It amazed Flynn that he could have so much in common with a woman so far removed from his little circle of almost-aristocracy friends. As she talked about a dog she’d had as a child (he, too, was a dog lover), he idly wondered how he had ever become so imbued in Iris’s way of life to have believed he loved her. How could he possibly have done so? Iris was nothing like Rachel, not nearly so engaging, or frankly, so pretty.
He was, he realized, accustomed to a whole different breed of animal—the sort of woman who never left her flat unless she was wearing strappy high-heeled shoes and was perfectly made up, the sort who worked to snag a wealthy partner in marriage, then spent the remainder of her days dreaming up the next soiree and sending children off to boarding school.
And while Rachel could seem a bit strange what with all the eastern philosophies and witchcraft and tapestry weaving, she was uncommonly stimulating. She had an immutable and charming personality, was compassionate and free. Frankly, when he’d begun this little journey, he had not been prepared for her charm; he had believed her to be just one part of another job, like dozens of jobs he’d done around the world. Yet Rachel had surprised him from the beginning—she had begun to grow on him in a way that now he could think of little else.
First, there were her all-American looks. Rachel was beyond pretty; she had that fresh look of a woman who actually lived life and did not require cosmetics to give the illusion that she lived. And she was healthy—not so very thin that a man would worry about snapping a bone here or there. There was that gorgeous mane of wavy hair that any man would desire to touch, and she laughed so fully and easily that it was quite obvious it came from somewhere deep inside her, someplace genuine and never contrived.
What was most remarkable was that in spite of coming from a very wealthy background, she was the most down-to-earth person he’d ever had occasion to meet. Her family’s fortune seemed to be the least important thing in her life, as if she could take it or leave it. Looking at her now, measuring their hands against each other, Flynn thought that he’d never meant for things to come to this.
But they had, and he was feeling very peculiar about it all. After that extraordinary romp in the sack, he was terribly curious about her, wanted to know every little thing about her, how her mind worked, what she liked to eat for breakfast, and what the little scar was on her arm and the significance of the tiny little tattoo on her ankle. And he thought, lying there that night, having named his favorite pet to be the penguin, to which she had frowned prettily and informed him in all seriousness that a penguin was not a pet, that he could imagine himself looking into those beautiful blue eyes for a very long time to come.
Therein lied the source of the peculiar feeling, for that was a bit of a problem, wasn’t it? He couldn’t quite sort out how he might possibly be falling in love with a woman he’d end up, in all probability, having arrested.
But at the moment, she was playing a little footsy game with him, and he could feel his wanker nudging him again, and thought he’d have a bit of a think about it tomorrow.
Subject: R U mad or what??
From: <rmanning70@houstonincom>
To: Rach <earthangelnhotmail.com>
CC: <[email protected]>
I’m sorry if I offended you but I wasn’t implying anything about bridesmaids or otherwise. I know you probably date, at least I think I do, but you never really talk about it so I am assuming. Never mind, what I thought. I am trying to say I am sorry, so if you are mad, quit being mad and e-mail me back. This is like the fifteenth e-mail I’ve sent you. Don’t make me call the cops up there, because I will, I swear I will. P.S. Dad said he’s been calling you and you’re never home but he wants to talk to you. I think he is planning to come see you Thanksgiving, so you better call him back.
Subject: Thanksgiving Plans
From: Lillian Stanton <[email protected]>
To: Rachel Ellen Lear <[email protected]>
Rachel honey, I just want you to know that you are invited to our house for Thanksgiving. Your sister Robin and Jake and Cole and baby Madeline are coming and I think so are Rebecca and Matt and Gray and that sweet pea baby Jeff. They are not going to the ranch this year because your dad is not leaving New York altho I hope Bonnie will come because I haven’t seen my girl in awhile. I sure hope you can come too and you can bring your friend whatever his name is. I’m sorry honey I forgot it. But you just write me back and tell me when your getting in and I’ll make sure El comes to pick you up at the airport. X0X0X Grandma P.S. What did you think of the grapefruit diet—they are on sale here five for a dollar.
Subject: Re: R U mad or what?
From: Rebecca Parrish <reparrish72@aolcom>
To: Rach <[email protected]>
CC: Robbie <[email protected]>
[email protected] wrote: