And not only because of the whispering inside his head that hadn’t ceased even when he’d stopped running.
Why else would he have noticed that this woman who didn’t seem to know him wore no rings on her slender fingers; showed no evidence of having recently taken any off?
It was expedience that motivated him.
Not the way those wide eyes beckoned. Soft. Deep.
“Can I call someone for you? Your husband? Boyfriend?”
“Don’t have one.”
He let that settle inside him.
“Since you won’t go the doctor route, will you at least let me stock you up with antiseptic and bandages?”
She looked torn, confirming his suspicion that she hadn’t been exaggerating about wanting to avoid another bill. Even one so minor as first aid supplies. “It’s the least I can do—” He lifted his brows, waiting.
“Amelia,” she provided after a moment. “Amelia White.”
Brown, he determined, now that the sunlight was breaking over them in earnest. Her eyes were brown with a mix of golden flecks. “Nice to meet you, Amelia. I’m—” He barely even hesitated, which just proved he was as manipulative as people said. “Matthew. Gray,” he tacked on.
“I suppose that’s yours.” She nodded toward the BMW. “Matthew Gray.”
There was denying, and there was denying. “Company car.” Could it really be so easy to meet a woman who didn’t know who he was?
Thankfully oblivious to the devil inside his head that laughed uproariously at his piqued ego, she made a soft humming sound. “What kind of company?”
“Sales,” he improvised.
“Sales must be good.” She said it so mildly and seriously he wasn’t certain whether he imagined the sarcasm or not.
“They’re not bad. Are you going to make me call a cab for you? Never mind. I can see by your expression that I am.”
She shrugged a little. “Just yesterday I told my niece, Molly, not to talk to strangers, even when they seem friendly. What kind of example would I be setting if I don’t follow my own advice?”
Niece. Not daughter.
“When you put it that way, how can I argue?” He helped her across the lot and she waited, shapely seat propped against the hood of his car while he retrieved his cell phone and called for a cab. It was a salve to his conscience that he actually called information himself to get the number, spoke with the cab company himself. Ordinarily, he would simply have made one call to Loretta and let her deal with the details.
Task accomplished, he joined her at the front of his car. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the hood. “How old is your niece?”
“Ten.” She peered at her scraped palms, slowly picking out small pieces of gravel. “Do you have kids?”
“No.” He’d made sure of that. Now it was just one more complication.
Her eyebrows rose, but she said nothing.
“You look surprised.”
She shrugged and pressed her palms carefully together. “No. Just most men your age—” She broke off, flushing, when he couldn’t contain a snort of laughter.
“You’re hell on my ego, Amelia. I don’t quite have one foot in the grave yet.”
Her cheeks went even pinker, which just made him wonder how long it had been since he’d encountered a female who could still blush. Nobody that he’d dated in the last twenty years, that was for damn sure.
“I didn’t mean that,” she said, patently lying.
“That I’m old enough to have kids as grown as you?”
She shook her head. “Hardly. Not unless you were very precocious.”
“How old are you?”
“Old enough.” She shot him a look from the corner of her eyes as if realizing how her comment might—just might—come across to a man.
“What’s it going to take before you decide I’m not such a stranger?”
She turned her head when they heard a car.
It was the cab, inconveniently and firmly disproving the theory that they took forever to arrive.
“I don’t know. I’ll have to let you know.” She straightened from the car and limped toward the distinctive, yellow taxi.
Gray easily beat her to the cab’s door, opening the rear one for her. While she settled herself inside, he leaned in the driver’s open window and settled enough cash on the driver to take Amelia to the nearest drugstore and then home—wherever that might be. Then he begged a business card off the guy and wrote his personal cell phone number on the back of it. The only people who had the number were his family, his attorney and Loretta.
He went around to Amelia’s side again and handed her the card. “Call me if you need anything. Anything.”
She took the card from him, being careful not to brush his fingers.
More stranger-danger, or was it caution of a different nature?
“The driver said he’ll stop at the drugstore for you.” He handed her the smallest bills he’d had left in his money clip—two fifties. “If this doesn’t cover what you need, you call me.”
She waved away the cash, looking annoyed. “This isn’t necessary.”
He folded the bills in half and leaned in over her.
She clamped her lips shut, pressing herself solidly back against the seat.
He smiled faintly and deliberately tucked the bills at her hip, right beneath that rolled-over waistband. He ignored the way her skin felt—cool and warm all at once.
And silky.
Definitely silky.
“Believe me, Amelia,” he told her softly. “It’s very necessary.”
Then he straightened and closed the cab door, taking her wide-eyed expression with him as he headed toward his own car.
Find. Wife. Find. Wife.
“Maybe,” he murmured under his breath and watched the cab slowly turn out of the lot, carrying the blushing Amelia White away.
Of course in his case, finding a wife was only part of his problem. He also needed a child.
Chapter Two
The moment the parking lot was out of sight through the cab’s windows, Amelia’s shoulders collapsed with relief.
Dumb, dumb, dumb, Amelia, she thought silently. You had your chance to confront the man in person!
And what had she done?
Gotten into the cab, alone.
Matthew. She shook her head at the name he’d given her, looking blindly out at the park where she’d been running now for the past several weeks.
What a liar.
Not that she’d expected anything else of the man given his treatment of Daphne.
“Miss, I don’t mind driving around until the meter hits the roll your fella gave me—” the gray-haired cabbie shot her a grin over his shoulder “—but it might be easier if you’d just give me your address.”
“He’s not my fella,” she assured, suppressing a shiver. It appalled her that it was a shiver, though, and not a shudder.
In the flesh, Grayson Hunt, aka, Matthew Gray, hadn’t been