the woman with the face of an angel,” Beth retorted. “I’ll talk to you when I get back.”
Putting the phone down, Beth pushed away the blankets, yawning and stretching, relishing the cool morning air on her bare skin. She’d already packed an overnight bag; it waited in the living room.
Padding into the bathroom, she glanced into the mirror. Her nipples were drawn tight, crowning her barely B-cup breasts. “A little cleavage would have been nice,” she murmured. Overall her figure wasn’t awful, but it certainly didn’t inspire any great male fantasies.
She’d barely been touched by a man, even during her brief engagement. It was her own fault. Curt had wanted to make love, but she’d been determined to “do things right” with a traditional wedding night. Now she wished they had made love a hundred times. At least she’d have something to remember…something to distract her from thinking about Kane O’Rourke.
“At least I’m a natural blonde,” Beth said, lifting her chin. Dark blond, to be sure, but blond. Not that Kane would ever see the proof of it.
When the doorbell rang fifty-five minutes later she was just finished swiping mascara on her lashes. She grabbed her purse and overnight bag and hurried to the door.
“I’m ready,” she said, flinging it open.
Kane waited, one hand holding a bunch of flowers, the other tucked into a pair of jeans. She stared, breathless at the difference casual clothing could make. A white shirt emphasized his shoulders—shoulders that seemed even more broad and muscular now that they weren’t covered by an expensive suit. He looked younger, more relaxed, and altogether sexy.
“Is something wrong?” he asked, taking the bag from her fingers.
“Yes. I mean, no. Nothing.”
He held out the flowers and she tore her gaze from his face and took the bouquet. It was a surprising mix of small yellow roses and daisies. “Thank you.”
Beth locked the door, her heart racing even harder. Kane O’Rourke in a suit was enough to make a woman think twice about all kinds of things; in a pair of jeans he could make serious inroads on her principles. Especially carrying daisies.
The bouquet did make her wonder, but it was probably just for publicity. At the thought, a thread of sadness crept through her. She loved flowers, but Curt had been the practical sort who didn’t go for romantic gestures—or else she just didn’t inspire that kind of thing.
At the curb sat a black limousine. Behind it idled a Chevy Blazer, black also. A photographer was filming them from an open window and her cheeks warmed. It had to be the newspeople Kane had warned her about earlier in the week. The opulence of the stretch limo made her grateful for the early hour since her neighbors would still be in bed—a hope that was dashed when she saw a curious face peer from the house across the street.
Swell.
She waved and scrambled into the vehicle with more haste than grace, sinking into the butter-soft leather seat. She put the flowers to one side and pushed her hands into the cushions, trying to sit straight.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered.
Kane handed Beth’s bag to the chauffeur and climbed in next to her. “What’s ridiculous?”
“Spending this kind of money on a car.”
He hid his smile. “There’s nothing wrong with a little luxury. Besides, it gives us time to talk.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s a great idea. Like we have anything in common to talk about.”
“We’ll find something.” Kane stretched his legs out and rolled his shoulders. He suspected Beth was one of those people who got up a little irritable in the morning, which unfortunately led to thoughts of the ways he could find to wake her up in a better mood.
He wouldn’t be taking it anywhere, but it was baffling the way she made him feel. Beth Cox was too young for him, too innocent and too damned much trouble.
So why did he have this urge to spend the next seventy-plus miles kissing her senseless?
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