sharp crease in his slacks only served to emphasize the muscularity of his thighs. A Greek statue brought to life and disguised in a modern business suit.
She shivered, and then had to smile to herself. One thing was certain, this couldn’t possibly be her man Randy. And she was glad of that. In her experience, high-powered, incredibly handsome men were the worst kind. But she had to admit he had his attractions.
Eye candy, they called it. Lucky she was on a diet.
She pulled her attention away and looked at her gold watch. One more minute and she would be free.
“Sorry, Mara,” she would say on the phone to her friend tomorrow. “He didn’t show. Consider it a sign. And don’t think you’re going to get me to do this again.”
A shadow fell over her and she looked up to find a rather beefy-looking man in a Stetson and tight jeans grinning down at her.
“Hey, little lady, why don’t you let me buy you one of them fancy drinks with the umbrellas and fruit and such?” he suggested, all swagger and no appeal.
Inwardly she groaned, but she had enough control not to let it show. “No, thank you, cowboy,” she said, trying to remain pleasant as she slid down off the bar stool and turned toward the door. “I was just leaving.”
“No