She laughed. “I’d just bet you would.” Only, the thought of heading to Cruz’s for some dessert and all that it might involve actually sent a jolt of excitement through her. And a little terror.

In Cruz’s hands, she didn’t know what she might be capable of.

She noticed he was still staring at her and she felt her cheeks warming, almost as if he could read her mind and knew what delicious things she’d envisioned. She cleared her throat. “You definitely seem to have it all down to a science. You hook the girl in, then when she’s positively enamored with you and orders the embroidered towels from Pottery Barn with your names entwined, you cut her loose and move on to the next hapless victim.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I do,” he said in a droll tone, turning his attention back to his computer. “And above my headboard are the nicks I’ve made for each conquest.”

“Come on. You’ve almost said as much yourself, and I quote, ‘Things have gotten a little busy at work and I wasn’t able to give her what she was looking for,’ which is code for”—she lifted her hands from the steering wheel a moment and made air quotes—“a serious relationship. You run at the first sign someone wants something more than a casual fling.”

He truly looked perplexed. “Well, of course. I want to be honest with them. My life, my immediate and future plans, they’re wrapped up in Sorensen Construction right now. It’s best to be upfront with the women I date. Becca made it clear she wanted to take things to another level. Something I’m not prepared to give her or anyone at this time in my life.” He said it, however, almost as if he’d never have the time.

“Wow, you sure are a romantic.”

“Just realistic.”

“Have you always been like this? Wasn’t there anyone who you ever wanted something more with?”

“Not since I was seventeen. Seventeen, naive, and hormonally challenged.”

She didn’t know if she felt sympathy for him or wanted to kick him. “How is wanting to spend your life with someone naive?”

“I’ll tell you another time,” he said in that smug way of his. And for a second she imagined some poor moony-eyed teenaged girl handed her heart by Mr. Sensitive. “Just remember we weren’t all born with a silver spoon in our mouths, the world at our feet. Look, I have a conference call I need to make in another hour with Dick Eastman and want to have some figures ready. Can we table our discussion for the time being?”

“Fine. Whatever.” She returned her attention to finding a song on the radio. Why did he have to bring it back around to her and the fact that she came from wealth? They were talking about love here. Or whatever came close to it. The subject was definitely not over.

Because she was curious now as to what happened to the naive seventeen-year-old Cruz Sorensen that had made him the cynic he was now.

Chapter Six

Cruz held the phone up, dread building in his stomach. Where were the service bars? Any bar. Anything to ensure he could make this call. He hadn’t worked his ass off the past few years to culminate in this one deal, only to have it fall apart because he couldn’t make the final phone call.

Ten minutes ago he’d had full service. He should have just had Payton pull over then. But he’d known how important it was to both of them to close the miles between them and that wedding.

“Anything?” she asked him.

He let his silence confirm the fact.

Three minutes passed. He only had two minutes until he was supposed to make that damned phone call.

Then, there it was.

One—no, two bars now. “I’ve got something.” He looked at the road ahead of them. No sign of a road or turn off. “Pull over.”

“What? We’re on the interstate. I can’t just stop here.”

“Look, it’s imperative I make this call now, and we don’t have the luxury of waiting for the next exit.” He kept his tone even, but there was a steeliness beneath it. She sighed and turned on the blinker.

A horn blared from behind them as their car slowed down, and Payton swerved and let out a squeal of terror. “I hope this call is worth more than our lives.”

He continued to stare at the phone and no sooner had the car stopped than he had thrown the door open and was stepping out. He glanced back to see Payton shaking her head at him before turning her attention to the radio.

A minute later, Dick Eastman was on the phone, his voice that familiar booming sound equal parts friendliness and confidence. “I’ve looked over all the final numbers you’ve proposed.” Even with the noise of cars passing by, Cruz could hear paper rustling. Dick was old school, preferring hard copies in his hands over email. “And even though it’s not the lowest offer I have on the table in front of me, your numbers are reasonable. But as you know, it’s your company’s quality guarantee that has made this easy for me.”

Cruz was careful not to sound too eager. “Glad to hear that, Dick.” Using the man’s first name still felt odd to him, but Dick had all but insisted. “I assure you quality is paramount in all of our ongoing concerns. We have a deal then?”

Dick paused and the seconds ticked by abnormally long. A gust of wind brought a swirl of dirt up around Cruz’s feet. “Well, son, the pen is right next to me now and I can say that this thing is almost as good as yours. However…”

Cruz’s hope that had spiraled a moment ago sank. That single word couldn’t be good.

“One thing you probably know about me by now is that a lot doesn’t get past me,” the old man continued, and Cruz could picture Dick sitting in his massive office in a pinstripe suit and cowboy boots propped up on the desk. Like he’d seen too many Dallas episodes—new and old—and considered himself a regular old J.R. Ewing. He just needed a ten-gallon hat to finish the picture. “I like to keep my finger on the pulse of everything and everyone that could impact me and mine. Family, that is. And I know for a fact that you’re en route to a family event somewhere south of the Rio Grande. With my son’s fiancée, I hear.”

Shit. How the hell did he know already? In the back of Cruz’s mind he’d hoped that eventually his acquaintance and partnership of sorts with Payton would reach the old man’s ear in a positive way, confirming that Cruz was a man to be trusted. But to hear old Dick Eastman already knew was a little…disconcerting.

Then there was the fact that, according to Payton, the engagement was off. He didn’t think it was his place to share the news with the man now. He’d hear about it soon enough.

He cleared his throat, wishing he had a bottle of water from the car with him to wet his parched throat. “Yes, sir. Payton Vaughn and I happened to be on the same flight that—”

“Frankly, I don’t care a pirate’s fart about the hows and whys of why you’re together and you want to know why? Because I know you’re not an impetuous man, Cruz. You weigh the risks and rewards in just about everything you do. And diddling your most important client’s future daughter-in-law would not only be imprudent, it’d be downright suicidal to this partnership.”

Diddling? The old man certainly had a way with words. Not that there was any worry there. Payton Vaughn had as much interest in him as she did the guy who’d filled their gas tank earlier.

“No, what I want to discuss with you is a little different,” Dick Eastman continued. “I’m betting that at some point during this road adventure Payton has shared something of the drama going on between her and my son. She’s a beautiful girl and just as expressive. I don’t see how she couldn’t be. But I assure you; it’s simply a lover’s quarrel that will be put to rest as soon as they can clear the air. My son may be foolhardy, but he’s not a complete idiot.”

More silence and Cruz had to admit, he was still unsure where this conversation was going. So he agreed with the old man. “Right. Of course, I’m sure that’s all it is.”