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

in a murmur, “How the mighty do fall.”
    “Pardon?”
    “Nothing. It’s just nice to see that you can be as batty as the rest of us.”
    “Does this conversation make no sense at all, or is it me?” Carroll wondered aloud.
    “It’s you,” Nancy assured her. “I assume it’s Alan who’s done this to you?”
    “Done what to me?”
    “That’s exactly what I mean. You don’t even know.” Nancy shook her head in despair.
    Carroll stood up and hobbled over to the stove for more coffee. “I haven’t the least idea what you’re talking about. I’ve known the man for months. He hasn’t done anything to me.”
    “ Something has changed you in the last few days.”
    “Nonsense.”
    “You’re going out with him tonight?”
    Carroll nodded. “And on Thursday. He’s speaking to a medical group, a banquet at Purdue where he has to give a talk.”
    Nancy scrunched up her nose. “Sounds dull.”
    “You’ve never been to anything as dull as a medical convention,” Carroll agreed happily.
    “There, now. My sister just made an almost rational statement for the first time this morning,” Nancy said to thin air. “Maybe she hasn’t got as bad a case as I thought.”
    “Do you have any idea,” Carroll said thoughtfully, “how many times I nearly strangled you when we were kids?”
    Nancy chuckled. Carroll, having forgotten the coffee, found herself in front of the kitchen cupboard that held the aspirin. Popping two, she followed them up with a water chaser. Contrary to what her sister kept implying, the only things wrong with her this morning were a total lack of sleep, a teeny blister and a slight headache caused by having consumed a ridiculous amount of champagne the night before.
    All of which had been worth it.
    Darn it, who would have guessed Alan could even think up such enticing things, much less whisper them in her ear on a crowded dance floor?
    A little nagging voice in the back of her head kept harassing her to take a second look at things. Realistically, for instance, a man didn’t change from day to night at will. Realistically, she wasn’t absolutely positive by light of day that she wanted to live in a barn. Realistically, she was a little shocked to discover she’d nearly been seduced in a bed of straw on a Saturday morning. Realistically, she wasn’t absolutely sure with whom she’d danced cheek to cheek for an entire night, because the Alan she knew panicked at weddings for the obligatory waltz with the bride.
    Her eyes turned dreamy, staring at the water in her glass. Realism belonged on 60 Minutes. Who cared? She’d be sensible again tomorrow. Today she was too busy relishing secrets. For so long she’d been afraid that the chemistry was tepid between them, that Alan never really saw her as a woman, that desire was something she would never experience…
    “Caro?” Nancy’s voice was patient.
    “Hmm?”
    “Are we going to let the front doorbell keep ringing, or would you like me to get it?”
    Carroll blinked. “Oh—I will.” She straightened and headed for the door, but when she opened it, there was no one there—just five long slim boxes lying on her doormat. Frowning, she gathered them up and used her hip to close the door against the bitter wind.
    “Good heavens!” Nancy hurried forward to catch a box before it fell. “What is this?”
    “I haven’t any idea.” Juggling them on the way to the kitchen, Carroll tried to search for a card, but couldn’t find one. Finally, she pulled the ribbon off the first box and parted the folds of green tissue paper. Her breath caught. A dozen long-stemmed white roses were lying there, infinitely fragile.
    “Good Lord!” Nancy, laughing, started pulling ribbons every which way. Each box held a dozen roses, each a different color. Red, white, coral, yellow, pink… “I hope to heavens you have a ton of vases, and I can’t imagine how he got these delivered on a Sunday morning,” Nancy said breathlessly. “Carroll, where did