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You made me better than I was. I’ve been thinking about you. Thinking about you a lot.”
“What about—” He had to dig for the name. “James?”
She rolled those sultry eyes. “My mistake. My punishment for hurting you. It didn’t take me long to realize he was just a reckless adventure. He was a boy compared to you, Carter. Please say you forgive me.”
“It’s old business, Corrine.”
“I want to make it up to you, if you’ll let me. Give me a chance to show you.” She walked back to him, trailed her fingers over his cheek. “You remember how it was with us, how good it was. We could have that again. Carter.” She wound around him. “You could have me again. You just have to take me.”
“I think we should—”
“Let’s be sensible later.” She pressed in as he tried to ease her back. “I want you. I want you so much. I can’t think about anything else.”
“Wait. Stop. This isn’t going to—”
“All right. You’re the boss.” With that sparkling smile in place, she tossed her hair. “We’ll talk first, all you want. Why don’t you pour me a glass of wine and we’ll . . . Is something burning?”
“I don’t—Oh, hell.”
He raced to the kitchen, and Corrine’s smile went sharp. This would take more time and effort, she realized. But she didn’t mind the challenge. Actually, she thought, the fact that Carter hadn’t come to heel as she’d expected only made him more exciting. And it would make seducing him all the more satisfying.
After all, the one place he hadn’t bored her was in bed.
She softened her smile as she heard him coming back.
“Sorry, I was cooking something. Corrine, I appreciate the apology and the . . . offer, but—Sorry,” he repeated at the knock on the front door.
“It’s all right. I’ll wait.”
With a shake of his head, Carter walked out to open the door. His brain, already on overload, hit the red zone when he saw Mac.
“Hi. Peace offering.” She held out a bottle of wine. “I handled things badly, and I’m hoping you’ll give me a chance to do better. If you’re up for that, I thought maybe you could come over for dinner tonight. Maybe bring a bottle of wine. Hey, that’s a nice label you’ve got there.”
“You—I—Mackensie.”
“Who is it, Carter?”
Not good, was all Carter could think. This could not be good, as Corrine strolled out. He saw shock rush over Mac’s face.
“This isn’t—”
“Oh, wine, how nice.” Corrine took the bottle from Carter’s numb hand. “Carter was just about to pour me a glass.”
“Actually, I . . . Mackensie Elliot, this is Corrine Melton.”
“Yes, I know. Well, enjoy the wine.”
“No. Don’t.” He all but leaped out the door to grab her arm. “Wait. Just wait. Come inside.”
She shook his hand off. “Are you joking? Grab me again,” she warned, “you’ll have more than a bruise on your jaw.”
She stalked off to a car he realized wasn’t hers as Corrine called out from the doorway.
“Carter! Sweetie, come inside before you catch cold!”
Routine, he thought? Had he actually been worried about falling into the rut of routine?
MAC STORMED INTO THE HOUSE. “WHERE THE HELL IS everybody?” she shouted.
“We’re back in the kitchen! We’ve been trying your cell,” Emma called out. “Get back here.”
“You would not believe the day I had. First I run into Carter’s sexy ex in the shoe department at Nordstrom, which nearly spoiled my petty pleasure in having my mother’s car towed. Why didn’t anyone bother to tell me she was gorgeous?” Mac complained and tossed her coat on a stool.
“And as if that wasn’t bad enough with all sexy and sultry in these fabulous red peep-toes and her Catwoman with a whip voice, I spent sixty bucks on a bottle of wine as a peace offering to Carter, and another eighty at the market buying all this
crap to fix a makeup dinner for him and what do I find when I go by his place? What do I find? I’ll tell you what I find.
Her. Her in a black cashmere sweater cut down to here, with just enough pink lace under it to say,
dive in, honey. And he stands there,
introducing us, all flustered and befuddled.
“Now she’s drinking my goddamn wine.”
Parker held up both hands. “Wait a minute. Carter was with Corrine—his ex?”
“Didn’t I just say that? Isn’t that what I said? And she’s ‘Oh, sweetie, come in before you catch cold.’ Except in sexy voice. And he was cooking something. I could smell it. It smelled like burnt toast, but still. We have one little disagreement and he’s making her burnt toast and pouring her my wine?”
“I can’t see Carter jumping back there.” Emma shook her head. “No possible way.”
“She was there, wasn’t she, with her pink lace cleavage?”
“If so, you should’ve kicked his ass, then hers, then taken your wine.” Laurel moved over to give Mac a back rub. “But I tend to lean with Emma. Let us travel back to the shoe department at Nordstrom. First, did you buy any?”
“Shoe department, Nordstrom. What do you think?”
“You can show us later. How did you know it was Carter’s ex? Or did she know you?”
“She had that what’s-her-name with her. Cousin of the groom from Saturday’s event. She recognized me. And they’re both giving me the once-over, which I resent. I seriously resent, and the what’s-her-name is giggling, and ‘You two should compare notes.’ Asinine bitch.”
“And doesn’t it strike you as strange and coincidental,” Parker said, “that the evening of the same day you just happen to find her at Carter’s? Does no one else smell plot?”
Laurel and Emma raised their hands.
“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Disgusted, Mac lowered to a stool. “She
played me. I was too stunned and mad and, okay, jealous, to see it. But, what, she didn’t know I was going over there. So—”
“I think that was just icing. I know her a little, remember,” Emma reminded Mac. “She’s always had the ‘I want what you want, but more I want yours.’ She probably went over just to see if she could take him away from you, and then—”
“I give her a bottle of wine.” Mac dropped her head in her hands. “I’m an idiot.”
“No, you’re not. You’re just not mean and calculating, like she is. And neither is Carter,” Parker said. “He wasn’t with her, Mac. She was just there.”
“You’re right. You’re absolutely right. And I walked away, left her the field. But he introduced us.”
“Mishandled, I’ll grant you.” Parker nodded. “What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. It’s too much. Emotionally exhausting. I guess I’ll eat ice cream and sulk.”
“You could eat caviar and celebrate.”
Mac frowned at Parker. “Celebrate what? The idiocy that is relationships?”
“No, the triumph of Vows signing a contract for the Seaman wedding. We got the job.”
“Yay. No, sorry, give me just a minute to change gears.” She scrubbed her hands over her face, tried to shove down the sick anger and find the triumph. “We actually got it?”
“We got it, and we’ve got Cristal and beluga to prove it. We’ve been waiting for you so we could pop this cork.”
“What a strange day.” Mac pressed her fingers to her eyes. “What a hell of a strange day. And you know what? This is a really good way to end it. Open that big boy, Parker.”
“Once it pops, this is officially a no-sulking zone.”
“Already done.” She pushed to her feet. “I feel a happy dance coming on. Pop it!”
At the celebrational sound Mac let out a cheer.
“To us.” Parker lifted her glass. “Best friends ever, and damn smart women.”
They clinked, they drank. And Mac thought she could get through anything, anything that came, as long as she had
them.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
BOB STARED AT CARTER ACROSS THE TABLE IN COFFEE Talk, his eyes glazed, his jaw slack. “Holy shit.”
“She didn’t answer the phone. After I finally got Corrine out of the house, I called. Her house—both lines—her cell. She wouldn’t answer. I thought about just going over, but if she didn’t answer the phone . . . She thought I’d—She shouldn’t have thought that, but given the situation at the time, I can’t blame her. Not really.” He brooded into his green tea. “I need to explain. Obviously I need to explain. But I’m out of my depth here. I don’t know where to start.”
“You have two women after you. Two. Man, Carter, you’re a dog. You’re the big dog.”
“For God’s sake, Bob, you’re completely missing the point.”
“Not me, pal.” The slack jaw had morphed into a grin of pure admiration. “The point is two hot chicks got it for you. Plus, I heard you had a thing going with Parker Brown. A trio of hot.”
“I—
What? Who . . . No. Where did that come from?”
