room, leaving Donovan to exhale slowly and wonder what on earth Bryan had gotten the two of them into this time.
Strapped into a luxuriously soft and comfortable leather seat, Chloe looked through her lashes at the man behind the wheel of the expensive sedan. The passing scenery was lovely. Though it was a bit chilly due to a midnight rainstorm the night before, the past couple of weeks had been quite warm, coaxing new leaves from trees and bringing out daffodils, Bradford pear blossoms, and a few early azaleas. As much as she enjoyed the first signs of spring, Chloe found herself unable to stop surreptitiously studying her driver.
Bryan had described his second-in-command as the classic “strong, silent type”—tough, blunt-spoken, ruthless when necessary. He had then added that Donovan Chance was the most honest, loyal, reliable friend he’d ever had. Chloe had expected to be a little awkward with Donovan. She hadn’t anticipated that she would be totally intimidated by him.
He wasn’t as handsome as Bryan—not in the traditional sense, anyway. Donovan’s features were more rugged than Bryan’s. She would bet he’d had his nose broken in his youth; just enough to keep it from being perfectly straight. His jaw was square, his cheekbones broad, and his unsmiling eyes were such a pale, cool green they looked almost metallic. Nice mouth—but she doubted those firm, intriguingly etched lips curved into a smile very often.
He wore “business-casual” clothing—a thin, V-necked cream-colored sweater over a navy-and-cream checked shirt with navy chinos and loafers—but he looked as though he’d be more at home in a denim shirt, jeans and a pair of boots. He’d apparently made an effort to comb his medium-length, chestnut-brown hair into a conservative style, but it showed a tendency to tumble rebelliously onto his forehead.
On anyone else, she might have referred to that errant lock as “boyish.” But not this guy. There was nothing boyish about Donovan Chance.
Because she knew that Donovan was Bryan’s best friend as well as his employee, and since she figured she’d be spending a lot of time around him in the future if she and Bryan did marry, she decided that now was as good a time as any to try to get to know him. After all, that had been Bryan’s intention when he’d sent Donovan to escort her to the resort, though she had assured him she was perfectly capable of traveling alone.
“Bryan told me you and he have known each other since high school,” she said to kick off the conversation.
Donovan replied without taking his eyes off the road ahead. “Yeah.”
“Were you neighbors?”
“No.”
Okay, no more questions that could be answered in monosyllables, she decided. Whether he was just naturally averse to small talk, or was still smarting from Grace’s rudeness, she didn’t know, but they would never get anywhere this way. “How did you and Bryan meet?”
After a rather lengthy pause, he said, “Four guys were doing their best to beat me to a pulp. Bryan jumped in to help me.”
Chloe felt her eyebrows rise as she tried to picture always-immaculate, elegant Bryan Falcon engaged in a vicious fist fight. On the other hand, she had no trouble at all imagining Donovan taking on four challengers. “Did you and Bryan win the fight?”
“Actually, they beat us both to a pulp.”
Chloe was startled into a laugh. “That’s terrible.”
What might have been a smile—it was hard to tell with this man—quirked one corner of his mouth. “We recovered.”
“So you and Bryan have been friends ever since?”
Another long pause—followed by another monosyllable. “Yeah.”
Chloe stifled a sigh and sat back in her seat. Looked as though this was going to be a long, quiet trip. She might as well enjoy the view.
It was with effort that Donovan kept his gaze focused on the road ahead instead of the woman sitting in the passenger seat. Something about her kept drawing his attention her way.
A sideways glance let him see that she was gazing out the side window at the passing landscape, a somber look on her face. Her fingers were twisted in her lap so tightly that her knuckles gleamed. She didn’t give the appearance of a woman on her way to a romantic getaway with the man she was planning to marry. Which made him wonder again why she was going along with this very businesslike courtship.
The most logical answer, of course, was that she had several million reasons—all green.
He was lousy at small talk, but he searched for something to say, a way to get her talking again so he could try to figure her out. “Bryan told me you’re in the retail business.”
She seemed relieved to be drawn out of her thoughts, even with such a lame conversational gambit. “Yes, Grace and I own a shop in Little Rock’s River Market district. We call it Mirror Images—a shameless play on our being twins, I’ll admit. We specialize in decorating accessories—unusual mirrors, mostly, but also pottery and sculpture, candleholders, carved boxes, blown-glass pieces. Many of the items are handmade and one-of-a-kind.”
Hearing the enthusiasm in her voice, he could tell her heart was in her work. Bryan had always said that no business could be successful if the owner had no passion. It was probably Chloe’s enthusiasm for her shop that had drawn Bryan to her in the first place. And maybe her smile…
He cleared his throat rather forcefully. “How’s business? Making a profit?”
Her eyebrows rose. “We’re doing all right,” she said, her tone a bit cool now.
Did she think he’d gotten too nosy? Or did she simply not want to admit that the shop wasn’t making money? He knew how difficult it was for a small business to survive. More than half folded within their first year of operation. It required a good deal of startup capital to acquire stock, hire competent employees, purchase enough advertising to catch the buying public’s attention….
He shrugged. “You’ll do better once Bryan’s involved.”
Everyone knew that Bryan Falcon had an almost magical way of making every business he backed turn a sizeable profit. Donovan was sure Chloe was well aware of her new boyfriend’s business talents—not to mention his notorious talent for charming women.
When she spoke this time, her tone was almost cool enough to deposit ice on his eyelashes. “I don’t expect Bryan to be involved with my business in any way. My sister and I are perfectly capable of running it on our own.”
“I see,” he said—which didn’t mean he believed her, of course. There was no way he’d accept that the financial advantages of marriage to one of the most successful venture capitalists in the country had never crossed her mind.
She frowned at him. “You think I’m only interested in Bryan’s money?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No—you didn’t say it.” But apparently, she’d interpreted his words that way anyway. She sat back in her seat, her face turned away from him, her posture stiff enough to let him know she’d taken offense.
He thought about trying to apologize, but decided to let it go. For one thing, he was lousy at apologies—hadn’t made enough of them to
