The Right Choice(9)
Author: Carly Phillips

“Nice to meet you,” Carly said.

“Same here. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

I wish I could say the same. “All good, I hope.”

“All fathers have nothing but wonderful things to say about their daughters.” Regina smiled and took a long sip of bottled water. “And of course,” she continued, “Peter speaks highly of you as well.”

“Of course.” Away from the office Peter was preoccupied with work. At the office he was preoccupied with Carly. Yeah, right. This pint-sized barracuda certainly didn’t need any courtroom training in how to go for the jugular.

Peter wrapped one arm around Carly’s shoulders. “You know I enjoy seeing you, but two surprises in one week?”

“Shocking, I know. Next time I’ll call.” She could no longer keep the hurt out of her voice.

“That’s not what I meant, but this is unexpected. What are you doing here?”

The compulsion to share her news with Peter had evaporated as quickly as it had come. “Nothing important. I thought I’d bring dinner.” She raised her arms to show him her bag of goodies.

“Oh. Well. Uh, we’ve already…” He stammered and flushed a deep crimson.

“Eaten. I can see that. Don’t worry. You two are busy, so I’ll be going.”

Peter brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. “After the florist on Saturday we’ll do wedding bands. How’s that?”

She plastered a smile on her face. “Sounds great.” But for some reason this didn’t feel like a compromise she’d won. In fact, his gesture seemed out of place, like that of a man who’d bought his wife flowers to assuage his guilt over an affair. She ought to know. She’d seen her father exhibit those signs often enough, growing up.

With his hand on the small of her back, Peter guided her out and toward the bank of elevators. Not five minutes after she’d arrived, Carly took the same elevator down with the same full picnic basket and expensive bottle of champagne in her hands. Some surprises backfired, she thought. And this had been one of them.

THREE

With mellow jazz music playing on the stereo, Carly settled herself on a plush pillow in front of her cocktail table. She unpacked the gourmet meal and uncorked the bottle of champagne.

She poured champagne into a wineglass and lifted it in the air. “Congratulations,” she muttered and downed the bubbly wine. She poured some more and enjoyed the bubbles as they tickled their way down her throat. No matter how lousy she felt, at least the expensive champagne wouldn’t go to waste.

When the doorbell rang the first time, she ignored the sound. The second chime was a more prolonged spurt. “Go away. This isn’t an open party.”

At the sound of the third ring, she picked up a drumstick and padded barefoot across the hardwood floor. She peered through the peephole and cursed the heavens. How could she possibly forget about this man if he showed up on her doorstep uninvited?

Drawing a deep breath, she opened the door. “Did you smell the chicken all the way uptown?” she asked.

“Cute.”

That crooked grin did funny things to her heart.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” he asked.

She bowed and waved Mike into her small apartment. The haven where she was safe from everyone and everything. Including her own feelings. But no more.

She shut the door behind him and followed him inside. He glanced around the living room and frowned. “You shouldn’t be drinking alone.”

“I’m not, I’m celebrating.”

“By yourself?”

“It doesn’t take two to celebrate, Mike.”

He grinned. “No, but it’s a heck of a lot more fun.”

At his deliberate innuendo, she felt the heat rise to her face.

“You made a deal with the publishers?” The genuine excitement in his voice brought her earlier rush of adrenaline back full force.

She nodded, pleased with herself, proud of what she’d accomplished and suddenly not ashamed to show it. “Yup. A good deal, too.”

“Hey!” Before she knew what hit her, he’d swept her into his arms and twirled her around the floor. His body felt warm and hard against her br**sts.

“That’s great.”

As he lowered her to the floor, the slight bulge in his pants caused a quickening in her stomach. Apparently Juliette’s aphrodisiac worked all right… with the wrong brother. Carly stepped back to avoid further contact.

“How about another glass so I can share the celebration?”

Using the time to catch her breath, Carly walked into the kitchen and returned with a second wineglass. She grinned. “Only the finest.”

“I’m used to drinking out of bottles and cans. Anything else is paradise.”

“Peter said something about you being a photo-journalist?”

“I was,” Mike said.

“And now you’re…?”

“On vacation,” he said smoothly. He glanced around the room and chose a reclining chair in the corner. It rocked slightly under his weight and he laughed. “I love these things.”

She smiled. “Me, too.”

“So much more comfortable than that hard leather thing Pete calls a couch.”

Carly’s smile faded and he regretted whatever he’d said to cause the change.

“I see. Talking about work is off-limits?” She pushed the topic away from herself and back to him.

“Not if there’s something you really want to know.”

“What subjects have you covered recently?”

“This and that,” he said, unwilling to delve deeper into his most current assignment. Even for Carly.

“Can’t you be more specific?”

I’d prefer not to. “I cover hard news. I don’t dig around in celebrity trash cans.” He forced a grin.

She smiled in understanding. Her brown eyes met his. A man could drown in the compassion he saw there. “I’d like to see your work sometime,” she said.

“My pleasure.” That he wanted to share his private photos with Carly gave him some indication of his level of involvement. More than was prudent he knew. For a man who avoided emotional entanglements, the revelation stunned him.

He forced himself to think of his brother and suppressed a groan. “After you left this afternoon I spoke with Pete.”

“And?”

“Since he’ll be busy training a new associate, I’m at your disposal for any wedding-related things you need.” Or anything else, for that matter.