“Schoolmarm?” I laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment. You don’t know what that means to me, truly.” I took him by the arm, then almost dropped it in surprise. He’d been working out, maybe even more than I had. I could feel his bicep through the expensive Italian wool of his suit. It wasn’t as big as Jesse’s, but it was rock solid, which was a little daunting, considering what I had planned. “But we have an appointment elsewhere.”
“Appointment? What kind of appointment? Oooh, is it here in the hotel, for a couples’ massage? I hear they have outstanding sea-salt scrubs, really rough, the way I like it.” His dark eyebrows furrowed. “Suze, I like the initiative, but you’re making this too easy. It’s way more fun when you play hard to get.”
“Then you’re in for the time of your life tonight.” I dropped the keys to the BMW in his hand. “Here, you’re driving.”
He stared down at the keys. “Where are we going?”
“Not far. A photography studio over on Ocean.”
A slow grin spread over face. “Wait. Are we picking up naughty portraits you had made of yourself for me?”
I couldn’t believe it. Then again, I could. Maybe he was the child in Aunt Pru’s prediction after all—so lost, all he could think of were ways to hurt me for not loving him.
Well, tonight he was going to get what he wanted: my full and uninterrupted attention.
“Yeah, Paul. That’s exactly what we’re doing. Picking up naughty portraits I had made of myself for you. Now come on, we have to hurry, since you were so late. He closes up shop at six.”
Paul was so excited he practically skipped through the bar. I couldn’t help noticing how much female attention he attracted (and not because he was practically skipping). He was even taller than I remembered, his neatly trimmed dark hair curling crisply against the back of his tanned neck. Either the shoulders of the suit jacket were padded, or he’d bulked up there, too, in the muscle department.
Well, I suppose being a multimillionaire, he could afford a couple of personal trainers, along with a chef and a nutritionist. He certainly seemed to have found a good stylist. His pale blue tie perfectly matched his pale blue pocket square, which in turn matched his pale blue eyes.
“Your attitude toward all this has certainly improved,” he remarked as we headed out the revolving lobby doors to stand beneath the porte cochere, waiting with the other guests for the valets to bring their cars. “What happened to change your mind from the other day? I mean, aside from the obvious—that I hold your boyfriend’s life . . . or rather, afterlife—in my hands.”
“Well.” I affected the bored demeanor of Mrs. Baracus, tired of her jet-set life. “We did have some good times, I suppose, you and I.”
He grinned. “We did, didn’t we? Remember when we shifted back to the Old West and that lady kicked you out of your own house because she thought you were a whore? That was the best.”
I kept a smile plastered on my face, even though I noticed an older couple standing near us, also waiting for their car, the wife pretending to be concentrating on reapplying her lipstick, but clearly eavesdropping.
“I do remember that. Then you stuck a gag in my mouth and left me tied up in a barn while you tried to kill Jesse. Even then, you had a one-track mind.”
The wife smeared her lipstick, then elbowed her husband, hard, in the ribs.
Fortunately the valet roared up in Jake’s car, which I’d convinced Jesse I should use for the weekend, as he didn’t need to be parking a BMW with a trunk full of weapons in the hospital parking lot.
“What if it gets broken into?” I’d asked him. “Some lunatic could find Brad’s rifle and next thing you know, he’ll come running into the ER, shooting up the place. Do you want that on your conscience?”
Jesse had admitted that no, he did not want that on his conscience, but mentioned that I watch too much television and have a tendency to catastrophize things. If only he knew.
“Nice ride,” Paul said as he slid behind the wheel of the convertible. He adjusted the seat to accommodate his longer legs. “I guess people with graduate degrees in counseling make more scratch than I’ve been led to believe.”
I buckled my seat belt. “Just drive.”
He did as I asked, taking us up Ocean Avenue, downtown Carmel’s main drag, at a breakneck speed. Even though there was still a little less than a week to Thanksgiving, the town council had decided it was never too early to start decorating for Christmas, so tasteful white fairy lights wrapped the trunks of the palm trees up and down the street.
“Ah, Suze.” Paul sighed happily. “Being back in your company is like having a refreshing breeze in my hair. Or maybe that’s the actual breeze. I forgot how freaking cold it gets around here when the sun goes down. Where are we going again?”
I told him the address and pointed. “It’s that way.”
“I’m aware of that, Suze. I used to live here, remember? And once principal construction begins on the new development—well, it’s probably better not to bring that up. You sure you’re not still pissed at me, Suze?”