Colton by Marriage - Marie Ferrarella

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down what she felt had to be a creeping blush on the outside. Pressing her lips together, she murmured, “Well, I hope you won’t be disappointed.”

      “Don’t plan on being,” he told her. Duke nodded toward the vehicle he’d left parked at the end of the lot. “Hope you don’t mind riding in a truck, seeing as how you’re probably used to gallivanting around in those fancy cars.”

      When it came down to matching dollar for dollar, the Coltons were probably richer than the Kelleys, but despite his distant ties to the present sitting president, Joseph Colton, Darius Colton didn’t believe in throwing money away for show. That included buying fancy cars for his sons.

      Duke was referring to Linc’s sports car, Susan thought. He had to be because her own car was a rather bland sedan with more than a few miles and years on it. But it was a reliable vehicle that got her where she had to go and that was all that ultimately mattered to her.

      “I like trucks,” she told him, looking at his. “They’re dependable.”

      In response, Susan thought she saw a small smile flirt with Duke’s mouth before disappearing again. And then he shrugged a bit self-consciously.

      “If I’d known I’d be heading out to your place, I would’ve washed it first,” he told her.

      “Dirt’s just a sign left behind by hard work,” she said philosophically as she approached the passenger side of the vehicle.

      Duke opened the door for her, then helped her up into the cab. She was acutely aware of his hands on her waist, giving her a small boost so that she could avoid any embarrassing mishap, given that she was wearing a black dress and high heels.

      A tingle danced through her.

      This wasn’t the time or place to feel things like that, she chided herself. She’d just buried her best friend. This was a time for mourning, not for reacting to the touch of a man who most likely wasn’t even aware that he had touched her.

      Duke caught himself staring for a second. Staring at the neat little rear that Susan Kelley had. Funerals weren’t the time and cemeteries weren’t the place to entertain the kind of thoughts that were now going through his head.

      But there they were anyway, taking up space, coloring the situation.

      Maybe, despite the best of intentions, he shouldn’t have shown up at the funeral, he silently told himself.

      Too late now, Duke thought as he got into the driver’s seat and started up the truck. With any luck, he wouldn’t have to stay long at the reception.

       Chapter 4

      “Take the next turn to the—”

      There was no GPS in Duke’s truck because he hated the idea of being told where to turn and, essentially, how to drive by some disembodied female voice. He’d been driving around, relying on gut instincts and keen observation, for more years than were legally allowed.

      For the last ten minutes he’d patiently listened to Susan issuing instructions and coming very close to mimicking a GPS.

      Enough was enough. He could go the rest of the way to the Kelleys’ house without having every bend in the road narrated.

      “You can stop giving me directions,” he told her as politely as he could manage. “I know how to get to your place.”

      She’d suspected as much, which was why she’d been surprised when he’d allowed her to come along to guide him to the big house in the first place.

      “If you didn’t need directions, what am I doing in your truck? “ she asked him.

      He spared Susan a glance before looking back at the road. “Sitting.”

      Very funny. But at least this meant he had a sense of humor. Sort of. “Besides that.”

      Duke shrugged, keeping his eyes on the desolate road ahead of him. “Seemed easier than trying to argue with your mother.”

      She laughed. The man was obviously a fast learner as well. “You have a point.”

      Since she agreed with him, Duke saw no reason to comment any further. Several minutes evaporated with no exchange being made between them. The expanding silence embraced them like a tomb.

      Finally, Susan couldn’t take it any more. “Don’t talk much, do you? “

      He continued looking straight ahead. The road was desolate but there was no telling when a stray animal could come running out.

      “Nope.”

      Obviously, he was feeling uncomfortable in her company. If her mother, ever the matchmaker, hadn’t orchestrated this, he wouldn’t even be here, feeling awkward like this, Susan thought. What had her mother been thinking?

      “I’m sorry if you’re uncomfortable,” she apologized to him.

      Duke spared her another glance. His brow furrowed, echoing his confusion. “What makes you think I’m uncomfortable?”

      “Because you’re not talking.” It certainly didn’t take a rocket scientist to come to that conclusion, she thought.

      Duke made a short, dismissive noise. Discomfort had nothing to do with his silence. He just believed in an economy of words and in not talking unless he had something to say. “I don’t do small talk.”

      She was of the opinion that everyone did small talk, but she wasn’t about to get into a dispute over it. “Okay,” she acknowledged. “Then say something earth-shattering.”

      For a moment, he said nothing at all. Then, because she was obviously not about to let the subject drop, he asked, “You always chatter like that?”

      Blowing out a breath, she gave him an honest answer. “Only when I’m uncomfortable or nervous.”

      “Which is it?”

      Again, she couldn’t be anything but honest, even though she knew that if her mother was here right now, Bonnie Gene would be rolling her eyes at the lack of feminine wiles she was displaying. But playing games, especially coy ones, had never been her thing. “Both right now.”

      Despite the fact that he had asked, her answer surprised him. “I make you nervous?”

      He did, but oddly enough, in a good way. Rather than say yes, she gave him half an answer. “Silence makes me nervous.”

      He nodded toward the dash. “You can turn on the radio.”

      She didn’t feel like hearing music right now. Somehow, after the memorial service, it just didn’t seem right. What she wanted was human contact, human interaction.

      “I’d rather turn you on—” As her words echoed back at her, Susan’s eyes widened with horror. “I mean, if you could be turned on.” Mortified, she covered her now-flushed face with her hands. “Oh, God, that didn’t come out right, either.”

      Despite himself, the corners of his mouth curved a little. Susan looked almost adorable, flustered like that.

      “That’s one of the reasons I don’t do small talk.” He eyed her for a second before looking back at the road. “I’d stop if I were you.”

      “Right.”

      Susan took a breath, trying to regroup and not say anything that would lead to her putting her foot in her mouth again. Even so, she had to say something because the silence really was making her feel restless inside. She reverted back to safe ground: the reason he’d been at the cemetery.

      “It was very nice of you to come to the funeral,” she said. “Did you know Miranda well?”

      He took another turn, swinging to the right. The Kelley mansion wasn’t far now. “Didn’t know her at all,” he told her.

      The

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