“Wine is fine, thank you.”
He sat back, signaling their waiter with a raised hand, and studied her as the man poured. Somehow, she managed not to squirm under his intent regard, but the focus cost her. Her hand shook as she picked up her glass. She sipped and enjoyed the sweet chill on the dry membranes of her tongue and throat.
“Michael said you were lovely. He didn’t do you justice.”
Chaos erupted in her belly as if thousands of butterflies had suddenly taken flight. Setting down her glass, she dismissed the manic fluttering and dragged in a calming breath. The dark-haired devil sitting across from her with intent green eyes and a come-to-me-baby drawl would fluster any woman with a pulse, even one with a natural cynicism for situations like this. She might be a round plug in a family of square holes, but she’d been raised in the world of corporate finance and recognized his words for what they were. Gabe Sutton thought he was flattering the daughter of a very powerful business associate. As the only daughter of Thomas Whitmore, CEO of Whitmore Financial Industries, Jane had been on the receiving end of similar praises over the years…for exactly the same purpose.
A wry smile curved her lips. “That’s kind of you, but, about…my father. I’m sorry he roped you into including me tonight. He means well, but he can be pushy.”
A trace of humor flashed in his eyes. “He isn’t exactly subtle, is he?”
“No, he isn’t.” She shrugged. “We’ve met, which is what he was after. Once he learns his plan didn’t work out, he’ll move on to the next…candidate.”
He sprawled back, and his thickly lashed eyes narrowed as they roamed her face. “Candidate? This isn’t the first time your father has set you up like this, I take it?”
Todd’s patrician face flashed through her mind. Michael Austin might never have set Jane up with a business associate he considered acceptable husband material, but her own father had. “No, it’s not.” She mimicked Shae’s father’s booming voice, repeating the complaint he’d tossed at Shae numerous times: “You’re twenty-four. When are you going to settle down and give me grandbabies? Your mother and I aren’t getting any younger, you know.” She finished with a dramatic sigh.
Lines crinkled the corners of his eyes as a bright, white grin split his tanned face. “He didn’t mention grandbabies, but the tone was similar when he insisted his little girl would be the perfect interpreter. You do speak French, right? Or was Michael convinced I’d look into your bottomless blue eyes and be too lost to notice?”
She ignored the backhanded compliment. A man couldn’t be blamed for ingrained habits, and she imagined Gabe Sutton had been charming women from the time he could speak. The humor in his eyes was contagious, however. She returned his grin while fingering the stem of her wine glass.
“Smooth.” She tilted her lips in a mocking smile. “You injected the perfect balance of annoyance and sincerity. Have you practiced that one in the mirror?”
He dimpled on a chuckle. She battled against the need to roll her eyes. Why was it men without need of them always came with secret weapons?
“You’re pretty smooth yourself, burying a cutting dismissal under the guise of charm.”
She had dimples of her own and knew how to use them. “When a woman gets plopped down on Michael Austin’s chessboard, she’d better understand the game.” Objective met, she relaxed. Curious, however, she cocked her head and studied the strong angles of his face. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You’re what? Thirty-two? Thirty-three? It happens I’m fluent in French, but matchmaking wouldn’t have been part of Mr.—my father’s agenda if you weren’t single.” She snatched up her glass. Staring into the golden liquid, she prayed he hadn’t caught her slip. “No pressure from anyone to settle down?”
“I’m thirty-three and know all about matchmaking agendas. I’ve been employing defensive strategies on my grandmother’s matrimonial chessboard for more than a decade. So far, I’ve managed to keep her in stalemate.”
“Your grandmother?” A soundless breath of relief shuddered from her lips as she gulped a healthy swallow.
The sharp cut of his mouth softened into a tolerant smile. “To the world, she may look like a sweet little old lady, but she’s always had the heart of a dictator. Her autocratic tendencies haven’t lessened with the passage of time.”
Despite his complaining tone, affection permeated his smile. Jane wished she could dredge up a similar fondness for her own domineering grandparent. Unfortunately, Gladys Whitmore’s sour disposition and vocal disapproval of everything Jane did hadn’t inspired a warm and fuzzy relationship when Gladys was alive. Her posthumous attempt to manipulate Jane’s life only reinforced her negative opinion of the bossy old biddy.