Any Man I Want (4 page)

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

“For what?”

“Not fighting me.”

I flashed a smile. “I'm not always easy.”

“You're never easy. Again . . . part of your charm.”

“As long as you know what you're getting into,” I warned him.

“Oh, I know. Do you?”

“Not a clue.”

“All right, then.” He nodded and escorted me onto the plane, greeting the pilot. “We're ready to go, George.”

“Right away, sir. The weather is clear and the winds are on our side. We'll be there in about an hour and thirty-five minutes. Welcome aboard, Ms. Montgomery.”

“Thank you, George.” I opened an overhead compartment and noticed my laptop case was already there. I slid my purse in beside it and sat down. Carter settled next to me and buckled in.

“You still wanna have that talk?”

“How long are we going to be in Punta Cana?”

“Four or five days at the least.”

“We'll talk there. I just wanna—”

“Do nothing and stare out the window at the water?” he asked.

I stared at him in amazement. “How did you know that?”

“You once said it's one of your favorite ways to unwind, to fly over the water and think about absolutely nothing.”

I racked my brain, trying to think of when I'd said that. “I don't even remember saying it out loud.”

“It was the year you all came out and watched me play the Pro Bowl. You were griping about how long the flight was. You had on this tiny pink bikini with the sexiest gold sandals.” He shrugged and looked away.

I placed my hand on his arm. “Carter, that was like five years ago.”

“The bikini was memorable,” he joked.

“You remember what I said. You've been paying attention for a while, haven't you?”

He shrugged again. “I watch.”

“You watch me.”

“According to Beau, you've been watching me right back.”

I sniffed in exasperation. “Beau talks too much.”

“You'll get no argument from me on that point. If I had a dime for the times his mouth wrote a check his ass couldn't cash.”

“Do tell?” I prompted. I knew some of Beau's scandalous past, but none of Carter's. I found myself rabidly curious.

“No, ma'am. I'm already trying to date his sister; I can't break any more of the bro code for at least a decade,” Carter teased as he keyed some text into his cell phone and turned it off before tucking it into his jacket pocket.

An older woman walked down the aisle from the front of the plane. “Hi Carter, would you and your guest like anything before takeoff?”

“I'm good, Sheryl, thanks. Katrina?”

“No. Maybe some water after we get in the air?”

“Same for you, Carter?”

“Sounds good. Thanks for coming out on short notice.” He flashed a smile.

She laughed delightedly. “Sure, it's a real trial to hop a plane to spend a week in the Caribbean. How will I ever escape these oppressive working conditions?” She giggled again as she set about readying the plane for departure.

I sighed. That right there would have never happened with Kevin. He belittled his staff and rarely had a kind word for them. Not once had I seen a worker giggle with joy at performing their job. Carter was an actual grown-up and a gentleman. Just when I was starting to wonder if those type of men still existed, here he was.

“What's the deep sigh and deep thought about?” Carter asked quietly.

“How do you know I'm thinking deeply?”

“You get this line in the middle of your forehead when you're deep in concentration.”

“A
line
?” I shrieked.

“Barely visible to the naked eye, princess. I think you're safe from Botox.”

“You mention lines and Botox to a model who turns thirty in a few months? That's like sixty in model years.” This was a man who was not worried about tiptoeing around my feelings.

“Like you care. You only model for your own design company anymore. Besides, you know you still look good. Lock down the divatude.”

“Lock down the—” I couldn't think of the last time a man pushed my buttons like this.

“You were reflecting on something deep before we got sidetracked?” He reached over and buckled my seat belt, brushing the back of his hands across my chest as he retreated.

I narrowed my eyes. “I was thinking that you are a gentleman and an actual grown-up, but I may have been hasty in my assessment.”

“Because I keep you off-balance? Challenge you? C'mon, now. At least be truthful.”

“What do you mean?” I frowned at him.

He leaned over and took my hand in his, tracing lines from my wrist to the tips of my fingernails and back again. Such a simple touch, but it sent tingles along my nerves. He lowered his voice. “You like it. You like not knowing what I'm going to do next. Wondering when I'll touch you and where. Anticipating how good it will feel when I do.”

He was right. I did like it, but I'd be damned if I let him know. I snatched my hand back and closed my eyes. “I believe I'll nap.”

He chuckled softly. “Sweet dreams, Kitty.”

Carter—Monday, May 23—8:32 p.m.

 

 

I
sunk onto the chaise lounge overlooking the infinity pool and the ocean beyond before releasing a pent-up sigh. The modern, tropical-style villa was four bedrooms and four baths and backed onto a stretch of private beach. The entire place was styled in muted blues and greens and added to the ambiance of much-needed relaxation. My schedule had been unusually hectic of late, but today had been an especially long day.

Beau called me last night when he got the heads-up on Kevin's plan and I'd set things in motion before flying out early this morning. Between flying and plotting and dealing with the diva, I was ready for some downtime. After landing in Punta Cana, Katrina disappeared into her suite of rooms and I had fired up my laptop to get in touch with the office. Contrary to the events of the day so far, I had other concerns beyond Katrina Montgomery's sex life.

Shortly before retiring from the NFL, I had the good fortune to meet a businessman, Stavros Carmichael, who bought and sold casinos and nightclubs worldwide. Though I had no interest in entertainment real estate, he taught me the ins and outs of developing, managing, and selling commercial properties. I worked with him in my spare time, learning every aspect of the business from the ground up until I retired from the league and then went out on my own. Business was a lot like football. The team with the better players, the better strategy, and the better focus on the big picture won. It was highly competitive and every once in a while, you just had to go with your gut and gamble on the outcome. I loved it. More so than football, Parks Properties was challenging and satisfying. It also gave me the financial freedom, so my grandfather retired in comfort, my younger brother Chris didn't worry about his college tuition, and allowed me to indulge my charitable foundation that aided young athletes needing a little help to get to the next level. I also set up small trusts for my mother and father, which paid out yearly. If they ran through their yearly allotment before the twelve months was up, that was just too damned bad. I'd learned the hard way that I was little more than an ATM to both of them. Even ATMs set a limit on withdrawals.

Earlier today, I had checked in on a shopping mall project I was working on in the Phoenix area and two office buildings in Toronto that I'd planned to sell, but decided to keep because I made more on the leases than I'd originally projected. I returned a few e-mails and instructed Shawn and Gina, my second in command, on how to handle things over the next couple of days before signing out.

After changing into shorts and a T-shirt, I followed my nose to the kitchen where Katrina and Sheryl put the finishing touches on dinner. We made small talk over fish, vegetables, and rice before Katrina disappeared back into her room. She was hiding. I decided to leave her be. We were here for at least four days and nights. She couldn't hide forever.

That brought me to this tranquil moment. I raised the tumbler of spiced rum and soda to my lips and leaned back with another sigh. My peace and quiet was disturbed by the ringing of my cell phone. I flipped it open. “Carter Parks.”

“Chris Parks.” My younger brother's voice came across the line. Chris was the result of my parents' doomed attempt to reconcile shortly after I went to live with my grandfather. He was sixteen years younger than me and finishing up his senior year at LSU. Smarter in his classes and faster on the field, Chris was the best that the Parks DNA had to offer. He was graduating magna cum laude and as a four-time all-American middle linebacker. I was alternately proud of him and terrified for him. He was twenty-two years old with his whole life ahead of him and I was determined to make sure he got to wherever he wanted to go. He had been drafted first round by Dallas and also accepted into the Stanford MBA program.

“What's up, bro?” I asked with a smile.

“You tell me! You're the one cavorting about with hot models and whatnot.”

“How do you know that?” I wondered.

“Man, they already got pictures of you two all booed up next to some car on the beach somewhere.”

That damn photographer in Barbados. “Yeah, well . . . you know.”

“I don't know, that's why I'm calling. It's not like you to cut out in the middle of business deals to chase skirts.”

“I don't chase skirts and you need to show some respect. Katrina is a lady,” I chastised.

“Is she ever!” He whistled in admiration. “You gonna get with that or what?”

“What did I just say about respect?” I repeated.

“Aw man, you serious about this one. Okay. Okay. When are you coming back?”

“A few days, a week tops.”

“Good, 'cuz I gotta make a decision and you gotta help me make it.”

Chris had to decide whether he was going to play professional football or go to business school. I could see the pros and cons of each, but ultimately it was his decision to make. “Which way are you leaning?”

“I'm not; I keep swinging back and forth. And Grandpa's no help. Keeps telling me to pray on it and listen when—”

“—God whispers in your ear. Yeah, that's one of his favorites.”

“What does that even mean?” Chris puzzled.

“It means you'll know what to do when the time is right. But I'll be back and we'll talk it all out, okay?”

“Thanks, bro. And hey?”

“Hey?” I prompted.

“Don't do nuthin' I wouldn't do. I mean, if you get in over your head handling a woman that fine, you can fly me in for reinforcements. Katrina's only what—three or four years older than me?”

“Seven years. But don't you worry your knuckleheaded self about it. I got this.” I hung up on his laughter and shook my head. Youngsters always had jokes. I switched the phone to vibrate and leaned back to relax once more. I had drifted into a peaceful state between sleep and wakefulness when Katrina stormed outside. I raised one eyelid. Oh hell, she had her mad on. I closed my eyes again.

“Why don't you have a woman? What's wrong with you?” she asked without preamble.

“Who says I don't?” I teased.

“Oh, come on. I've heard you and Beau say it often enough. You may be a scoundrel, but you're a gentleman. No way would you be hugged up on me if you had a woman at home.”

“That's true. You might know me better than I thought you did.” I raised my glass to toast in her general direction.

“So what's wrong with you? A man doesn't get to be your age and unmarried unless he's a dog or he's damaged or both.”

My age? Ouch—that hurt. She and Chris had me fitted for a walker already. “Wow. You
don't
know me. Generalize much?”

“Something's holding you back. And please don't tell me you haven't met the right woman yet.” Her tone was snarky.

“I'm selective,” I explained.

“You mean picky.”

“I mean discerning,” I clarified, amused by her not-too-subtle attempts to get to know as much about me in the shortest time possible.

“Oh, really?”

“Really.”

“What does it take to make the cut?”

“What do you care? You're at the front of the line,” I countered.

“There's a line?” She sounded offended.

“A short list,” I amended.

“Do tell. What magical powers must a woman possess to make it to Carter Parks's short list?”

“Look in the mirror, diva. You're the total package.”

She was silent for a minute. “Dammit.”

“Beg pardon?”

“I was trying to be mad and you had to go and say something sweet.”

I opened my eyes and took another sip of my drink. “You're trying to be mad?”

She flounced over and perched beside me. “What are the rules here? Are we doing this for real?”

“You lost me, Kitty. Speak it plain.”

“This whatever between me and you. Is it just for show, is it just for kicks, is it just until whenever? What?”

“What do you want it to be?”

She reached over, took my glass, and downed the contents. “Carter, you drive me to drink.”

I took the empty glass from her and stood up. “Back 'atcha, beautiful. Listen, stop trying to make everything a thing. You and me, exclusive, dating. That's all. Let's just ease into this and see where we go. You just got out of a relationship forty-eight hours ago.”

“That wasn't a relationship.”

“No?” That gave me pause. How exactly did she define a relationship? I would not have been huddled up on a beachfront villa with a woman I wasn't in some sort of relationship with.

“No, it was a . . . temporary lack of sanity.” She gestured vaguely with her hands, waving them in the air. “An attempt to—as you say—make a thing a thing.”

“Hmm.” I set the glass down in the outdoor sink and ran water over it. “Do you want to go over the plan tonight?”

“Not really. I'm beat. It's been a long day.” She came up behind me and slid her arms around my waist. “Carter?”

“Yeah?” I turned to face her.

“In case I forget to say it—thanks for coming for me.” She kissed my cheek and waltzed back into the house.

I touched my cheek and smiled. She was going to be the death of me.