Something Borrowed

“Well, I don’t,” she assured quickly.

“If you’re in a hurry, I’m all ears.”

Still trying to ignore the fact that they’d kissed at all, much less on national television, she took a deep breath and said, “Edie’s been trying to call you all day.” She tried to keep the accusation from her tone, but still, if Cash had made himself available to his own girlfriend, none of this would have happened. “She said you disappeared, but she wanted you to know she had second thoughts about being on the show.”

“She couldn’t come?”

“She got hung up.” When he didn’t look convinced, she added, “Really. She had to pick up ring designs from Bridget before she met the Dardens for a wedding-planning meeting.”

“So she sent you?”

“Sent would be strong,” Marley corrected, hardly about to divulge her own plans to interrogate him. “She asked and I agreed.” She wouldn’t have it implied that she took orders from Edie. “I tried to call your hotel and your cell phone, but there was no answer. I came here to leave a message, but one thing led to another. The male and female contestants were separated,” she explained, “and before I could stop them, the staff pushed me into the green room.”

“Even after you said you wanted off the show?”

She nodded. “I was trying to make them stop putting on makeup…”

He looked at her as if noticing the eye shadow for the first time. “Understandable.”

“And nails.” She held up blood-red talons. “They seemed to think lots of color would play well for the camera—” Pausing, she scrutinized him. “I can see now that only women were targeted, and the men were spared.”

Cash deadpanned. “You don’t like my blow-dry?”

“You even got to wear jeans.”

“They said I had cowboy appeal.”

“Cowboy appeal?”

He shrugged. “The boots.”

“The only thing about me they liked was Edie’s hairdo.” Puffing her cheeks, she realized Cash’s eyes had locked on to hers. Whew. Some eyes. How come Edie hadn’t responded to this guy? Suddenly, everything went still. She registered the people milling around them and the fact that, despite the crowd, she felt as if she were alone with him.

“I like you better in sweatpants.”

Marley wished he hadn’t said it. “You like sweatpants?”

“Not so much as the sports bras and ripped midriffs that go with them.”

“Hmm.” This was the guy whom Edie had sworn lacked testosterone? Granted, Marley tried to stay out of her sister’s love life, which was easy, since it was virtually nonexistent, but still, she’d gotten roped into at least one conversation about Cash’s supposed deficiencies. Definitely, she had to draw some very firm boundaries here. “Well, you’ve probably noticed that, uh, I’m not very available.”

“You’re abrupt,” he agreed, a slow, sexy smile saying he didn’t mind in the least. “Downright rude the day I offered you a ride.”

“It’s nothing personal,” she assured.

“How is rudeness not personal?”

“I was trying to be discouraging,” she corrected. “Not rude.” She just wished he weren’t studying her with eyes hot enough to melt glaciers.

“So, Edie wanted off the show?” He really did look disappointed.

“I’m sorry, but it’s nothing personal. She just thought the better of it. Honestly, I think she remembered the wedding curse and just got a case of jitters. You do know about the family curse, don’t you?”

“Not much. Maybe you can tell me more.”

Not in this lifetime. “Uh…maybe. But right now, we have a lot of other things on our plate, right? I do think we can work this out. Trevor Milane will know what to do. I was just headed to his office….” She flashed an insincere smile, hardly able to muster a genuine one, not when her nostrils were filled with his enticing male scent, and his hard, hot body was this close. “Why don’t you come along?”

Deciding not to prolong the conversation—or agony—she turned on one of Edie’s high heels and wobbled down the hallway, not surprised to feel Cash close behind. “Mr. Milane,” she said when she reached his office.

Seated at his desk, he looked up. “Yes?”

When she felt a jolt of electricity behind her, she realized Cash’s chest had brushed her back, and she tried to ignore how her heart jump-started. “I can’t be on Rate the Dates. I’ve been trying to explain this ever since I got here. Who can I talk to?”

“Of course you’re on the show,” Trevor soothed, rising and circling his desk. “I know you’re a bundle of nerves. But our staff is trained to handle jitters.”

“I don’t have jitters,” Marley corrected. He was making her sound like the proverbial neurotic female.