Page 29 of Dating the Rebel
SHE’DKNOWNHEwas up to something. But what? Was he trying to figure out how much money she had? The balance in her check register must have disappointed the hell out of him if he was looking for a mark.
Was that why he was so determined to join the dating service? Just like everyone else, he was looking for a billionaire.
Maybe his gambling wasn’t going so well. Or he’d spent too much money starting the charter business with Blair.
Or maybe all that money his sister thought he won gambling, he’d actually attained by other means, from women. What if he was a con artist?
She’d been smart to not trust him. But she never should have let him touch her, either.
And she damn well never should have touched him.
Because even as angry as she was with him, she still wanted him, wanted him to fill the hollowness she’d never been aware of having before she’d had him as a lover.
And that hollowness only grew the longer it had been since she’d seen him...
It had also been too long since she’d seen his sister, so a week after throwing Grant out of her apartment, she met up with Blair for dinner. Unfortunately Blair had chosen the same rooftop restaurant where Miranda had watched the sun set with Grant.
Blair swallowed a spoonful of crème brûlée and emitted a soft moan of pleasure. “It’s so good,” she said with a lustful sigh.
Miranda pushed hers across the tablecloth toward her friend. “You can have mine, too.”
“You’re not hungry?” Blair asked with surprise. She always teased Miranda that she didn’t know where she put everything she ate, since she was so petite.
Miranda had choked down some of her salad, but she hadn’t had much of an appetite lately. At least not for food...
Her appetites had changed after she’d had sex with Grant. Now he was all she craved. But that was crazy.
She couldn’t trust him, so she shouldn’t want him anywhere in her life—not even in her bed. If only she could get him out of her mind as well.
“It’s no wonder you don’t like this restaurant,” Blair said.
Miranda tensed. Did she know? Had Grant told her after all?
“Why’s that?” she asked.
“Grant recommended it to me,” Blair said. “And you two do not like the same things at all—most especially each other.”
Miranda laughed—like her friend obviously wanted her to—but it sounded hollow, as hollow as she felt. She and Grant had more in common than she’d ever realized. Sex...
They were both very good at it.
“I thought Tabitha would have recommended the place,” Miranda said. Since her sister had been the one who’d told Grant about it.
“No. Grant’s been here a couple of times over the past couple of weeks.”
“Do you know why?” Miranda asked.
Blair shrugged. Then after swallowing the spoonful of crème brûlée she’d taken from Miranda’s bowl, she replied, “I have no idea, but that’s nothing new with my brother. I don’t think I’ll ever know what he’s really doing most of the time.”
Miranda reached for her glass of sauvignon blanc and swirled the pale amber liquid around inside it. The sun streamed through the glass, casting rainbow patterns onto the tablecloth. She stared at the wine, trying to sound nonchalant, when she asked, “Do you still think he’s a Navy SEAL or some other kind of special forces?”
Blair nodded. “Definitely. There’s so much of his life that I know nothing about...”
“Too much,” Miranda agreed—because if Blair didn’t know it, there was no chance that she would ever learn about it, either.
“If that’s what he’s doing, he can’t talk about it,” Blair said, coming to her brother’s defense. “Being part of something like that involves total discretion and secrecy.” She sighed. “So no wonder he’s single.”
Still skeptical, Miranda snorted. “Yeah, that’s why. It has nothing to do with his gambling and carousing?”
