That Carrington Magic - By Karen Rigley Page 0,20

yours?” Grant countered, unable to resist brushing a silky lock of her glorious hair off her face. “You have lovely hair,” he added, to his own surprise.

“Thanks.” Inhaling sharply, Jami glanced up at him. For a moment, she stared at his strong, bronzed hands as he lifted a chicken leg from his plate. Her gaze moved from his hand to his mouth, lingering on his sensually molded lips.

“I’m sorry. It appears I’ve taken the last chicken leg. Would you like it?” he asked, putting the leg back on his plate before eating any.

Jami tore her gaze from his mouth, feeling her cheeks burn.

“What? Oh, no, go ahead.”

“So, do you have a good shop manager? Is that why you’re not worried about your business while you’re away?”

“What?” Jami muttered again, feeling she was in some Twilight Zone, where attraction overruled logic.

“Your shop.” Grant buttered a roll, not taking his eyes off her, and she nearly squirmed. “You must have someone you trust running it for you. A manager, assistant, clerk?”

“I can’t afford a manager. When I need help, I get college students to work at Dive-A-Wave part-time.” She really felt uncomfortable discussing her business with him. Hadn’t Sierra mentioned that Grant was a business consultant? Heavens, she didn’t exactly run her place by the book.

His forkful of food paused midair. “Who’s running the shop while you’re here with me?”

“Nobody.”

“What did you do? Just shut it down during peak season?”

“Yes.” Jami’s chin rose. How dare this man challenge her business decisions? “It’s my business—in every way.”

Grant scratched his head, troubled thoughts swirling his brain. He’d spent his career trying to mend businesses nearly ruined by haphazard management and careless attitudes. Now a woman he felt such an intense attraction toward, displayed the type of attitude he tried to eradicate in his clients. Only she wasn’t his client—she was his computer match. Still, she obviously needed his technical advice. “It isn’t good business to close when your customers need your services the most.”

“My shop is no concern of yours,” Jami replied, her color high.

“Someone needs to be concerned.” Grant admitted to himself that Jami was beautiful when her hackles rose, but his business sense itched at her careless dismissal of his well-intentioned advice.

“It’s my shop.”

“It won’t be for long,” he responded, telling himself not too sound so harsh. “If you continue to make such poor business decisions.”

“Dive-A-Wave is doing just fine,” Jami protested, keeping her voice low, aware she was stretching the truth.

“I hope you’re right, Red.” Grant rocked back on the blanket, deciding to drop the subject. He didn’t want to ruin a perfectly good picnic.

“Don’t call me Red,” Jami grumbled, thankful that her son was occupied trying to feed a carrot to the lizard and oblivious of the adults’ argument.

“What’s going on, Mom?” Toby called, a protective note quivering in his young voice as he interrupted them.

“Nothing. Finish your lunch.” Jami forced herself to pretend things were just fine between herself and Mr. Know-it-all Carrington.

“Okay. I think my lizard likes lettuce.”

“Good,” Jami said, feeling Grant’s gaze on her face. She stole a glance at him, and he was watching her with a broad smile on his face.

“Are we still friends?” Grant’s voice sounded low and sexy, sending shivers along Jami’s spine.

“Of course. My grandma used to have the perfect saying for arguments like ours,” Jami said, smiling back.

“What saying?”

“You think your way and I’ll think mine.”

“She sounds like a sensible lady.” Grant’s gaze locked with Jami’s.

“She was.” Bittersweet memories flowed over Jami. “My grandparents died when I was quite young, but I remember Gran as a quiet, prudent woman.”

“My grandmother’s just the opposite. No one would dare describe Grandmother Margaret or her daughter, my mom, Shirley Carrington, as sensible or prudent.” Grant’s voice grew warm and affectionate as spoke. “They’re both free spirits. You’d like them. Especially Mom. She’s a Texas tornado, whirling every direction at once and rarely touching ground.”

“Sierra’s mentioned your mother a few times. It sounds like they get along well,” Jami said, watching the tiny smile lines crinkle around Grant’s eyes.

“No one can resist liking Mother.”

“Is your family close?” Jami asked wistfully.

“Sometimes far too close.” He smiled as he spoke.

Jami was struck again by how handsome he looked with a breeze waving his burnished gold hair and plastering the fabric of his shirt against his muscular chest while he returned to lunch and chomped a chicken leg.

“Families are so important.” Jami’s gaze strayed to Toby, who was tearing bits of lettuce and placing them by the lizard.

“I’m