“Ow!” I said.
“Sorry,” Mal said. He loosened his grip but kept his hand firmly on my arm. “But you’re not leaving again. Not until we settle this once and for all.”
As I stared at him, taking in the carved lines of his face—the prominent nose, the sharply angled jaw, the curve of his lips, the pale-gray eyes—I felt my anger fading. Why was I so mad? Had he really lied to me? Now that I thought about it, it didn’t seem like he had. I’d just assumed, and when it came to Mal, my assumptions were usually wrong.
“The way I see it, if anyone should be angry here, it should be me,” Mal said.
“Why?” I asked. “What did I do?”
“You left,” Mal said simply. “In fact, you stood me up. You didn’t even bother calling me.”
“I did,” I protested. “I left you a message. Didn’t you get it?”
Mal just looked at me, and I could feel the flush creeping over my cheeks and spreading down my neck and chest. He was right—I had stood him up. And rather than having the guts to talk to him, I’d left a message on his answering machine. If a man had done that to me, I would have been outraged.
“You’re right,” I said softly. “That was a shitty thing to do. I’m sorry.”
Mal didn’t say anything for a long time. He just looked at me steadily, allowing my remorse to blossom into full-blown regret. I had screwed up, and badly.
“Thank you for the donation,” I finally said, doing my best to sound grateful. “If you’re sure you want to give that much, I’d be happy to accept it on behalf of my school.”
“I wouldn’t have sent it if I didn’t want to,” Mal said. “Besides, I had to get your attention. Nothing like making the grand gesture to do that.”
At these words, hope bubbled up. “You wanted to get my attention?” I repeated slowly.
Mal gazed steadily at me. “What do you think?”
I stared back at him, determined not to look away. “I don’t know what to think,” I finally said.
“Yes, I was trying to get your attention,” Mal said softly. Suddenly he seemed to be much closer than he had a moment before. Funny how that happened. I hadn’t even seen him move.
“You were?” I asked, my voice almost a whisper.
Mal nodded. “Most definitely,” he said. His lips were now so close to mine, I could feel the soft whoosh of his breath.
“Oh,” I said.
Mal cupped one hand behind my neck and gently drew me toward him. I turned my face up to his, and then we were kissing. Lips, arms, hips, thighs pressed together, until I wasn’t sure where I ended and Mal began. I wouldn’t have minded if the kiss went on forever but, distantly, we became aware of the cheering, and we both began to laugh. We turned, breaking off our kiss, and were greeted by the sight of Mal’s tennis team, clapping, cheering, and stomping their feet.
“You know, I am supposed to be a role model,” Mal said dryly.
“You?” I teased. “Those poor girls!”
“Mmm, flattery will get you everywhere,” Mal said, squeezing my waist in a way that made me jump. He laughed.
“What’s so funny?” I demanded.
“It’s just you’re the only woman I’ve ever been involved with who was disappointed to find out I have money,” Mal said, shaking his head. “You do insist on being different, Lucy Parker.”
I smiled ruefully. “Being rich isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” I said. “I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy the nice clothes and the dinners, and this”—I pointed to my Porsche—“is a seriously kick-ass car. But to be perfectly honest, living the life of the idle rich never suited me.”
“I know. I wasn’t really that surprised to read in the paper that you’d given it all up.”
“I didn’t give it all up,” I said quickly. “I kept some to live on.”
“Do you have any idea how few people would do that? How unusual you are?”
“A lot of wealthy people give their money to charities,” I protested. “You did.”
Mal shrugged. “It’s easy to say money isn’t important when you have it. But because of my background—where I grew up and the sort of people my family socialized with—I’ve also had a close-up view of how destructive it can be. Especially inherited wealth. I always knew I didn’t want to be one of those guys—the sort who live off their parents, drink too much, and generally do their best to screw up their lives.”
“Lottery money is even worse. It’s all so sudden. Your life changes completely overnight, and not because of anything you did or made. Just because you bought a ticket and played some numbers.”
“I think you did okay with it,” Mal said.
I shook my head. “I let the money change me. Temporarily, at least.”
“And then you learned your lesson and changed back to your old self?”
I shook my head. “No, not exactly. I think that Lucy had a little growing up to do. She wasn’t always the best judge of character.”
Mal smiled at me, and I thought I saw approval gleaming in those gray eyes.
“And now?”
“And now I’m learning to dig a bit deeper. It’s a work in progress.”
“Like life,” Mal said.
“If you want to get all philosophical about it, yes,” I said, smiling back at him.
“So now you know my little secret. Rather than the gigolo you thought I was—”
“You’re never going to let that one go, are you?”
“Never. Anyway, instead, I’m a trust-fund-brat-slash-Palm-Beach-playboy. So which do you think is worse?”
“Please. What sort of a pathetic excuse for a playboy works even though he doesn’t have to and spends his afternoons volunteering?” I asked, nodding toward the girls, who had finally given up on watching us and were back to hitting balls. “Although it’s true you do spend quite a bit of time mooching around the Drum Roll.”
“That’s because I own it,” Mal said casually.
My jaw dropped open. “You own the Drum Roll?” I gasped.
Mal grinned at me.
“But…but…” I sputtered. “You never said…and Ian never mentioned…but why would you keep that secret?”
“I’m an enigma wrapped in a riddle.”
I gave him a playful push on the arm. “Come on, tell me why!”
“My dad kept insisting I invest some of my money in a business. And I wanted a place to hang out, somewhere with good drinks and a good atmosphere—”
“And lots of hot young girls,” I added.
“Are there hot girls there? I hadn’t noticed. Ouch, stop hitting me!”
Mal grabbed my wrists to prevent me from beating him about the head and pulled me close. “The truth is, I did it to get my dad off my back. I didn’t expect it to be successful. I never wanted to be a businessman.”
Our lips were close together again, as close as it was possible to be without touching.
“Oh, really? And what is it you want?”
“Haven’t I made that perfectly obvious?” Mal asked softly.
I swallowed. “I’m not always the most perceptive person on these matters. Especially when it comes to you. Maybe you’d better just tell me straight out.”
“You. That’s what I want,” he said.
Was this really happening? I wondered. Because it seemed so incredibly unlikely. Yet Mal was standing here in front of me. And those were his hands firmly pressing on my hips. And that was his face—wait. There was something different about his face.
“Hey! You shaved!” I exclaimed.
Mal rolled his eyes. “I pour out my heart to you, and this is what I get in response? More commentary about my grooming habits?”
I brushed the back of my hand against his smooth cheek. “I’m not complaining. I like it.”
“I’m so glad,” Mal said dryly. But he was smiling. And despite the fact that my heart was pounding and Mal was standing so close that I felt a little dizzy, I managed to smile back at him.
“Sorry,
” I said. “What I meant to say…I mean, what I want to say…is yes.”
Mal’s pale-gray eyes creased at the corners. “Yes? Yes to what?”
“Yes to everything,” I said. I leaned forward, tipping my face up to Mal like a flower bending toward the sun, and this time, I kissed him.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Whitney Gaskell is the author of five previous novels, including Mommy Tracked and Pushing 30. She lives with her family in Stuart, Florida. To find out more, visit her at www.whitneygaskell.com.
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Garden Spells
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Good Luck
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Also by Whitney Gaskell
PUSHING 30
TRUE LOVE (AND OTHER LIES)
SHE, MYSELF & I
TESTING KATE
MOMMY TRACKED
GOOD LUCK
A Bantam Discovery Book / November 2008
Published by Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2008 by Whitney Gaskell
Bantam Books and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks and Bantam Discovery is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Gaskell, Whitney.
Good luck / Whitney Gaskell.
p. cm.
“A Bantam Discovery Book.”
1. Lottery winners—Fiction. 2. Life change events—Fiction. 3. Self-actualization (Psychology)—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3607.A7854G66 2008
813'.6—dc22
2008032564
www.bantamdell.com
eISBN: 978-0-553-90577-9
v3.0
Good Luck Page 34
