Page 4 of The Jellybean Dilemma

One side of his mouth tipped up. His bare hand grasped my ankle ever so gently, reminding me of the night of the gala when he’d untangled me from my dress. Except now I couldn’t breathe, each brush of his fingers sending jolts of electricity up my calf.

Then he slid my shoe onto my foot, buckling the dainty strap like he’d done it a million times. “All right, Jellybean, now you’re ready to go to the ball.”

When he offered me his hand, I wasn’t positive I was steady enough to stand, especially in the wake of that dimpled grin.

Chapter Two

After I stood up, I kept hold of Greg’s hand for an extra moment, to be sure my knees would actually work. I let go of him once I was confident in my stability. Needing a second to compose myself, I sauntered over to my stack of luggage. Which of course he commented on.

“How many times do you plan to change your clothes?” He arched an eyebrow. “We’ll only be there for a week.”

“Do you know how many events you want us to attend? I need an outfit for each.” I rolled my eyes. What did he expect? As I strode outside, I balked when I took in the bulky, multi-colored SUV parked at the bottom of my steps. “What is that?”

He grinned proudly. “My baby.”

I shook my head adamantly. “Nope. No way.” I gestured to my high heels. “There is no way to get in and out of that”—I pointed as I glared at the monstrosity—“without killing myself. I’d have to repack all my outfits.”

“If it means sensible shoes, then by all means.” He stared at me as if waiting for me to trot off and do just that. When I didn’t, he sighed. “Rhonda, we’re going to the Upper Peninsula, what we locals like to call the U.P. Dressing up is Bog boots and flannel shirts. The goal is not to freeze and you…” His gaze trailed down my length under my unbuttoned pea coat, taking in my silk blouse, flared black skirt, stockings and open-toed Jimmy Choos. “You lose.”

My ex-fiancé’s parting words echoed through my head. “The only thing you’re good for is arm candy. If you take away your clothes and makeup, what are you? Nothing.” The door slammed in my memory, making me flinch. I blinked, refocusing on Greg standing next to me, saying my name.

“You okay?”

I glared at him. “I’m fine. And the way I’m dressed is perfectly fine. You wanted a date—well this is what you get. But there is no way in hell I’m going anywhere in that rickety piece of crap. Town Car, limo, great. That?” I frowned at the rusted-out SUV, the body a splotchy green with a white hood and tires so tall I’d have to hop to get in. “No way.”

He clenched his jaw, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “Be reasonable. We’re talking about Marquette, in December. Those are snow tires.”

“You already told your family I’m coming, right?” I lifted my chin a fraction of an inch as he nodded, miserably. “Good. Let me know when you have the proper transportation.” I pivoted to go back inside. I couldn’t believe Greg had the nerve to think that I, Rhonda Elgin, heiress to a shipping empire, setter of fashion trends, head of countless charities, would deign to set foot in that death trap. Snow tires, my foot.

Ten minutes later, a horn honked several times, short and snappy. I poked my head outside, satisfied to see my familiar Town Car in the driveway. I started to stalk down the steps as triumph had me preening. A clearing throat from the front seat stopped me in my tracks. “What?” I snapped.

He pointedly looked from me to my luggage, then smirked and pushed the trunk button. “Have fun in those shoes. Don’t twist an ankle.” He rolled up the window while he waited.

I would have stomped my foot, except he was right about my shoes…not that I’d admit it. Somehow, I managed to haul my things into the trunk, with all my nails intact, thank you. Out of habit, I almost climbed in the back seat. My hand hovered over the handle, but even I wasn’t that cruel.

“Well?” I asked, smugly plopping into the front seat. “Let’s go.”

As my house grew smaller in the side mirror, the pressure in my chest lessened. Greg offered me a bottle of water, which I accepted with a quiet, “Thank you.” Not too far down the road, I shed my coat and my shoes, tucking my stockinged feet to one side.

A restless energy filled me, and I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. I had a cotillion under my belt. I could descend a staircase in four-inch heels without wobbling once. Fancy dinner settings, with several courses, multiple forks, spoons and knives? Wouldn’t faze me. Waltzes, small talk, speeches, luncheons, charity events…all small potatoes.

Road trip? Seven and a half hours in the front seat next to Greg? My palms were already sweating, and it had only been fifteen minutes. Traffic grew heavy as we approached the highway. I’d just unscrewed the cap to my water bottle when some idiot swerved right into our lane, making Greg slam on the brakes. Water splashed down the front of me.

My blouse was as paper-thin as my bra. Shit. “Greg,” I whispered hesitantly. I didn’t want to startle him by the state I was in. I had to grab my coat, and reaching into the back seat would give him an inevitable eyeful.

He ignored me, too busy muttering under his breath at the inconsiderate driver. I tried once more, but he stayed focused on the road ahead. Maybe if I’m quick. I reached into the backseat, my torso near his shoulder as I grabbed my coat.

“Rhonda, what the hell?” he yelped, confronted with my see-through shirt. Turning his attention back to the road, he swerved, narrowly missing a car in the turn lane.

The motion jerked me back into my seat.

“A little warning would have been nice,” he muttered.

My cheeks were hot as I hid beneath my coat. “I tried.”

His knuckles were white, jaw clenched and shoulders tensed the entire time he fought traffic to turn into the Wal-Mart parking lot. He let out a long sigh. Giving me a tentative glance, he relaxed when he saw I was covered. “What happened?”

“I went to take a drink when you had to slam on the brakes.” My chin quivered. I hated being yelled at, plus I was cold, damp and wearing a see-through shirt. Not to mention embarrassed as hell.

---