“Let’s go,” he told Cia. Matthew could work potential clients, which was his strength anyway. “We’ve done enough mingling.”
“Already?” She did a double take at the expression on his face. “Okay. Where are we going for dinner?”
He swore. Dinner put a huge crimp in his intent to distance himself immediately from the smell of coconut and lime.
But if he bailed, whatever had just happened when he touched Cia would stick in his mind, nagging at him. Not cool. That fruity blend was messing with his head something fierce.
What was he thinking? He couldn’t leave the schmoozing to Matthew like he used to. Cia hadn’t balked at attending the ribbon cutting. What kind of coward let his wife do all the hard work?
The best way to handle this divorce deal, and his disturbing attraction to the woman on his arm, was obviously to remember the Lucas Wheeler Philosophy of Relationships—have a lot of sex and have a lot of fun, preferably at the same time.
This was a temporary liaison with a guaranteed outcome, and besides, he was with an inarguably beautiful woman. What other kind of response was there except sexual?
Shake it off, Wheeler.
“A place with food,” he finally said.
Cia eyed her decadently beautiful husband, who should be required by law to wear black tie every waking hour, and waited a beat for the rest of the joke. It never came.
She hadn’t seen Lucas in a week and had started to wonder exactly how mad she’d made him by the pool. Then he’d appeared and asked her pretty please to attend this boring adult prom, which she couldn’t legitimately refuse, so she hadn’t. For her trouble, he’d spent the evening on edge and not himself. “Great. Places with food are my favorite.”
Matthew Wheeler materialized in front of them before they could head for the exit.
Lucas glanced at his brother. “What’s the climate with Moore?”
Since Matthew was pretending she was invisible, Cia openly studied her authoritative, remote brother-in-law. A widower, Lucas had said, and often dateless, as he was tonight. Clearly by choice, since any breathing woman would find Matthew attractive—as long as he didn’t stand next to Lucas. When he did, he was invisible, too.
“Better than I expected.” Matthew signaled a waiter and deposited his empty champagne flute on the tray. “He’s on the hook. I booked reservations in your name at the Mansion for four. Take Moore and his wife to dinner on me. Since closing the deal is your forte, I’ll bow out. Bring it home.”
As if they’d practiced it a dozen times, Lucas kissed Cia’s temple, and she managed to lean into it like his lips weren’t hotter than a cattle brand. Nothing like a spark of Lucas to liven up the prom.
Not that she’d know anything about prom. She’d missed that and the last half of senior year, thanks to the accident that had taken her parents.
“Do me a favor,” Lucas said, “and hang out with Matthew for a minute. Looks like we might have different plans for the evening.”
Then he strode off through the crowd to go work his magic on some unsuspecting guy named Moore.
Matthew watched her coolly through eyes a remarkably close shade to Lucas’s. “Having a good time, Cia?”
Oh, so she’d miraculously reappeared. But she didn’t mistake the question as friendly. “Yes, thank you. Your clients are impressive.”
“What few we have, I suppose.” His shrewd gaze narrowed. “I’ll be honest. I have no idea what got into Lucas by marrying you, but I see the way he looks at you and I hope there’s at least a chance you’re making him happy.”
What way did Lucas look at her—like a spider contemplating a particularly delectable fly? His brother should find a pair of glasses. She narrowed her gaze right back. “So, you’ll hunt me down if I hurt him?”
He laughed, and the derisive note reminded her again of Lucas. They didn’t look so much alike but they did have a similar warped sense of humor, apparently.
“I highly doubt you have the capacity to hurt Lucas. He’s pretty good at staying emotionally removed from women. For example, he didn’t blink when he found out about Lana. Just moved right along to the next one.”
As warnings went, it was effective—if she’d been harboring some romantic illusion about Lucas’s feelings toward her. “How many of the next ones did Lucas marry?”
“Touché.” Her brother-in-law eyed her and then nodded to an older couple who’d swept past them on the way to the bar. “I know you’re not after Lucas’s money. I checked out you and your trust fund. I’m curious, though, why didn’t you stay at Manzanares?”