Cathy Thacker - His Marriage Bonus

“I wasn’t aware you knew Ron,” Mitch said mildly.

Lauren turned to Mitch, her expression happy but relaxed. “He and my dad go way back,” Lauren replied, looking as innocent as a newborn babe. “My dad always gets his new container ships from Ingalls Shipbuilding in Newport News, Virginia. You’ve met him, too, I guess.”

Mitch nodded. The forty-year-old executive was an accomplished businessman and a very affable guy. Mitch or his father played golf with Ron whenever Ron was in town, and usually managed to work in some business out on the greens, too. “We’ve bought a couple ships from him. Although we also get ships from a company in Maine, and another one in Connecticut.” Unlike Heyward Shipping Company, DSC preferred not to rely on just one supplier.

“Hmm. Well.” Lauren looked as if she could have cared less about that. She smiled at Mitch casually, the only sign of her inner restlessness the light tapping of her fingers against her thigh. “Did you want some coffee?”

I’d rather sit here and talk about what it is exactly that Ron is going to do for you and your dad. Had Ron been referring to Mitch on the phone, or some other guy who was no pushover? There was no doubt Ron’s allegiance would be to the Heywards before the Deveraux, and it bothered Mitch to think that Lauren could be conspiring with her father to pull something over on Mitch and his father. “That would be great,” Mitch said, doing his best to keep his suspicions to himself.

Lauren smiled again, even more warmly. “The kitchen’s back this way, if you want to come with me.”

“Mind if I stay in here and turn on the news?” Mitch asked. He needed more information—the kind Lauren was not going to give him, and he wanted something to cover the sound of him looking around.

For a second, Lauren looked both taken aback and hurt that he would prefer the company of the television to her, and Mitch felt even more guilty about what he had to do next. But that didn’t change his decision. He had been a chump once where a beautiful woman was concerned. He wasn’t going to ignore the early warning signs again. This time he was going to find out for sure what kind of woman he was dealing with before he got further involved.

“I missed the weather earlier and I want to know if I should get my car washed tomorrow,” Mitch fibbed.

Lauren rolled her eyes. Looking very annoyed, she muttered, “Suit yourself,” and then turned to exit the room. Mitch waited until she had rounded the corner, then switched on the TV and headed for the antique secretary where the phone was. The polished cherry-wood surface was bare except for a pad of paper and pen, and a leather-bound address book—which was filled with addresses and phone numbers of shipping-industry people, as well as countless other Charleston heavy hitters and real estate-industry people.

Of course, that in itself could mean nothing, Mitch reassured himself as he picked up the phone and scrolled through the list of incoming phone calls on Lauren’s caller ID. It was who had called her recently, and how many times, that was going to tell him what he really wanted to know.

LAUREN TOOK HER TIME in the kitchen. She just didn’t understand it. One minute Mitch was warm and personable, exactly the kind of guy she’d like to get involved with. And the next he was all business, as emotionally remote as could be.

Not that she shouldn’t have expected as much, she scolded herself firmly. The fact Mitch Deveraux had even agreed to date her for the sake of a merger should have told her what kind of man he was deep down. The kind who put business first, always. The kind she had always sworn she would avoid.

If she didn’t want the mansion at 10 Gathering Street so very much…

But she did.

So she had to get through this date, and six more, Lauren told herself firmly, looking at her watch. Luckily, she only had ten more minutes to go. She filled two coffee cups, put them on a silver serving tray along with cream and sugar and headed back into the living room. As she had expected, Mitch was sitting on the sofa, his eyes glued to the TV.

For the next ten minutes they sat and sipped coffee and made such inane conversation she knew she’d be hard put to recall any of it even half an hour later. Promptly at the stroke of midnight, he stood and prepared to go. Without making the slightest attempt to kiss her good-night, he thanked her politely for the coffee and headed for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow night at six.”

Wondering what had happened to the man who hadn’t hesitated to put the moves on her earlier in the day, Lauren watched Mitch Deveraux stroll down the front walk to his car. She told herself she should be relieved that Mitch suddenly wanted to take a step back and proceed a hell of a lot more cautiously, as well. But she wasn’t. It didn’t matter that it was a sure way to get hurt when the week came inevitably to an end. She didn’t care that setting herself up that way was foolish. She had wanted another hot, reckless, impetuous kiss. Or two, or three. The question was—why hadn’t he?

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