He’d finished up on the real estate deal early but then had a devil of a time finding a decent place to get his car washed. He wanted the Caddie to look great, to be worthy of Laurel. In fact, he wanted everything about the evening to be perfect, because he was planning to ask her to marry him. Sure, it was too soon, but it wasn’t as if they’d just met. She’d been his dream girl since he was sixteen, and now that he had a chance with her, he was going to take it.
He removed his suit from its vinyl bag and hung it on the closet rod, then showered and shaved. It was an Armani, his armor, his proof of success. He had a whole wardrobe of them at home, and sometimes he’d slide open the closet door and count them just to be sure they were all still there.
After carefully knotting his deep maroon silk tie, he ran a comb through his wet hair. The cut cost big bucks, but it was worth it. Grabbing his jacket, he went downstairs to wait for Laurel.
Was the ring still in his pocket? He felt for the velvet box. It might be the wrong size, but they could always get that fixed.
Of course, she might reject him. A lot of women preferred to remain single these days, especially after a divorce. Look at Maxie. She’d been married for six years, caught her husband cheating on her, divorced his sorry ass, and never looked back.
He glanced up at the landing again. When the hell would Laurel be ready? He checked his watch, jiggled the ring box, and felt for his mobile, then remembered that he’d decided to leave it at the house this evening.
“Jase?”
He swung around and looked up at her as she came down the stairs step-by-step.
God, she was gorgeous.
It wasn’t just the dress, although that was spectacular—a purplish sort of thing which left her shoulders bare and looked like a waterfall from the waist down to her knees. It wasn’t just the sparkles at her ears and throat. It wasn’t just her face or her hair, which was pinned up in some kind of twist. It was Laurel herself—her grace, the slow curve of her smile, the glow in her eyes.
“You are so beautiful,” he intoned huskily.
He would make this the most wonderful night of her life, and before it was over, she’d have a three-carat diamond ring to match her necklace and earrings. They might not be real, judging by the obvious state of her finances, but the ring was.
And his love was real too.
Chapter Fifteen
Jase escorted Laurel to his car as gallantly, he hoped, as any of her forebears ever walked their ladies to a waiting carriage, although it was hard to live up to dead people. Opening the car door, he watched as she slid across the leather seat in one fluid motion.
She looked up at him through her lashes. Her “thank you” was soft and sweet-voiced.
“You’re welcome,” he returned, tucking her ruffly skirt in and shutting the door like a proper gentleman should, when what he really wanted to do was push her down on the car seat, shove up that bubbly skirt, and bury himself in her in her sweet, welcoming body.
Later, Redlander, later.
Circling around the car, he caught his foot on the kickplate as he got in.
Shit! She was still the princess and he was still a frog. Couldn’t he even get into his own car without tripping?
After turning around in the parking area, he guided the car down the driveway and out onto the street. The ring was burning a hole in his pocket. When exactly should he pop the question? He was usually good at strategizing, but he didn’t have any experience asking a woman to marry him.
He’d thought about doing it while they were at the club, but that was too public. Some idiot might interrupt them at the wrong moment, or he might spill a drink on her. Or, worse yet, she might turn him down, which would pretty much kill the evening.
At the house afterward would be better. Should he go the old bended-knee routine? It was all over television. Seemed to be the style right now. But she might be tired from the evening out. Maybe after lovemaking? That was it—catch her when she was mellow.
Laurel motioned with her hand. “Make a left turn here.”
He swung the wheel toward the setting sun and yanked the visor down when he was momentarily blinded. What if he’d had an accident? He could see Art Sawyer’s headlines now: Redlander son kills Harlow daughter in car wreck.
Pulling the Cadillac to a stop at the valet stand in front of the club, he walked around the car to open the door for his lady fair. Her dress edged up as she angled onto the sidewalk, giving him a good view of the curve of her legs in those nosebleed heels.
Down, big boy!
“This is something new,” Laurel said, looking around. “We used to park our cars ourselves. Daddy always tried to get a space under a streetlight.”
Jase handed his key over to a teenager in a black T-shirt with “Bosque Club” printed on it in silver curlicues, then offered Laurel his arm. “Big-city ways, sweetheart. Bosque Bend is growing up.”