Kitabı oku: «Always A Bridesmaid», sayfa 2

She rose.

“What about your other quarter?” He nodded at the meter as he stood. “One won’t take you through the witching hour.”

“I guess I’ll just have to take my chances.”

“Feeling lucky, huh?” He grinned, and she felt something in her stomach flip. Lethal smile, absolutely lethal. And without warning she found herself staring at his upper lip and wondering just what it would be like to kiss him.

Lucky? “I guess I am,” she said. It was the champagne, she told herself. Starting up her own personal perestroika campaign was one thing, picking up men on the street was another.

But he was already rummaging in his pocket to pull out a handful of coins.

“You can’t pay my meter,” she objected.

“Sure I can,” he said as he picked through the change for a quarter and put it in. “It’s good karma. After a day like I’ve had, I could use it.”

“Uh-oh,” she said. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Uh-oh, is right. If you see a lynch mob coming out of the Odeon, they’ll be looking for me.”

“Is that where you’re going?” she asked, falling in step beside him as they walked the dozen yards to where the light from the theater’s marquee spilled over the sidewalk.

“Yep. How about you?”

She nodded.

“I’d offer to buy you a drink but I’m here for a party. Actually, I’m late for a party,” he corrected. “Really late.”

“That’s okay, I’m here with—” She broke off and gave him a suspicious stare. “What kind of a party?”

“Me?” He held the door for her. “A rehearsal dinner, for a wedding. Why?”

She walked through, the little buzz of excitement fading. “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Gil, would it?”

“Guilty as charged. And you are?”

“Jillian Logan, the bridesmaid you left at the altar. Nice of you to finally join us.”

Gil’s lips twitched as he followed her into the lobby. “Left you at the altar, huh? Did I have a brain fade? Were we getting married?”

“I’m not likely to marry the kind of guy who’d show up—” she checked her watch “—over an hour late to his best friend’s wedding rehearsal.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I never proposed, then. It was touch-and-go out there.”

She gave him a look from under her brows. “You know, you had the bride wearing a groove in the carpet pacing over you? Lisa’s got enough going on right now without one more thing to stress about.”

His amusement dipped a bit. “I know, trust me.”

She folded her arms, a bit like a teacher scolding a wayward student. “Not to mention the fact that we were all standing around waiting.”

“Not to mention,” he agreed. And she was ticked. Protective of Lisa and just a little ticked about waiting around. Or maybe the altar thing. He wasn’t sure just why he found that appealing. Maybe it was because he found her appealing. Her mouth for a start, full and tempting, the lower lip just a bit sulky now. It had been the first thing he’d noticed when he first saw her. When she’d smiled at him by the meter, he’d felt the hit down deep.

And those eyes of hers, the color of good whiskey. They looked enormous and he didn’t think it was just tricky makeup. They were turbulent now with challenge, enough to promise she’d give him a run for his money. And she had that thick, dark hair with the red undertones of good mahogany. The kind of hair a man could bury his hands in.

Her chin came up a bit as she noticed him staring. He didn’t bother to fight the smile. She was tall for a woman, slender enough that at a glance a person would judge her fragile. It was an impression he was betting drove her nuts. She didn’t look like the type who wanted to be taken care of. She looked like the type who liked being in control.

Funny, so was he.

“I guess I started off on the wrong foot with you here. Except for the quarter at the meter,” he added. “I should get some points for that.”

“It’s going to take more than a quarter to make up for missing the wedding rehearsal,” she told him.

“And leaving you at the altar. I could escort you up the stairs,” he offered as they skirted the velvet rope that blocked off the balcony. “That’s a start.”

She glanced at his arm. “I can make it up the stairs on my own.”

“I bet you can,” he said, resisting the urge to linger a bit behind her and admire the view. “It would be more fun with me, though.”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you always like this?”

“You’re going to break down and laugh sooner or later. You may as well give in to the inevitable.”

She turned to him at the top of the stairs. “And that is?”

He gazed down into those whiskey-gold eyes. “I’ll let you know.”

And suddenly, as she stared back at him, the joking slipped away and something else flashed in its place, a hard, deep pulse of wanting that momentarily banished everything else. Something hummed between them, like a subsonic vibration that he could neither hear nor see, but only feel.

And the flicker in her eyes told him she felt it, too.

“About time you showed,” a voice drawled from behind him and Alan walked up.

Gil blinked and the moment was gone. He turned to the tall Texan. “Hey, sorry I’m late,” he said as they shook.

“And here I thought you were a pretty sorry specimen already,” Alan said. “Glad to see you finally found the place.”

“You made it,” Lisa said, stepping up alongside Alan.

“I did,” Gil said. Instead of shaking her hand, he bowed down to kiss it. “I really apologize for missing the rehearsal. Major screwup. You’ve got a lot to worry about right now and the last thing you need is more grief from me.”

“Hey, no putting the moves on my fiancée,” Alan protested.

“Especially,” Gil went on, ignoring Alan, “since you’re going to have plenty of grief, already, with marrying this guy off.”

Lisa laughed delightedly and pressed a kiss to Gil’s cheek. “Oh, don’t worry about it. Alan can tell you where you’re supposed to stand tomorrow and I’m sure you can figure out the rest. Why don’t you come meet everybody and have some champagne? Dinner’s just starting.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Gil noticed Jillian drift off to her seat.

Probably just as well, he thought. As an editor at the Gazette, the last thing he needed was to get anything going with Jillian Logan. He’d already been warned.

So he met the rest of the party, laughing, joking, shaking hands. And did his best to forget that strange snap of connection at the top of the stairs.

“This is Ariel, Lisa’s good friend,” Alan said, bringing him to the last table.

“And best chick,” Ariel added.

“Maid of honor,” Alan translated. “And you already know Jillian, here.”

“Informally,” Gil said. He extended his hand. “Gil Reynolds, meter caddy.”

“Jillian Logan, usher wrangler.” She reached out.

Her hand was soft and cool in his. It felt fragile but he’d been right about the strength that underlaid it. He’d expected that.

He hadn’t expected it to be trembling.

In surprise, his gaze shot to hers and he saw her eyes widen before she glanced away. She tugged her hand to free it from his. Some perverseness made him hold on a moment longer than necessary, though, until she looked at him.

And he saw the gold of her eyes had darkened to deep amber.

Then he released her to nod down at the empty place setting at her side, the last one left. “Well, how about that? Looks like this is my seat.”

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, Jillian thought with a mixture of giddiness and alarm as she concentrated on taking slow breaths to try to quiet her system. It was supposed to have been a smile on the street, a quick experiment, a little change—emphasis on little. It wasn’t supposed to turn into anything. It definitely wasn’t supposed to last the entire evening. And it certainly wasn’t supposed to make her world feel as though it had tilted on its axis.

Surreptitiously, she rubbed at her right hand where it was hidden in her lap.

Forget about the quick, impersonal eye contact she’d perfected to keep people at a distance. Gil Reynolds’s gaze had drilled right through her, right into her. And now he was sitting just inches away and she was supposed to be able to hold a conversation as if nothing had happened?

Nothing had, she reminded herself. He’d only been playing games.

Gil picked up the beer that the waiter brought him with the salad course and grinned. “To the happy couple,” he said to Jillian.

She tapped his glass with her champagne flute. “To the happy couple,” she said coolly.

“Come on, I apologized. See? I’m not a complete creep.”

“I never said you were.”

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

Jillian eyed him over the top of her glass. “I don’t know. Should you be?”

Gil broke out laughing. “You’re a tough case,” he said. “Lisa forgave me.”

“That’s because you went all Continental and started kissing her hand.”

“I’d be happy to kiss yours, too,” he offered, a gleam in his eyes.

“No fair using the same trick twice,” she objected, moving her hand hastily away. “Think up something else. Come on, you’re a smart guy.”

He eyed her. “This isn’t going to be one of those quest things where I’ve got to go bring back a hair from the beard of the Great Chan, is it? Or find the Golden Fleece?”

“How about cleaning the stables of all the Budweiser Clydesdales in a single day? Of course, then you’d mess up that nice suit.”

“Come on, cut me some slack. I’m a working schlemiel. Why do you think I was late?”

“What do you do?”

His mouth curved. “Make trouble.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Her voice was dry. “And where do you make trouble?”

His grin widened. “Anywhere I can. No throwing things,” he added quickly, as she reached for the basket of bread.

“That wasn’t my intention,” she said with dignity. “Although, now that you mention it…”

“Okay, okay. Blazon Media,” he said, relenting.

“What, like an advertising agency? You’re not one of those account exec types, are you?”

“That’s a harsh way to talk about the people who help you decide how to spend your exorbitant salary.”

“Exorbitant?” She couldn’t prevent the snort.

“Or not,” he added. “What do you do?”

“I’m a social worker.”

“Okay, maybe not so exorbitant.” He raised a brow. “A social worker, huh? And here I thought you guys were all softies.”

“Here I thought you advertising types all had hundred-dollar haircuts and a closet full of Armani,” she countered.

“I’m dressed down for casual Friday,” he said.

“I’d hate to see you when you really put on the Ritz.”

“Just wait until tomorrow.” He winked. “Then you’ll see my really grubby clothes.”

The bartender leaned against the wall in his white apron and watched as the last of the rehearsal party left their tables and headed down the carpeted stairs. They’d closed the place down, Jillian realized in surprise, as she reached the bottom and turned for the lobby. She’d blinked once or twice and the hours had slipped away.

It was a shock, to say the least. Parties weren’t her thing. To be honest, she’d looked forward to the rehearsal dinner with about as much enthusiasm as she would have a root canal. Outside of Lisa and Alan, she’d known no one. Somehow, though, that hadn’t mattered. Forget about the usual rehearsal-dinner work of making conversation with people she didn’t know and had little in common with. She’d spent the entire evening laughing.

And every time she’d turned to Gil, he’d been watching her with that little glimmer in his eyes.

He was beside her now as they walked out into the night. She tightened her jacket against the cool breeze. “I guess it’s not quite summer yet.”

“Give it another month and it will be,” he said. They turned down the sidewalk toward her car. “You going to be okay driving?”

“Sure. I stopped with the champagne a while ago.” Stopped early enough that her feet should be firmly grounded. Why was it, then, that she still felt the little bubbles of effervescence, that she felt like skipping?

“Good. Wouldn’t want you to oversleep and miss my grand entrance at the wedding. I’m planning to be two hours early.”

“Spoken like a true responsible citizen,” she said.

“Making you proud of me is my life.”

“It must have been dull until we met tonight, then,” she said lightly, turning to him as they reached her car.

“It was,” he agreed. “I much prefer this.” And suddenly he was looking at her with a look she couldn’t quite categorize: speculation, anticipation, some special concentration.

Nerves vaulted through her. “Well, I guess you’d better get home and get dressed if you’re going to be two hours early for the wedding, shouldn’t you?”

He nodded, never taking his eyes off her. “I suppose so.”

“It was nice to meet you.” She concentrated on digging out her keys. If she did that, then she wouldn’t focus on that mouth and wonder what it would be like to kiss him.

“It’s nice to see you.”

“It’s late,” she said desperately.

“Then I guess you’d better get going, Cinderella.” With a flourish, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. Heat flashed through her. “See you at the altar.”

Chapter Three

The dressing room smelled of cologne and hair spray, of freesia and lily of the valley from the bridal bouquets. Silk and tulle rustled below the chatter and buzz of a half-dozen women getting primped simultaneously.

“Lisa Sanders, have I told you how much I love and admire you?” Ariel turned to allow Jillian to zip up the back of her bridesmaid dress.

Lisa glanced over from where she sat at the vanity in the bride’s dressing area. “Any particular reason now?”

“These dresses. They’re gorgeous.”

“I’ll say,” Jillian chimed in fervently. She’d been in more weddings than she could count on one hand and had the closet full of poufy floral dresses to prove it. Lisa had rejected those horrors in favor of slim, tea-length dresses the color of the periwinkles in their bouquets.

Jillian glanced in the mirror at her own dress, admiring the way the bias-cut silk draped. “They really are lovely.”

“And wait until your boy gets a load of you in that,” Ariel said.

Jillian frowned. “My boy?”

“Gil,” Ariel clarified. “I mean, the two of you were flirting like mad last night. Very hot.”

It was crazy to get butterflies in her stomach at the thought of him, Jillian told herself. But every time she remembered the feel of his lips brushing over her knuckles, her stomach lurched as if she was in an elevator that was dropping too fast. She’d tried to tell herself it hadn’t been a big deal. Sure he’d paid attention to her, walked her to her car, kissed her hand, but who knew what that meant? It could just be one of those things people did at rehearsal dinners.

But apparently she wasn’t the only one who had noticed.

Maybe, Jillian thought, just maybe it hadn’t been her imagination. Maybe there really had been that little buzz there, that little something that felt like, oh…

Chemistry.

It happened, she knew. Couples met, clicked and wound up dating. It wasn’t just in movies and books; she heard about it from her patients, her girlfriends, even her siblings. People got involved, they had relationships.

Why not her?

“If I were you,” Ariel continued, “I’d be looking forward to the reception. What do you think, Lisa?”

“I don’t know.” Lisa was focused intently on trying to get her pearl necklace out of its case but her hands were shaking too much to do it. She cleared her throat. “He’s not really your type, Jillian, is he?”

Her type? How did she even know what her type was? He wasn’t a standard pretty boy but she liked that. She liked the humor that was never far away, the way he made her laugh. And she really, really liked that buzz that went through her whenever they made eye contact.

But who was she fooling? What she liked most, what she hadn’t been able to stop thinking of once since it had happened was the way it had felt when he’d brought her hand to his lips. Anticipation fluttered through her.

“He seems nice enough,” she allowed.

Ariel snorted. “Nice enough?”

“Is he seeing anyone?” Jillian asked.

Lisa fumbled and dropped the necklace.

“Uh-oh, looks like prewedding jitters to me,” Ariel said. “Anyone got a shot of vodka?”

“She doesn’t need a drink.” Jillian came over to help. “She just needs us to stop going on about everything else.”

“I should have listened to Alan and gone to Vegas,” Lisa moaned. “Everything would have been better.”

“It’s going to be beautiful,” Jillian soothed, fastening the necklace in place and putting a reassuring hand on Lisa’s shoulder. “You’ll see. You’re going to walk out there and see Alan and everything will be perfect.”

Carrie came back into the room. “All right, everyone, it’s time. Lisa, honey, you ready?”

“I think so.” Lisa rose, touching her hair nervously. “How do I look?”

“Gorgeous,” Jillian said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Be happy,” she whispered.

Lisa gave her a tremulous smile. “I already am.”

Gil stood in the dressing area watching Alan tie his tie. “So what do you say, are you ready to do this?”

“Of course. Why shouldn’t I be?”

“Just checking. After all, it’s my job as groomsman to prop you up in the bar and feed you a few drinks to get your courage up.”

Alan patted Gil’s shoulder. “I think you were supposed to do all that at the bachelor party.”

Gil snapped his fingers. “Bachelor party. Damn. I knew there was something I forgot to do.”

“I’ll let it go,” Alan said.

Gil studied his friend. “You’re going to be happy, Alan,” he said. “The two of you have a good vibe.”

“Yeah?” For a minute, Alan forgot about the tie and met Gil’s gaze in the mirror. “I keep wondering if I’m out of my mind, marrying a woman seventeen years younger than me. But I don’t know, when I’m with her, it just works.”

“I don’t think you’re out of your mind. She’s smart, ambitious, gorgeous. And more grown-up than her age.” Gil picked a bit of lint off his sleeve. “What she sees in you, of course, God only knows. If I were you, I’d marry her quick before she comes to her senses.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Anytime,” Gil said cheerfully. “It’s a good match. She can introduce you to the Raconteurs and you can introduce her to Tony Bennett and shuffleboard.”

“I’ll shuffle your board if you don’t watch it,” Alan growled.

“Hey, no roughing up the ushers.”

Alan put on his jacket and buttoned it up. “I’ll let you off the hook this time, but only because I have to go get married.”

“Lucky me,” Gil said.

“No,” Alan said, “Lucky me.”

White satin. Ribbons and lace. The church echoed with the liquid tones of the harp. Freesia from the bouquets scented the air. And everywhere faces glowed with that luminous joy unique to weddings.

Jillian stood quietly at the back of the church with the other bridesmaids. Behind them, hidden in an alcove, Lisa shifted nervously. Then the music started and Alan led the ushers out into place at the front of the church. There was a rustling as everybody turned to the back.

At Carrie’s nod, Jillian began the measured walk down the aisle, the same one she’d made so many times before. Before her lay the pews, the ends adorned with bouquets and ribbons. Beyond that, she saw the organ, the altar, Alan and his ushers.

And Gil.

He wore a tuxedo, no different than the men beside him. But, oh, it looked different. Maybe it was his long, lean build, those shoulders, that way he had of standing as though he was totally at ease and at the same time ready for anything. His skin appeared very tanned, almost swarthy against the snowy-white of his shirt.

And he was staring right at her.

A whole squadron of butterflies took off to flutter madly about her stomach. He had that gleam in his eyes, that look that promised something special, she could see it from there. Quickly, she trained her gaze before her, on the altar. Having a bridesmaid going down the aisle staring at one of the ushers didn’t exactly give a dignified look to the procession.

Focusing on the front of the church didn’t help.

The fact that she kept her eyes turned from Gil was irrelevant—she was aware of him with every fiber of her being. She saw the white gleam of his smile, knew when he shifted a bit and clasped his hands together before him. Just taking each step took all her concentration, which was silly. It was only a look from across a room.

So why did it feel almost like a physical touch, one that strengthened with each inch she moved toward him?

The walk seemed endless, and yet Jillian was surprised to suddenly find herself at the end of the aisle. She took her place with relief and a sneaky little whiff of disappointment, as though a beam of sunlight had gone away. She was there for the wedding, she reminded herself, not a flirtation. Turning back to the aisle, she held her bouquet before her.

One by one, the other bridesmaids walked toward her and stepped into line. Including Ariel.

Who gave her a broad wink.

Jillian found herself stifling a giggle. Ariel just glided calmly and serenely into place. Only someone who was looking for it would have known that she was trying hard not to laugh, too.

And then the music swelled and there was a shuffle of feet as everyone stood for the bride.

She was, quite simply, lovely. As Lisa had chosen stylish simplicity for the bridesmaids’ dresses, so she’d gone with simple elegance in her own attire: an ivory satin sheath, a garland of freesia and periwinkle for her hair. She was shaking visibly when she drew nearer, Jillian saw, her face pale, eyes huge. Then she reached the head of the aisle, and Brian Summers passed her hand to Alan.

And the moment their hands joined, the shakes were gone. Alan bent his head to kiss Lisa’s fingers. Her smile bloomed, brilliant and beautiful as a sunrise.

Jillian found herself blinking back the sudden sting of tears.

Love. Honor. Cherish. Till death do us part. The words flowed, the phrases that had always been a part of the lexicon of love, but suddenly they were real. She’d never believed in auras and all that mumbo jumbo, but when Alan and Lisa looked into each other’s eyes, Jillian swore she could almost see their love for each other like a glowing nimbus that enveloped them both. It was real, this feeling, it existed. Blinking, she glanced beyond them.

Only to find her gaze pinned to Gil’s.

His eyes were hot and dark and unwavering. And suddenly it was as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. She couldn’t breathe. She felt light-headed, suddenly dizzy as though the floor had tilted and his gaze were the only thing holding her in place. Everything around her receded. There was only Gil, looking at her and through her and into her.

The sound of applause broke the spell. Alan and Lisa were kissing, Jillian realized. The ceremony was finished and they were turning to march back up the aisle, hand in hand.

She glanced back to Gil to see his lips quirk in amusement. The recessional had begun, the bridesmaids and ushers walking forward to pair up, two by two, first Neal and Ariel, then the next pair and the next.

And then Gil was standing before her, offering his arm.

“Let the record show that here you are at the altar and here I am, right on time and ready to escort,” he said.

Jillian laughed and the tension broke. “I appreciate that. I was worried about getting lost.”

“And me, with no GPS.”

She laid her hand on his sleeve. “I have faith in your sense of direction.”

“Outstanding wedding,” he said as they began to walk back up the aisle.

“It was.” Particularly this part, with his arm strong and steady under her fingers, their steps falling in sync.

“Outstanding bridesmaids, too,” Gil added. “Especially the first one that came down the aisle. The color of that dress does very nice things for you.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“And you do even nicer things for the dress.”

“Are you trying to make me blush?” Jillian asked as they passed the rows of people.

He grinned. “Is it working?”

“You’re dangerous,” she told him.

“Me? I’m harmless.”

“Oh, no. I don’t think you can be trusted for a minute.”

“I can be trusted for lots of things,” he countered as they reached the top of the aisle.

“Like what?”

His lips twitched as they reached the top of the aisle. “Let’s get somewhere a little more private and I’d be happy to demonstrate.”

“Oh, too bad we’ve got to go to the reception,” Jillian said lightly. “I guess it’ll have to wait.” She was flirting, she realized in giddy wonder.

“I can be a pretty patient guy when I need to be,” Gil returned.

And they walked through the front doors of the church into blazing sunlight and the pealing of the church’s carillon.

The reception was at a lovely courtyard restaurant on the river. The June afternoon was mild enough to make it enjoyable, and if there was any flaw to it, it was that Jillian had been seated on the opposite side of the head table from Gil. That simmering sense of expectation still bubbled, even as she worked her way through appetizer and salad, soup and main course, making polite conversation with her companions, waiting for the moment she’d be free to talk with him again.

Because she had to admit it, she wanted to. She wanted to talk with him, to laugh with him, to hear his voice, to feel that little shiver in her stomach when she looked into his eyes.

When Lisa and Alan took the floor for their first dance, Jillian applauded with the rest, but mostly she was trying to manage the rush of anticipation and excitement and nerves. Because something had been set in motion. She had no better way to think about it than that. Something had changed from the night before—or maybe she had changed—and she had no idea what came next.

Except that she wanted more.

“All right, let’s have the wedding party out on the floor for their dance,” the band’s lead singer said.

Jillian stood at the edge of the dance floor. For once in her life, she wasn’t feeling tentative or uneasy or at loose ends. He’d come find her, she knew he would.

And then she turned and he was there.

“I think this is my dance,” he said, offering her his hand.

Jillian stepped forward into his arms. The black fabric of his tux felt soft under her fingertips. She concentrated on that because it was safer than thinking about the way heat bloomed through her from his open hand pressed against her back, because that had her wondering just how that hand would feel smoothing over her skin. She shivered.

“Cold?” Gil murmured.

Jillian shook her head. How could she be, when she could feel the heat of his body just inches from hers? And even without that, there was the unsettling slide of his palm over hers, the disconcerting intimacy of having his mouth right at eye level, that delectable mouth that she found herself staring at even as she watched the corners of it turn up.

She raised her chin and found herself looking into his amused eyes.

“How am I doing?” he asked.

“Arthur Murray would be proud.”

“Wait until I trot out my really smooth moves,” he said.

“Is the world ready for that?”

“Come on, live life on the edge.”

“How do you know I don’t already?” she challenged. “I might be a daredevil.”

“Running with scissors? Mixing whites with colors?”

“Skydiving,” she countered. “Hang gliding. Bungee jumping.”

“Bungee jumping?”

“Bungee jumping,” she said triumphantly.

“Then this ought to feel familiar.”

And before she knew what he was about, he’d tightened his hand at her waist and bent her backward into a deep dip.

A chorus of whoops erupted from the crowd around the dance floor. Jillian’s heart hammered madly. He was bent over her, against her, pressing her tightly to him. And for a breathless, whirling instant, his mouth was almost touching hers.

Then he was standing her up again and bowing to the sounds of applause.

The edge, Jillian thought breathlessly, was getting closer by the moment.

The reception was over and the evening sky darkened to velvet black as Jillian and Gil walked out to the parking lot together. It was the first time she could remember that she’d danced until her feet ached. Now, she dangled her shoes from one hand and walked barefoot over the smooth pavement.

“So let me know if you want to go on tour with our dance-and-dip act,” Gil told her.

“I’ll have to take a look at my bungee jumping schedule,” she said, stopping beside her car.

“You do that.”

“Keep your smooth moves dusted off.”

“Always do. You never know when you might need them.” He studied her mouth. “You know, just because the wedding’s over doesn’t mean we have to go home. You want to go somewhere, get a drink?”

The idea appealed and alarmed. Taking a chance on him suddenly seemed like a far greater risk than merely jumping off a high platform. Yet the sense of anticipation that she’d felt all day suddenly intensified. “I’d like to but I’m meeting my brother and his family for breakfast early tomorrow.”

“Lucky brother. Maybe some other time, then.”

She swallowed. “I’d like that.”

“Yeah?” His eyes locked on hers. “So would I. Why don’t you give me your number and I’ll call you?”

She patted her small, beaded evening bag. “I don’t have a pen or anything. Do you have something to write on?”

He shook his head. “Say it. I’ll remember.”

“You have a photographic memory?”

“For the important things.” He reached out to trace his fingertips along her jaw.

Adrenaline surged through her. Her entire body, every nerve, every sense was immediately focused on that one place that his fingers touched. Warm, as they traced over her skin, just rough enough to give her gooseflesh. Her lips parted, seeking air.