The Millionaires' Club: Ryan, Alex and Darin: Breathless for the Bachelor. KRISTI GOLD

as good as the odds of you living to see your next birthday,” Carrie muttered under her breath before finally shooting a glare up at Ry, who stood by their table sporting a big dumb grin.

      Beside him Stephanie looked apologetic and embarrassed and was leaning just a little to the left of mortified.

      “Had we known you were coming, we’d have arranged for a larger table,” Nathan said with a stiff smile. “What a shame you can’t join us.”

      As hints went, Nathan’s statement was the size of the U.S.S. Roosevelt. Carrie silently applauded him for his resourcefulness. Her celebration, however, was short-lived. She should have known it would take the entire U.S. Naval fleet for Ryan to get the message.

      “D’you hear that, Steph? The man wants us to join them. Didn’t I tell you he was a stand-up guy? Robert,” Ry said, hailing a passing waiter. “How about a couple of extra chairs and place settings here? The doc just invited us to dinner. But the tab’s on me.

      “No, no really,” he added, deliberately misinterpreting Carrie’s glare with a quick, magnanimous grin. “I insist.”

      Carrie sat there and quietly set about plotting murder as Ry made himself comfortable and, with the charm of a snake oil salesman, introduced Stephanie to Nolan.

       Nathan.

      She rubbed her fingertips to her suddenly throbbing temples. She really was going to have to kill him for this. She just couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t.

      “Third time’s the charm,” Nathan said later that week as he and Carrie sat huddled on a blanket in the city park. “Evans can’t possibly stumble on to us here,” he added on a sour note.

      They sat in a secluded spot in the park near the lake, and even though the evening was chilly—it was, after all, February—her heart was warmed by both Nathan’s thoughtfulness and persistence in the face of Ryan’s coincidental appearances every time they tried to find some time to spend together.

      She wasn’t used to the kind of attention Nathan had been giving her. After their disastrous evening at Claire’s that had ended early when he’d gotten a beep on his pager requiring that he hurry back to the hospital, he’d continued to call her.

      In fact, he’d called her every day, asked her questions about herself, her volunteer work, told her a few things about himself. It was romantic and flattering, and she really wanted to believe he could be the man who represented her future. Maybe he could, if Ry would quit sabotaging all of Nathan’s attempts to get intimate.

      Not this time, she thought with unwavering determination. No way could he find them here. Tonight, she’d decided, was the night. The champagne was making her bold. She was going to take Nathan home and—gulp—she was going to take him to her bed.

      “I really am sorry about Ryan,” she said with a shake of her head. “I can’t even give you a logical explanation for why he keeps showing up.”

      Nathan reached for the champagne bottle, refilled her glass. “Obviously, he’s jealous of me.”

      She barely managed to stall an indelicate snort. “Jealous? Ryan? Oh, no. No…I’m thinking it’s more like he has this big-brother complex or something going on.”

      “Big brother?”

      She told him then about her parents’ death and how Ry’s parents had taken her in and how Ryan had stepped into Travis’s shoes when Trav had enlisted in the marines.

      “How difficult that must have been for you,” Nathan said, and draped an arm over her shoulders.

      Without warning she felt the sting of tears burn her eyes. Horrified by the unexpected surge of emotions, she blinked them back and let Nathan’s kindness warm her.

      “This is very nice,” she said when his arm tightened slightly.

      “And very private,” he said with a hint of suggestion in his voice.

      Yes. It was private. And romantic. A twilight picnic at Royalty Park was about as romantic as it got, in her book. Despite the cold weather, she loved it. Nathan’s romantic Valentine’s Day gesture thrilled her.

      So did his smile and the goodies—caviar, crackers, grapes and Brie—that he’d taken the time to pack into the picnic basket.

      Everything was perfect. The champagne cut the chill and relaxed her as much as Nathan’s compliments.

      “Can I kiss you, Carrie?” he asked as a flock of black birds flew gracefully over the lake.

      She turned her face up to his, smiled in invitation…and waited for the heart-pounding excitement to fill her breast as he lowered his mouth to hers.

      And waited…and waited…and waited as he pressed his lips to hers, groaned deeply and, with an insistent pressure of his tongue, encouraged her to open her mouth for him.

      Okay, she thought, trying to get into the kiss with the same enthusiasm he was showing. This was…nice. Sort of. But…where were the fireworks? she wondered as she worked at making herself respond with as much passion as he seemed to be experiencing for her.

      You’re just out of practice, she assured herself. It had been a long time since someone had kissed her. A very long time. Determined to become fully engaged in the moment, she lifted a hand to touch it to his hair and shifted a little closer as his other arm wrapped around her and drew her flush against him.

      She closed her eyes, made herself relax as he laid her back on the blanket and deepened the kiss…that seemed to go on and on and on…and not really in a good way.

      Instead, she felt…cheated. Where was the breathless anticipation? The endless longing?

      “Let me come home with you, Carrie,” he murmured as he dragged his mouth away from hers and pressed kisses along her jaw.

      Wet kisses, she thought. Cold kisses that made her shiver…and not from desire. What was wrong with her? She wanted this. She really, really wanted this, and yet, when his hand started an upward glide toward her breast, she clamped her fingers around his wrist and stopped him.

      She sat up abruptly, fighting a surge of panic. “Nathan…I…um…”

      She was so embarrassed. Very slowly she lifted her gaze to his…and saw a flash of fury that frightened her.

      And then he smiled, and the anger faded so quickly she wondered if she’d just imagined it.

      “I’m going too fast, aren’t I?” he asked gently.

      So gently that she felt like a fool and a loser.

      “No,” she insisted and moved back into his arms. “I’m…just a little…I’m not very experienced, Nathan,” she admitted, and on a flash of insight, told herself that was the reason she was having difficulty responding to him. It was jitters. “I want you to change that,” she added with a boldness that shocked her.

      His eyes heated again and he leaned forward to kiss her…just as a horse disguised as a dog came bounding out of the woods and with a deep-throated “Woof” launched himself at Nathan’s chest.

      “What the hell…” Nathan sputtered as the shaggy, smelly furball knocked him to his back and pinned him there, then held him down with his canine teeth hovering dangerously close to his juggler.

      Carrie shot to her feet with a scream and bumped the bottle of champagne, which toppled over and spilled down the front of Nathan’s trousers.

      After one huge lick, the dog lost interest in Nathan’s throat. Still straddling him like a WWF wrestler applying a half nelson, the moplike monster alternately slurped at the champagne-soaked blanket and snarfed up the scattered crackers and cheese while his hind feet mutilated the grapes and ground caviar into Nathan’s pant legs.

      “Oh my God,” Carrie wailed…and finally