heard you upstairs, bullying Marnie into doing what you wanted. Not what she wanted. She’s eighteen years old and perfectly capable of coming on a road trip with us this summer. And as I understand it, you’ll be on your honeymoon anyway, so why is it so important to have her sitting in Savannah twiddling her thumbs instead of having fun with us?’
The grim line of his lips thinned out and a muscle in his jaw clenched. ‘So your exemplary manners include eavesdropping?’
‘It would seem so.’ What did she care what some self-righteous Southern prig thought of her manners? ‘And while we’re on the subject, there happens to be several things in life that are a great deal more important than exemplary manners. And letting your sister follow her heart’s desire happens to be one of them.’
‘Going on a road trip with y’all hasn’t got a damn thing to do with following her heart’s desire.’
So much for his Southern manners, Gina thought, relishing the spurt of temper. At last, here was something she could work with; she happened to be very good at handling male tantrums.
‘How would you know that?’ she said coolly.
‘Because she’s my sister.’
‘And that makes you her keeper, does it? Perhaps Marnie doesn’t need a keeper any more.’
His brows furrowed into a deep frown and she could almost see the frustration pumping off him. She knew he wanted to say something derogatory about her, and Reese and possibly Cassie right about now.
Because what other reason could he have for wanting to keep his sister away from them?
She waited for him to accuse all three of them of being a bad influence, but to her surprise, after several deep breaths, his shoulders relaxed and she saw him visibly draw himself back from the brink.
She dismissed the moment of admiration—control after all wasn’t one of her strong points.
‘I don’t consider myself to be Marnie’s keeper, Miz Carrington,’ he said, in a tight voice, the drawl no longer quite so pronounced. ‘But I am her brother and I intend to do what’s best for her—with or without your consent.’
Her lips curved in a wry smile. Talk about getting hoisted by your own petard. It seemed Carter’s perfect manners were going to prevent him from saying what he actually thought about her and her friends. Well, she hoped swallowing that down gave him heartburn. ‘And why is what’s best for her your decision and not hers?’
The muscle in his jaw pulsed. ‘Because she’s eighteen,’ he said. But she could see what he wasn’t saying in that look of calm condescension. And because she’s a woman.
‘How old are you, Carter?’ she asked.
The frown deepened, as if he were looking for the trap. ‘I’m twenty-two.’
‘And how old were you when you got engaged?’ she asked, although she already knew the answer, because Marnie had talked about her big brother’s insanely romantic engagement to her best friend, Missy, incessantly when she’d first arrived at the house.
‘It’s not the same thing,’ he said, seeing the trap too late.
‘Umm-hmm. And why ever not? You were the same age as Marnie is now and yet you were mature enough to decide you were going to love your childhood sweetheart for the rest of your life.’ She said the words with conviction, but couldn’t help feeling a little sick to her stomach.
When had she ever been that romantic? That naïve? To believe that anyone was worth that much of a commitment?
‘It wasn’t like that. Missy and I are well suited. And it was the right thing to do after my father died. My mother and Marnie needed stability and they were both in favour of the match.’
It was Gina’s turn to frown. And not just because Carter’s description of the engagement was in sharp contrast to the wildly romantic whirlwind of love and devotion Marnie had described. Who the hell proposed marriage because they were being sensible? And he’d made it sound as if the primary motivation had been the approval of his mother and his kid sister? She was by no means a hopeless romantic, but wasn’t that taking filial duty a bit too far?
‘But you do love Missy, right?’ The question popped out before she could stop it.
He looked taken aback. As well he might, because this really was none of her business. But curiosity consumed her. He’d only been eighteen. What on earth had he been thinking settling for ‘The One’ so young? What about hormones? And exploring your options? And sowing wild oats?
‘Of course I love Missy. She’s going to be my wife in two weeks’ time. We’re friends, we understand each other and we both want the same things out of life.’
None of which sounded remotely like convincing reasons for proposing marriage when you were just out of high school. But what did she know? ‘What things?’
He shrugged, the movement stiff and defensive. And she realised for the first time that he looked unsure of himself. ‘Companionship, trust, compatibility, children. Eventually.’ The affirmation came out in a monotone, as if he’d rehearsed it a hundred times.
‘Why, Rhett,’ Gina said, fluttering her eyelashes and affecting a simpering Southern drawl. ‘I can see how you must have swept Missy off her feet with that proposal. How romantic of you to compile a checklist for the perfect marriage.’
‘Missy knows she can trust me,’ he said firmly, the look on his face delightfully annoyed and confused. Clearly the Sainted Carter wasn’t used to being teased—or questioned about his carefully planned love life. ‘That’s what matters.’
‘Really? What about love and passion and adventure and...’ she groped for another quality that might get the message across to this indomitable and resolutely anti-romantic man ‘...and the promise of multi-orgasmic sex for the rest of your life?’
His gaze flicked to her cleavage, then shot back to her face and a dull shade of red rose up his neck and made his tan glow on chiselled cheekbones. He looked away, taking a large fortifying gulp of the cola. And suddenly she knew.
Oh. My. God.
Carter Price had been eighteen when he’d proposed to his very-appropriate fiancée. And if Missy was as much of a sanctimonious prude as her best friend, Marnie, had been when she’d first arrived from Savannah—wearing a little promise ring on her finger that signified her purity, and had needled Gina no end—then Missy had probably demanded she remain a virgin until her wedding night.
She searched the long tanned fingers of Carter’s left hand wrapped around the cola bottle. Was it possible that Carter had made a similar promise? Hadn’t Marnie said boys wore them too, when Gina had lit into her for being a disgrace to Women’s Liberation. Gina held back the gasp as she spotted the silver band on Carter’s pinkie, identical to the celibacy ring that Marnie no longer wore when she was at college.
Oh, no, surely not? A man who was as virile and handsome and overwhelmingly male as he was, and who looked at her with that dark sexual intensity he couldn’t hide? That man hadn’t had sex since he was eighteen? It was just too delicious. And too ridiculous. No wonder he looked so tense and uptight. And no wonder he was far too involved in Marnie’s
