of frustration.
“Having a good day?” he asked, teasing her. Because he couldn’t resist and because, hell, he was already late.
She wheeled on him. “If you must ask, and I can tell by the glint in your eyes that you must, no, I’m not.” Her voice broke on the last words and for a moment, he felt awful. “I have to be at a meeting in twenty minutes and my car isn’t where it’s supposed to be, and the place that towed it isn’t open until ten.” She drew in a breath, seemed to steady herself, then her face brightened. “Well, I always did enjoy the adventure of a cab ride before breakfast.” Daphne flipped out her phone and started to scroll through the programmed numbers, muttering to herself as she did. “What was the name of that taxi company?”
Guilt came in many forms, Carter realized. Some of them brunette and slim and with a crushed, vulnerable look in wide chocolate eyes. “Where’s your meeting?”
“Seventh and Vine.”
“My office is on Eighth. Let me give you a ride.”
She glanced up from the phone. “Why?”
“It’s the neighborly thing to do.”
“Well, Mr. Matthews, last I checked, you weren’t feeling too neighborly toward me. If I remember right, you called me insane and shut your door in my face.”
“Not one of my finer moments.” Heck, he hadn’t had many of those at all. But today, Carter Matthews was turning over a new leaf.
Again.
She ran a hand through her hair, displacing the brunette tendrils. They settled around her neck with little flips at the ends. On another woman, he might have found that attractive.
Hell, who was he kidding? He did find it attractive, especially on Daphne Williams. With the way she had her hips parked to one side and her wide brown eyes giving him that perpetual look of frustration, he knew he got to her, too.
Granted, probably not in the same gut-stirring, fireigniting, hormone-lighting manner, but at least she wasn’t immune to his charms.
Daphne sighed. “Yesterday wasn’t one of my finer moments, either,” she said. “And I would appreciate the ride. Besides, you owe me.”
“I do at that,” he said, in a voice several octaves deeper than he’d intended. He cleared his throat, ridding it of the damnable frog inside, and pressed on the long metal handle of the glass door that led to the parking garage, holding it open for her to pass through.
And wondering if he’d just made a huge mistake.
When Daphne had agreed to ride with Carter Matthews, she hadn’t thought about the consequences of squeezing into his little red two-door sports car. It was a hardtop convertible, exactly what she’d expected from Indiana’s most notorious bachelor.
But what was worse about the Lexus was its size. The car had all the room of a takeout box and made her overwhelmingly more aware of what Kim had called his more attractive assets.
Okay, he was cute. Another woman might like the way his hair waved at the top, one lock falling down on his forehead from time to time. Another woman might like the deep dark blue of his eyes, the way they seemed to reflect everything he looked at, especially her own image, as if he were a human mirror.
And especially the way he set her off-kilter—the one feeling Daphne had done a darn good job of avoiding.
Until Carter Matthews came along.
“I know, the car’s a stereotype,” he said, reading her mind as he put the powerful vehicle into gear. A growl erupted from the engine, as if the Lexus wanted to show Daphne a little speed.
“It does scream bachelor,” she replied. “And from what the news has said about you, you’re the kind of guy who’s only capable of an intimate relationship with your steering wheel.”
He laughed at that. “Gloria does get a few good lines in her gossip column from time to time. The woman can turn a phrase, even if her observations are a bit…skewed.” Carter took a left on Prince Street, causing Daphne to sway a little toward his side. Her arm brushed against his, and she jerked it back. “Was the all-perfect, now-departed-from-your-life Jerry a car nut?”
Daphne laughed. “Definitely not. Jerry didn’t even like to drive. He preferred to let me be behind the wheel.”
“Whoa. What a man.”
Daphne let out a chuff. She refused to give Carter the satisfaction of knowing she was happy Jerry was out of her life. “You don’t have to drive the girl around to be a man.”
“Whatever happened to chivalry? Taking care of your woman and all that?” He braked for a stoplight, drumming his fingers on the top of the leather-wrapped steering wheel, clearly annoyed by the wait. His dark blue suit jacket strained against his shoulders.
“For your information, I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“Oh. You’re one of those women.”
“What do you mean, one of those women?”
“The kind who says she doesn’t need a man when all she really needs is to meet the right man.”
Daphne shook her head. “I should have expected a line like that out of someone like you.”
“I see my reputation has preceded me once again.” He tossed her a grin, then returned his attention to the road. “Just don’t believe everything you read.” A sliver of something vulnerable slipped in between his words, but disappeared just as quickly.
She must have imagined it, Daphne decided.
This was exactly why she’d slipped into that rut with Jerry. To avoid men who pushed her buttons, who drove her crazy. An unpredictable, frustrating man like Carter Matthews should come with a Do Not Disturb sign.
Especially when that lock of hair fell down across his forehead again and everything within her itched to brush it back. It had to be the car. Something about a convertible made her want to do crazy things.
Things that pulled her focus away from what was important—work, not relationships. Work provided the steady concrete base Daphne needed in her life. People might let her down, but her job never did.
The light changed to green. The sound of the accelerator giving the car more gas sounded suspiciously like Carter saying, “Uh-huh.”
“So, what do you do?” Daphne asked, not to get to know Carter better, but only to change the subject toward anything other than male driving habits and how they could be relationship portents.
“When I’m not starring in the pages of the paper?”
She nodded.
“I own TweedleDee Toys.” He let out a heavy sigh and slowed as they approached orange signs denoting an ongoing construction project, flicking a glance at his watch as he did. She noticed the interior of his car was as neat as his apartment had been. Not a speck of dust or so much as a lone French fry littered any of the surfaces. New car smell hung sweet and heavy in the air. “Or at least I do today. The way things have been going, I might not tomorrow.”
She shouldn’t ask. She shouldn’t care. But the little part of her that always did her job did care. And felt that surge of need to help.
This time, it was a masochistic urge, she thought as Carter circumvented some roadwork by zipping down Central and back up Washington to Third. It had to have been the lines in his face, the ones that seemed to say he’d been having a hell of a last few weeks. “What do you mean, you might not have the company anymore soon?”
“I think you’ve had enough bad news for a couple days. I won’t burden you with mine.” He turned and grinned again, this time a softer, easier, more friendly smile.
In some countries it might even be considered