“I think your mother might have something to say about that.”
He was absolutely, annoyingly right Her mother wouldn’t tolerate such ill manners, especially toward the representative of one of her oldest friends. Susan sighed wearily. She would have liked nothing better than to get rid of him, though she couldn’t figure out why he bothered her so much. In any case, she had no choice but to summon some semblance of courtesy. “All right,” she said. “You can suffer as much as you want. Just don’t expect me to make it any more bearable. I’ve got too much going on as it is.”
She made the mistake of meeting his gaze. He really had extraordinary eyes, light blue in his deeply tanned face, and there was the strangest expression in them. It must have been a trick of the light.
He smiled wryly. “I’m not expecting anything but a week of utter boredom and then I can get the hell back to where I came from.”
“And where did you come from?” she inquired politely.
“Here, there and everywhere. I’m a wanderer. A jack-of-all-trades. The last time I saw your godmother she was in Tanzania, about to climb Mount Kilimanjaro. I imagine the next time I run into her it’ll be in Sri Lanka at a ruined temple, or maybe a deserted Incan city.”
“How...completely irresponsible. Don’t you need to make money, or are you independently wealthy?”
“No, I don’t need to make money,” he echoed in a cynical drawl. “I don’t need to do much of anything I don’t want to do. I get to live a life of complete freedom.”
“And it isn’t lonely?”
He paused, looking at her. Somehow, in the course of a short conversation, they’d gone from polite to hostile, and she wasn’t quite sure why. Only that she felt safer with the hostility. “Let me tell you, sweetheart, it seems a hell of a lot lonelier in the middle of that crowd of people—” he jerked his head toward the noisy living room “—than being alone on an African river.”
She wanted to refute it, but the one thing she always prided herself on was her honesty. “You’re right,” she said abruptly.
He clearly hadn’t expected her to admit as much. “Then why are you putting up with it?”
“It’s expected. Edward enjoys it, and it helps his career. Did you meet Edward, by the way? I’ll introduce you....” She started for the French doors, suddenly eager to get away, back to the crowds and the safety, when he caught her arm. His hand was rough, warm, strong on her forearm.
“I met Edward,” he said. “I didn’t like him.”
She stared up at him, openmouthed, too astonished to pull free. “I beg your pardon? Everyone likes Edward.”
“I don’t. He’s plastic. A complete and utter phony, more interested in his own reflection than you. Are you sure you want to spend the rest of your life married to such a jerk?”
Her momentary shock melted into fury. “Just who the hell do you think you are? It’s none of your business who I marry. I don’t even know you.” Belatedly, she yanked her arm free, then realized he hadn’t even been holding her. Just resting his hand on her arm. He shrugged, unimpressed. “I hate to see people screwing up their lives.”
“Fine,” she said. “Don’t look,” She started away from him, when his mocking drawl called her back.
“You didn’t say whether you liked today’s present?”
She paused by the door. “I don’t know what it is.”
“Wedding jewelry, from one of the nomadic tribes Louisa and her husband traveled with.”
“Wedding jewelry? Where do you wear it?” she demanded.
He grinned. “Next to the skin, babe. If you and old Edward can’t figure it out you can always come to me.”
She slammed tire door behind her.
Three
He watched her storm off, unwilling admiration warring with his definite annoyance. She was easily riled, which surprised him. He’d gathered from the people who’d known Susan Abbott all her life that she was an abnormally even-tempered young lady. Even Louisa had assured him that her unknown goddaughter had the temperament of a lamb.
Like a lamb to the slaughter, and realizing just how badly she was trapped, he thought Maybe it was just nerves—he figured brides were supposed to be edgy. But anyone with half a brain could see that she and Edward Jeffries were no decent match. And while he had his doubts about Susan’s serenity, he had no illusions about her intelligence.
She was heading straight for dear old Edward, and her fiancé was flashing his perfect smile at her, tucking her hand on his Armani-suited arm. Jake knew Armani when he saw it, despite his preferred life on the outskirts of civilization, and Edward wore it well.
Jake turned away, oddly bothered by the sight of them, surrounded by their neighbors and well-wishers. The terrace was only a few feet off the ground—he had every intention of jumping down rather than making his way through the perfumed crush once more.
He’d thrown one leg over the stone balustrade when someone loomed up out of the shadows beneath him. “Are you stealing the Andersons’ silver?” the man drawled, “or are you just making a quick getaway?”
