Her New Year's Fortune
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Allison Leigh
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Chapter One
New Year’s Eve. A night of mystery.
Just like she was mysterious. Beautiful. Exotic. And definitely mysterious.
Dark, auburn hair spilled in waves down her back, kissing the golden spine revealed by the cut-down-to-there black cocktail dress that clung to her lithe figure. Her companion’s dark blue gaze was focused intently on her face...dropping to her lips as she took a small sip of her martini. Slightly dirty, just the way she’d ordered. She lowered the cocktail and leaned a little closer to him, feeling more than slightly naughty. Beneath the table, she slipped her foot out of her sinfully high black heels and subtly slid her toes along his ankle...
“Excuse me, miss. Miss? Miss?”
The fantasy spinning inside Sarah-Jane Early’s head popped like a bubble of spent soap and she focused on the tuxedo-clad man standing in front of the hostess station she was manning at Red, looking none too patient. She was there not to daydream, but to help see to the needs of every guest of the wedding reception that had commandeered the popular Mexican restaurant for the night, and she quickly smiled. “Yes, sir, how can I help you?”
The man tugged at his skewed bow tie, casting a glance off to one side. “How do I get to the Red Rock Inn?” His question was hurried, and muttered half under his breath. She could have told him he needn’t have bothered trying to be so quiet. For the past three hours, the music from the reception had made conversations nearly impossible. She leaned a little closer to give him the directions to the hotel. He nodded, and took time to thank her before moving away to hold out his hand to the woman he’d obviously been waiting for.
In seconds, they were hurrying out the front door of the restaurant, the man’s arm wrapped possessively around the woman’s hips. It was obvious to anyone with eyes in their head that the couple couldn’t wait to be alone.
She knew there was no point in envying a couple in love...or even a couple in lust, or she’d be spending her life in a constant state of envy. Still, Sarah-Jane sighed and shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
Fantasizing about wearing killer heels was one thing. Actually doing it was another. She wished she’d have just worn a pair of shoes from her own closet. She had a pair of black pumps. Admittedly they were nearly ten years old, purchased by her mother who had insisted that Sarah-Jane needed to wear the modestly-heeled things for her high school graduation. But they were leather and having been worn only a few times since, were still in good condition.
She glanced down at the shoes she was currently wearing. If she were honest, the only thing in common these shoes had with the old ones in her closet were that they were black. She twisted one foot this way and that, and sighed again, a little wistfully. The shoes that Maria Mendoza had insisted she wear were beautiful. The velvety suede was as black as midnight and certainly suited the clinging black cocktail dress she was wearing better than her sensible old pumps.
Just thinking about the dress had Sarah-Jane’s fingertips twitching at the hem of it, as if she could eke out another few inches of cloth where there was none. The hem of the dress stayed midway down her thighs, where it had been since she’d donned the garment earlier that day. She couldn’t do anything about the hem anymore than she could do something about the diagonally-slashed cutout neckline that exposed much more of Sarah-Jane’s cleavage than she liked. If she weren’t positively devoted to Maria, who not only owned the restaurant along with her husband but also owned the knitting shop where Sarah-Jane really worked as an assistant manager, there’s no way she’d have worn something so unsuitable out in public. She was a lot more comfortable in the pullover shirts and khaki pants that she wore at The Stocking Stitch. She wouldn’t win any fashion awards, but at least she didn’t have to worry that people might think she believed she could carry off such a look.
Her gaze drifted from the empty lobby area of the restaurant back toward the bar where many of the wedding guests had migrated. Most of the wedding party remained, though Emily Fortune and her brand-new husband, Max Allen, had already departed. As had many of the older guests, leaving the younger crowd to stay on and party into the night.
There wasn’t an unsuitably-clad person in the bunch.
What else would one expect when the bride was part of the wealthy Fortune family? To a one, every single person who’d entered the restaurant that evening had looked like they’d stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine.
Her fingertips searched for her hem and tugged.
“Sarah-Jane.”
The sound of her name had her quickly straightening and she turned to find Marcos Mendoza gesturing from near the kitchen. He managed Red, but was also married to a Fortune of his own, and since that Fortune happened to be the little sister of the bride, he’d also been part of the wedding party. She left her post at the hostess station and hurried toward him. “Yes?”
“I think it’s safe for you to clear out,” he offered. “There’s still a little New Year’s Eve left for you to enjoy.”
She kept her smile in place. “I arranged to be here the entire evening, Marcos.” She certainly didn’t have anything more exciting waiting for her at home. Her roommate, Felicity, was at a party, and there had never been any handsome men in Sarah-Jane’s life who were anxious to ring in anything with her, much less a new year. At least by helping out Maria, she was doing something productive. “I know Maria wanted all of you to be able to enjoy the wedding as guests rather than staff. I can still help out in the kitchen or something.”
He smiled wryly. “Well, I’m not about to turn down willing help. But you’d be a waste in the kitchen dressed like you are.” Off duty and wedding guest or not, he was still clearly in management mode. He quickly scanned the restaurant, then nodded with decision. “Cindy’s slammed at the bar; if you don’t mind grabbing a tray and starting to collect the empties—”
“I don’t mind,” she assured, and was glad to head that way. Being busy was always preferable to standing around letting her wandering mind conjure up silly fantasies of a faceless man who had eyes only for her.
Ignoring her aching feet, she headed toward the bar, crossing between the crowded tables. She would have had to have been blind not to notice the line of men bellied up to the bar as she rounded it, but she kept her gaze focused on the new task at hand. Cindy, the temporary bartender that Maria had hired for the evening, did look slammed, barely glancing at Sarah-Jane when she found the trays behind the bar. She retrieved one and quickly turned back around, heading to the tables once more. In minutes, she’d filled the tray with abandoned glasses, and she aimed toward the swinging door leading to the kitchen. She had to pass by the line of men at the bar again on the way, and as she did, one of them stuck out his arm behind him.
“Here you go, hon.” Even above the music, his voice was deep and filled with a Southern drawl. The man didn’t glance at her, and she automatically took the glass, looking away shyly when her gaze collided with the dark blond-haired man sitting next to him. “Wyatt, what the hell do you mean you’re not coming back to Atlanta?” she heard him demand.
Not wanting to appear to be eavesdropping, she stacked the glass precariously inside another, and aimed for the kitchen again. The tray was too heavy to carry one handed, and she turned, using her hip to push through the swinging door.
Her gaze couldn’t help glancing toward the men at the bar. She’d been the one to seat them at their assigned tables when they’d arrived, so she knew they were all related to the bride, though she wasn’t sure exactly how. There were five of them, all wearing similar black suits that looked as if they’d been born to them. And each one was better looking than the last. They’d arrived without women on their arms, but Sarah-Jane had a hard time believing that they’d all be leaving without one.
At least she’d have plenty of details to give Felicity in the morning.
As if he’d felt her attention, the blond-haired man at the end of the bar sitting next to the glass-giver looked her way. He’d pulled his silver tie loose around his throat and looked like he couldn’t wait to get out of it altogether.
Her breath stopped up in her chest and the door that she’d just nudged open swung back again, bumping her square on her rump. She jumped, feeling her cheeks flush.
But the man who’d seemed to be staring right into her eyes merely lifted the shot glass he was holding and tossed back the amber contents, his focus turning again to his companions.
He hadn’t noticed her at all.
Feeling foolish, she backed through the swinging door and dumped off the empties with the kid manning the dishwasher. What was she thinking? Men like that didn’t give women like Sarah-Jane a second glance. Not a serious one, anyway.
Never had. Never would.
With that reminder firmly in her head, she took her empty tray and went out to fill it again.
* * *
“I mean there’s been a change of plans,” Wyatt repeated patiently, while his cousin Michael eyed him with clear impatience. “We’re staying here in Red Rock.” Wyatt looked past his cousin to his three brothers. First Asher, then Shane, then Sawyer. Willing them to nod. Back him up. They’d already made the decision, and just because his brothers had been drinking steadily since they’d hit the bar didn’t mean anything had changed.
Not back in Atlanta, that was for damn sure.
Asher finally nodded. Sawyer did, too. Shane’s nod was a little slower in coming. “That’s what we said,” he muttered, though he didn’t look any too happy about it.
Wyatt loved his brothers. But if anyone was going to side with their father, it was going to be Shane.
As if he’d heard Wyatt’s thoughts, his brother shot him a look, then gestured toward the pretty bartender with his glass. Without a word, the lanky blonde tipped the bottle of whiskey, pouring out another shot before she turned and filled several margarita glasses for a waiting cocktail waitress.
“You’re telling me you’ve all just up and decided to take unscheduled vacations from JMF Financial?” Michael was still shaking his head, disbelief thinning his lips. “A month ago you were complaining because you didn’t know how to fit in a week to come out here for Emily’s wedding.”
A month ago—hell, even less than that—Wyatt and his brothers had still had a rug firmly under their boots.
Thanks to their father, now they didn’t.
“It’s more than a vacation.” His voice was flat. “We’re not going back. Period.”
Michael frowned, but he was obviously just as confused by the pronouncement as he was annoyed at the change of plans. His cousin didn’t like being left out of the loop, but Wyatt didn’t feel like explaining the reasons behind their decision. Not here at Emily’s wedding reception, anyway, where the loud music was making any kind of conversation more public than he liked.
“What’d you all decide to do? Hang around Red Rock and find yourselves wives?” Michael’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. “That’s what everyone else in this family who sticks around in Red Rock for more than a few days seems to do. Puts their heads right into a marital noose.”
“Hell no!” Sawyer visibly shuddered. He was twenty-seven—two years younger than Wyatt—and the idea of marriage was clearly as far from his mind as it was Wyatt’s. Shane was nodding, too. And Asher...well, Asher had already gone through one divorce. He just stared into his drink and said nothing.
“Then what the hell’s going on?”
Wyatt’s jaw was so tight, it ached. He looked away from his cousin’s confounded face and his brothers’ stoic ones. The hostess who’d seated them was still moving around the tables, loading up her little round tray with empty glasses. He watched the sway of her shapely backside as she disappeared through the swinging kitchen door with her latest load. She looked about average height—shorter than the tall bartender—and from the gleaming auburn hair that she’d tied back in a knot to the high-heeled shoes she was wearing, she looked anything but average.
Watching her throughout the evening had at least provided a nice diversion when he’d felt his mood turning black.
“Maybe we need to go back to Atlanta,” Shane suggested. “Shutting that door is pretty damn permanent, Wy. Even you’ve got to admit that.”
Wyatt eyed his older brother. The eldest of his brothers at thirty-two, Shane was chief operating officer of JMF Financial. Slightly higher up the food chain than Wyatt was, but neither Wyatt’s nor Sawyer’s or Asher’s stake in the future of the company was any less important. “We can discuss it later.”
“But—”
“He’s right,” Asher said quietly. He was only a year younger than Shane, and as was often the case, when he did speak up, he was the voice of reason. “This isn’t the place.”
“You’ve all lost your minds,” Michael muttered. He was older than them all, and cousins or not, was used to calling the shots. “Whatever is going on. You’re just gonna up and leave everything you’ve worked for at JMF. To stay in Red Rock.” He shook his head at what he clearly considered unfathomable, but thankfully dropped the subject and waved his finger over his squat glass. The bartender saw the signal, and poured him yet another shot.
The blonde was good at her job. Efficient. Didn’t linger, listening in. The reception had an open bar, but Wyatt figured he’d still leave the girl a healthy tip. She’d certainly earned it.
The voluptuous hostess slipped past again and Wyatt tracked her progress without really realizing it. The bartender was a pretty blonde who looked like she’d be just as at home batting around a volleyball on the beach as she did working behind the busy bar. In contrast, the hostess was a stunning knockout with enough curves to please a Formula 1 driver.
Wyatt wasn’t a race car driver. And while he usually tended toward tall, athletic women more like the bartender, he found himself definitely appreciating the hostess’s heady curves. Watching her was a lot more pleasurable than dwelling on the mess they’d left behind in Atlanta.
A mess that he and his brothers had had no hand in creating, but one they sure as hell had to live with.
The bartender stopped in front of him. “Sure I can’t get you something stronger, Mr. Fortune?”
He shook his head. He’d learned a long time ago that he couldn’t keep up with his brothers when it came to liquor. “I’ll stick with the soda, thanks.”
“Designated driver?”
“On occasion.” At this stage, neither his brothers nor his cousin looked like they were going to stop drinking anytime soon, so maybe he would be filling that role that night, as well. Michael had arrived at the reception with the wedding party in one of the limousines. Wyatt and his brothers had driven over in one of their rental cars.
“Let me know if I can get you anything else,” the bartender offered, and experience told Wyatt she wasn’t only talking about drinks. But even after conveying the message, she was already in motion again. Wyatt turned against the bar until it was behind his back and leaned on his elbows. He wasn’t interested in the bartender. He wasn’t interested in anyone.
From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of auburn hair and his gaze followed it.
“Hard to believe Emily’s married,” Michael mused, beside him.
Wyatt grunted in agreement. His died-in-the-wool career cousin had been as devoted to FortuneSouth Enterprises as her brother, Michael, still was. Like Wyatt and his brothers, his cousins had been raised up in their father’s Atlanta-based business, though FortuneSouth was a telecommunications company while Wyatt’s father, James Marshall Fortune, had founded the financial firm, JMF. Everyone in the family knew there was no love lost between James and his younger brother, John, even though only a few years separated them. James hadn’t even bothered coming to Red Rock for his niece’s wedding.
But everyone also knew that the two brothers were pretty much cut from the same cloth—workaholics who were driven to succeed, and had. Many times over.
John, however, had never pulled a stunt like Wyatt’s father, James, had. Not as far as he was aware, at least. Emily had quit working for her father because she’d followed in the footsteps of all of her siblings—save Michael—who’d transplanted themselves to Red Rock, all in the name of love.
“The Red Rock curse,” Michael murmured beside him, his thoughts obviously running the same course as Wyatt’s. “Weddings every time we turn around. Enough to give a man the willies.”
“Weddings aren’t always a curse,” Asher countered.
Michael’s eyebrows shot up. “How long ago did you sign those divorce papers of yours?”
Asher’s lips thinned. “Some marriages work.”
“Read the statistics. These days, more of ’em don’t,” Michael returned. “You won’t find me ever going down on bended knee.” He had to raise his voice over the pulsing beat of the music. He turned until his back was to the bar like Wyatt’s and sipped his drink. “Not that I’m against women, mind you,” he added, his gaze on the gaggle of young women who’d crowded on to the dance floor. They obviously didn’t care that none of their dates were out there with them; they were dancing and shaking, shoes kicked off and hooting as if they didn’t have a care in the world.
Wyatt’s gaze moved on from them and he realized he was searching for a sign of the hostess again. She was probably about the age of the women on the dance floor. It was too bad she was working and wasn’t out there, too. But he didn’t spot her. Maybe she’d already gotten off duty and had left.
He thought about leaving himself, but controlled the urge and eventually, the reception finally started to wind down. Wyatt had counted off several more rounds of drinks that his brothers and Michael knocked back, and they started making noises about checking out what was left of the New Year’s Eve festivities elsewhere in town. Particularly the prospect of encountering some unattached lovelies.
Wyatt wasn’t interested in more music or booze or women. He was interested in the truth behind his father’s inexplicable betrayal. A truth that, so far, hadn’t been forthcoming from any quarter, least of all the old man.
“Last call, gentlemen.” Despite working her tail off for several hours, the bartender looked as perky as ever. “Anything I can get you?”
“We’re heading out, hon,” Michael told her, his trademark smile in place. He reached over the bar for a clean glass and set it on the bar, then tucked several bills from his wallet into it. “You be sure and find some lucky man to kiss at midnight.”
The bartender shook her head, looking rueful. “Hon, midnight came and went an hour ago.”
Wyatt hid a smile, but typically, Michael let that little detail roll right off his back. “Every night has a midnight,” he drawled.
“That it does,” she agreed, her amusement deepening. She nudged the glass back toward Michael. “And that’s not necessary tonight, Mr. Fortune.” Her gaze took in the rest of them. “You boys going to be taking a cab, or is Mr. Designated Driver on duty?”
“They’re cabbin’ it,” Wyatt answered before anyone else could. The hostess had just reappeared through the kitchen door and his interest in getting out of there dwindled. He looked over at the bartender and swirled his glass in a circle on the bar. “Hit me one more time, would you please?”
“You bet.” In seconds, she’d given him a fresh smile and a fresh soda before turning away to fill the flurry of orders she’d gotten for last call.
“Going to hang here for a while, huh?” Michael gave him a speculative look, hanging back while Wyatt’s brothers headed to the front of the restaurant. Asher stopped for a moment to talk to the curvaceous hostess and Wyatt figured he was asking about arranging for a cab.
Again, his gaze held on the line of her creamy spine, revealed here and there by the intriguing cut-outs of her form-fitting black dress. “Gonna be quieter here than it will be wherever you guys decide to go,” he told his cousin.
Michael laughed beneath his breath. “I’ve seen what you’ve been eyeing all night. Quiet isn’t on your mind.”
Wyatt’s fingers tightened around the cold glass. It was easier to let his cousin think his distraction with the shapely hostess was responsible for his decision to hang back than to explain the black hole that was yawning open inside of him. After the last few days of wedding festivities, he just wanted to be left alone. “She’s not a what, Mike.” Nobody ever shortened Michael’s name. “She’s a who.”
Michael’s smile sharpened even more. “As long as whoever she is manages to help you lighten up, without you ending up down on your knee.”
Wyatt grimaced. His cousin should know better. Marriage was no higher on Wyatt’s list than it was on Michael’s.
“Maybe you’ll come to your senses about returning to Atlanta along the way,” Michael finished. He reached across the bar and set the glass with the hefty tip he’d left on the bartender’s stainless steel work area then gave Wyatt a slap on the shoulder before crossing the restaurant.
Despite the alcohol Wyatt knew he’d consumed, his cousin’s steps were as sure as ever.
He exhaled and watched them all push through the front door of the restaurant. There was no way Wyatt would be reconsidering his decision about returning to Atlanta. He’d drawn the line in the sand. His father had stubbornly refused to explain his actions regarding the family company, JMF Financial. Which meant that, if anything, Wyatt would only be digging that line deeper and wider. He had right on his side, while his dad was drowning in wrong. There was just no other way to categorize James’s decision to sell the company out from under them.
He slowly finished his drink, his thoughts turned inward and only when the D.J. finally stopped the music did he add his own contribution to the bartender’s tip glass. She gave him a good-natured smile tinged with a hint of regret.
He pretended not to notice. He just wasn’t interested. So he left the bar and the restaurant behind, and headed out into the cold night. He didn’t have to bother saying his goodbyes to anyone in the family; they’d all left and he’d be seeing them again later in the morning at the brunch being held at their hotel. His mother had reminded him three separate times about the brunch, as if she’d suspected—correctly enough—that he’d had more than his fill of wedding folderol.
His rental car was only one of a few still remaining in the parking lot. When he reached it, he unlocked the car and climbed in. But instead of starting the engine, he sighed again, staring blindly at the steering wheel.
They hadn’t broken the news to Clara yet that they wouldn’t be going home. It didn’t take a genius to know that his mother wouldn’t be thrilled. She’d never been involved in the running of JMF, but she’d always been involved in her children. The fact that they were all adults with their own lives hadn’t changed that at all.
He raked back his hair, digging his fingers into the back of his tight neck. Deciding to draw that line in the sand had been the only thing to do, considering what their father had done. But how were they going to break the news to their mother? As far as she knew, they were all scheduled to leave for Atlanta after the brunch. They needed to let her know they wouldn’t be accompanying her.
“Sir? Would you like a cab after all?”
Jerked from his thoughts, Wyatt frowned and looked up.
The hostess from the restaurant stood beside the car, a brilliant red scarf draped around her shoulders. She was leaning down slightly and even though the only light to speak of came from the dome light in the rental car, he could see the way her eyebrows crinkled together over her eyes. He was hard-pressed to know where to look—at those dark eyes of hers or the spectacular cleavage that was leaning over him, barely inches from his face. He noticed no rings on the fingers wrapped in her shawl, but aside from that, he resolutely kept his gaze above her neck. It wasn’t exactly easy. “Do you follow all your customers out to their cars?”
Aware of the dismissive glance the man gave her chest, Sarah-Jane jerked the shawl more closely around her shoulders, clutching it together tightly with her fist. “I only follow the ones who’ve been drinking and want to drive.” She managed to keep her voice cool, which was a feat since she’d never done such a thing in her entire life. But she certainly wasn’t going to let down Maria and Jose Mendoza.
The handsome man frowning up at her had held court at the bar with his companions for hours. She didn’t even want to contemplate the restaurant’s liability if he drove while intoxicated.
Although, she had to admit, even in the dim light, he didn’t exactly look intoxicated.
And then, he planted his foot on the ground and slid out from behind the steering wheel to stand in front of her.
She swallowed hastily, taking a step back, only to feel her ankle wobble in the high heel.
His hand shot out and he steadied her. Even adding the toe-pinching stilts to her five-foot-seven height, he was still a few inches taller than she was. And his shoulders were so wide, they actually made her feel like hers weren’t.
“I think you might be the one who needs a cab.”
He was laughing at her. She jerked her elbow away and took another careful, nonwobbling, step back. “The pavement’s uneven,” she defended, then wished she’d kept her mouth shut.
“Then you’d better be careful,” he warned lightly. He looked down at her feet. “It’d be a crying shame if something happened to one of those beautiful ankles of yours.”
Definitely laughing at her. “It’d be a crying shame if something happened to that beautiful car you shouldn’t be driving,” she returned.
He looked up at the pitch black sky for a moment. When he looked back down at her, his smile was right out there in the open. But before her defenses turned her completely into a block of stone, he stuck out his hand. “Wyatt Fortune. And aside from one shot and a bit of champagne, I was drinking soda all night. But I can walk a straight line if you want me to.”
Sarah-Jane stared at the hand extended toward her. Okay, so she’d spent half the night inside the restaurant trying not to be caught watching him. And it really had been concern for everyone’s safety that had prompted her to approach him when she’d seen the way he’d just been sitting alone so oddly in his car. He hadn’t even closed his car door.
But now, the tall gift-from-the-gods-handsome man wanted to shake her hand? In the moment that it took to realize it, her palm managed to get sweaty. She tightened her grip around the wrap that Maria had provided in addition to the dress and shoes. If she continued just standing there like the world’s biggest idiot, he’d end up thinking she was rude. Which was an impression she definitely didn’t want to leave.
For Maria’s sake, of course.
She swallowed and placed her hand in his. His fingers slowly curled around hers and heat zipped up her arm, past her elbow and beyond.
“That’s not so bad, is it?”
It was agony. She waited a breathless moment for him to release her hand, but he didn’t. Instead, he just continued looking at her, his gaze steady and seemingly sober.
“What’s your name?”
Her face was flushing. She could feel the heat flooding right up through her ears. “S...Savannah.” The name came out of nowhere and the heat in her face turned downright fiery.
His thumb drifted over the back of her hand. “Beautiful name. Beautiful city. Been there many times. Is that where you’re from?”
Where had that name come from? “Um...no. My, um, my parents first met there.” One lie. Now two. Maybe her parents had been to Savannah, Georgia, at some point in their lives, but it certainly wasn’t where they’d met. That had been in good ol’ Houston, where they still lived.
“So, Savannah.” He drew out her name. “Why were you working on New Year’s Eve and not out celebrating?”
She blamed the night air for the shiver working down her spine, rather than the way he was still moving his thumb ever so slowly against her hand. She tugged and he finally let it go. The fact that he seemed reluctant to do so had to be her imagination. It was all fired up because she’d spent so much of the evening daydreaming. Fantasizing that she was someone like a Savannah, and not who she really was. Plain Sarah-Jane. “My boyfriend is out of town.” Another whopper. What was wrong with her?
He grimaced and shook his head. “Should have known there’d be a boyfriend. Whatever he’s doing must’ve been mighty important.”
“Why?” The question popped out despite herself.
“No man in his right mind wants to leave behind a beautiful woman like you on a night like this if he can possibly help it.”
She twined her fingers tightly in the cashmere wrap. She couldn’t come up with a response to save her soul.
“Are you headed home?”
She nodded.
He smiled slightly and glanced around the parking lot. Even the other two cars had now left. “Where’s your car?”
“I walked.”
“Ah. Can I give you a ride?”
Her mouth dried up. She shook her head even though something inside her wanted to jump up and down with glee.
“You sure?” He spread his hands. “I promise you’d be safe. Whether it looked like it or not in there, I leave most of the drinking to my brothers. I’m sober as a judge.” He smiled slightly. “If we kissed, you wouldn’t taste anything but me.”
Her jaw loosened. If?
“But then your boyfriend probably wouldn’t approve.”
She nearly choked. Thank goodness he didn’t ask for the nonexistent boyfriend’s name. “No. Probably not.”
“Seriously, though. You shouldn’t be out walking alone at this hour.”
“It’s only a few minutes from here. I’ll be fine.”
“And getting in the car of a stranger isn’t something you’re anxious to do.”
Her ears went hot again, because that thought hadn’t even entered her mind. And it certainly should have.
“Well.” He suddenly caught her hand up in his again, only to lift it and drop a kiss on the back of it. “You walk carefully, Savannah. And have yourself a good New Year.” He tugged his loosened tie off completely and tossed it in the car before following it.
“You too,” she finally managed faintly.
But she knew he hadn’t heard.
He’d already started the engine of the expensive-looking car and was driving away.
She couldn’t help feeling like she’d blown her one and only chance with the handsome man. For her and the nonexistent Savannah.
