Emilie Rose - Scandalous Passion

He nodded. “Want a drink? We have a few minutes before our reservation.”

“No, thank you. As I said, I would really like to get home early tonight. I’m expecting a call from my grandfather.”

His lips flat-lined. “Right. Let’s go. I’ll bring the car around front.”

“There’s no need, Carter. This isn’t a real date. I can get into the car in the garage when you do.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, and then he jerked a nod. “Let me lock up.”

He disappeared into the foyer and returned seconds later—long before Phoebe could come up with a way to convince him to hand over the pictures and cancel this outing. After opening the door leading from the kitchen to the garage, he activated the security keypad by the door. A custom-tailored suit, an alarm system and a sports car all added up to affluence.

He led Phoebe to his car and opened the door. Carefully avoiding his touch, she slid into the bucket seat and inhaled a subtle blend of leather and Carter’s cologne—a costly designer fragrance unless she missed her guess. His company must be successful. Had money changed the man? And why did she care? Because Carter had never valued her for her old-moneyed family or her grandfather’s clout. He’d seen her, not the senator’s granddaughter. The men she’d met since were only interested in her connection to the most powerful senator in Washington—a lesson she’d learned the hard way.

Carter settled in the driver’s seat. His large frame took up most of the interior and drained the oxygen from the enclosed space. How many times had they fogged up the windows making out in his old economy car or her sedate sedan twelve years ago? She shook off the memory.

“Where are we going?”

“A new restaurant.” The car’s powerful engine rumbled to life. At the touch of a button, the garage door lifted, letting in the evening light. Carter’s hand nudged her knee as he reached for the gearshift. Phoebe moved her leg out of the danger zone, but not soon enough to prevent the tingle traveling upward. She pressed her knees together.

Stick to the agenda, Phoebe. Twelve dates. No dalliance. No broken promises. No broken heart.

Carter’s house was one of three stately older homes on the secluded forest-surrounded street. “When and why did you join the Marine Corps? I thought you hated that vagabond life.”

“After graduation. For the job training.”

He’d graduated days after they’d said goodbye. Had their breakup caused him to have a change of heart about settling down? He didn’t elaborate as he took the winding road downhill with curve-hugging speed until he reached the stop sign at the main thoroughfare.

“And now you’re out,” she prompted.

“Yes.” The car shot forward into a break in traffic with a burst of leashed power.

“Why not become a lifer like your father? He should be way up there in rank now.”

The bunching of his jaw muscle was his only response.

“Carter, you forced these outings. The least you can do is converse politely.”

He cut her a quick look. “My father has been promoted to Lieutenant General. That’s three stars. I received a medical discharge after I blew out my knee on my last mission.”

She remembered the scars. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. It was time to get out of the military. I was in a holding pattern that had nothing to do with where I wanted to go with my life.”

His reply hit a little too close to home. She shifted in her seat. “Do you work with Sawyer? I remember the two of you once talked about opening a company together.”

“No. I fly solo.”

She didn’t think he referred only to business.

Minutes later Carter’s car swept up the circular drive of a stone castle-style structure complete with twin octagonal turrets. A valet rushed to take his keys and another opened Phoebe’s door just in time for Carter to hand her out. Carter’s warm fingers wrapped around hers, sending a current of electricity up her arm. It always had been that way between them. She exhaled a pent-up breath when he released her, but her relief was short-lived when his palm settled against her spine. A shiver of awareness inched its way up her vertebrae.

She tightened her grip on her purse. “Wasn’t this a private residence when we were students at the university?”

“The family fell on hard times and sold it. Old money surrenders to new. The current owner turned the estate into a restaurant with dancing. He wants to work up to hosting weddings, but for now you might want to tell the senator it’s a good place for private parties.”

Carter seemed to know an awful lot about the owner’s plans. But Phoebe had no intention of dancing with Carter tonight or of telling her grandfather that she’d been on a date. The admission would lead to an inquisition and a discussion of the suitability of her escort. Grandfather was eager to marry her off—in a politically advantageous match, of course.

Phoebe paused in the palatial foyer. She could easily picture a bride sweeping down the wide marble staircase. An attractive blond hostess interrupted the mental image by greeting Carter by his first name then escorting them to a table in a private corner of what probably had been the formal drawing room of the private residence. Phoebe felt a spark of something that was certainly not jealousy each time the woman flashed Carter a blinding smile.

Candlelight flickered on the widely spaced tables and from wall sconces, giving the room an intimate air. Silverware and crystal glittered like diamonds in the soft light. Carter pulled out her chair and Phoebe noticed the single long-stemmed red rose on the snowy tablecloth in front of her chair. She sat and lifted the bud to inhale the heady fragrance. If this had been a true date she would have been bowled over by the romantic setting. But this wasn’t a date, and she wasn’t going to let herself be impressed. Much, she added grudgingly.

Carter seemed completely at ease with the opulent surroundings and deferential treatment. Twelve years ago he wouldn’t have been. If the hostess’s greeting hadn’t clued Phoebe in to the fact that Carter had been here before then his ordering without consulting the menu would have. Her menu didn’t list prices, but she didn’t need them to know this dinner would be a far cry from the economical meals and picnics of their past. They’d never shared expensive dinners because Carter couldn’t afford them and he’d refused to let her pay. The wine steward arrived, consulted with Carter and then departed.

Was the entire point of this evening to show her that he was now comfortable in her world? If so, why did he think she’d care? As if he’d read her thoughts he reached across the table and trapped her hand beneath his. Warmth traveled up her arm.

“It’s good to see you again, Phoebe.” His husky baritone and intent gaze made her stomach muscles quiver, and when his thumb stroked the inside of her wrist, she forgot to breathe. “Why don’t we go into the next room and dance until our meal is ready?”

The thought of being in Carter’s arms again made her light-headed, then an idea hit her with an ice-cold shower of sobriety. Did he think she’d tumble easily into his bed because of their past relationship? Well, he’d better think again. She wasn’t a wide-eyed innocent any longer. She’d been wined and dined by some of the slickest politicians and political wannabes in the nation’s capital—many of whom thought the best way to influence her grandfather was through her bed. She’d made a mistake once and become engaged before figuring out that she wasn’t the main attraction in the relationship. The experience had been enough to make her question the motives of every man who asked her out.

Anger bubbled in her blood. How could Carter believe her to be so easy, so gullible? She concealed her annoyance with a polite smile the way her grandmother had taught her and extracted her hand. “I don’t care to dance, thank you. How long have you been back in Chapel Hill?”