perfectly proportioned frame were only part of the reason. With smoky-gray eyes a dramatic contrast against his fair hair and skin, his ruggedly handsome face had always sent her head reeling, but it was more than his appearance that made her pulse fly off the charts. It had something to do with the way he carried himself, tall and proud, as though the world had been created for him to command.
She’d always been a sucker for a take-charge kind of guy, and Carter Prescott, III, was no exception. As a teenager she’d flirted with him innocently, but she’d been David’s kid sister, five years younger. Too young for Carter.
So what did the jerk go and do? He married someone older than he was. All right, so the bride was only two years his senior, not exactly a Mrs. Robinson. But she was the hoity-toity Wendy St. Claire. Wendy Wasp, Becky had called her behind his back. If her blood were any bluer, it would be ink.
“Take my hand,” he was saying now. “Let me help you, Becky.”
Maybe she’d always been a sucker for a take-charge kind of guy, but all that was about to change. Over her dead body would she let him touch her. Never again. She pushed away his hand and stumbled to her feet. “Ouch!” Another wave of pain surged though her leg and she fell against him, cursing.
“Such language from a nice Jewish girl,” he said, catching her in the circle of his arms. “Your mother would be shocked.”
If all it took were a few choice words to throw her mother into a tailspin, Gertie Roth would probably lapse into a coma after what Becky had to tell her. “Let go of me,” she demanded. “I’m better now.” She took a step forward, trying not to let the pain register on her face. “There, you see? It’s just a scratch. Nothing broken. Not even sprained.”
The teenagers looked at each other with relief. “You lucked out,” the girl said to the boy named Randy. “She could have sued you. If she’s smart she’ll still sue you, for assault and battery.”
“I’ll show you assault and battery!” Randy said, laughing. He picked up a handful of snow and threw it at the girl, who ran off squealing with mock indignation.
“Have a nice day, ma’am!” the other boy called as the three of them disappeared around the corner, their laughter ringing in the air like sleigh bells.
Have a nice day? Too late for that. She turned to Carter and sighed. “Was I ever that young?”
“Tell you what, old lady,” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist. “Pretend I’m a Boy Scout and I’ll help you cross the street. My car is parked on the other side.”
Suddenly very tired with the whole situation and too drained to argue, she answered, “All right, I’ll let you drive me home. But I can walk to your car on my own.” She moved out of his reach. “I thought you were off somewhere in the ruchas, playing with your building blocks. What are you doing here, anyway?”
“A little cranky, are we? For your information, Phoenix isn’t the sticks, and building a resort hotel isn’t what I’d call playing with blocks.”
Becky knew darn well where Carter had been and what he had been building. Her brother, who had remained in contact with him the whole time he’d been away, had felt the need to give her a detailed account of his friend’s activities. Nevertheless, there was no way she’d admit to Carter she’d been paying attention.
“I meant, what are you doing here out on the streets?” she asked, limping by his side. “Were you following me?”
“Following you! Now that’s what I call nerve. Just because you walked out on me that night, then refused to take my calls, you think you’ve driven me to the brink of despair? Sorry to deflate your ego, princess, but I’m no stalker. I was on my way to my mother’s when I decided to swing by the diner, but Chrissy told me you’d been fired. So I left. I saw you fall, and like any Good Samaritan I came to your rescue.”
Chrissy? Did he mean Christina? Becky assumed that Carter had just met her, but here he was, calling her by a nickname. She should have known he’d get friendly right away. Christina—Chrissy—was female, wasn’t she? And she was blond. Carter always did have a penchant for tall, full-bosomed blondes.
“I wasn’t fired,” she said tersely. “I quit.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, so I didn’t quit. Let’s just say the owner and I had a parting of the ways.”
“Right. He wouldn’t do something your way, so you parted.” He opened the car door and eased her inside. “You must be freezing in those stockings. I don’t know why you chose to walk in the first place.”
“Maybe it has something to do with my not being able to afford a car,” she snapped. “That and the fact that Middlewood isn’t famous for its public transportation. Besides, the diner is only a mile from home, and it wasn’t snowing this morning when I left for work.”
He removed his jacket and draped it over her legs, his hand brushing against the red patch of skin where she’d torn her panty hose. “I’m sorry,” he said when she flinched. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
She felt the color rise in her cheeks. It wasn’t pain that had caused her to draw back. It was the heat she’d felt when his chilly fingers had made contact with her leg. Heat that could melt the snow off the North Pole, if she let it. But she had no intention of allowing another meltdown, ever again. The consequences of that mistake would last a lifetime.
“You didn’t hurt me. I told you, it feels much better.”
“In that case it must be revulsion that made you recoil. Let me put your mind at rest. I can honestly say that no woman has ever died from my touch. But don’t worry, I won’t touch you again.” Then, as if echoing her thoughts, he added, “That’s one mistake I won’t repeat.”
She waited until he was in the driver’s seat before she responded. “I believe your exact words were ‘I hope you don’t think this means anything.’ As far as lines are concerned, that one’s a gem. Not mean anything! Who do you think you are?”
“Look, I admit it was a pretty callous thing to say, and I apologize. I would have apologized sooner, but you never gave me the chance. You’re the one who ran out in the middle of the night. You’re the one who refused to talk about it.”
And you’re the one who left me alone and pregnant, she thought. She leaned back in her seat and sulked. She knew she wasn’t being fair. He’d told her he’d be returning to Phoenix. He also had no idea she was pregnant. But the way he was sitting there, so smug, so collected, trying to exonerate himself by making her feel guilty, infuriated her. “First you lure me to your apartment, then you seduce me, then you dismiss me as though I’m some little harem girl, and now you accuse me of abandoning you?”
“What are you talking about? You practically tore off my clothes right there in the elevator! We didn’t even make it to the bedroom.” He sighed. “I didn’t come after you today to pick a fight. I was hoping we could talk this out like adults, calmly and rationally. I already told you I was sorry for my crude remark. I know how it must have made you feel, but I do have an explanation.”
“Why is it men always start singing the old commitment blues after they have their way with us? Well, I have news for you. I’ve heard that song before. If it’s understanding you want, I’m the wrong audience.”
He
