The Care and Feeding of Unmarried Men by Christie Ridgway Page B

just how much you like it.”
    Cretin. Caveman. Cowboy.
    He was teasing her again, of course. Calling her bluff, so she resisted taking a hasty step away. And instead, she found herself remembering the feel of his wide, firm hand and felt a very un-PC little tingle rush up the back of her legs. Of course she didn’t want to be spanked, she hated violence toward women from men, had a firsthand hatred of it as a matter of fact, but the fantasy of being draped over Nash’s lap…
    Without a by-your-leave, he plucked her glass out of her hand and chugged the remainder of her champagne. Then he cleared his throat and surveyed the crowd around them. “I’m losing my focus, thanks to you. I’m supposed to be here to keep an eye on Jem. Anybody liable to cause her trouble?”
    Eve slammed the bedroom door on the unwelcome mental image inside her head and quickly drew around herself an air of insouciance. “You can’t be serious. This is a private party. I don’t think some villain is on the guest list.”
    Except Vince Standish. Oh, God, she’d almost forgotten Vince. Her gaze flicked to where he’d last been standing, but he was gone. Her stomach clenched. “I’ve known most of the people here for years.”
    â€œIs that right? Why don’t you fill me in on who some of them are?”
    She used the opportunity to search the vicinity. “In the corner over there, that’s Steve Sanchez, he’s retired now, but made a bundle in real estate before his forty-fifth birthday. By the archway is Earl Adamcyzk, he owns a PR firm in L.A. And Dr. Stanley Greenburg is one of the most notable plastic surgeons in the Valley. He’s the one with the salt-and-pepper crew cut and the cigar. All perfectly respectable. Completely nonthreatening.” None of them Vince.
    â€œAll wealthy.”
    Eve shrugged. “Yes.”
    â€œThey all look alike too. They’re short. Slight almost.”
    Eve shrugged again. “I suppose you’re right.”
    â€œThere’s something else they have in common.” As a waiter came by, Nash dropped off her empty champagne glass and picked up two others, handing over one.
    â€œWhat’s that?” She sipped at hers.
    â€œThey’ve all dated you.”
    She managed to swallow her champagne instead of spitting it out. “What makes you think that?” He was right.
    â€œAm I wrong?” A knot of people moved through the crowd around them, and Nash sidled closer to Eve to give them room. His voice lowered, slowed to that thick drawl that poured like syrup through the air. “Or don’t small, rich men turn you on?”
    Small men made her feel secure. Without fear. Rich men…
    â€œHere’s a dollar, just for being pretty.” Her father’s voice, her father’s roguish smile. Her father’s love. He gave Téa a rose every Friday afternoon as reward for doing well in school. For Eve…
    Here’s a dollar, just for being pretty.
    But Nash was looming over her, so she ignored the old memory and looked up at him, straight in the eye. “You know what kind of woman I am.” She knew what kind of woman he thought she was, and maybe he was right. There was a reason she’d taken Vince Standish’s insider tip and run with it.
    â€œI know what kind of woman you look like,” Nash corrected, “but appearances can be deceiving.”
    She thought of the night they’d met, when he’d plowed past her, the pouring rain unable to quench the fire and brimstone in his eyes. “You look like what you are,” she replied. The righteous Preacher, out to protect the lambs of the world. His gaze had gone right past her.
    â€œI look like a Bubba in a monster truck, you mean?” He grinned, obviously proud of it.
    He looked different than any man she’d ever dated. Not wealthy, she supposed, because how much could a guy who drove a gas-guzzling