I accepted his logic about the title, but I still didn't like the fact he was a lord and I'd never live up to familial expectations that went with it. Technically, he hadn't lied to me, he'd omitted to tell me everything about himself, not a crime as he knew next to nothing about me. Apart from vital things like how I liked my eggs in the morning-scrambled (and unfertilized), my addiction to chai, my love of films, my awakening interest in India and its mouth-watering cuisine. Trivial stuff, inconsequential stuff, stuff you didn't base a future on.

Then I remembered the way he'd rub my feet exactly how I liked it-firm pressure, no tickles-how he passed the condiments tray without my having to ask, how he soaped my back and washed my hair with tenderness in the shower, how we'd talk into the wee small hours, cuddled on the sofa, dissecting an old movie before agreeing to disagree.

I was deluding myself. He knew me, knew things about me no other man had, including Tate. That's why I'd been so pissed at the thought of him lying to me. I'd opened up, given him a part of myself, and he'd withheld. Not fair.

I deserved better.

"Did your mother tell you what we talked about?"

His lips thinned, drawing my attention to his mouth, reminding me of how damn good those lips were at navigating their way around my body. "She was pretty pissed, that's all I know." He grabbed my hand. Bad move. Catastrophic move, but I couldn't slip out of his grip no matter how hard I tugged. "Forget whatever she said."

"Forget?" My voice-along with my blood pressure-shot up like steam toward the ceiling from the nearby espresso machine and I snatched my hand out of his. "It's natural you'd defend her but you could at least hear me out."

Several people glanced our way and I calmed with effort, digging my fingernails into the chair's leather to get a grip on my temper.

"I didn't mean to make light of the situation. I just want to put this behind us and move on."

"Move on to what? You're heading back to India soon. Or is it England, to marry your fiancee?"

"So that's what this is about." He took another infuriatingly slow sip of tea. "Let me guess. Mother mentioned her dream about me marrying Amelia and you jumped to all the wrong conclusions and have wasted a week of our time together because of it."

"Like you didn't know." Theoretically, I accepted Rita's logical explanation. Emotionally, it still bugged the crap out of me I hadn't heard the truth from him.

"I didn't know," he said, staring me in the eye, willing me to believe, yet I couldn't give in that easily.

"Then why haven't you pushed to tell me? You'd have to know I'd be upset to run out on you, yet you've been happy for me to call the shots, to wait around to hear why I was upset, to meet me here to do it?"

My irrational accusations should've got a reaction out of him. Instead, he shook his head like I'd disappointed him in some way. Better now than later.

"You're trying to pick a fight. I'm not buying into it. You're a grown woman capable of making her own decisions. You chose not to see me, I respected that. Yeah, I knew something major had pissed you off. Yeah, I knew my mother had a hand in it. I called you countless times, I texted you, and you wanted time out. I gave you that because I like you. A lot. Or are you so caught up in living out your own little melodrama you can't see what's right in front of you?"

Feeling smaller than a sugar granule stuck on my teaspoon, I released my death grip on the chair. "What's that?"

"A guy who's crazy about you."

My heart flip-flopped and tumbled and danced for joy but I wouldn't be distracted. This could only end one way. "A guy who lives on the other side of the planet."

He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. "A guy who's mobile and who owns his own plane." Not a trace of smugness or ego, making him all the more appealing.

His knee brushed mine, unsettling and distracting. "A guy who's expected to marry and produce a castle full of little Lord Fontleroys."

He smiled. "A guy who has no intention of getting married anytime soon and if he did, he'd probably chat with you about it first."

What did he mean by that? I'd be the first to know he'd be tying the knot with some Amelia-clone or I'd be the one he had in mind? Damn, he was good at this.

My eyes narrowed. "A guy who's not into commitment?"

"A guy who's willing to discuss what it means with the right woman." His stare bore into me, loaded, unwavering.

"A guy who hints at forever and doesn't follow through?" I held my breath after delivering the last one. Forever was a long time and the way I saw it, the F-word didn't belong in the same sentence as Shari and Drew.

"A guy who wants to explore all the possibilities that forever may entail."

Not a bad response.

"With you." He laid a hand on my knee and gave a gentle squeeze, his reassurance making my heart roll over.

Great response. Freaking fantastic response. A response that pretty much shelved my ditch-him-now-before-the-bastard-ditches-you plan.

However, I couldn't ignore one of Mom's many mismatched cliches: 'where's there's smoke, there's a raging inferno.' Lady Muck must've had some reason to imply Drew was almost engaged to the Greyhart bimbo and I had to know more.

"Why did your mom tell me you and Amelia are engaged?" I scooted back a fraction and he removed his hand. Worse luck. I sipped at my chai, feigning nonchalance, as if I didn't care about his answer.

By the knowing glint in his eyes, I guess my acting skills weren't as impressive as I'd hoped. "Amelia and I grew up together. Our families are friends, we're the same age, so we hung out. As we got older we used each other as last-minute dates for social functions and I guess Mother read too much into it."

His quick look away alerted me to the fact there was more to this convenient buddy-buddy story.

"And?"

"And what?" His sheepish half-grin would've melted my heart in the past. Not anymore. Shari the Sap had taken a permanent vacation and Shari the Ball-breaker was back in town.

"What aren't you telling me?" I set my mug down on the coffee table, reluctant to hang onto anything that could be used as a weapon in the next few seconds, depending what he divulged.

He sighed but didn't look nervous or remorseful or guilty as I'd expected. He sat back, way too comfortable, way too cute, before looking me straight in the eyes. "I might've fueled Mother's assumptions about marrying Amelia one day."

"I see." Where was that mug when I needed it? A heavy piece of china would've made a great flying missile to knock some sense into him.

"Amelia and I used to joke around in front of our folks if we were single by the time we were forty, we'd get married. Because Mother believed it, she stopped hassling me. So whenever Amelia and I get together in her presence, we play up the 'we're going to the chapel and we're going to get married' charade. It means nothing and it keeps Mother off my back. That's it."

The irony wasn't lost on me. "Like what I was doing with Rakesh to keep Rita's mom appeased?"

"Exactly."

I searched for some hint of duplicity, some glimmer of a lie, some indication he was trying to dupe me. In reality, I was looking for any excuse to end it and get the hell away from this guy who had the power to melt me like the Wicked Witch of the West beneath a deluge of water.

He took hold of my hand, intertwining his fingers between mine, and I enjoyed the contact for a moment. I'd missed him, missed this, the simple pleasure of holding hands with a special guy. "I bet you're thinking it's immature behavior from a grown man but you don't know my mother."

"Actually, I think I do." I eased my hand out of his, missing his comforting touch no matter how brief it'd been.

He frowned, staring at his hand, as if not quite believing I'd have the audacity to release it when he was practically down on his knees begging forgiveness. "What did she say to you exactly? I questioned her at length but a pack of mules has nothing on Mother when she's in one of her moods."

"You really want to know?"

He nodded, that damn lock of hair falling over his forehead, making my fingers itch to reach out and smooth it back.

I shrugged, knowing the truth wouldn't make or break us. He had a right to know Mommy Dearest deserved the names I'd called her and more. "Trashy, half-caste slut was the main gist of it."

"Fuck." Drew paled, his lips compressed in a hard, thin line and a deep frown furrowing his brow. "I had no idea it was that bad."

"Now you know." I picked at a loose thread on the armchair's seat cushion, wondering why I didn't feel better after showing up his mother for what she was. I'd been so furious when I'd stormed out of The Plaza I could've easily driven a stake through the old vampire's heart. Yet outing Lady Muck to her son didn't bring the peace I'd hoped for. In fact, it made me churlish, like a little girl tattling on the school bully.

"I'm so sorry." He reached out, his thumb brushing my hairline and sending delightful shivers skittering down my spine.

I allowed myself the luxury of savoring his caress, wondering where I'd find the strength to end this. "I'm a big girl; I can take it."

"You shouldn't have to put up with that prejudiced bullshit."

"I didn't." In favor of full disclosure, I came clean. "I called her a racist old bitch."

His brows shot heavenward, the corners of his mouth curving with amusement. "So that's what had her so pissed. She would've hated being called old."

I winced at his lame joke. "I'm not proud of what I said."

"Considering the load of bollocks she heaped on you?" He cringed. "I'm ashamed of her."

My shoulders slumped with the added guilt of coming between him and Lady Muck. "She's a mom. She's overprotective."

"Still doesn't give her the right to treat you like that." He shook his head. "I meant what I said earlier, about exploring forever with you."

Wow. I could've melted into his arms but the new, improved, Shari-with-a-backbone wouldn't fall for charming words or smooth lines anymore. Drew had said all the right things but could I really trust him? Despite being more upstanding than most, he was a member of the belly-crawling species.

I needed to think, something I'd been lousy at on the spur of the moment. I usually came up with a killer comeback or smart idea hours later. But in that instant it came to me: a way to see how serious he was about a future. "Forever's a long time."

"Try me."

I quirked an eyebrow, an impudent move Rita had down pat but probably looked like a caterpillar break-dancing on my forehead. "Fine, I will."

"How?" A spark of interest lit his eyes. I wondered how long it'd stay when he heard my proposition.

"A meeting. You, me, and your mother. A chance to clear the air." And for him to prove to the old bat that I'm not the fling she thinks I am.

He blinked once, twice, before a slow grin spread across his face. "I'm not sure whether to admire your bravado or have you certified insane."

I tossed my head, grateful for the lathering of conditioner I'd used earlier that morning. "I get it. You're prepared to talk forever as long as Mommy Dearest doesn't hear about it. Maybe she's right. Maybe I am your last exotic dabble before settling down with someone of your own class."

"Don't be ridiculous." He flushed an angry crimson, the added color accentuating his good looks rather than detracting. "You need a meeting for me to prove I'm not bullshitting you? Fine. I'll set it up."

His jaw clenched, his mouth set in a grim line, and his eyes glittered with cold, hard challenge, leaving me craving his sexy smile and that special something that lit his face when he glanced my way.

I'd wanted proof of his feelings, but at what cost? Time to backpedal a tad.

"I've been a bitch."

His face softened. "No, you're a woman who needs proof she's not being had."

I pouted and folded my arms. "I'm not insecure." Well, maybe a little... But hey, being called trashy and a last-ditch fling did that to a girl.

"That diva behavior turns me on."

A sliver of heat shot through me. I turned him on? The feeling was entirely mutual, but I wouldn't give in that easily, not after I'd gone to such lengths to test his feelings.

"Keep talking." I tried a mock frown and failed miserably.

His lips curved upward at the corners. "Does that mean I'm forgiven?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe means you'll consider adjourning this meeting to your place or mine?"

"Maybe means you're pushing your luck."

Though the thought of running the short distance back to the apartment dragging Drew behind me with the promise of mind-blowing sex didn't seem like pushing luck. It seemed like an abundance of good luck to me.

The fact was, I'd already forgiven him where it counted, deep in my heart. He'd been completely honest with me-about everything-and that said a lot after what I'd been through with Tate. I couldn't abide lies, not anymore, and having Drew divulge the truth was the sealer for our burgeoning relationship.

"I missed you," he said, stroking my cheek with a slow, deliberate sweep in a tender move straight out of a film, one of those special, tearjerking moments when the hero lets the girl know exactly how special she is with one simple action and a few well-chosen words.

I melted. No other word to describe the warm, fuzzy buzz flowing from my head to my toes, sparking everywhere in between. I might not be able to recognize true love but at that moment I sure as hell came close.

"You're okay for a lord," I mumbled, taking hold of his hand and drawing him to his feet. "How about I take you back to my castle and we play some old-fashioned fencing games?"

"Fencing games?" He pretended not to understand, though I saw the naughty gleam in his eyes the second my entendre registered.

"If you expect me to say how mighty your sword is, forget it."

"Just once?" He pulled me flush against his body-that amazing, hot, hard body-before snatching my breath with a kiss that left me staggering and grabbing onto his jacket lapels for support.

"Sword. Mighty. Let's go." I clung to his hand as we bolted out of Starbucks and up the street like a couple of lunatics. A couple of horny lunatics.

To think, I'd wanted to ditch this guy over a title, a racist mom, and a faux engagement.

"Can't you take those things off?" He glared at my three-inch stilettos, hampering my running speed.

My first response of 'no' died on my lips at the heat blazing in his eyes so I did the only thing a sassy New York girl would do: slipped off my shoes, swung them over my shoulder, and jumped into his arms.

"If you say one word about my weight, the fencing games are off," I said, inhaling a lungful of Cool Water and trying not to swoon in ecstasy.

Drew was a smart guy. He smiled, dropped a brief yet scorching kiss on my lips, and proceeded to march up the street, dodging passersby, head held high while murmuring exactly what he was going to do to every inch of my body when we reached the apartment.

I held him to each and every one of his decadently wicked promises.

chapter fourteen.