Harlequin Romance March 2021 Box Set by Cara Colter (best sales books of all time .TXT) 📗

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“I think I had better drive you home,” Jonas said.

Krissy could hear the reluctance in his voice. Well, who could blame him? It was a long drive, and the round trip would take him deep into the night. Plus, she had cried all over him, and he had decided, on the basis of milkshake choice, that she was boring.

She suspected his motive was pity. Who wanted to be pitied by such an excruciatingly attractive man?

Still, it was so tempting! A car instead of the train, an opportunity to bring some of these boxes home. Plus, it would be so quick. And her dog had now been home alone for way too long.

Crusher. Was she actually dreading going home to the new resident?

Of course not! In fact, for the dog’s sake alone, she should accept the ride. But underneath all those very good reasons to accept Jonas’s offer, Krissy was aware of something else. Despite the disagreement over what was exciting in ice cream products—or maybe because of it—she wanted to spend more time with him. She was intrigued. She wanted to unravel the mystery of why Jonas, a man brimming with such confidence, such a sense of himself, was searching for a fiancée.

All the more reason to say no, as if a pro and con sheet was being built in her head. Despite his association with her aunt, he was a complete stranger.

On the other hand, she always said no. It was her default answer for nearly everything, including trying other items on the menu at Moo-Moo’s. Why not say yes for once? Why not be open to life being surprising?

It occurred to her that maybe she just didn’t want to be alone.

“That would be very kind,” she shocked them both by saying.

Moments later, weighed down with boxes, they emerged from the alley behind Match Made in Heaven. Jonas led her down the street and stopped at a sleek-looking car that was not like anything she had ever seen before.

“What is this?” she asked, annoyed that her voice had a reverent whisper to it. Obviously, the kind of car a man like him—a Triple Chocolate Volcano Sundae guy—drove. Or a James Bond type. Or a business tycoon.

Her own car suddenly seemed as boring as her ice cream choices, an economical subcompact that was good on gas and was a less than exciting shade of white. In fact, her car was about the same shade as a vanilla cone.

This car was vintage, very sporty and low-slung. Without knowing a single thing about cars, Krissy knew it was powerful. It glinted a deep and glossy muted pewter under the streetlight.

“It’s the cause of all my problems,” Jonas said with rough affection. He opened the passenger-side door and leaned in, stowing the box he was carrying in the back. She ordered herself not to look at the way his jacket rode up and his slacks stretched tight, but part of her mutinied against the order.

Jonas was a beautifully made man!

She was blushing by the time he turned back to her, but thankfully it was dark enough out that he seemed not to notice. He held open the door for her, and she slid into the seat. She was immediately embraced by the scent of rich leather, mingled with another scent that she recognized from when he had held her. Tangy. Clean. Male. The end result was one of being immersed in the man’s subtle sensuality.

A moment later he got in the driver’s side, turned the ignition and the car growled to life.

“It’s a Jaguar,” he said.

He pronounced it Jag-guare, which for some reason was nearly as swoonworthy as him leaning over to stow those boxes.

“Nineteen sixty-four,” he said proudly.

“And how is it the cause of all your problems?” Krissy ventured, after he had pulled smoothly into traffic. She had to admire the way he drove, handling the powerful car with the casual inborn confidence one might associate with riding high-strung horses.

“It was the first major purchase I ever made. Way back in the day. It was kind of like my I have arrived statement. I love this car madly.”

She slid him a look. In the glow of the dashboard panel, it was evident all of that was true. He had definitely arrived. And he was in love with his car. She wondered how many women were jealous of his passion for the car, and Krissy vowed not to be one of them.

“And how is it the source of all your problems?”

“I acquired it the same week my best friend, Mike, asked my sister, Theresa, to marry him. We started our business together. That’s how he celebrated his arrival. I bought a car. He proposed marriage.”

Jonas’s voice was rough with wry affection as he continued. “I thought they were both way too young to be making that kind of commitment. I told him I, personally, would be waiting until I was thirty. He scoffed at that, not seeing me as the commitment type, ever.

“Somehow, way too many celebratory shots of tequila later, I was betting the car—this car—that I would be as committed as he was by the time I reached the age of thirty. That is a date that is rapidly approaching and that my now brother-in-law is gleefully ticking off on his calendar.”

“That’s silly. He won’t hold you to it.”

“Oh, he will, and with delight, I might add.”

“It’s not like it’s a legally binding contract, for heaven’s sake.”

“I shook hands on it. That’s binding to me.”

What do you consider the most important attribute in another human being?

She remembered how she had loved Alexandro’s answer. Honor.

“That’s a very twisted kind of honor,” Krissy decided, for both Jonas’s benefit and her own. “You’re willing to pretend you have made a commitment to win a bet you shook hands on while clearly inebriated.”

“Exactly,” he said, and glanced over at her. He grinned with utterly enchanting mischievousness. “I guess you have to take into account the basic competitiveness of my relationship with Mike. If