toss the cleaner ones back into the bucket. “Accidents happen." But what had happened between him and Carrie just now hadn’t been an accident at all. For the briefest moment, she’d been all his. And it had been wonderful. So wonderful he’d been itching to continue things on an even more intimate level back in his room. And now -- this.
Finally, their embarrassed interloper straightened and made off with her champagne. Carrie, Mike noticed, still looked as if she was going to burst into hysterics at any moment.
“I --” she sputtered a laugh, then stopped and collected herself. “I am feeling much better, thank you. But you’re -- all wet...”
“Nothing that I haven’t been before,” he assured her, holding up his jacket to examine it in the moon light. “I’m sure my clothing and I will survive.”
To her embarrassment, Carrie’s stomach growled loudly.
“Still hungry?” Mike asked, feeling for the ice cube that had wedged itself between his belt and waistband at the small of his back and plucking it free.
Carrie giggled again, as he offered it as further proof of his ordeal.
Carrie lifted the ice cube from his palm and hurled it into the darkness. “Starved. But, how about you? Don’t you think you’d better, uh...change?”
“Change?" Mike grinned. “Thought you were starting to like me just the way I am.”
Carrie felt herself color from head to toe. “You, Mike Davis, are --”
He cocked one eyebrow and waited.
“-- a very nice man,” she finished, feeling renewed heat in her cheeks.
Mike chuckled and brought a tender hand to her face. “Ah, Carrie. Yes. And you, my dear, are very -- sweet.”
Mike leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead, something akin to affection sparkling in his eyes. No man had ever looked at Carrie like that before. With hunger, anticipation, yes. But this was a different sort of appreciation altogether, and it warmed her through in through.
“Want to see if dinner’s still on the table?” he asked, taking her hand.
“Great idea,” Carrie said, wondering what on earth was happening to her. This wasn’t love. At least, not like she’d ever known it. Carrie St. John was falling “in like” with a man who looked like a god, and neither her heart nor her head knew precisely what make of that.
****
Chapter Seven
Mike draped his still damp-clothing over the wooden hangers he’d suspended from the shower bar. All in all, things hadn’t gone badly. Even if he had taken a bath, in a manner of speaking, the look on Carrie’s face had been worth every ounce of icy discomfort. Somehow, Mike suspected, Carrie didn’t get the opportunity for laughs often. Though laughter suited her beautifully. So well, in fact, Mike was going to make it his personal ambition to ensure she wore it more often.
Mike puzzled at his instant attraction to the woman he’d met a day ago. Yet, somehow, when he looked in her deep browns eyes, he had the notion he’d known her a lifetime.
Now, he was getting sappy, Mike thought, sitting down on the bed to tug off his socks. Thinking that things between him and Carrie had, in some way, been preordained. Just who did he think he was kidding? Mike’s judgment in the past regarding women had left much to be desired. And yet, what he desired more than anything was a chance to prove -- to himself and Carrie -- that perhaps this time his instincts were dead on.
There was something about her that got to him on more than just a physical level. He liked Carrie. Honestly enjoyed spending time with her. And, looking back, Mike wasn’t sure he could make that unequivocal statement about any of the previous women in his life. Up until now, Mike had always looked at romance as a love-hate proposition. The woman you loved was supposed to drive you mad, wasn’t she? Feminine wiles were supposed to be mysterious, impossible to understand. And, up until now, Mike hadn’t given one iota
Finally, their embarrassed interloper straightened and made off with her champagne. Carrie, Mike noticed, still looked as if she was going to burst into hysterics at any moment.
“I --” she sputtered a laugh, then stopped and collected herself. “I am feeling much better, thank you. But you’re -- all wet...”
“Nothing that I haven’t been before,” he assured her, holding up his jacket to examine it in the moon light. “I’m sure my clothing and I will survive.”
To her embarrassment, Carrie’s stomach growled loudly.
“Still hungry?” Mike asked, feeling for the ice cube that had wedged itself between his belt and waistband at the small of his back and plucking it free.
Carrie giggled again, as he offered it as further proof of his ordeal.
Carrie lifted the ice cube from his palm and hurled it into the darkness. “Starved. But, how about you? Don’t you think you’d better, uh...change?”
“Change?" Mike grinned. “Thought you were starting to like me just the way I am.”
Carrie felt herself color from head to toe. “You, Mike Davis, are --”
He cocked one eyebrow and waited.
“-- a very nice man,” she finished, feeling renewed heat in her cheeks.
Mike chuckled and brought a tender hand to her face. “Ah, Carrie. Yes. And you, my dear, are very -- sweet.”
Mike leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead, something akin to affection sparkling in his eyes. No man had ever looked at Carrie like that before. With hunger, anticipation, yes. But this was a different sort of appreciation altogether, and it warmed her through in through.
“Want to see if dinner’s still on the table?” he asked, taking her hand.
“Great idea,” Carrie said, wondering what on earth was happening to her. This wasn’t love. At least, not like she’d ever known it. Carrie St. John was falling “in like” with a man who looked like a god, and neither her heart nor her head knew precisely what make of that.
****
Chapter Seven
Mike draped his still damp-clothing over the wooden hangers he’d suspended from the shower bar. All in all, things hadn’t gone badly. Even if he had taken a bath, in a manner of speaking, the look on Carrie’s face had been worth every ounce of icy discomfort. Somehow, Mike suspected, Carrie didn’t get the opportunity for laughs often. Though laughter suited her beautifully. So well, in fact, Mike was going to make it his personal ambition to ensure she wore it more often.
Mike puzzled at his instant attraction to the woman he’d met a day ago. Yet, somehow, when he looked in her deep browns eyes, he had the notion he’d known her a lifetime.
Now, he was getting sappy, Mike thought, sitting down on the bed to tug off his socks. Thinking that things between him and Carrie had, in some way, been preordained. Just who did he think he was kidding? Mike’s judgment in the past regarding women had left much to be desired. And yet, what he desired more than anything was a chance to prove -- to himself and Carrie -- that perhaps this time his instincts were dead on.
There was something about her that got to him on more than just a physical level. He liked Carrie. Honestly enjoyed spending time with her. And, looking back, Mike wasn’t sure he could make that unequivocal statement about any of the previous women in his life. Up until now, Mike had always looked at romance as a love-hate proposition. The woman you loved was supposed to drive you mad, wasn’t she? Feminine wiles were supposed to be mysterious, impossible to understand. And, up until now, Mike hadn’t given one iota
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