The Care and Feeding of Unmarried Men (9 page)

“I know what kind of woman you
look
like,” Nash corrected, “but appearances can be deceiving.”

She thought of the night they'd met, when he'd plowed past her, the pouring rain unable to quench the fire and brimstone in his eyes. “You look like what you are,” she replied. The righteous Preacher, out to protect the lambs of the world. His gaze had gone right past her.

“I look like a Bubba in a monster truck, you mean?” He grinned, obviously proud of it.

He looked different than any man she'd ever dated. Not wealthy, she supposed, because how much could a guy who drove a gas-guzzling mega-machine make? Not civilized, either. Not safe. Too attractive.

A pair of men moved past them, but then one hitched his step and circled back. “Nash? Nash Cargill?”

Eve blinked, then was forced to move out of the Bubba's range as a group gathered around him. At first she thought he'd been recognized by some old acquaintances, but then it became clear that the men were perfect strangers.

“I was there when you made the record jump at the Coliseum in 2002.”

“I saw you last year in Sacramento.”

Eve realized she should take the moment and run. With Nash otherwise occupied, she was free to find Vince and get on with her real party purpose. But she
hesitated, surprised by the admiration in the voices of the men speaking to Nash.

Then Jemima was at her side again, wearing a little grin of her own as she watched her brother. “You know, I believe his fan club has more members in it than mine.”

Eve turned her head to stare at the younger woman. “He has a
fan
club? Other than the Farrahs, I mean?”

“
Ja
.” Jemima nodded. “People love what he does. Most monster-truck events are a mix of races, jumps, and freestyle stunts, but the crowd really goes nuts for the car crushes. In rural areas, the monster-truck drivers are the equivalent of rock stars.”

“Are you going to be opening any more garages?” another man was saying. “My teenager is about to turn sixteen and is wild for a custom truck, but the nearest Nash's is forty miles away.”

Nash smiled. “As a matter of fact…”

Eve turned to Jemima again. “What's that all about?”

“Nash's Garages,
liebling
.” Jemima crossed her arms, tapping the fingertips of one hand against her purple cast. “It's a chain of stores that specialize in truck customization. They trick out people's rides, you know?”

A chain of stores.
Hmm
. Not such an uncomplicated good ol' boy, after all, Eve thought. “Is it…successful?”

“It's nationwide, with a new Nash's Garage or two opening every month. He'd be feeling out an expansion into Europe if he wasn't here babysitting me.” Jemima made a disgusted face, as if that “babysitting” left a bad taste in her mouth. “He'll tell anybody who listens that he has a master's in Bad Ass, but the truth is he has a real honest-to-goodness MBA. He graduated at the top of his class in business school.”

Eve took another step back as more people joined the small throng around The Preacher. Monster-truck driver. MBA. Wealthy entrepreneur. Complete, scary surprise.

She shuffled back again, bumping into someone. “I'm sor—”

As she turned, she realized it was Vince Standish's toes she'd stepped on. She should be grateful he'd found her, yes? After all, he was her most important item on tonight's agenda. But that odd feeling of a cold hand gripping her neck was back, with a vengeance.

If Nash hadn't distracted her, damn it, she'd have approached Vince on
her
terms. Now she felt flustered.

The older man smiled. “Eve Caruso, looking as beautiful as ever. Long time no see.”

I
n four-inch sandals, Eve stood taller than Vince Standish. Though short and long-distance-runner lean, he was a distinguished presence in linen trousers, collarless shirt, and Armani jacket. Recalling what he'd done to her life and realizing her left foot was still on his toes, she ground her stiletto heel against his slick European leather.

He winced, and she immediately faked an expression of contrition—then resisted the urge to grind away again and moved off his foot. She was supposed to be gaining his trust, not revealing how much she wanted to slap the traitorous rat-bastard to kingdom come.

“I'm sorry, Vince.” Leaning down, she pressed her cheek against his. She hoped the SEC didn't expect her to bed him for the information they wanted, because
just the thought of kissing him made her gag. But she'd been smiling at men all her life, so that part came easy. “How've you been?”

“More to the point,” he said, taking her hand and drawing her away from the loud knot of men gathered about Nash, “is how are
you
?”

Eve glanced around for Jemima as Vince steered her toward an open corner, but the young woman had disappeared into the crowd. So she let the rat-bastard have her hand and all the venom she could spew at his back until he turned to face her again.

“Now,” he said, releasing her fingers. “We can talk.”

“About what?” she asked, setting her champagne on a nearby ledge. It was too much to hope that he'd admit his many sins right off the bat, but the way his gaze was cataloging her body parts made her wonder if he was checking her for a wire.
Not this time, buddy,
she thought, pinning a puzzled smile in place.
Not in this dress
.

“You've been on my mind so often the past few weeks,” he said. “I wondered how you've handled it.”

She swallowed. He knew she'd taken his stock tip? But how? Her broker wouldn't have talked, and she hadn't told a soul herself. Damn. This wasn't the way she wanted to play this. “I—”

“It had to be tough, finding your father's remains that way.”

Eve's mouth shut. So he was talking about her father. And tough? It had been a total shock. In October, during Cosimo's eightieth birthday celebration, Téa and Johnny had stumbled upon what was left of Salvatore Caruso entombed in the crumbling wall of a man-made lagoon on Johnny's estate. Within an hour, a sixteen-year-old mystery had been solved. Her father's disappearance,
which they'd always been certain had been mob related, had turned out instead to be a case of an accidental death covered up by her father's best friend.

“Why didn't you tell me about it the night of the party?” Vince asked, reaching for her hand again.

She put it behind her back. “We decided not to discuss it with anyone until we were certain. They took DNA from Téa, Joey, and me. Once the test results were in, we went public with the story.”

“And by then I was on business in Mexico City. I tried to call you.”

“Oh. I…”
I was busy selling off all my assets to cover the losses you stuck me with, Rat-Bastard
. “I've been leaving my cell off a lot since then.”

“Poor Eve.” This time when he went for her hand she had to let him have it. “I'm sorry. I know how much you adored him.”

He did? Had she revealed so much to Vince? They'd casually dated for several months before his out-of-the-blue marriage proposal. That had been nearly a year ago. She shrugged. “No doubt about it, my father was a larger-than-life personality.”

Vince gave what she supposed he thought was a self-deprecating smile. “That none of us other SOBs can quite live up to, is that it?”

Well, certainly not if you sabotage me with evil stock tips
.

He squeezed her hand. “I still regret you refused my proposal.”

“Oh, Vince.” This was
not
where she wanted this conversation to go. “You would have tired of me before the ink on the pre-nup was dry.”

“Not for us,” Vince said, shaking his head at her as if she were a silly little girl. “We wouldn't have needed a pre-nup.”

Eve struggled to hide her surprise. He had to be kidding, right? No pre-nup? The man was worth mega-millions, so of course he was kidding. She smiled at him again, because though she didn't want to rehash their dead-end romance, she still had to keep herself out of jail. Which meant keeping herself on his good side. “Don't we make better friends?”

“What if I said I don't want to be your friend?” As she opened her mouth to protest, he put the fingers of his other hand across her lips. “Now I'm not going to pressure you about marriage again…at least not yet, but I find I can't stop thinking about you, Eve.”

Oh-kay. But what he'd said was good, right? It sounded as if it wouldn't be hard to get close to him again. Still, she glanced over her shoulder, looking for—For some reason, she was looking for Nash. But he'd disappeared too.

“Because things have changed for you now, haven't they?”

Her head whipped back toward Vince. “What? What do you mean?”

“Since you found out your father is dead. I'm sure you feel that your connection to your stepmother and stepsisters is more tenuous than ever before.”

Half
sisters, she thought to herself. Not
step
sisters.

But Vince was still talking, his words infiltrating her mind like smoke. “I bet now that your father is truly gone you wonder whether you're really a Caruso at all.”

She stared at him. “Of course I'm a Caruso!”

“Shh. Shh. I know that.” He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. “But, well, what do you know about your mother?”

“My mother?”

“What did you say was her name?”

Had she ever? Had she talked to Vince about her mother at all? Eve cast her mind back to when they'd been together. So much had happened since then.

“Didn't you say she called herself Ingrid Nordstrom?”

That struck a chord. She could remember laughing as she'd told him.
“It might as well have been Ingrid Neiman Marcus or Ingrid Saks Fifth Avenue.”
Those would have been just as real as Ingrid Nordstrom. When Eve was a teenager, Bianca had sat her down and explained they didn't know any more about her mother than the made-up name and the fact that it had been her twenty-third birthday the night she'd been hit by a car as she'd jaywalked across a dark street.

Criminals on both sides of the family tree, Eve thought, an inappropriate giggle bubbling up in her throat.

“I could help you find out who she really was, Eve. Together we could locate your family. Your grandparents.”

Oh, fabulous. Wouldn't that be a happy reunion. What would her maternal relations see when they saw Eve? The bastard offspring of the mob boss's mistress their daughter had become. They wouldn't want her. “I
have
a family.”

Téa and Joey, her dark-haired, dark-eyed siblings. If they knew what Vince had done to her, Téa would hold him down while Joey kicked his ass. And Bianca. Eve had Bianca too. Téa claimed not to remember a time when Eve hadn't been in her life, but Eve clearly recalled the day her father had taken her by the hand and led her into the house that was brighter and noisier than the apartment she'd shared with the pale ghost that was her only memory of her mother.

There'd been tears in the eyes of the beautiful brunette lady who had knelt in front of Eve to welcome her. That's when she'd known that she'd brought unhappiness with her into that bright, noisy house. And every day after, she'd tried her best to be pretty and charming to make up for it.

“I can see I've upset you.”

Vince's voice. Vince.

Eve blinked, becoming aware of the party going on around her and the distinguished-looking man still holding her hand, a concerned expression on his face. Distinguished-looking, rat-bastard Vince, who had ruined her life.

Because she'd been greedy.

Because she'd thought she'd deserved the windfall he'd whispered about in her ear.

“Here's a dollar, just for being pretty.”

Eve stumbled back, freeing herself from Vince's possessive hold.

He stepped forward, his gaze sharp. “What's wrong, love? What's the matter?”

You.

Me.

The cursed SEC.

And remembering them, Eve forced herself to plant her feet on the polished marble and pretend that there was nothing wrong that another glass of champagne and more time in Vince's company couldn't fix. “Let's talk about something more pleasant,” she said, slouching a little so it wouldn't seem as if she was looking down at him. “Let's talk about you. You can tell me all about Mexico City, and what we don't get to, perhaps you can fill in at a lunch later this week.”

Vince smiled. “That sounds perfect.”

Eve linked her arm with his. “Perfection would be your company and another drink. Can you escort a thirsty woman to the bar, kind sir?”

“With pleasure—”

“That pleasure's gonna have to wait,” a voice rumbled over her head.

Nash. She whirled. “What are you doing?” she asked as he yanked on her other arm, pulling her away from Vince, the man she was supposed to be spending time with tonight.

“Excuse us, friend,” Nash said to the older man. To her, he showed his teeth in a dazzling smile. “They're playing my favorite song and you promised me a dance, Party Girl.”

E
ve was spitting mad, Nash could tell, which was strange, since the little guy she'd been talking to had a smarmy cast to his eye. “He must be stinkin' rich,” he told her.

She blinked at him even as he continued hustling her away from the living room.
“Excuse me?”

“I can't think of another reason for you to be wasting time with that dude. As a matter of fact, you didn't look too sure that you liked him yourself.”

“I like him fine. Just fine.”

Nash shook his head. “Honey, you can put your boots in the oven, but that don't make 'em biscuits.”

Her beautiful face went blank. Then she shook her head. “I am
so
glad I don't understand a word you just said.”

“Oh, yeah. Now why's that?”

“It confirms my belief in my own intelligence.”

He chuckled as he tugged her onto the terrace. It was crowded out there too, though not as bad as inside the house. “I never thought for a moment you were stupid, darlin'. Now keep your eyes peeled.”

“Peeled for
what
? I thought you wanted to dance.”

“Sorry, two left feet. We're looking for Jemima. I can't find her.”

Eve halted. “You're kidding. You can't locate your sister at a jam-packed party so you grab me in order to join the actress patrol?”

“Two sets of eyes are better than one.” He ran his gaze along the knots of people standing beneath the umbrellalike patio heaters. None of the shadowy shapes looked like Jem.

“Why don't we ask Doug if you can use his intercom system? Then you can make an announcement like they do at those big box stores. ‘Jemima Cargill, meet your brother in the condom aisle.'”

He tilted his head to take in her beautiful face and sarcastic mouth. “What's this thing you have about me and sex?”

Sputters came out of those valentine lips. “I have no ‘thing' about you and sex.”

“‘Condom aisle'? Why not ‘hair care' aisle or, better yet, ‘auto parts' aisle? Honey, you think about me and apparently you immediately think about sex.”

Eve made a sound that normally accompanied the stamp of a pretty foot. “I'm going back inside.”

He captured her elbow as she spun. “Don't. Please. I need help finding Jem.”

“She's at a party. Having fun.”

He frowned. “What if she gets into some kind of trouble?”

“Nash.” Eve sighed. “You've got to get control of these rescuer impulses of yours. Jemima doesn't need a nanny, a guardian, or even a super-solver. Let me explain this to you. Most women want a man who doesn't try to fix their problems, but one who only
listens
to them.”

“A man who listens.”

“Right. She doesn't want someone who says, ‘Here, sweetie-pie, this is what you should do.' Instead, she wants a man who will provide sympathy, a second glass of chilled wine, and a supportive shoulder rub. She can figure out the solutions on her own.”

Nash smiled. “You've just described the woman of my dreams, darlin', and I'd be eternally grateful if you introduce me to such a creature ASAP. I pour a mean glass of grigio, and I give great shoulder rubs.” To prove it to her, he cupped her shoulders in his hands and prepared for a bracing demonstration of his skills.

But the sensation of her satiny skin beneath his hands derailed him. Instead of massaging her trapezius muscles with his thumbs, he found himself stroking the calloused edges over her sleek flesh with just the lightest of caresses. Her hair swished against the tops of his hands and he smelled soap bubbles.

“Well, well, well,” she said in a sultry whisper. “Who's thinking about sex now?”

Damn bratty woman. He jerked his hands away and swatted her lightly on her sassy ass. “Come on, help me find Jem and then I'll take your advice and take up with a woman who wants tea and sympathy and not just my big sexy body like you.”

She made that foot-stamp sound again, but he ignored it and grabbed her hand in his so she couldn't
get away. Then he strolled about the terrace, doing doughnuts around the groups of people to make sure his sister wasn't among them.

Satisfied she wasn't on the terrace, he went back inside and walked through the crowded rooms again, with Eve at his side. He couldn't help noticing the assessing looks sent their way. “Know what everyone's thinking when they look at us, darlin'?” he asked, leaning close to her sweet-scented hair.

“There goes Beauty and the Beast?”

“Well, sure. But they can see that our story takes a different turn. This time the Beast tames Beauty.”

Her dark lashes were a thousand miles long, but he could still see the sparkle in those blue-diamond eyes of hers. “When this is all over, we'll compare scratches and then decide who has come out on top.”

“Either way I'm a winner,” Nash murmured, then gave her a grin and changed the topic to something less dangerous. “This place is really something. I like this house.”

“You're interested in home design?”

“I don't know about that.” He wound down a wide hallway and into something that appeared to be a study. There were people in here, too, though no Jemima, and a wall of windows that looked out over the valley. “I appreciate the views. I like the idea of having a big sprawling house with plenty of room to spread out in.”

“Where do you live now?”

“Do storage units count? Because then I have a place in L.A. and Arkansas, two in Texas and one more in Ohio.”

The study had French doors that led to yet another patio, and he tried there next.

“Ah, but settling down would keep you out of the driver's seat of your big, badass truck, Nash.”

They were alone on this terrace except for the clean night air and the carpet of twinkling lights spread along the desert floor. “I don't compete much anymore, anyway.”

“Why not? Too old?”

He shrugged. “There are plenty of guys my age. And younger ones and older, too. But I've been on the circuit for almost ten years. Maybe I'm burned out. I like the families, though, who come out to see us. And the kids. You should see 'em. Cute as bugs. And they look the size of bugs up against the trucks. They're so funny. They want autographs and photos and they bring me stuffed animals.”

He realized he was smiling again, which made him laugh at himself a little. “What can I say? I get a kick out of the kids. So I don't really know why I'm thinking of leaving the circuit.”

“I do.”

“Hmm?” He looked down at her, surprised. “Why?”

“Because it's obvious you want to settle down and have a family, Preacher-man. Your very own cute Cargill bugs.”

Oh. No. He wouldn't put some kid through a childhood like his, not when he couldn't guarantee that he could keep his Mr. Hyde in hiding forever. “Nah. Not gonna happen.”

“Oh, how the mighty will fall. Mark my words.”

Instead of arguing with her, he towed her back through the study and through the house again, still without sighting the slight figure in a purple dress that he was looking for. His belly fisted. “Okay, now I'm officially worried.”

“What would you call what you were before?”

He slanted her a glance. “A moderate concern exacerbated by a strange desire to hang out with you.” If only to prove to himself he could be around the superbeauty and not lose his head.

When she took an annoyed breath, her breasts almost popped free of that dress and the double-sided tape. He tried not to look, but she caught him. “Told you about that sex-fixation,” she said, a knowing smirk on her face.

Ignoring the comment, he moved his gaze off Eve and around the party guests, still not seeing that purple dress and dark hair. “Seriously, I'm worried.”

“Nash—”

“Come on, you've got sisters. Haven't you ever felt the need to watch out for them?”

Eve was quiet for so long that he looked back down at her. She was toying with a set of thin gold bangles on her wrist. “Téa can take care of herself. And she has Johnny on her side now, too. But Joey…when it comes to Joey I have a protective streak a mile wide.”

“Then you understand why I want to find Jem.”

She surprised him by not offering any more protest and instead headed off in a new direction. “Follow me. I know some places in this house you've missed.”

With Jemima now out of sight for more than half an hour, Nash took a harder look at the guests and the catering staff as he trailed Eve. Not one resembled beanpole Ricky Becker. As a matter of fact, the most threatening person he'd seen had been the silver-haired weasel Eve had been speaking to with that forced smile on her face. The other guests he'd met were a friendly mix of successful businessfolk and celebrity types. In the past, he'd attended a couple of Hollywood
bashes with Jemima and had been turned off by the red carpet trappings, not to mention the way the partygoers automatically worked for the print media flashbulbs and the entertainment channel video cams. By contrast, this seemed like a real party, instead of a professional event.

“Where's the paparazzi?” he asked, catching up with Eve.

She glanced up. “This is Palm Springs. The first movie people came to the desert in the 1920s to get away from prying eyes, and that remains the town's prevailing attitude. I'm in attendance as a society reporter tonight, of course, and a photographer will show up from my paper sometime later, but we don't feed off the famous here. There's thick walls around many estates and resorts like the Kona Kai, but it's a long-standing tradition to respect each other's privacy even without them.”

“What happens in the desert stays in the desert?”

She nodded. “Las Vegas took that attitude from us.”

They weaved their way through the dining room, a butler's pantry, then the kitchen. Through another door was an entire wing of the house he'd missed. There was a media room, a library, and then a game room. At the far end of that large space, Jemima was with a small group gathered around a billiards table. With a pool cue in hand, she was laughing at something another young woman was saying.

Relief washed through him, unraveling the knot of tension in his gut. Nash caught Eve's hand as she started forward.

“Let's not,” he said, answering her inquiring gaze. “She'll be happier without knowing I was shadowing her.”

Eve pulled back from the entry and leaned her delicate shoulders and the back of her blonde head against the hallway wall. “So you're satisfied now?”

Oh yeah, right. Six inches away from the temptation of Eve's pouty mouth, full breasts, and those long legs that he'd already had wrapped around his waist once before. “I'm nowhere near satisfied,” he admitted, putting a hand on either side of her head. “But I've got a feeling that's going to need a long night, a big bed, and your full cooperation.”

And just like that, he discovered that the ol' black magic was stronger than he was tonight. Ceding the fight, just like that too, his lips covered hers. Her mouth softened beneath his, and he heard her make a breathy little moan. It jacked his desire up another ten degrees, taking his cock along with it, but he dug his fingertips into the plaster wall and kept the contact light. Her lashes drifted down yet he didn't follow suit, because she was so damn beautiful and because he still thought she was dangerous. It was better to be going into this kiss with both eyes open.

He pressed his tongue against her bottom lip and she opened for him. Oh, shit, it was going to be hard to remember caution when she was so melted-candy hot and sweet.

She made another moan and her foot slid around his calf.

His arm muscles turned to steel.
Keep your head clear!
he admonished himself.
Keep this light!
Stripping a woman down and screwing her in a public hallway wasn't The Preacher's way. But then he remembered.
Flesh-colored microfiber thong. La Perla strapless bra. Double-sided tape.

Those three little items wouldn't take him ten
seconds to yank aside, push down, strip away. He was a breath-and-a-half from the Promised Land.

His fingertips went from nubby plaster to satiny Eve-skin. He slid his palms down her arms and broke the kiss as he circled her wrists. A shadowy doorway was behind them, and his cock throbbed as he pulled her into the semidarkness. Laughter from the game room floated through the doorway and Nash glanced behind him, noting another door.

Farther distance from the crowd. More privacy. Good, he was still capable of thinking.

“Nash?” His hand fumbled with the doorknob as he kissed the question away. This time he slid inside her lips immediately, rubbing his tongue against the velvet surface of hers. Heat flared out from his groin, and he stepped back behind the door he'd opened. A bathroom, he registered, shutting the door. He pressed Eve against its cool painted surface and lifted his mouth to breathe. No point in dying before he had her at least once.

A dozen times.

A hundred.

She was a woman made for endless, unforgettable sex.

But that was too dangerous. He'd settle for having her now, this once, so he could resist the next time she tried to get her teeth into him.

“Nash, touch me.” In the darkness, he could see that her eyes were closed, but she grasped his hand in hers and brought it up to cover her breast.

He groaned as the warm, sexy weight nestled in his palm. His thumb stroked over the bare, hot skin rising over the top of the decadent dress. His other hand moved to cover her other breast. Her breath caught, and she set her top teeth against her bottom lip.

He rubbed his thumbs over the top of her breasts and her palms flattened against the door. She was his, he thought, pliant and aroused and anticipating his next touch.
His.

His muscles clenched. His fingers tightened in possession. He bent his head to have her mouth. Her breath sighed out, sweet and hot against his lips.