The Sometime Bride

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-brown 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 whether he’d understood them or not. Wooing women was something Mike had experience in. Plenty. But befriending them? That was a totally new concept altogether. And a woman who could prove both a lover and a friend…?

Mike fell back on the bed and pulled a fluffy pillow over his head. Maybe once he got down to the Caymans, he wouldn’t have to deal with such bubbleheaded notions. A woman as a friend! Hoo! Who in Hades did he think he was fooling?



Carrie fluffed the pillow and repositioned it beneath her elbow, making believe she was reading the magazine. But truth be known, she’d been staring down at the same article on backyard decorating for the past twenty minutes and hadn’t absorbed a thing.

The rest of the evening had gone like a charm. The two of them swapping humorous stories over their second bottle of complimentary Merlot. Though he’d had nothing to do with it personally, the innkeeper had been quite embarrassed by Mike’s earlier run-in with the champagne bucket and had insisted on more wine as an apology.

Mike had accepted graciously, asking if it would be too much trouble to sample a different vintage, a sweet Virginia red perhaps, as they’d already moved on to dessert.

It still struck Carrie as odd that a realtor knew so much about wine. Not that he didn’t have a right to be a connoisseur if he wanted. It was just that Carrie couldn’t help the niggling sensation that something about Mike didn’t add up.

He seemed so out of character as a realtor. And yet, if he professed that was what he did, what gave her reason to doubt him? Perhaps it was merely her own guilt seeping through. Guilt over not being completely honest with him about who she was or what she did. Though she’d informed him of the generalities, she’d very purposely ignored the particulars.

Mike seemed to like her so much, just as she was—the homespun girl from Virginia. And she, Carrie admitted truthfully, laying a palm over her fluttering heart, had been very much enjoying his down-to-earth, manly attentions. Finding out her net worth would surely change how he looked at her. And, at thirty-three, Carrie St. John had tired of being looked at as nothing more than a financial opportunity. Both of her boyfriends thus far, even the younger one in college, had seemed to sense she was going places and had wanted to latch on to her coattails. At least temporarily.

And that, probably, was why the romance had never lasted. No man had ever truly been attracted to who she was inside. No matter what her bank account said now, on the inside, Carrie was still the same simple girl who had sewn her dress from scratch in order to afford the prom.

But understanding her humble roots was not something even a nice man like Mike Davis could likely relate to. He, after all, had grown up in the lap of privilege himself. Ashton Academy cost more per year than Carrie’s full university scholarship had provided per annum.

Carrie snapped off the light and sank back into the mattress, wondering just who she thought she was fooling. Mike was simply a nice man who had taken pity on her present circumstances. And no matter how badly her heart ached to be near him, it was high time Carrie started listening to her head. They were far too different from one another—she and Mike—to ever form anything long-lasting. She might as well just lie back and enjoy the temporary ride of having him in her life as her fiancé. From the looks of her life, it was as close to the real thing as Carrie would ever get.



“Ready to go?” Mike asked, standing in her open doorway. After a quick, cordial breakfast together, they’d each headed to their separate rooms to pack up.

He looked even better this morning than Carrie’d remembered, his well-tailored slacks and sports coat over open-collared shirt accentuating his exceptionally fit form. Carrie heaved a sigh, grateful, at least, for the dynamite impression he was going to make. But in some ways, having him wow her family was going to make it that much harder to disillusion them in the end. Somehow, she’d never considered that angle. Although it was definitely far too late to go having second thoughts now.

“Having second thoughts?” Mike asked, leaning forward and picking up her suitcase.

“Not at all,” Carrie reported, fighting the fire in her cheeks. “Let’s get started.”

Mike took a cursory scan around the gravel parking area. “Your car or mine?”

Carrie cast a sideways glance at her shiny teal-blue BMW convertible. “Yours would be better, I think. Mine—needs work…”

“Oh?” Mike asked. “Maybe I can take a look at it. I’m pretty handy with cars, you know.”

As far as Carrie was concerned, Mike seemed pretty handy with just about everything. “Uh, no. Thanks, I’ll just take it to the shop when I get back.”

“Seriously,” Mike said, dropping the bags dangling at his sides to the ground. “Might be something really simple. I’d hate to think of you spending the—”

“Maybe when we get back,” Carrie said, tugging at his elbow. “We really can’t be late. My Grandma Russell would have a fit.”

“Okay. Let me just put your suitcase in your car, then.”

Carrie blew a hard breath and nervously latched on to a loose strand of hair. In all her boardroom negotiations, she’d never come across anything like this. Still, a very large part of her success had come from thinking on her feet.

“Actually,” she said, motioning to her bag, “I’ve got some gifts in there for my aunts and grandmother. Too cumbersome to get it all out now.”

Mike shrugged, seeming to buy that easily. “Oh, all right. I’ll just toss it in my trunk, then.”

Mike strode over to a late-model Mustang. Ancient but meticulously restored. Candy-apple red.

“Love the car,” Carrie said, appreciatively patting the hood as Mike laid the bags in the trunk. “She’s a real…” Carrie stopped short of saying “investment goldmine.” “…beaut. You’ve done a great job with her.”

“Thanks,” Mike said, smiling as he came around to unlock Carrie’s door. “I guess I do pretty well at taking care of the things that are important to me.”

Carrie swallowed hard and stepped into the car without uttering a word. Did his words really carry the weight she thought he’d intended them to? No, Carrie, she admonished herself, don’t be stupid. Get through this day, that’s all. One day at a time. She’d think about the coming weekend, and Mike’s reunion, and her miserable life afterward—tomorrow.