* * *
"Remember, the first sign of pain in your wrist, let me know. These get-togethers tend to go on until dawn." He'd parked near a house on the edge of the waterfront and was helping her out of the car as he spoke.
"Alex, you said you haven't seen these people in three months. I'm not about to take you away from them at the first little ol' twinge." Straightening the standaway collar on her dress, she looked down at the pink-cabbage-rose-and-multileaf print, then up at Alex, who was staring at her. He was also drumming his fingers on the roof of the car.
"What's the matter?" She looked down at her dress again and sighed. "Don't tell me there's a dress code for these get-togethers." If there was, she was going to be disappointed. She thought she'd left those rules behind her. "Well, will I do?" she demanded.
He lifted his hand from the roof and twisted it in a helpless gesture. "You look great," he said, his voice strangely husky.
"Oh. What is it, then?"
"I just wanted to tell you, before we go in, that this group can get rowdy."
Widening her eyes, she laughed. "Rowdy? I've never done 'rowdy' before." He had to be joking of course, or exaggerating. Rowdy was a condition reserved for rodeo riders and barroom brawlers. She shook her head as they walked to the house.
As Alex reached for the handle, the door was opened by a tall, bearded man in a kilt. He leaned out and kissed Sandy noisily on both cheeks.
"The last time I saw you, you were curled like a wee kitten in Alexander's arms." The Scotsman slipped a bottle of beer into her hand and wrapped his arm around her, saying to Alex, "You're needed in the kitchen. Taro wants you to taste the sauce."
She twisted to look at Alex, not sure of what she should do.
"Now, lass, unless you're plannin' to catch the midnight plane to Athens, you'll have plenty of time to spend with Alexander. Right now, some of us need a fresh opinion on a subject dear to my heart. My name's Bertram, by the way, and yours is Sandy, but you've known that for years."
She went with him to the piano and, without warning, he picked her up and deposited her on top of it. The group already leaning against it made hasty introductions, and the argument over the fashionable versus the proper length of a man's kilt continued. After reaching a loud impasse, the subject suddenly changed to a fail-safe dysentery cure if one happened to be stranded in southern New Guinea.
The enthusiastic sixsome had her clutching her sides with laughter, and before she realized it, an hour had slipped by. She looked up several times for a glimpse of Alex. Sometimes she caught him looking at her in a way that made her want to straighten her dress or pat her hair. Once when Bertram saw her looking for him, he closed his hand over hers.
"It's good that a man has his space, lass."
She returned the Scot's generous smile, then shook her finger at him. "It's good for this woman too."
Bertram roared his laughter. "Alex," he shouted, "she's a bonny lass. Bonny lass."
Nothing, Sandy soon learned, was considered a taboo subject for the group, but Bertram insisted on withdrawing her from the discussion on goat breeding.
"I'm fifty-eight years old, and I don't want anyone telling me, or our guest here, that goats don't come from acorns. Come along, Sandy," he said, lifting her down from the piano, "I'll give you a look at the gallery before dinner. It's a few doors down, and we'll have ourselves a fine chat along the way."
Dear God, she looked beautiful, Alex thought. Wrapped in roses, scented with honeysuckle, and dripping with southern charm. He caught the shrug she sent his way, then watched as she followed the kilted Scotsman out the door. As boisterous as Bertram was, he had a sensitivity about the moods and feelings of those around him. Alex hadn't had a moment alone with Sandy since they'd walked in, but he was grateful to his friend for getting her outside for a quiet moment. Not that he didn't have enormous admiration and respect for his friends, but their free-spirited antics would never play in her society. No matter that she'd insisted she was ready for a "real" life, ladies like Sandy Patterson flourished much better in their own polished environments.
When dinner was served in the lantern-lit garden, Alex made certain he was seated across from her. He'd seen the way she'd looked for him all throughout the evening. Well, maybe three or four times, if he was honest. Every time he attempted to join her, his friends would corral him back into their group. If he didn't know any better, he'd think there was a concerted effort to keep him away from his houseguest.
Just when he wondered whether she was faking her laughter at still another of Bertram's colorful stories, she joined with two other Americans in singing "The Star-Spangled Banner." Alex whooped with the others at its conclusion, but wondered how she was going to feel about her actions tomorrow. As harmless and good-natured as her performance had been, he knew she wasn't the type to call attention to herself like this.
When he was finally able to slip away from his friends, he spotted Sandy alone in the garden. She stood by one high wall, her posture-perfect, ivory-toned shoulders glowing in the lantern light. Whether it was the flowered dress moving in the breeze or the way she'd gathered her hair high on her head, she gave off an aura of femininity that made his mouth go dry. There was probably a time in the past when knowing she'd belonged to Jackson would have caused Alex to feel guilty about his attraction to her. Fact was, Jackson had been a lucky man, but Jackson was gone now. Alex couldn't muster one guilty feeling to cling to in his effort to fight his desire for her. He shoved his hands in his pockets and wished like hell he'd remembered his cigarettes.
"Well, you're certainly full of surprises."
She looked over the rim of her after-dinner drink, then lowered it to smile at him. Bagpipe music was alternately whining and waning in the house. "Whatever are you talking about? I haven't danced on the piano... yet."
"I'm talking about your hobby." He pulled one hand from his pocket and wiggled his finger in the air. "That little sketching thing you do. That knack of yours that got you accepted to one of the most prestigious art schools in America."
"Oh, that little hobby. Who told you?"
"Bertram. He says Chevalier is one of the best schools in the States."
She placed her splinted wrist against the creamiest, roundest cleavage ever to blossom forth from a sweetheart bodice.
"And you're surprised they chose me?"
He looked at anything in the garden that wasn't Sandy. "No. I'm surprised I'm the last to know."
She'd meant to tell him sooner. Pressing the rim of the glass to her lips, she tried looking contrite. It was next to impossible with all the music and laughter coming from inside the house. "Are you throwing me out in the streets for my oversight?"
Before Alex had a chance to reply, someone stopped the bagpipe tape, then started another.
"This one's for Alex's friend, Sandy."
"Georgia on My Mind" wafted out into the garden.
Sandy placed her glass on the window ledge." Well, bless his heart," she said, holding her hand out to Alex. "Here's a surprise for you. I'm not going to ask you to dance with me on the piano, but I'd love a few turns around this garden. Relax, I've had all my shots and haven't bitten anyone since Thursday." Without waiting for his response, she slipped into his arms.
She felt more than heard his laughter, as he eased her closer and began to dance. Like most men she'd danced with, Alex managed to hold her at a safety shield's distance. Once his fingers brushed the skin above her zipper, and she welcomed the tiny tremors passing between them. When wind swept into the garden and blew a curl of her hair against his hand, he didn't bother to move it. His chin grazed her head twice before he finally gave up and rested it there. The world moved back, spinning silently around them.
After a while he asked, "What were you doing out here all alone?"
"Just studying the silhouette of the church's dome against the streetlight. And giving you time to get reacquainted with your friends.".
"That wasn't necessary."
She stopped dancing and looked up from the circle of his arms. "I wanted to."
"I've hardly seen you all night."
"I saw you looking at me."
He danced her slowly around the garden, pressing her body more intimately against his with each turn.
The wind picked up, plastering her skirt against both their legs and that curl of hers against his hand again. He tucked the errant tress behind her ear, then let his thumb slide down her cheek and under tier chin. His breath smelled sweet, and she remembered how, when he was eating his dessert, his lips glistened with honey.
Just when she thought he was going to kiss her, someone shut the door. The song diminished to a background whisper, and the intimate moment disappeared.
Alex stopped dancing, took a step backward, and forced himself to cough. "How's your wrist? If you're tired, we could leave."
"Leave? Why? I'm having a fabulous time. Aren't you?"
"Sandy, this isn't exactly your debutante ball at the country club. You don't have to pretend—"
"Oh, Alex," she said, thoroughly exasperated. "I thought we were beyond all that, but you're doing it again."
"What? What am I doing?"
She planted her good hand on her hip and narrowed her eyes. "You're sticking me in a slot. This one's called Country Club Snob."
"I never called you a snob."
"You didn't have to." She gestured with her splinted wrist. "Look, maybe I haven't gotten up on the piano and danced the Highland fling like Bertram, but that doesn't mean I didn't enjoy watching him do it. And did I complain when the octopus salad was served without a fork? As a matter of fact, when you tried to convince me to take off my clothes and go skinny-dipping this morning, I thought I handled that rather well too."
"I'm glad you brought that up," he said, not looking at all glad. "I want to apologize for making you so uncomfortable on the beach this morning. After all, you're—"
"Slot number two."
"You're my friend's widow."
"Is that all you think about when you look at me?"
Looking away from her, he brought both hands to his hips. "I—yes." Nodding vigorously now, he continued emphatically. Too emphatically. "Yes, I see Jackson's widow."
"Alex, that's like me saying, 'Meet my friend, Alex. He's a graduate of Braxton University. That maybe a true statement, but it doesn't tell a tenth of who and what you are." He looked away, but she took him by the sleeve and made him look at her again. "When you look at a rainbow, you don't see only the red part. Right?"
He nodded once, reluctantly.
"Well, when you look at me, why do you see only one part of me?"
"Sandy, we know each other because you are Jackson's widow. I can't forget that."
"Really? I think you've forgotten it a few times," she said evenly, as she placed her hand on his chest. His heart was beating double time.
"And I've said I was wrong. Wrong about the way I talked to you on the beach and wrong about kissing you yesterday. Please accept my apology."
"No, I don't accept your apology." She ran her hand up the front of his shirt, and with a white-knuckled fist gripped the shoulder of his shirt. "If I did, my life would be a rerun of the one I've left behind." She backed him up to a chair and gave him a little push until he sat down. Looming over him, she continued. "And you remember what a summer rerun's like, don't you?"
Moving her face closer to his, she dropped her voice to a threatening softness. "Sterile cubicles filled with polyester people wearing vapid smiles." Sliding her hand over his nape, she let her fingers stray up into his hair. "Where people stand where they're told to stand, where no one dares deviate from the script, and..." His face was tipped upward, his mouth was open, and he looked as if he expected her to explode. She had a bigger shock than that in store for him. "... where there are no surprises like this."
She lowered her face and, looking into his eyes, kissed him hard on the mouth. She didn't let up on the pressure, but concentrated on the honey -flavored lightning stinging her lips and the surprised expression she saw in his eyes. They widened as her enthusiasm increased.
When he finally realized she wasn't letting up, he pulled her into his lap and deepened the kiss still further.
###
If you enjoyed this excerpt from Some Kind of Wonderful
and want to read the rest, visit
https://susanconnellbooks.com/site/books
for more information
Rings on her Fingers
Susan Connell
Taste of Love: A Romance Sampler Page 33
