Rand thought of the times when Jamie had definitely lost her cool with him. He could definitely describe her as intense, and she’d never been remotely calm or controlled in his arms. So all that was out of character for her? He smiled, pleased with the insight.
“Jamie has a good head on her shoulders,” Grandma announced. “Saran should follow her lead. Jamie never dated punks who honked their horns for her. She only keeps company with quality gentlemen.” She nodded toward Rand. “You think Saran could land a man like him? Think again.”
Jamie arrived just in time to hear her grandmother’s frank pronouncement. She smiled weakly. “I’m ready to leave, Rand.”
Rand’s eyes slid over her. She was wearing a kelly green silk dress with wide, short sleeves. A thick belt accentuated the smallness of her waist, and a full skirt came to the top of her knees. Her high-heeled strappy green sandals made her legs look long and shapely. Suddenly, Rand couldn’t wait to get her out of there and have her to himself.
They made their goodbyes and left the house. “Whew!” Rand heaved an exaggerated sigh of relief as they strolled down the front walk. “I half-expected your dad to order me to have you in by midnight.”
Jamie smiled. “There are no such rules for me. I’ve had my own key for years. In fact—” she paused, her cheeks flushing a little “—my folks would probably be thrilled if I were to roll in at six or seven in the morning. They’d think I was finally, um, loosening up. I’m afraid they see old maid written all over me.”
“But not Grandma. She likes you just the way you are.” He opened the car door for her and settled her inside, acting the role of perfect gentleman. Then he grinned. Grandma Saraceni was watching from the window, making no effort to conceal her presence. He waved to her and she waved back.
“You definitely have a fan,” Jamie said dryly as Rand slipped behind the wheel. She’d been watching the window byplay between Rand and her grandmother. “Well, I suppose it’s only natural. Grandma dotes on Steve, and you’re a lot like him.”
“Hmm. Steve. The Lothario who loves ’em and leaves ’em so ruthlessly that he’s inspired a brotherly hit squad to seek romantic revenge through you. Thanks a lot, Jamie. Next you’ll be telling me I’m a Daniel Wilcox type.”
“Aren’t you?”
“No!” Instead of starting the engine, Rand turned to Jamie, his expression serious and intent. It was very important to him that she recognize the differences between him and the Daniel Wilcoxes and the Steve Saracenis of the world.
“You see, I—” He paused, frowning. What were the differences? It baffled and annoyed him that he couldn’t pinpoint them on demand. Vaguely, he realized that it was his feelings for Jamie that now separated him from the pack he’d blithely belonged to for years. But how could he put that into words without revealing too much?
“If I were like them, you wouldn’t be here with me,” he said at last.
“I guess that’s true,” Jamie said with a nervous laugh. “Unless I’ve suffered a massive lapse in judgment and am making the biggest mistake of my life.”
“You aren’t making a mistake being with me.” Rand studied her as a wave of hunger washed through him. His body was throbbing with needs that, according to the rules of courtship, weren’t going to be met tonight.
Frustration rippled through him. To hell with courtship; he would give seduction another shot. “I haven’t told you how beautiful you look tonight, Jamie.” His voice lowered. “And how much I want to be alone with you. Let’s forget the Blarney Stone and go to my place.”
She stared at him impassively.
“Your father gave me a bottle of his homemade wine,” Rand persisted. “We can open it and toast St. Patrick in the comfort and privacy of—”
“I only drink my father’s wine when I have a bad cold. It not only opens the sinuses, it knocks you out more successfully than that nighttime liquid cold medicine. Dad’s sour cherry wine is about six-hundred proof.”
“Whoa! Then we’ll definitely go directly to my place.” He laughed softly, intimately. “I’ll even make your parents’ day and bring you home late tomorrow morning.” She didn’t blink an eye. “Do you want to hear my answer or can you guess it on your own?”
He took her hand in his and lifted it to his mouth, brushing his lips across her palm. “I know what you’d like to answer. Yes. I’ve felt your response to me, the way you melt in my arms, the way you go up in flames when I kiss you. Let’s make tonight the night.”
Gently but firmly, she withdrew her hand. “Is this the routine pitch you make at the beginning of every date? And do women actually buy it?”
He wasn’t about to tell her how well that particular spiel had worked for him. She’d either accuse him of lying or laugh. Determined to gain any advantage, he pressed on. “Don’t try to play it cool, Jamie. I know it’s all an act to mask how much you want me. Your parents say that you never lose your head, but I can make it spin, baby, and we both know it. You want to go to bed with me.”
“If we’re taking my family’s observations as truths, then according to Grandma, I’ve landed you. Is that true, Rand?” Her smile mocked him. “Shall I ask Daddy to send a deposit to the Sons of Italy hall for our wedding reception?”
They sat, silently challenging each other. Rand fought a desire to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless, but somehow he felt it might backfire on him, rendering him senseless as well.
Jamie battled an equally strong urge to lean toward him, wrap her arms around his neck and pull his head down to her. She didn’t dare. She’d lost control once too often in his arms to fully trust herself to stop.
As if by mutual consent, both leaned back in their seats, as far away from each other as they could get in the confines of the sleek, low-slung Ferrari.
“Wedding reception?” Rand gave a hoarse, forced laugh. “Don’t hold your breath, honey.”
“Me? In bed with you?” She smiled sweetly. “Don’t hold your breath. Honey,” she added with a cool laugh.
“You’ll be in my bed long before we star in any wedding reception at the Sons of Italy hall,” promised Rand.
Jamie said nothing at all.
Her silence unnerved him. She was so controlled, so self-possessed. Paradoxically, he admired her for holding her own with him as much as he wanted her to surrender to him. “Before we leave for the Blarney Stone, not my place, I have something for you. Here.” He thrust a small box at her. It was wrapped in bright green tissue.
She flashed a grin. “One of those whimsical or traditional tokens recommended in chapter one in the courtship book?”
“I jumped ahead to chapter two. It calls for mementoes of certain, specific shared experiences and events.”
“We haven’t shared any experiences or events,” she reminded him. “Unless it’s a memento of the Merlton Spring Sing?”
“Believe me, that’s one event I don’t want to commemorate. Now will you open the box?”
“You really shouldn’t have, Rand,” she said, selfconsciously unwrapping the package.
“According to your cousin Saran I most definitely should have. I could see her brand me as a cheapskate with no style when I showed up at the door without flowers or candy. No doubt she had black orchids and imported Swiss chocolates in mind.”
“Probably.” Jamie laughed. “Saran leads a rich fantasy life.” She removed the paper and opened the box. A small gold shamrock on a thin gold chain gleamed in its nest of green velvet. “Oh, Rand, it’s beautiful!” she exclaimed. “I’ve never seen one like it.”
Rand shrugged. Though he wouldn’t admit it, her thrilled response gave him a warm glow of pleasure. He’d never been one for impulsive gift giving. But the impulse had struck today, and his joking references to Guide to a Modern, Old-Fashioned Courtship had nothing to do with it. Not that he’d tell her that!
“I thought St. Patrick’s Day was specific enough to qualify under the chapter two guidelines,” he said gruffly, shrugging again.
He did, taking his reward by stroking the soft, creamy skin at her nape. He had to close his eyes, so great was the force of desire that gripped him. He was unable to keep himself from kissing her. Her arms went around him, and she kissed him back. It was a long, hot kiss that left them both breathless.
When Rand finally started the car and pulled away from the curb, he had Jamie’s hand tucked under his, resting on his thigh.
From a downstairs window in the Saraceni house, Grandma let the curtain fall back into place and moved away, humming an off-key medley of “That’s Amore” followed by Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.”
Eight
The Blarney Stone in Philadelphia was a quiet Irish restaurant and pub all year long, except on March seventeenth, when it served green beer and provided live music to hordes of revelers, at least three quarters of whom had not a drop of Irish blood in their veins. By the time Jamie and Rand arrived, a line had formed to get inside and was already snaking down the block. Rand ignored it, taking Jamie’s arm and escorting her directly to the front door. He murmured a few words to the bouncer on duty, shook hands with the enormous hulk of a man, then the two were admitted.
“What did you say to him?” Jamie asked. “I heard someone say that everyone in the line had reservations.”
Rand grinned. “Why bother with reservations when greasing his palm with a few bills is so much more dependable?”
“You bribed that man to let us in?” Jamie frowned. “I don’t think l approve, Rand. All those people who were here ahead of us, waiting in that long line. It just doesn’t seem fair.”
“I like to look on it as spreading the wealth. And both sides mutually benefit.” Rand took her arm. “Come on, I see a table for two. Let’s grab it.”
Jamie remained where she was, suspicion taking root within her. She fixed him with a stare. “That’s how you persuaded Saran to give you my phone number, isn’t it? You bribed her!”
“I wanted the number and Saran wanted the cash.” Rand’s smile was teasing. He put his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Why are you getting so upset? Because I haven’t made use of the number and called you?” “That’s not the issue here and you know it!” Jamie said coldly, removing his hand from her waist and stepping away from him. “I don’t like my impressionable young cousin learning to—to accept payoffs!”
The ice-blue coldness of her eyes and the fierceness in her tone immediately put him on the defensive. “Jamie, there’s nothing wrong with paying for certain favors or privileges. It’s the way of the world, the way things are done.”
“You mean that’s the way things are done by slick, spoiled rich boys who think they can buy their way through life.”
Rand didn’t like the sound of that. He’d been fighting against the elitist upper-class label for years. “Tipping generously hardly falls into—”
“Tipping generously?” Jamie interrupted. “You do have a way with words. You’ve managed to change bribery into tipping generously with the sleight of your tongue. I suppose you were generously tipping Saran when she gave you my phone number?”
He stiffened. “Do you always have to have the last word?”
“Only when I’m right.”
“A moot point. As far as you’re concerned, there’s never a time when you’re not right!”
She wished she had a ready, scathing comeback. Unfortunately, none came to mind. Rather than sputter irately, she forced herself to remain silent, folded her arms tightly in front of her chest and surveyed the laughing, singing, dancing crowd, all in various shades of green, hoping for inspiration to strike. It didn’t, but she did see a familiar face. An extremely handsome one, which had made female hearts beat faster since his kindergarten days. Her brother Steve.
A flash of amusement rippled through her. She should have guessed that Steve Saraceni would be here tonight. If the Blarney Stone was the place to be seen on St. Patrick’s Day, then of course, Steve would appear. As a dedicated trendsetter and trend follower, he was always in the right place at the right time.
Steve spotted her at the same time she saw him. His handsome face broke into a wide smile, and he immediately pushed his way through the crowd to reach her.
“Hey, babe, what are you doing here?” he asked, lifting her off her feet and swinging her around in the air.
Rand watched the display, fighting the sickening tide of emotions crashing through him. The guy with the movie-star looks was hugging Jamie with a familiarity claimed only by longtime friends or lovers. And Rand could tell at a glance that the guy wasn’t the type to have women as friends. And the way Jamie was looking at him—
Rand swallowed. He’d seen her glance at good-looking Daniel Wilcox as if he were a bug to be squashed. But the humor and affection in her big blue eyes as she gazed at the muscular hunk who hadn’t yet set her back on her feet conveyed a wholly different message.
Oh, yes, she had a past with this man. With all her caution, reserve and suspicion about “smooth operators,” he should have guessed that she’d been badly burned by one. And this guy, dressed expensively in green right down to his high-topped sneakers, moved with arrogant grace and supreme confidence, and looked like a winning contender for the premier smooth operator title.
“Take a walk on the wild side. Dance with me.” Steve took Jamie’s hand and pulled her along with him to the dance floor. A dance team, direct from the Emerald Isle, was instructing the wild, giddy crowd on how to perform an Irish jig.
Jamie glanced at Rand. He was staring at them, his expression grim. She dug her heels in and refused to budge another step. “Wait a minute, Steve, there’s someone I want you to meet.”
“Not another one of your friends with the hots for me!” Steve groaned. “Jamie, you know that sort of thing never works out. They fall madly in love with me and then you get infuriated with me when I break things off.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve taken a vow never to introduce another friend of mine to you, no matter how much they might beg me to.” She tugged on Steve’s arm. “The person I want to introduce you to is my date, Rand Marshall. That’s him, over there.”
Steve stared at Rand, who was glowering at him. Then he grinned at his sister. “It’s definitely you he has the hots for, Jamie. You want to know something hilarious? He thinks you and I have something going, I can tell. He looks as if he’d like to cut me up and use me for fish bait!” Steve laughed uproariously at the thought.
Rand’s lips thinned. The other man’s bold laughter was the last straw. He would not leave Jamie at the mercy of that smug, green peacock! He strode to her side, feeling possessive and protective and a host of other feelings, previously foreign to him. Nothing, not even the much-vaunted Marshall pride, could’ve kept him away from her.
“Rand, this is my brother Steve,” Jamie blurted out the moment Rand joined them. His warlike expression alarmed her. “Steve, meet Rand Marshall.”
It was an incredible anticlimax. “Your brother?” Rand echoed, and his combative anger was abruptly squelched, leaving him oddly bemused. “He’s your notorious brother Steve?”
“The one and only.” Steve smiled and held out his hand to shake. “So you’re a new friend of Jamie’s?” He eyed Rand speculatively. “You don’t look like her usual sort of date.”
“Don’t say another word, Steve,” Jamie said.
“What’s her usual sort of date?” demanded Rand.
Steve laughed. “The well-trained, repressed type. And they inevitably bore her to death because she’s so well-trained and repressed herself.”
Rand gave a shout of laughter.
“Since you two are hitting it off so well together, why don’t I just leave?” Jamie interjected coolly. Watching Rand with Steve reminded her that she’d spent all her dating years avoiding
heartbreakers like her too-charming brother, only to end up falling for one at the supposedly wise age of twenty-five. Her pulses raced with anxiety. “I’m sure you’ll have far more success stalking the babes without me around to inhibit you.” She started to walk away.
Rand hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her to him. As she’d known he would? As she’d hoped he would? Jamie’s head whirled with confusion.
“The only babe I intend to stalk tonight is you, Jamie,” Rand drawled softly.
Steve applauded. “Nicely done.” He pinched his sister’s cheek. “It’s refreshing to find you with a man you can’t scare.”
“I’d find it refreshing to find you with a woman you couldn’t beguile and bamboozle with your phony charm,” she told her brother severely.
Far from being affronted, Steve seemed delighted. “My baby sister,” he said, patting her shoulder fondly. “Always haranguing me about my shallow life-style. She’s my toughest critic, but I love her best of all.”
“You realize, of course, that I’ve heard you say the same thing to Mom, Grandma, Cassie and Saran,” Jamie said, unmoved by his claim of brotherly devotion.
Steve chuckled, then leaned toward Rand and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “You won’t be able to beguile or bamboozle her, either, Marshall. I advise you not to try.” He kissed Jamie’s cheek, shook Rand’s free hand and melted into the crowd.
Rand and Jamie faced each other uncertainly. “Steve said that you thought he and I were a couple,” she remarked in an attempt to breech the lengthening tension-filled silence.
“He was wrong. I immediately saw the resemblance between you two and guessed he was your brother.”
“Oh, sure.” Jamie rolled her eyes. “That’s why you were so incredulous when I told you who he was. You thought he was an old boyfriend of mine, and you were jealous.” The notion pleased her immensely.
“As jealous as you were last night when I told you I was at Darby’s with a date,” he shot back.
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