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In desperation, Cara wrote “Religion.” Keith was Catholic and Cara had gone to a Methodist church growing up. It was the only thing she could think of.
Keith’s board said “Balancing our checkbook.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. I’ve told you a million times that I do balance my checkbook.” Cara threw up her hands. “When I get my monthly statement, I enter all the transactions in my checkbook and voilà. It balances.”
Or at least that was how she’d done it before, when her father subsidized the account. Now she watched every dime, but Keith didn’t have to know that.
“That how you run your business, too?” he asked mildly.
“Please.” Cara snorted. “I pay a CPA to deal with all of that.”
With a deadpan expression, Keith tapped the board. “Like I said. Complete opposites.”
Opposites in everything else important, too, like marriage, children and love. The thought rang a little false, especially since she was beginning to realize she didn’t have a firm grip on all those things either. Was that why she couldn’t seem to get past the wedding and become an actual wife?
“We mere mortals can’t add up the contents of a full shopping cart in our heads.” Cara waved a hand to encompass the rapt crowd. “Well, we can, but we wouldn’t be within a few pennies like you, Mitchell.”
His smile could have melted butter. “I’ll take that as a compliment, both that you recall something as mundane as grocery shopping together and that you’ve bestowed divine status on me. Guess we are complete opposites when it comes to religion.”
Lord Voldemort had spoken. She chuckled darkly, though at what, she had no idea.
Mark clapped his hands, oblivious to the rising tension. Cara’s spine hurt from holding it so straight, but she couldn’t relax.
“Last question,” the emcee shouted. “Who was the first person to say ‘I love you’?”
Cara’s board dropped to the floor with a crash. She couldn’t do this particular brand of torture anymore.
* * *
Keith smiled apologetically at his staff and followed Cara’s flight from the lounge. He only hoped that she wouldn’t take out his kneecaps when he caught up with her.
But he couldn’t let her go, not when it was obvious how close to tears she was. This wasn’t a little snit because they were losing, but something else entirely. And he had an unexplainable urge to know what had provoked her.
If it was the checkbook joke, she really needed to lighten up.
Cara dashed through the rain, surprisingly swift for someone wearing heels in a downpour. Finally, she reached the door of her room and ducked inside. Keith bolted for the threshold and put a palm to the door before she could slam it in his face. To be fair, she probably didn’t realize he’d been behind her.
He eased into the room, fully prepared to be thrown out, but determined to at least make sure she was okay before leaving. “Hey.”
Cara whirled. “What do you want?”
The sight of a drenched Cara punched him—hard—in the gut. Her little pink dress was plastered to her body as if it had been painted on, and she’d clearly forgotten that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Tight, hard nipples poked the fabric, and it was far more erotic than if she’d stood before him completely nude. Her hair hung in damp hanks around her face as if placed there by a team of designers for the maximum sexiest effect.
“You okay?” he managed to choke out.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Obviously not. I left because I wanted to be alone. Go away.”
“Sure thing.” Keith crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. There was no way he was leaving now, not while she was still upset. And definitely not while the view was so wet and so smoking hot. “As soon as you tell me what’s up. I’ve never known you to be so competitive as to get mad over being beaten.”
“Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it?” she shot back, her voice wobbly and clogged with baffling undercurrents. “You don’t really know me that well, do you?”
“Not nearly as well as I’d like,” he admitted readily. “Hence the invitation to join me in the honeymoon suite.”
She rolled her shiny eyes, and the moisture wasn’t from the storm overhead, but the internal one. “You already know me that way, Mitchell.”
“Do I?” Any sensible person would shut the door. It was raining. So he eased it closed and leaned back against it. “You haven’t developed some new moves under the sheets in two years? You’ve started jogging. Maybe you’re doing some tantric yoga, too.”
