Page 11 of What Matters Most

Laughing, Carla said, “You, my dear Philip, are refreshingly unimaginative.”

He chuckled as he seemed to be studying the cracks in the sidewalk on which they were strolling. He didn’t appear to have any clear direction.

“Now, will you spill the beans about Miss September? I’m dying to know what happened.”

He was quiet for a few moments. “You prefer not to date policemen, and I have a thing about flight attendants.”

Most men had a “thing” about flight attendants, too, but it wasn’t to avoid them. It wasn’t one of her more brilliant deductions to guess that Philip had once loved a flight attendant and been hurt. “Do you want to tell me about her? I make a great wailing wall,” she murmured sympathetically.

“Not if I can avoid it.” He looked at her and smiled. “Tell me about your afternoon. Any success?”

“No one,” she said dejectedly, and shook her head for emphasis. “Unless you count guys in gold chains who enjoy revealing their chest hair.”

“Some women like those kind of men.”

“Not me.”

Philip hesitated, then asked, “I wonder if I could interest you in a short-term, no-obligation, strictly regulated but guaranteed fun relationship.”

Carla’s mouth curved wryly. She’d had a better time with Philip tonight than she’d had the entire day she’d spent alone. Her mind was flashing a bright neon NO in bold red letters. If she had any sense whatsoever, she’d shake her head and decline without another word.

“Well?” he urged.

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. Five days. What could possibly happen in five days? She’d come to Mexico looking for a good time. She knew who Philip was, and, more important, what he was.

The silence lengthened. “I think I should make one thing clear. I have no intention of treating you like a sister.”

He could have lied. But again, he’d chosen to be straight with her. She appreciated that.

“I don’t want anything more than these five days. Once we leave Mazatlán, it’s over.”

“Agreed,” he said, and a finger tenderly traced the outline of her jaw.

A tingling sensation burned across her face, and she closed her eyes against its potency. She’d be safe. She’d walked into this with her eyes wide open. He lived in Spokane. She lived in Seattle. A light flirtation was what she’d had in mind in the first place. Knowing what he was should make it all the easier to walk away next Saturday. But it hadn’t lessened the attraction she felt for him—and that appeared to be growing every minute.

“I…haven’t agreed yet.” Her self-respect demanded one last stand.

“But you will,” Philip said confidently.

“How can you be so sure?” Carla returned, piqued by his attitude.

“Well, for one thing, you’re looking at me with ‘kiss me’ eyes.”

Embarrassed, Carla shot her gaze to the ground. “That’s not true—” she denied hotly, and she was ready to argue further, but Philip cut her off.

“Do you agree or not?” He held out his hand for her to shake.

“I have a feeling I’m going to regret this,” she said, and placed her hand in his.

Philip didn’t argue. But when his arm closed around her, she didn’t object. She liked the idea of being linked with this man, even if it was for only a few days.

“How about a ride on an cabriolet?” he suggested, his mouth disturbingly close to her ear.

“I don’t know what you’re suggesting, Philip Garrison, but that doesn’t sound like something nice girls do.”

His laughter filled the night. “That’s a two-wheeled horse-drawn cab.”

“Sounds romantic.” Knowing Philip, Carla was willing to bet he’d instruct the driver to take the long way back to the hotel through scented, shady boulevards. She was in the mood for a few stolen kisses, and so was Philip, gauging by his look.

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