closer, closer…Until he could take a bite…or nip…or nuzzle. Her skin tightened with awareness and a raw need that she had rarely, if ever, felt. What would Peggy or her mother say if they’d heard Matt’s proposal? Grab him and never let go!
What was happening here? It felt like a fairy tale or a dream or some wild fantasy. But it wasn’t hers. Maybe her mother’s. Or Peggy’s.
But she couldn’t seem to back away from Matt. She couldn’t give the logical answer that had lodged in her throat. She could only stare up at him, feeling awestruck, dumbfounded, baffled.
She noted the serious look in his eyes, the stern set of his jaw, his generous lower lip that made her want to rise up on tiptoe and kiss him. The heat must have addled her brain.
“You’re going to be late for your appointment, Doc.”
She blinked and shook herself. “Uh, yeah…yes.” She realized then that she’d reached her no-nonsense gray Ford. She fumbled with the keys, then remembered she’d left the windows down to alleviate the stifling heat. Opening the door, she slid into the sticky, hot seat. “But—”
He closed the door and rested his hands along the base of the open window. Leaning down, he gave her a grin that made her stomach turn completely over. “Think about it. I’ll be in touch.”
Chapter Three
I’ll be in touch. That’s all Brooke seemed capable of contemplating the rest of the day. Specifically, Matt’s touch. And he hadn’t even touched her!
Oh, yes, he had. When they’d first met. She could still feel the way her stomach had curled into a ball of longing when he’d caressed her foot. He hadn’t caressed it, she argued to herself. He’d simply measured it.
Yeah, right!
“Did you decide?” Felicia Watson Holbrook Roberts Evans, minus or plus a few other surnames, sipped her white wine.
Jarred out of her musings, Brooke stared at her mother. Decide what? To marry Matt Cutter? It was absurd! Ludicrous! She couldn’t even believe she was dwelling on his proposal. Obviously he had some warped agenda. Or had lost his mind. Maybe he needed therapy instead of a bride. She’d never met a man who didn’t need psychotherapy. Either way, she was staying clear of him.
“Brooke?”
“Hmm?”
“Dinner.” Felicia tapped her pale-pink, manicured nails on the leather bound menu. “Did you decide what you’re having?”
How about Matt Cutter? Good grief! Her mother’s and Peggy’s attitudes had finally worn off on her.
“You’ve been reading that menu for what seems like hours.”
She hadn’t read one appetizer or even peered at the desserts. “What are you having, Mother?”
“The halibut.”
“Sounds fine to me.” Especially since she wasn’t hungry.
After they’d ordered, Felicia clasped her hands and gave her daughter one of those looks. “What are you doing this Friday?”
She asked the question in a casual manner that Brooke knew was never offhanded. There was always purpose behind every word or deed.
Felicia had obviously decided to get down to business. Her business. Her agenda. Just as Brooke had known she would. It was always just a matter of time before her mother launched into her latest matchmaking scheme.
“Working probably.” She let her gaze drift around the posh restaurant, noticing the glittering diamonds and understated but elegant clothes of the patrons. It made her think of the children at the orphanage, and she wondered what they were having for dinner tonight. Monday night—frankfurters and beans, cherry Jell-O and chips. “I’ve got a stack of files that need updating.”
A small frown creased the bridge between her mother’s carefully plucked, brushed and styled eyebrows. It had taken thousands of dollars from ex-husband number four to remove any and all wrinkles daring to appear on her mother’s face. But Felicia had never been one to worry about money. With each husband, she’d moved up the social ladder. Her latest acquisition was worth millions, which translated into a huge mansion, a Mercedes and all the diamonds and jewels her mother could want. Face-lifts, too.
“You’ll simply have to put it off.”
Here we go! “Who is it this time, Mother?”
“A charming man I met at a little lingerie boutique.”
“Which one?” Brooke asked.
“What difference does it make?”
“If he was shopping for lingerie, then it probably means he’s got a main squeeze.”
“Brooke!”
She sipped her water and wished she’d ordered something stronger. This could be a long evening. “Mother, I’ve told you, I’m not in the market. I’m not interested in finding a man.”
“Nonsense. You really should meet this one. He’s just darling. Such a gentleman. Walked me to my car, carried my packages for me. What a dear!”
Brooke refrained from making a diagnosis and focused on buttering her roll. She’d made the mistake once, and only once, of actually meeting one of her mother’s prime candidates. For years after that Felicia had thrown that disastrous date into her face, saying, “If only you’d given Sterling a chance…”
“Well, of course, I understand why you’re not interested.” Her mother touched her left earlobe as if to check and make sure her three-carat diamond earring hadn’t been lost or stolen. “Not after the weekend you had!”
Alarm bells sounded in Brooke’s head. Damn. She knew.
“I can’t believe you didn’t call me the second you got home to tell me all about it. I had to hear it from Lisbeth Mabry. She saw it on the ten-o’clock news. Of course, I said it couldn’t be my daughter. What would you be doing shopping at a retail shop? But she was adamant.
“Then I understood perfectly what you were doing there. You weren’t shopping for boots or jeans. You were shopping for a man!” Her mother gave a victorious grin. “Finally!”
Her mother took a celebratory sip of wine. “Matt Cutter. Now, he’s a catch. Wait till the women at the country club hear that my daughter has caught the richest man in Texas. They’ll be perfectly ill with jealousy.”
Brooke’s temples began pounding.
“Now,” her mother continued, “it makes sense why you wouldn’t want to go out with some man your mother has found for you when you’ve got one of your own.” She leaned forward, breaking one of her cardinal rules by resting her forearm on the edge of the table. Her azure-blue contacts glittered with excitement. “So tell me all about this Matt Cutter.”
“What makes you think I have him? Er, could have?” Or want him? She didn’t, of course.
“You
