He had no idea that shoes had their own language, but he kept hearing terms he’d never heard before, like “Dorsay pumps” and “kidskin with a Swarovski buckle” and “burgundy strapper.” One Miu Miu was defined as a “feather shoe,” which is exactly what it looked like-a bunch of silly feathers-so Maguire was confounded how the pair could cost five thousand bucks. A lavender sandal from Versace almost made Carolina drool-she was groaning like a woman in the throes of orgasm-and then came something identified as a red patent-leather lace-up. One look at that pair and she started giggling. And dancing around the room with the swagger of a goofy drunk.
En route, he accidentally noticed that he’d vastly underestimated her legs before. Maybe she was generally built on the scrappy side, but her ankles and calves and thighs… there was nothing wrong with those legs. They were toned, shaped perfectly, an erotic dream for a guy who had a leg fetish.
When his thoughts strayed in that direction, Maguire pulled those reins tight. This wasn’t about him. In fact, Carolina acting like a giddy, happy schoolgirl highlighted exactly what the real issues were about. She had a serious character flaw. That flaw was that she was a serious, hard-core, possibly unfixable softie. As far as he could tell, she was forever giving, always thinking of others, always looking to help others.
The world was going to kill her-particularly now that she had money-unless Maguire found ways to toughen her up. Her guileless warning that she could fall in love with him only echoed his own conscience. She had no defenses, not against feelings of the heart.
Only a manipulative user of a man would take advantage of that. He had to keep his hands off her.
Which was, temporarily, relatively easy.
“Maguire!” she shrieked. “What do you think?”
She paraded closer, lifting her robe to knee length so he had a better view of her right foot-in a purple crocodile heel-and her left foot, in a shiny red sandal thing.
“I think you’re gonna kill yourself,” he said gruffly. Both heels were four inches high or more. No one could walk in those things and live.
“Don’t you think they’re beautiful?”
“Oh, yeah.” Maybe he hadn’t seen it in the beginning, but now it was so obvious. When she smiled, she had an aura that lit up a whole room, a radiance that glowed from the inside out. He kept getting glimpses of how Carolina had been before the crippling inheritance-a happy-on-the-inside woman, a giggler, a joyful, uninhibited fun lover. He’d bet the bank she sang at the top of her lungs when she was alone in a car.
She teetered back to the shoe gurus, and tried on another pair…when something abruptly went wrong. He couldn’t hear what was said over the commotion, but she abruptly put down a shoe and her face went blank. He crossed the room at a breakneck pace, asked casually, “Did some kind of problem come up?”
Her eyes shot to his. “That pair of suede pumps…” She motioned.
“The purple ones?”
“Yeah. Maguire.” She put a hand on her heart. “I asked how much they were-$843! Holy kamoly. Holy moly. Holy smokes. Holy-”
He got it. Apparently she’d originally thought of Italian shoes as a luxury, but she never expected them to be this much of a luxury. “You can afford it,” he said.
“That’s not the point. I-”
He swiftly hooked an arm around her, so they could at least have the privacy of a conversation away from the hot-eyed vendors. Good grief, she was trembling. Flushed.
“One pair would pay for two months of groceries. That’s ridiculous, Maguire. It’s a stupid use of money. Especially for something this…selfish. Something I don’t remotely need. Look, when I put Italian shoes on the list, it was because I tried on these flats that a friend had-they were Italian, and they fit like a soft glove, and I never forgot how wonderful they felt. But that’s all it was. A fantasy. And I’d never actually priced them before, because-”
Easy enough to guess the end of that line. “Because it never occurred to you to spend money on yourself.”
“Well, of course I spend money on myself. But a ten-buck pair of earrings on sale at Kohl’s is just a whole different world than this-”
He could feel the warmth of her skin, under his arm, the surge of protective instincts of a man for his mate, the instant strike of an erection just from being this close. Damn it. He said firmly, “Carolina. Buy one pair.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. I dare you. Prove to yourself that the world will not end if you have a frivolous moment-”
“But-”
“I’ll buy you two pairs-if you don’t stand up for what you want yourself. That’s wasting double the money.”
Her jaw dropped in alarm. “Don’t do that, Maguire! Don’t buy me anything. There’s no reason-”
He gestured back to the numerous shoe boxes. “Well, then pick a pair yourself. Or two. You can do it. I promise, it won’t kill you.”
“But, Maguire-”
“Go. Be strong. Be tough. Be mean.”
“But Maguire-”
“The cost of two pairs of shoes is not going to solve world hunger. You’re going to have lots of chances to do serious things with your money. But that has to start with you, giving yourself permission to make choices. That includes permission to smile, to have some fun. Permission to make choices that have nothing to do with anyone else’s opinion.”
Her shoulders sagged. “I hate it when you handle me. You’re exhausting, Maguire.”
Yeah, yeah. Getting that woman to do something selfish was like getting a nun to try mud wrestling. It took bullying and cheerleading and taunting and threats.
And after that, the whole situation only got worse.
Chapter Six
Sipping on a pineapple-mango cocktail-minus the alcohol-Carolina looked out the jet window and reflected that she’d learned tons about Maguire in the last twenty-four hours. She already knew his flaws. He could be dictatorial, manipulative, pushy. When the man got an idea in his head, nothing could make the blockhead back down.
But his absolute, unrelenting kindness was the stunner.
My God, she was falling in love with him. But it wasn’t her fault. If it hadn’t been for that pain-in-the-keester inheritance, she’d never have met him. He was so one of a kind. She’d never known anyone who worked so hard to hide positive character traits like kindness and compassion and caring. He put on such a strong front. How could she possibly have initially known that he was a man so worth loving? So full of love?
So alone.
“Hey, trouble.”
Maguire, for a blissful twenty minutes, had been napping next to her in the aisle seat. She glanced away from the window, back at him. “Could you conceivably be speaking to me?”
His grin was as crooked as a thief’s. “Uh-huh. I just wanted to ask-do you ever plan to take those shoes off?”
“Don’t be silly, Maguire. A girl doesn’t buy shoes like this and hide them away.”
“Did you actually sleep in them last night?”
She heard the teasing. He thought the shoe thing was hysterically funny. Naturally she had to encourage him. “Let me put it this way. Where I go, the shoes go. If I’m not wearing them, then they’re on their own pillow.”
He took a sip of her drink and grimaced when he discovered it was without alcohol. “I just brought up the subject of the shoes again-”
“Because you can’t let it go?”
“No. Not that. Because I thought you might want to consider that just possibly they don’t necessarily go with every type of attire.”
“Of course they do.” She glanced out the window again, distracted when the jet dipped low and started circling. Below was Monaco. It looked far more like a fairy tale than anything real. The city of Monte Carlo was wedged between aqua sea and mountains, with big white yachts framing the curve of the Côte d’Azur. The late-afternoon sun had drenched the background mountains in wet gold. Castle tops came into view, with their turrets and turquoise roofs, and endless splashes of flowering gardens and fountains.