Uninhibited. Candace Schuler

I remind you, young man, that it happens to be my money we’re discussing, not yours. And as I have been legally of age for quite some time now and am in full possession of my faculties, I am perfectly free to do as I please with it.” She lifted her chin and looked down her elegant nose at him. “Whether you approve or not.”

      Reed abandoned his high horse. It never worked with his great-grandmother, anyway; nobody had ever been able to dictate to Moira Sullivan, not even her dear departed husband. “But why, Gran? Can you at least answer me that? Why on earth do you want to invest in that woman’s business?”

      “Her products are wonderful,” Moira said promptly. “And I like her.”

      “You hardly know her,” he countered. “You said yourself you only met her this past Monday and—” He broke off as a thought occurred to him. “How exactly did you happen to meet her, anyway?”

      “She didn’t maneuver an introduction or try to ingratiate herself in any way, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Moira chided him gently. “I overheard her talking to the proprietor of The Body Beautiful about the difficulties she’s been having getting financing to expand her business, and I interrupted their conversation and introduced myself to her.”

      “And you say she didn’t maneuver it,” he scoffed.

      Moira stiffened ever so slightly and her chin came up again. “Despite my advanced years, I am not some poor senile old lady who doesn’t know which end is up,” she said with quiet, reproachful dignity.

      Reed was instantly contrite. “I’m sorry, Gran. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I never meant to suggest that you—”

      “Neither am I gullible or easily misled,” Moira went on, as if he hadn’t spoken. “I know very well when someone is trying to pull the wool over my eyes. And when they aren’t. And I assure you, my dear Reed, Miss Moon had no idea I was listening to her conversation in that shop until I interrupted her.”

      “I’m sure you’re right,” Reed agreed. “You know I have the utmost faith in your judgment. I always have and always will. I just…” He paused and reached for his discarded glasses, twisting one stem as he searched for the words to say what he meant without insulting his great-grandmother again. “All question of how you met aside, the fact remains that you’ve known her—and I use that term loosely!—three days. Barely. And yet you say you like her. Three days isn’t enough time to make that kind of decision about a person. It’s not enough time to make any kind of decision about a person, especially if you’re contemplating lending that person a great deal of money.”

      “You’ve known her—and I also use the term loosely—less than a day, and you’ve already decided you dislike her. Why is that, I wonder?”

      “I don’t dislike her,” Reed objected, which was the strict truth. His reaction to the luscious Zoe Moon was a little more complicated than mere like or dislike. It was…well, he didn’t know what it was exactly. “And this isn’t about me, anyway. It’s about you. So quit trying to change the subject and answer my question. Please,” he added when she raised an eyebrow at him. “Give me a little insight into why you decided it’s a good idea to lend money to a woman you’ve known for barely three days.”

      Moira sighed. “I decided I wanted to marry your great-grandfather after only an hour in his company.”

      “That’s hardly the same thing.”

      “True,” Moira agreed. “Marriage is a much more serious matter. With much more serious consequences if you’re wrong. But the basic principle is the same. Trust.”

      “Are you telling me you trust Zoe Moon?”

      “Yes, I do. She appears to me to be an eminently trustworthy young woman.”

      “Good Lord, Gran!” Reed just barely managed to keep his voice at a reasonable level. One didn’t shout at Moira Sullivan with impunity. Not if one wanted to get anywhere with her. “Didn’t you hear a word she said this afternoon?”

      “I’m not deaf, dear. Certainly I heard her. She has a lovely, soothing voice, don’t you think?”

      “Oh, lovely,” he agreed with a snort. Soothing, however, it was not. Now, if she’d said arousing… He deliberately veered away from that line of thought. “But that’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

      “What did you mean, dear?”

      “‘Women like you and your wealthy friends’,” he quoted. “‘All your lovely money…’ ‘With your money, you wouldn’t worry about that….’ The woman obviously came to tea today for one thing and one thing only.”

      Moira gave a little gurgle of laughter. “Well, of course she did! For goodness sake, Reed, I asked her to tea specifically to talk about the possibility of lending her the money to expand her business. I expected her to talk about it. That was the whole point.”

      Reed remembered Zoe Moon trying to tell him something along the same lines, out there on the sidewalk in front of the house. But he hadn’t bought it then, and he wasn’t buying it now. “It’s the way she talked about it that I object to.”

      “The way?”

      “As if it were a done deal and the money were already hers. Good manners, if nothing else, should have kept her from acting as if you’d already signed on the dotted line.”

      “Well, perhaps, but…”

      Reed jumped on her hesitation. “Come on now, Gran,” he cajoled. “Admit it. Didn’t she sound like a greedy, money-grubbing little mercenary out to take you for all she could get?” And why was he attracted to her, despite that?

      “Really, dear.” Moira shook her head. “Isn’t that a bit harsh?”

      “A bit, maybe,” he conceded, disposed to at least try to be fair now that he could see his great-grandmother starting to come around to his way of thinking. “But I notice you didn’t deny it.”

      “She was nervous,” Moira said. “It made her babble and say things awkwardly, is all. She’s really a lovely, gracious young woman. And very sweet, too.”

      “Nervous?”

      “Well, anyone would have been, with you glowering at them across the tea table.”

      “I don’t glower.”

      “You’re glowering right now, dear,” Moira informed him. “If I were a sensitive young woman like Zoe, I’d be babbling, too.”

      “You’ve never babbled in your life,” Reed scoffed.

      She laughed softly. “Oh, I babbled a bit more than I like to remember in those early days with your great-grandfather.” The laughter faded into a fond smile. “You’re very like him, you know. It quite takes me back sometimes, just to look at you. He could be very intimidating, too, when he chose.”

      “Are you saying I made her nervous?” Reed asked incredulously. The mere thought was almost laughable. The bold, red-haired gypsy who’d looked him up and down with that provocative gleam in her big brown eyes didn’t strike him as the nervous type. Lovely, yes, he’d grant her that. But gracious? Sweet? Nervous? His eyes narrowed. “Now wait a minute here, Gran. You’re not suggesting…” He leaned across the mahogany table, his expression wary and accusing, wondering if he’d been right in his first assessment, after all. “This isn’t some kind of crazy, harebrained matchmaking scheme, is it? Because if it is, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

      “Matchmaking? You thought I was matchmaking?” A soft gurgle of laughter bubbled up and was quickly suppressed. “Well, really, Reed.” The look she gave him was full of amused indignation. “At least give me credit for having the sense God gave a goose. I know perfectly well Zoe isn’t even remotely your type.”

      Placated, Reed leaned back in his chair. “I’m glad you realize that.”

      “Nor