Unknown - [Carly Phillips] The Bachelor (The Chandler Brothe(Bookos.org) (1)

“What if she hates me?”

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He held her close. “You raised her well and she loves you. In time she’ll come to understand.” And if she didn’t, well, at least he and Annie would free her from repeating the past. He hoped.

Roman caught up with Charlotte walking down First Street. He beeped once, then slowed his car alongside her. She glanced over and kept walking.

“Come on, Charlotte. Get in the car.”

“You don’t want to deal with my mood right now, Roman.”

“Any woman who admits to being in a mood is all right by me.” He kept the car at a slow crawl. “Where are you going?”

She tilted her head his way. “Home.”

“Is your fridge as empty as mine?”

“Go away.”

He wasn’t taking no for an answer. In fact, he had three things guaranteed to change her mind. “I’ll take you for Chinese food, I’ll get you out of town, and I won’t discuss your father.”

She paused.

“And in case those promises don’t sway you, I’ll start honking the horn, making a scene, and I won’t stop until you’re buckled in next to me. The choice is yours.”

She swung around, yanked open the door, and flung herself into the seat beside him. “It was the Chinese food that got to me.”

He grinned. “I wouldn’t presume anything else.”

“Good. Because I wouldn’t, for one second, want you to think it had anything to do with your charm.”

He hit the gas pedal and headed on out of town. “You think I’m charming?” he asked.

Arms folded, she eyed him warily.

In the wake of her silence, he said, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Obviously she wasn’t in the mood for verbal games. That was okay. As long as she was within two feet of him and he could keep an eye on her, he was happy.

Twenty minutes later, they were seated in a typical Chinese restaurant—red velvet brocade wallpaper and dark sconce lighting added to the ambience.

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A waiter led them to a corner table, half booth, half with chairs. A family of four, two adults and two young boys, were noisily eating beside them on the right. A fish tank sat in one corner and an indoor pond full of tropical fish was located to their right.

“Okay with you?” Roman asked Charlotte, of the table. He didn’t mind the kids, but he couldn’t gauge her mood.

A smile pulled at her lips. “As long as I don’t order fish, this is fine.” She slid into the booth.

He could have sat across from her and kept his distance. Instead he chose to join her, trapping her between himself and the wall.

She greeted him with an obviously fake pout. “You don’t play fair.”

“Did I say I would?” He recognized the verbal sparring as a means of avoiding anything serious. He wondered how long it would last.

Charlotte shook her head. She couldn’t focus on Roman now. Instead she looked past him to the family of four. The two blond-haired boys had trouble gleaming in their eyes as one brother lifted a crispy noodle, held it between his thumb and forefinger. He narrowed his gaze, getting ready to flick it. His brother whispered something in his ear and when he shifted for a different angle, Charlotte figured he was egging him on. Their parents, engaged in serious conversation, seemed not to notice.

“He wouldn’t,” Roman leaned back and whispered.

“I wouldn’t bet the ranch.” She used the old cliché. “Actually, in your case, I wouldn’t bet the suitcase.”

“Ouch.”

She ignored him, watching the kids instead. “Ready, aim, fire,” she whispered in time to the boy’s actions.

As if on cue, the kid sent the hard noodle, which had broken in two, soaring into the air before it took a less-than-graceful plop into the goldfish-strewn water.

“Can a fish die from being hit with a fried wonton?” she asked.

“What about swallowing a fried wonton? If he were my kid, I’d grab him by the collar and dunk him headfirst. After I silently applauded his aim.”

“Spoken like a man who’s seen his share of trouble as a kid.”

He shot her the incredible smile that melted her insides and made her want to crawl into his lap and never leave. Dangerous thought. She bit down on the inside of her cheek.

“I can relate to him. My brothers and I caused plenty of trouble when we were young.”

She turned toward him and leaned forward in her seat, resting her chin on her hands. “Such as?” She needed to get lost in happy times. Other people’s happy times.

“Let’s see.” He paused in thought. “I’ve got one. There was the time Mom attended back-to-school Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

night and left Chase to watch me and Rick.”

“Chase ruled like a dictator?”

“When he was awake, yes. But that night he fell asleep.” Laugh lines touched the corners of his eyes as he recalled the memory.

“Please don’t tell me you tied him up.”

“Hell, no!” He sounded offended. “Give us some credit for imagination. Let’s just say Mom’s makeup case offered a wealth of possibilities.”

She felt her eyes opening wide. “He didn’t wake up?”

“The only benefit to having Chase as a pseudo-dad was that he slept like a dead one. We made him look mighty purty,” Roman said with a deliberate southern drawl. “His date thought so too.”

Charlotte let out a whoop of laughter. “No kidding?”

Roman shook his head. “He was eighteen, dating a college freshman, and she’d offered to meet him at our house so they could leave as soon as Mom got home. Doorbell rang, we woke him to answer it . . .”

Charlotte didn’t hear the rest; she was laughing too hard, tears running down her face at the absurdity.

“Oh, I wish I could have seen that.”

He leaned closer. “I have pictures.”

She wiped at her eyes with a linen napkin. “I have to see.”

“Marry me and I’ll show you.”

Charlotte blinked and sat up straighter in her seat. The boys were joking nearby, the scent of egg rolls drifted toward her, and Roman was proposing marriage? She had to have heard wrong. Had to.

“What?”

He grabbed for her hand, holding it close and tight within his strong, heated grasp. “I said, marry me.”

His eyes grew wide and he seemed stunned he’d spoken the words, but he obviously wasn’t too stunned to repeat them.

She was floored. “You don’t . . . I can’t . . . you can’t mean that,” she managed to sputter. Her heart beat frantically in her chest and she had trouble catching her breath. Two surprises in one day. First her father, now this. She reached for the water, but her hands shook so badly she had to put the glass down before she dropped it.

He raised the glass and held it to her lips. She took a long, cold sip, then licked the droplets off her mouth. “Thank you.”

He nodded. “I didn’t mean to blurt it out that way, but I did mean every word.”

She wondered when the room would stop spinning. “Roman, you can’t possibly want to get married.”

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“Why not?”

She wished he’d look away, anything to break the connection, because those mesmerizing blue eyes were begging her to say yes, and to hell with the hows and whys. But her father’s timely return had shown her exactly why she couldn’t follow her heart. “Because . . .” She shut her eyes and attempted to formulate the best answer. The one that made the most rational sense. The one that explained their differences.