His mother, bless her, chatted with someone else and thankfully didn’t hear Cia’s mouth working faster than her brain. Social niceties weren’t her forte, especially when it came to men. How had she fooled herself into believing she could do this?
Lucas didn’t blink. Instead, he swept her from head to toe with a slow, searching glance that teased a hot flush along her skin. With an amused arch to one brow, he said, “Lucky for me I’ve got one up on Ken. I bend all sorts of ways.”
Her breath gushed out in a flustered half laugh. She did not want to like him. Or to find him even remotely attractive. She’d picked him precisely because she assumed she wouldn’t. As best as she could tell from the articles she’d read, he was like the Casanovas she’d dated in college, pretty and shallow.
Lucas was nothing but a good-time guy who happened to be the answer to saving hundreds of women’s lives. This marriage would help so many people, and just in case that wasn’t enough of a reason for him to agree to her deal, she’d come armed with extra incentives.
That reassuring thought smoothed out the ragged hitch to her exhale. Refocusing, she pasted on a smile. His return smile bolstered her confidence. Her business with Lucas Wheeler was exactly that—business. And if she knew anything, it was business. If only her hands would stop shaking. “To be fair, you do look better in a suit than Ken.”
“Now, I’d swear that sounded like a compliment.” He leaned in a little and cocked his head. “If our parents knew each other, how is it we’ve never met?”
His whiskey-drenched voice stroked every word with a lazy Texas drawl that brought to mind cowboys, long, hard rides in the saddle and heat. She met his smoky blue eyes squarely and locked her knees. “I don’t get out much.”
“Do you dance?” He nodded to the crowded square of teak hardwood, where guests swayed and flowed to the beat of the jazz ensemble playing on a raised stage.
“Not in public.”
Something flittered across his face, and she had the impression he’d spun a private-dance scenario through his head. Lips pursed, he asked, “Are you sure we haven’t met before?”
“Positive.”
And Cia wished circumstances had conspired differently to continue their mutual lack of acquaintance. Men like Lucas—expert at getting under a woman’s skin right before they called it quits—were hazardous to someone who couldn’t keep her heart out of it, no matter what she promised herself.
But she’d make any sacrifice necessary to open a new women’s shelter and see her mother’s vision realized. Even marrying this man who radiated sensuality like a vodka commercial laced with an aphrodisiac. “We’re only meeting now because I have a proposition for you.”
A slow, lethal smile spilled across his face. “I like propositions.”
Her spine tingled, and that smile instantly became the thing she liked least about Lucas Wheeler. It was too dangerous, and he didn’t hesitate to wield it. Dios, did she detest being disconcerted. Especially by a man she hoped to marry platonically. “It’s not that kind of proposition. Not even close. I cannot stress enough how far removed it is from what that look in your eye says you assume.”
“Now I’m either really interested or really not interested.” Smoothly, he tapped his lips with a square-cut nail and sidled closer, invading her space and enveloping her with his woodsy, masculine scent. “I can’t decide which.”
The man had the full package, no question. Women didn’t throw themselves at his feet on a regular basis because he played a mean hand of Texas hold ’em.
“You’re interested,” she told him and stepped back a healthy foot. He couldn’t afford not to be, according to her meticulous research. She’d sifted through dozens of potential marriage candidates and vetted them all through her best friend, Courtney, before settling on this one.
Of course, she hadn’t counted on him somehow hitting spin cycle on her brain.
“So,” she continued, “I’ll get right to it. Hundreds of women suffer daily from domestic abuse, and my goal is to help them escape to a place where they can build new lives apart from the men using them for punching bags. The shelters in this area are packed to the brim, and we need another one. A big one. An expensive one. That’s where you come in.”
They’d already taken in more bodies than the existing shelter could hold, and it was only a matter of time before the occupancy violation became known. Lucas Wheeler was going to change the future.
A shutter dropped over Lucas’s expression, and he shook his head. “My money is not subject to discussion. You’re barking up the wrong sugar daddy.”