No More Mr. Nice Guy by Jennifer Greene Read Free Book Online

exhilarating awareness from the intimate chafing of his beard. The caviar suddenly tasted saltier. The air was fresher, the smell of straw stronger than before. A feeling of wonder felt as fragile as a secret inside her, intensified by a growing awareness that Alan had feelings for her that she’d never guessed before.
    The wine and caviar and loving came at her all at once, as something he’d planned uniquely for her. If he’d intended for her to feel special, she definitely did. More special, more alive, more woman than she’d felt in forever.
    Alan clicked glasses with her, winked with a winsome grin. “Dancing,” he repeated. “As in—until dawn, Caro. Tonight, if you’re free?”
    “Yes, but, Alan? I always thought…you didn’t like to dance.”
    He motioned that detail aside with a wave of his hand and took a long swallow of wine, his gaze flickering absently around the barn. “Do you see what I mean about this place now, honey?”
    Carroll restudied her surroundings, this time barely noticing the cobwebs and chill and bare boards. Maybe they were still there, but they didn’t seem to matter as much. All her life, she’d been determined to be practical. At this moment, she could envision a palace in a tree house. “An endless feeling of spaciousness,” she commented blissfully.
    “It would definitely be a house like no one else’s.”
    “Absolutely. And character, Alan. The whole place has character.” Alan threw back his head and laughed, and Carroll cocked her head at him curiously. “What’s so funny?”
    “Oh…nothing’s funny, exactly. I’m just so relieved you like the place, can see the same potential in it that I do, Caro. When you first walked in, I could see you had doubts.”
    “A few, maybe—but none that seem so terribly important now,” she said softly, although she wasn’t sure she was referring to the barn.
    “Good,” Alan said with satisfaction, “because I bought the property yesterday.”
    A dollop of caviar suddenly went down Carroll’s throat the wrong way. Alan thumped her on the back until the coughing spasm passed.
    ***
    Wedding invitations were spread out on Carroll’s kitchen table, along with the Sunday paper, a roll of stamps, coffee mugs and extravagant lists of potential guests. Nancy finished a lengthy dissertation on her fiancé’s travel plans, from Stéphane’s flight back to Quebec to his expected return two days before the wedding. When that failed to get Carroll’s attention, she tried talking clothes, and when that failed, she just shook her head. “I hate to say this,” Nancy said politely, “but I’m supposed to be the scatterbrained one in this family, with Mom running a close second.”
    “And?” Carroll licked a stamp, stabbed it at the envelope and looked up.
    “You’ve addressed three envelopes to the James Parker family. Far as I know, we only have to invite them one time, and then only because Mom’ll have a fit if I don’t.”
    “Did I really?” Carroll looked appropriately amazed, then yawned sleepily.
    “How late were you up last night anyway?” Nancy asked suspiciously.
    “Till four-thirty.”
    “FOUR THIRTY IN THE MORNING?!”
    “You’ve got it.”
    “And does that time bear some relationship to the fact that you’re wearing only one slipper?”
    “I have a blister on the other foot,” Carroll explained reasonably. It was on her right toe, and not very big. Blisters were never any fun, but if one had to get one, dancing all night was definitely the way to do it.
    Drinking champagne while dancing all night was an even better way. And doing both with Alan…
    Abruptly realizing that her sister was staring at her with an annoyingly patronizing grin, Carroll shuffled a half dozen wedding invitations in front of her and efficiently sifted through her mother’s guest list. “We’ve got to get to work,” she said firmly.
    “One of us was working. You’re the one who keeps mentally wandering off.” Nancy added