“In my estimation, you did the right thing.”
“I’m glad you think so.” Luke was ridiculously relieved to hear that. “I’m afraid that my dad—”
“Never saw her as she was,” Mr. Thatcher said. “Only as he wished her to be. She’s been a dancer as long as I’ve known her.”
Luke sent him a look of gratitude. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”
Mr. Thatcher pushed back his chair. “Speaking of dancing, do you fancy some tunes on the jukebox? You and Giselle could dance.”
“That’s okay,” Giselle said quickly. “Leaving you alone at the table would be rude.”
“Nonsense. Let’s have some music. It would do my heart good to see you dance together.”
After he walked over to the jukebox, Luke glanced at Giselle. “What’s that all about?”
She flushed. “He’s a bit of a matchmaker, apparently.”
“I’m not opposed to that, but he’s never been into matchmaking before.” He gazed at her. “Do you know him from somewhere?”
“No.”
He thought it was significant that she didn’t ask him why he’d think that. “When Cynthia and I caught up with you three on the sidewalk, I couldn’t shake the impression that you’d been talking about me. Bryce stepped into the breach and made up something that sounded like an excuse, but . . . were you talking about me?”
She had a deer-in-the-headlights look, but finally she nodded.
“Why?”
“Like I said, Mr. Thatcher thinks we’re good together.”
He covered her hand with his. “He’s got that right. Bryce is a big boy. Send him back to ’Frisco and stay with me, at least for a while. I know you have responsibilities back home, but you accomplished what you came here for. Don’t you deserve a little reward? A small vacation?”
Her green eyes revealed the struggle going on there. “You know I want to stay.”
“Then do it.”
“That would only make things worse when I leave.”
“I’ll take that risk.”
She shook her head. “I’ll leave with Bryce. It’s the best for both of us.”
Mr. Thatcher returned to his chair. “I don’t recognize most of those songs, so you’ll have to make do with some old ones, I’m afraid.”
The opening chords of “I Will Always Love You” wafted through the bar’s sound system. Luke stood and held out his hand to Giselle. “That one works for me.”
With a smile that was part frustration and part surrender, she took his hand and joined him on the small dance floor. They had it to themselves. He almost wished they’d been surrounded by other dancers, which would have given them more privacy.
In the spotlight, so to speak, he couldn’t hold her as close as he wanted to. He felt self-conscious about pressing his lips to the tender place behind her ear.
But he could talk to her. “Will you spend the night with me?” he murmured against her ear.
She shivered in response. “I shouldn’t. I need to make plane reservations tonight.”
“We can do that in ten minutes.”
“My parents told me to take the corporate jet, but I think that’s a waste of resources.”
“The corporate jet?” He pulled back to gaze into her eyes. “Your family has a jet?”
She smiled. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“No. I’ve considered it, but our holdings are all in Vegas. A jet is overkill, unless I want it to impress people.”
“Our jet is a necessary expense. We’re considering buying another one. We’re primarily a shipping company, and we do business all over the Pacific Rim.”
“That’s impressive. I should have Googled you so I wouldn’t be caught by surprise.” He drew her closer. To hell with who was watching. “Your company has resources. My company has resources. We can find a way to make this happen. We’re good together. You know we are. Don’t throw that away.”
She continued to smile, but she shook her head. “No can do. It wouldn’t work out.”
“You are the most maddening woman I have ever met.” Pressing his cheek to hers, he danced with her until the song ended. Then he led her back to the table, where their drinks were waiting. He glanced over at the pool table. He needed his resident spy to return with some intel.
As if he’d signaled her on some high-tech personal communication system, she came back to the table, Bryce trailing behind.
“She kicked my butt,” Bryce said. “I thought they taught intellectual stuff at Yale, but apparently she majored in billiards.”
Cynthia made a face. “I learned the basics in Vegas and polished my game with my college friends. Most of them were math majors, so they understood the geometry involved. They taught me to view the table scientifically.”
“That might be true, but I say she was channeling Minnesota Fats.” Bryce rolled his eyes. “Just warning you suckers. The girl’s got game.”
“He exaggerates.” Cynthia focused on Luke. “Care to take me on, big brother?”
“Sure. My ego can handle it.” Luke stood.
“That’s what I thought.” Bryce drained his Long Island iced tea. “But she’ll humiliate you, my friend. And you won’t even see it coming.”
Luke didn’t give a damn about the pool game, but he hoped Cynthia had information about the woman he craved more than life itself. He chalked his cue and pretended to care. “You can break.”
She sent the balls flying, and two landed in the pockets. She lined up for another shot.
“What did you find out?”
She pulled back and sighed. “Wait until I’ve made my shot, okay?”
At that moment he became acutely aware that she was twenty-two. She was smarter than almost anyone he knew, and beautiful, and a great dancer, and savvy about people when she chose to be. But she was still twenty-two, and living for the moment, which meant getting the number two ball in the side pocket.
Curbing his impatience, he leaned on his cue stick and waited for her to make the shot. She made that one, and the one after that, and the one after that. If she ran the table, they would have no chance to talk. In which case, they’d simply play another game. He wasn’t leaving the table without some answers.
Eventually she missed a shot. Not by much, but finally he had a turn. He wasn’t going to take it until she gave him some information. “What did you find out?”
“Seriously? Not much.”
He groaned.
“No, really. The Landrys are rich, and they have an estate of some kind north of San Francisco. The most I could get out of him—and this was after he’d swallowed most of his Long Island iced tea—was that Giselle was expected to marry a certain type of person, and you didn’t fit the bill.”
“What the hell? What’s wrong with me? I’m healthy and reasonably good-looking. I have money. Maybe not as much as they do, but I can’t believe they’re focused on that. Giselle and Bryce don’t strike me as snobs.”
“Me, either.”
“So is it pedigree? Are they requiring dudes whose ancestors came over on the Mayflower?”
“I can’t believe that’s it.” She gestured toward the table. “Take your shot.”
He sighed. “I’m not here to play pool, and you know it.”
“I know, but you have to make it look convincing. Shoot.”
He did and, by sheer coincidence, he sank two balls in a row. Then he missed, and Cynthia proceeded to clear the table of every single one of her remaining balls.
Bryce had described the total humiliation very well. Luke gazed at her. “Where did you learn to play like that?”
“As I said, I hung out with math majors. This is a game of geometry and physics. Once you understand the principles involved, all you have to do is execute.”