The Bachelor (Chandler Brothers 1)

She paused.

“And in case those promises don’t sway you, I’ll start honking the horn, making a scene, and I won’t stop until you’re buckled in next to me. The choice is yours.”

She swung around, yanked open the door, and flung herself into the seat beside him. “It was the Chinese food that got to me.”

He grinned. “I wouldn’t presume anything else.”

“Good. Because I wouldn’t, for one second, want you to think it had anything to do with your charm.”

He hit the gas pedal and headed on out of town. “You think I’m charming?” he asked.

Arms folded, she eyed him warily.

In the wake of her silence, he said, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Obviously she wasn’t in the mood for verbal games. That was okay. As long as she was within two feet of him and he could keep an eye on her, he was happy.

Twenty minutes later, they were seated in a Chinese restaurant—red velvet brocade wallpaper and dark sconce lighting added to the ambience.

A waiter led them to a corner table, half booth, half with chairs. A family of four, two adults and two young boys, were noisily eating beside them on the right. A fish tank sat in one corner and an indoor pond full of tropical fish was located to their right.

“Okay with you?” Roman asked Charlotte, of the table. He didn’t mind the kids, but he couldn’t gauge her mood.

A smile pulled at her lips. “As long as I don’t order fish, this is fine.” She slid into the booth.

He could have sat across from her and kept his distance. Instead he chose to join her, trapping her between himself and the wall.

She greeted him with an obviously fake pout. “You don’t play fair.”

“Did I say I would?” He recognized the verbal sparring as a means of avoiding anything serious. He wondered how long it would last.

Charlotte shook her head. She couldn’t focus on Roman now. Instead she looked past him to the family of four. The two blond-haired boys had trouble gleaming in their eyes as one brother lifted a crispy noodle, held it between his thumb and forefinger. He narrowed his gaze, getting ready to flick it. His brother whispered something in his ear and when he shifted for a different angle, Charlotte figured he was egging him on. Their parents, engaged in serious conversation, seemed not to notice.

“He wouldn’t,” Roman leaned back and whispered.

“I wouldn’t bet the ranch.” She used the old cliché. “Actually, in your case, I wouldn’t bet the suitcase.”

“Ouch.”

She ignored him, watching the kids instead. “Ready, aim, fire,” she whispered in time to the boy’s actions.

As if on cue, the kid sent the hard noodle, which had broken in two, soaring into the air before it took a less-than-graceful plop into the goldfish-strewn water.

“Can a fish die from being hit with a fried wonton?” she asked.

“What about swallowing a fried wonton? If he were my kid, I’d grab him by the collar and dunk him headfirst. After I silently applauded his aim.”

“Spoken like a man who’s seen his share of trouble as a kid.”

He shot her the incredible smile that melted her insides and made her want to crawl into his lap and never leave. Dangerous thought. She bit down on the inside of her cheek.

“I can relate to him. My brothers and I caused plenty of trouble when we were young.”

She turned toward him and leaned forward in her seat, resting her chin on her hands. “Such as?” She needed to get lost in happy times. Other people’s happy times.

“Let’s see.” He paused in thought. “I’ve got one. There was the time Mom attended back-to-school night and left Chase to watch me and Rick.”

“Chase ruled like a dictator?”

“When he was awake, yes. But that night he fell asleep.” Laugh lines touched the corners of his eyes as he recalled the memory.

“Please don’t tell me you tied him up.”

“Hell, no!” He sounded offended. “Give us some credit for imagination. Let’s just say Mom’s makeup case offered a wealth of possibilities.”

She felt her eyes opening wide. “He didn’t wake up?”

“The only benefit to having Chase as a pseudo-dad was that he slept like a dead one. We made him look mighty purty,” Roman said with a deliberate southern drawl. “His date thought so too.”

Charlotte let out a whoop of laughter. “No kidding?”

Roman shook his head. “He was eighteen, dating a college freshman, and she’d offered to meet him at our house so they could leave as soon as Mom got home. Doorbell rang, we woke him to answer it …”

Charlotte didn’t hear the rest; she was laughing too hard, tears running down her face at the absurdity. “Oh, I wish I could have seen that.”

He leaned closer. “I have pictures.”

She wiped at her eyes with a linen napkin. “I have to see.”