Barbara Dunlop - An Intimate Bargain

“No date,” she assured him.

He scanned his way from her knees to her breasts, along her neck, returning to her face. Bursts of light danced off her skin, reflecting in her gorgeous eyes. His voice went husky. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

She met his gaze for a long moment, while he tensed, waiting. Then she shook her head. “Not since Russell Livingston, senior year.”

“How old are you?”

“How old do I look?”

“Young enough that I should ask.”

She grinned. “I’m twenty-six.”

He did the math. “So you haven’t had a boyfriend in four years?” He found that absolutely impossible to believe. What on earth was wrong with the men of Colorado?

“Not a steady one.” She gave a little lift of her chin. “How about you?”

“I’ve never had a boyfriend.”

She threw an elbow to his rib cage. “You know what I mean, Lucky.”

He steadied her arm with his hand as she rocked back. “Nobody serious.”

She resettled her bare feet on the picnic-table bench. “Since when?”

He reluctantly removed his hand from her arm, shrugging as he took in the glinting copper polish on her toenails. Sexy. How had he missed that up to now? “Since forever.”

“You’ve never been in love?”

“I’ve never been in love,” he confirmed. He’d never had the time. Not that he’d be likely to recognize it if it happened. He’d had no role models, no examples of romantic love in his formative years. He supposed he loved Alex like a brother. But that was a completely different thing.

“Me neither,” said Doll-Face. She contemplated the fireworks display for a minute. “But both of my sisters are in love.”

“You have two sisters?”

“And two brothers.”

“Are your parents still together?”

Her expression faltered for a second, but then she nodded, voice a little quieter. “Yes, they are. And they’re still very much in love.”

“Sounds like a perfect family.” Reflexive resentment flickered inside Zach. But he quickly tamped it down. He wouldn’t wish his tough childhood on anyone, least of all this delightful, beautiful creature in front of him.

She laughed. “We’re a long, long way from perfect. But there’s a wedding coming up. A double wedding.”

“Both sisters?” he guessed.

“I’ll be the maid of honor.” Then she sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “And me, the oldest.”

“Oh, that’s not good.” Zach shook his head in mock concern. “Tragic, really. Pitiful.”

“Isn’t it?”

“An old maid at twenty-six.” He clicked his cheek. “What will the neighbors say?”

Her laughter tinkled. “They’ll probably introduce me to every eligible bachelor they can lay their hands on.”

Zach knew she was probably right. And he didn’t like that image. He had a sudden urge to curl an arm around her, pull her close, tell her to stay away from all those no-good bachelors.

“Funny,” she continued, her gaze back on the fireworks. “Marriage has never been a goal of mine.”

“Mine, neither,” Zach agreed, ridiculously relieved. It was silly, stupid even. He didn’t know the woman’s name, yet he didn’t want to think about her with other men.

“What is your goal?” he prompted. The gasps of the crowd and the pops of the rockets once again penetrated his conscious, reminding him of where they were.

She shrugged her slim, bare shoulders. “A career, maybe.”

“What kind of career?” This line of conversation definitely beat talking about her future boyfriends.

“Lately I’ve been thinking about event management, or maybe business.”

“What’s your degree in?”

“History. Don’t you dare laugh.”

Did she mean at the impracticality of studying history? “I’m not laughing. I don’t even have a college degree.”

She waited for him to continue. There was no judgment in her expression.

“Where I come from,” he found himself explaining, “high school graduation is about as far as kids go.”

“Did you graduate high school?”

“I did.” He paused. “But would you care if I hadn’t?” He was honestly curious.

“I don’t think it’s your education that matters. It’s what you do with it.”

He couldn’t agree more.

With the exception of their accountant, DFB Incorporated didn’t have a single employee with a college degree. Mostly because they were all foster kids. They’d grown up in group homes, like him, or in a series of short-term, single-family placements. They’d learned to avoid emotional attachment to their caregivers and had spent their childhoods in survival mode. None of them had family ties. None would have had a single penny of support, even if they had wanted to go to college.

“If you want to use your history degree to go into business,” he told her, “I’m all for it.”

She smiled, and his chest tightened. “Thank you.”

He drew a couple of hard breaths. He’d never wanted to kiss a woman quite this badly. But people could see them, and she was trying to keep a low profile. “What kind of business?” he forced himself to ask again.

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“Well, if you start your own, expand slowly. Make sure you don’t overleverage.”

“Is that what you did?” There was an astute intelligence in those golden eyes. It was as if she’d suddenly shifted modes, staring frankly, seeking information.

Okay, that really shouldn’t strike him as sexy.

“We grew fast,” he told her, shifting his attention to the lake in order to keep from grabbing her right here in front of everyone. “When you hit a certain size, all of a sudden there are a whole lot of moving parts. We ended up with a weak link. And I’m here to fix it.” It seemed silly to stay so oblique. “You want me to tell you what the-”

“No!” It was her hand on his arm more than her words that shut him up.

He glanced down at her slim fingers, the lavender polish, felt the heat through the thin cotton of his shirt, and thought about all the other places he’d like her to touch him.

“It’s better this way,” she assured him.

It would be better with her in his arms.

The sky suddenly lit up with the fireworks finale. The crowd oohed then aahed then cheered madly as the sky went dark.

“Whatever you want,” Zach told her, meaning it in all possible ways.

Abigail knew the evening had to come to an end. It was after three in the morning. They’d been talking for hours, and she was nearly asleep on her feet as they approached the front entrance of the Caspian Hotel.

Except for the doorman, the place was deserted. He tipped his hat, gave them a welcoming smile and opened the glass-fronted, brass-trimmed door so they could enter.

Lucky slowed his steps and motioned with an outstretched arm for Abigail to go in first. Her heels clicked on the marble floor, echoing through the empty lobby. A front-desk clerk glanced up from her computer screen. Seeing they had no luggage, so obviously weren’t checking in, she nodded a greeting and went back to typing on the keyboard.

They crossed the vast lobby toward the bank of elevators, while Abigail struggled for something clever or memorable to say. But everything she came up with sounded either trite or ridiculous.

Lucky pressed the call button, and an elevator door immediately slid open. She wanted to tell him she’d had a great time. No, not a great time, an amazing time. A time that she wished she could repeat again someday. But she knew that was impossible. He was leaving town. And she was going back to her real life. And she didn’t even know his name.

He pressed eight, then lifted his brows in her direction.