Take a Chance on Me(105)

He stilled for a fraction of a second before sliding out from under the sink, like the teasing reveal in bad porn. His strong jaw tightened as his piercing green eyes met hers. “If it isn’t the ice queen herself.”

His favorite name for her. He’d never called her honey, not even once.


The fine hairs along her neck bristled as something she refused to name sat in the pit of her stomach. It didn’t matter. Even if he tried, she’d have to put him in his place on principle alone. Endearments were dismissive; every good feminist knew that.

She slipped into the role he expected, ignoring the jab to ask coolly, “Where’s the happy couple?”

He got up from the floor with much more grace than a man weighing at least two hundred pounds should, turned, and flicked on the faucet with the touch of his fingers. “Your brother’s out back.”

The muscles under his thin T-shirt flexed as he washed his hands.

She squared her shoulders. Good thing broad shoulders, muscular backs, and lean hips didn’t affect her. She was a sane, rational woman, not driven by hormones.

Her eyes locked on his ass.

Good thing she was above all that.

When the water ceased she jerked her eyes away and smoothed her expression into her most remote mask.

He turned around and gave her an assessing once-over. “I didn’t think you’d show until the rehearsal dinner.”

A muscle under her eye twitched. “I was invited. Mitch is my brother—why shouldn’t I be here?”

“You Rileys aren’t much for family support.” He assessed her with a shrewd gaze. “So there must be another motive.”

Her spine bristled, and she had the sudden urge to smack him across his smug face. Of course, she didn’t, because that would be revealing and out of character. “I’m sure I don’t know to what you’re referring.”

He scooped up a beer bottle and raised it to his lips, taking a long, slow drink while watching her in that predatory way he had.

How could someone’s eyes be that green? They were so sharp and clear, it felt as though they pierced right through her.

The continued scrutiny gave her the urge to tug at her navy suit jacket and smooth her knee-length skirt, but she refused to fidget. “Is my mother here?”

“She went to the store with Maddie.” He placed the bottle back on the counter and rested his palms on the ledge of the granite that had replaced the linoleum she remembered. “We’re out of Cheetos and Mountain Dew.”

She planted her hands on her hips and returned one of his long, disdainful once-overs. Her gaze settled meaningfully on his flat-as-a-board stomach. “Ah, that explains it. I’ve heard after thirty-five things go south rather quickly.”

His expression flashed with what looked like amusement. He straightened from the counter and took a step toward her.

The urge to retreat rose in her chest, but she didn’t dare step back.

Never show weakness. Never break.

His eyes narrowed. “How’d you know I turned thirty-five?”

Damn it. See, this was why she ignored his barbs—she always said something far too telling. She shrugged one shoulder. “Oh, I hear things.”

“Investigating my background? How sweet. I didn’t know you cared.”

Of course they’d investigated all the Donovans. Just like Shane had investigated all of them. That’s the way it worked. Everyone knew that. Maybe she’d spent a little too much time on the oldest Donovan brother, but only because he was the most dangerous.

So yes, she knew all about Shane. Had a list of stats she could rattle off in her head in her sleep.

Occupation: CEO and owner of The Donovan Corporation.

Last significant relationship: one year ago with some tech genius.

High school grade point average: an abysmal 1.65.

College degree: none.

Arrests: one for underage drinking at sixteen.

The list went on, and as many times as she went over the facts, the essence of him was missing. How had he beaten such impossible odds? Overcome such dire straits?

All by his thirty-fifth birthday.

Which she should not know was three months ago.

One week after hers to the day.

At the memory of her own birthday, she frowned. It hadn’t been a good day.

She’d spent her birthday in strategy meetings concentrating on repairing her father’s tattered image. Other than a small fifteen-minute work break, during which the interns shoved a cake under her nose, her mother had been the only person to call.

That night she’d sat alone in her Gold Coast townhouse overlooking the skyline eating Chinese takeout by herself. After a bottle of wine she’d contemplated her accomplishments, trying in vain to pat herself on her back.

Only to realize the things she’d listed had nothing to do with her.

She’d done nothing for her own life.

Not a single damn thing.