Judy Duarte - His Mother's Wedding

Not that he couldn’t sympathize with people.

Hell, he’d had clients that he’d felt sorry for, like good-hearted husbands and wives who’d learned their “loving” spouses had been cheating on them. Or poor Mrs. Chisolm, the grieving widow who’d known nothing about her late husband’s business, then had been bilked by an unscrupulous employee she’d trusted.

But this was different. And it was too close to home.

He handed Molly the linen napkin that had been draped across his lap, hoping she’d wipe away the painful memories, as well as her tears.

“Thank you.” She took the cloth from him, then blotted her eyes and sniffled. “I’m sorry for falling apart.”

“You’re allowed.” He cleared his throat, wishing he could say something comforting, something witty. When nothing came to mind, he clamped his mouth shut.

“Lori is eighteen now,” Molly said. “And no one can stop us from being sisters again. So I need to find her.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, but I don’t expect any favors.” She placed the napkin beside her water glass, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and sat up straight. “I’ll pay your fees.”

“We can talk about money later. I’ll do the initial investigation as a courtesy.”

She sniffled again, and he struggled with the urge to reach across the table and take her hand, to offer her more than a napkin.

Before either of them could speak, his cell phone rumbled.

“Excuse me.” He glanced at the screen, saw a local number he didn’t recognize. “Hello?”

“Honey, it’s me.”

His mom.

He glanced at the two empty place settings. “Where are you?”

“I’m at Daniel’s office. And there’s been another emergency. He’s on call for another dental group this weekend, and I’m afraid we can’t make it to dinner for at least an hour. Please go ahead and order for you and Molly. We’ll pick up some fast food, then meet you back at my house. We can have coffee together. In fact, please save room for dessert. I made some of those fudge brownies you like.”

Rico looked at Molly, wondering again if this was indeed a matchmaking ploy on his mom’s part. But what the hell. They were here now. Just the two of them. And he was starving. “Sure, Mom. I’ll talk to you later.”

When the line disconnected, he sat back in his seat and looked at his pretty blond companion. “It’s only going to be you and me this evening.”

Molly arched a delicate brow. “Is it my imagination or do you get the idea that your mom is trying to set us up?”

For a moment he stumbled on which direction to take. After all, he knew better than to get involved with any of his mom’s friends or acquaintances, especially since his relationships didn’t last very long and he didn’t want things to get…sticky for anyone involved.

But Molly didn’t seem too head over heels about being with him. And the tone of her voice suggested she was taking this all in stride.

“The same thought crossed my mind,” Rico admitted, “but I figured she’d given up on me a couple of years back. I’m not the marrying kind.”

“Well, I am the marrying kind,” Molly said with a smile. “And your mom knows it. I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t want to get involved with you. You’re not my type.”

He wasn’t?

Why not?

Not that it mattered. He was just curious, that’s all.

Hell, even if he’d go so far as to have a fling with one of his mom’s friends, things would really get sticky if Molly was expecting white lace and promises while all he wanted from a relationship was sex.

“So,” she said, “I think it’s easier if we let her know there’s no chemistry between us.”

No chemistry?

The hell there wasn’t. He’d seen her look at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention, seen her run a nervous tongue across her lips and fiddle with her silverware. He made her nervous, in a sexual way—and he’d lay his last dollar on it.

In spite of having no interest in dating someone like Molly, something tugged at him—chemistry, lust or whatever she wanted to call it.

He didn’t want to be conceited, but most women found him attractive. Very attractive.

And Molly didn’t?

For a moment doubt niggled at his ego.

“So,” she said, skipping right over his bruised pride. “Assuming you’re going to help me find my sister, how long do you think it will take?”

It took him a moment to recover, to jump right back into the conversation they’d been having before his mom called, to ignore the fact Molly might not find him attractive.

Hell, he knew they were total opposites and a breakup ready to happen. But what did that have to do with sex?

Or attraction.

She leaned forward, her breasts straining against the knit fabric of her dress. “You do think we’ll find her, don’t you?”

Who? Her sister. “Yeah, probably. I’ll assign the initial footwork to Cowboy, one of my new associates. He’s already in the Los Angeles area working on another case, so he might be able to uncover something.”

“Cowboy?” she asked.

God, she had pretty eyes. He’d never seen a pair that green before, that expressive.

“Is that his name?” she asked again. “Cowboy?”

“No, it’s just a nickname. He’s from Texas and has one of those slow Southern drawls. But he’s a damn good P.I. and he’ll turn up something.”

The waiter stopped by to take their dinner order. Molly chose the angel-hair pasta, Rico asked for the prime rib.

“Thank you for helping me.” She cast him a smile that made his stomach wobble and his chest thump.

They didn’t talk much after that, just watched the sun set over the lake, listened to the sounds of a baby grand piano playing a romantic concerto in the lounge.

It was hard to ignore the ambience.

Or the beautiful woman seated across from him.

A couple of times, when she looked out the window, he stole a glance at her, studied the way the white-gold strands in her hair glistened in the candlelight.

She turned, caught him staring, and their gazes locked. Something passed between them—that chemistry she said was lacking, he suspected.

He sensed she’d been lying, so why had she said it?

When their meals were served, they each dug into their plates, savoring the taste, the silence—and ignoring the sexual attraction that hovered over the table like a purple elephant with green hummingbird wings.

After they finished eating, the waiter came by to ask if they wanted to see the dessert tray. “The tiramisu is a specialty of the house,” he said.

Rico declined for them both, telling Molly, “My mom wants us to save room for coffee and brownies at her house.”

“All right.”

When the bill arrived, Molly tried to pay, but Rico refused to even consider it—and not because he was too macho to let a woman treat.

It hadn’t started out as a date, but it had kind of evolved into something like that. And even though he’d never take her out again, he wanted to wrap the evening up right.

No need for her to think of him as a jerk. Or as some guy who didn’t know how to treat a lady.

He did.

As they walked out of Antonio’s, Molly gasped and grabbed his forearm, sending a surge of heat through his bloodstream. “I left my purse inside.”

Apparently the woman he suspected would forget where she parked her car at the mall couldn’t keep track of her personal belongings either.

He tossed her a smile. “Wait here. I’ll get it for you.”

“All right. Thanks.”

He returned to their table and found her purse hanging by the shoulder strap on the back of her chair, so he picked it up and carried it back outside.