“Probably not.”
“I’m sorry to barge in. Or roll in, as the case may be. I rented a bike.”
“Yes. I can see that. Hope you got a really good deal on it.”
“Now, why do you say that? And, be careful, your membership application might ride on your answer.”
“It’s just…not surprising that it was available.”
“Nicely done,” she said with a wry smile. “The people I work with would be impressed with your…mediation skills. Do you want a job? I hear one is available.”
“I’ll pass. Actively involving myself in politics of any kind gives me the hives. My apologies.”
“Apology accepted. I understand the reaction.”
“How did you get interested in politics?”
Her smile spread. “You mean, for a girl?”
“No. I actually adore women, by the way. Especially women who know their own minds. My curiosity was straightforward. I honestly don’t know why anyone is drawn to it.”
“For all the altruistic reasons that a person who really thinks they can make a difference is drawn to.”
“And now?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I’d still like to make a difference, but I decided to focus my energies a bit differently.”
“Such as?”
She paused, then said, “My policies and new strategies are still in the developmental stage.”
“Ah,” he said, the epitome of nonjudgmental. “Nicely done.”
She did a little curtsy, which sent her straddled bike bobbling and its rider hopping on one foot as she tried to keep it, and herself, upright.
He moved swiftly forward, reflexively reaching for her, but she righted herself and the bike before he got to her.
“I’m really not a menace to society,” she assured him. “But perhaps they should at least make you do a little course or something before letting a person loose on the streets with this thing.”
He was standing much closer to her now and was disappointed to see her freckles had vanished once again beneath a thin veneer of makeup. In fact, he rather liked the bedraggled, foggy-framed, sodden version of Lauren Matthews to the freshly showered and expertly made-up version.
“What?” she asked, making him aware that he was staring. She patted her head. “Helmet hair, right? Come on, you’ve seen me worse.”
Her hair was perfect. Too perfect, all sleeked back in a shiny ponytail. Yeah, messy and makeup free was definitely better. More…her. Which made no sense since, clearly, he was looking at the “real” Lauren Matthews. “No, not a hair out of place.” More’s the pity. “I wouldn’t have picked you for a fan of girly colors, that’s all.”
“Why wouldn’t you have thought me a girly-girl? Because of the lovely raccoon-mascara eyes and stringy wet hair I was sporting when we first met?”
“I really haven’t the faintest clue why. Maybe it’s knowing your Washington background and making subconscious assumptions. I’m not usually the type to jump to conclusions. But, it…surprised me, that’s all.”
“So…liking pink and being girly is a bad thing?”
“Not at all.”
She laughed. “Liar.”
“I’m not lying. A woman being feminine is great. Who doesn’t enjoy a very feminine female?”
“You, I think. I’m guessing you prefer your women outdoorsy, natural, with a few tomboy tendencies thrown in for good measure.” He paused just long enough for her to laugh again. “Nailed it in one,” she said, sounding smug.
“We all have preferences. Doesn’t mean I think the alternatives are a bad thing.”
“Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not much of an athlete, and although I’d be willing, you really wouldn’t want me anywhere near a power tool. Not if you value your extremities and keeping your arterial flow strictly internal. And, to be perfectly honest, working in a job traditionally held by a man, wearing overly conservative, asexually tailored business suits so I’ll be taken remotely seriously, for the very fact that I’m built like a very feminine female, one who refuses to sleep her way to the top—”
“I thought there were laws regarding that kind of thing these days.”
“Yes, there are. Laws regarding behavior that a smart woman finds other ways to deal with, because blowing the whistle on your male coworkers or superiors, which is the dominant gender percentage of your workforce, is not the best way to win friends and influence people. Namely the very people who would be in charge of promoting you.”
“So, you’re more Clark Kent than Lois Lane. Cloaking your super powers under a perfectly tailored suit.”
She smiled. “Only if Clark likes to wear supremely feminine undergarments under those perfectly tailored suits.”
He smiled at that, but his body was having an entirely more exaggerated reaction to the very sudden, very unexpected mental images that sprang to mind.
“My point was that, surrounded by a distinctly black suit and red power tie work world, of which I am also a part…I liked being able to look down at my sensibly manicured nails and know that inside my sensible pumps are pink polished toes, and that, possibly, under my straight-cut, unflattering skirt are stockings that aren’t necessarily constricting me in places I don’t need to be constricted, and be reminded at the end of another grueling, seventy-hour work week, where I have to prove my worth repeatedly to the Boys Club, that I am female and really—really—enjoy being one. So, I saw the pink bike, sitting there in a sea of blue and green and black ones, and thought, mine.”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment. He couldn’t. Not without possibly growling, or worse. Which would be an entirely too Neanderthal response that would give her far too much leverage. All the leverage, really. Which, he was swiftly learning, she was likely to have anyway. But no point in revealing his weak spot any earlier than necessary. But sensible, sleek hair on the outside, and garters and pink toenail polish underneath? That…well, that was just playing dirty.
She finally laughed and said, “Hard to believe I ever conformed, I know.”
“Actually, I was thinking that I can’t imagine there is a tailor on earth who could make you look asexual.”
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise, but it was the flush that rose to her cheeks that had him permanently changing his opinion on the color pink.
“Yes, well, it’s been…something of a challenge.”
“I’ve always thought most of the men in Washington haven’t a clue what they’re doing, and the fact they prefer you buttoned up and down just proves it.”
“Your support is appreciated. You really should reconsider the job proposition. We could use more men like you on the Hill.”
That earned a short laugh. “No, you couldn’t. Trust me.” He closed the remaining distance between them and rested his hand on one of the handlebars. “You want to park this thing for a bit?”
She lifted her face to his and he had to resist the sudden, very urgent need to rub at her nose with his thumb until he uncovered a freckle or two.
“I didn’t mean to intrude on your work. I’ve already taken up far too much of your time today as it is. I just…”
He ducked his chin to catch her gaze when she looked away. It was so uncustomary for the woman he was coming to know, he found himself curious. “You just what?”
“Your flight school was on the map that the guy at the rental shop gave me, and I was heading through town, and…I guess I sort of ended up here. I was curious.”
“About?”
“What a flight school looked like.” She held his gaze then. “You.”
He was already halfway hard from the previous mental image parade, but that single word made him grow a step harder. He liked her better when she was direct…his body clearly did as well. But he also liked that, at times, she was flustered and talked really fast, and that, when he teased her, she either dished it right back, or got the sexiest blush, and that he never knew which thing was going to get which reaction. “I’m not all t
hat fascinating.”
“I feel like Dorothy, very far away from Kansas.”
“We’re in Colorado, not Oz.”
“It might as well be, compared to home. You were right, about the mountains. Now that the rain has stopped, it’s hard to really take them all in, the immensity of them. I love our mountains back home, but they aren’t anything like this. I’ve been around them my whole life, but they don’t prepare you for anything like this.”
“You have ancient hills back east. Rolling and graceful. Ours are newer, more jagged and raw, not yet worn down by time, and a bit more challenging because of it. But I think yours are beautiful, too.”
“You’ve been to the East Coast?”
“I’ve been to almost every part of our country.”
“Oh,” she said, but didn’t say more, despite the questions he could see in her eyes.
“You want to know more. So ask me.”
“I’m being nosy and rude and taking your time, when I really should be focusing on preparing myself for the inquisition later this evening.”
He smiled, quite easily that time. It was funny how, when she was around, his problems seemed less pressing, the smiles came far more readily. “So, I’m a distraction, then.”
“Maybe,” she said, then smiled. “But a really good one.”
“Well, then, you might as well take full advantage.”
And there was that bloom of pink again. It made him wonder just where her mind had gone and how he could get it to go there more often. “Ask questions, satisfy your curiosity,” he clarified. The color deepened.
“Oh.”
His smile spread to a grin. “Oh, indeed.”
“I really should be going.”
He shifted a step closer and tightened his grip on the handlebar, keeping the bike steady. “Should you, really?”
His body reacted further to the way her pupils expanded under his steady regard. He was dying to glance down, see how else his close proximity might be affecting her, but then she might glance down, too…and notice the same about him.
“I should. But only because I have to. And…thank you.”
“For?” he asked, almost afraid to hear what it was she thought she should be thanking him for. “I already told you not to worry about pulling me away—”
“Not that, though I’m still grateful. I enjoyed the company on the ride in and…I’m glad I didn’t make that trip alone.”
He continued his steady regard of her face, her eyes, her mouth…and realized he felt very much the same. “I enjoy being in your company, too, Miss Matthews.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but apparently was the victim of a suddenly dry throat.
He had to fight the urge to grin. But he was pleased to know he wasn’t the only one feeling the effects. “So, is that what you wanted to thank me for? My brilliant conversational abilities?”
She did smile then. “You may not say much, but when you do, it matters.”
He hadn’t expected that, and now it was he who didn’t have a ready response.
She filled the sudden silence. “I wanted to thank you for being discreet, about my whereabouts.”
He frowned, too caught up in her eyes to comprehend what she was talking about.
“Arlen’s—the mayor’s—secretary came to see me. I was surprised to find her at my door, and she explained that she’d spoken with you—” She lifted a hand to stall his reply. “And that you needed a bit of coaxing to reveal any information regarding me. That was nice of you.”
“Don’t believe your day-to-day motions won’t be discussed and talked about, but you’d mentioned there being a stressful situation with your mother and so I didn’t so much mind if she had to work harder to track you down. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep your whereabouts completely out of the loop, but I’m afraid that’s an impossibility here in Mayberry.”
She laughed at that. “Well, I appreciate the thought and that you were trying to be sensitive to my situation.”
Now it was his turn to laugh. “Trust me, I never involve myself in other peoples’ ‘situations’ so you can take it as a compliment, if you wish. But I’m also warning you that I’m no good at it, so don’t go planning to hide behind me. This town, and everyone in it, is transparent to some degree. There is no place to hide.”
“Good to know. And don’t worry. I’m not much of a hider.”
He smiled, liking her more by the second. Wishing he didn’t, as it was going to complicate things, but he was afraid it was too late for that. “We still on for Sunday?”
“I hope so. I’ll know better after this evening. I’ll let you know tomorrow, if that’s okay. Can I call you here?”
You can call me anywhere, anytime. “Sure. I’ll be here. You might not be high maintenance, but Miss Betty Sue over there is very demanding. I’m beginning to think she’d never let me out of her sight if she had her way.”
“Betty Sue?”
He nodded toward the Mustang.
“Oh,” she said, looking immeasurably more excited now. “Is that what we’re going to fly in?”
He laughed. “No, she’s not in service at the moment. I’m getting her ready for the race next month.”
“Right. That—she’s—the Mustang.” Her gaze stayed on the plane. “She’s really something. I had no idea. World War Two you said.”
“Yes,” he said, feeling a ridiculous sense of pride, which was silly considering she had no real idea what she was looking at. But he didn’t mind that she liked what she saw. Or that, when she turned her gaze back to his, the look in her eyes didn’t change. “I can bore you with about a million details covering her entire life history whenever you have a few years. But, in deference to keeping you interested in me for more than five minutes, I’ll spare you.”
“Actually, I’d like to know more. You said you didn’t fly in the exhibitions like your grandfather did. Does someone else fly her then? Or is she only flown for the race? She’s really pretty stunning to look at. Hard to believe she was used as a fighter.”
“No one has flown her since my grandfather did, except me—” He broke off, then shook his head. “—and he would shoot me if I scared off a beautiful woman talking about the only other woman in my life.”
She laughed. “No need for the false flattery. Once a man has seen you with raccoon eyes, she’s never going to believe any compliments—”
“You should. You have beautiful eyes.”
She clearly wasn’t buying. “I wear serious looking glasses, and—”
“And I can see right through them.” He was beginning to see through a lot of things, in fact. He was beginning to wonder just how “sleekly pulled back, every hair in place and freckle covered” she’d be if left to her own desires. His smile grew when he realized he’d made her stutter to a stop. “Although if it makes me sound more sincere, I’ll add that while I find the frames kind of sexy, in a ‘I want to slide them off’ kind of way, I do prefer the eyes behind them, without all the black streaks.”
She both laughed and swallowed, hard, if the way her throat worked was any indication. And the tension between them both ebbed—of the awkward variety—and flowed…of the more intimate kind.
“I really would like to hear more,” she said finally. “About the plane, I mean.”
“Trust me, I’m doing you the favor. You really don’t want to get me started.”
He realized he was grinning. And she was smiling back. And suddenly he was thinking maybe he owed his baby sister a big fat thank-you. Although only under penalty of death would he actually admit that.
“It seems a shame that no one else flies her. I mean, all that work, she should get a chance to strut her stuff more often.”
Jake started to reply, then stopped. He hadn’t really ever thought about it like that. He’d always just been happy to keep her flight-worthy and race-worthy. “Possibly. I’ll just be happy if I can get her ready by race week.” And for that, he needed Roger to commit, once and for a
ll, and do it soon. And…he really didn’t want to think about it, not at the moment, anyway. For the first time in a very long time, he had other things on his mind…far more pleasurable things, as it turned out.
“So, about the inquisition tonight,” he said, changing the subject. “I take it you’re meeting with your mother and the mayor later?” He lifted a hand. “Not my business, I know, so don’t feel you have to—”
“No, no, it’s okay.” She cocked her head a little then, and a different look came into those eyes he was growing so quickly fond of looking into. Too quickly, most likely. But he didn’t look away.
“You know, it’s funny,” she said, “and I don’t know why, but—don’t let this make you run screaming, okay?”
He frowned at that, confused. “Okay.”
“Maybe, subconsciously, I came out here because I thought you—” She stopped, shook her head, laughed. “It sounds even more ridiculous when I put it into words. So, ignore that. Yes, I am meeting them tonight, and no, I’m not looking forward to it. It’s a long story that might rival your ability to talk about Betty Sue, only for completely opposite reasons, so I’ll spare you the gory details.”
“I won’t pry. But I’m sorry things aren’t smooth.”
“I appreciate that. I also appreciate you telling me that my mother was looking forward to my arrival. It was…good to know. I guess I owed you more thank-yous than I realized.”
“For?”
“That, and not telling Melissa every last thing about me when she called you. For keeping my job status a secret.”
“How do you know I—”
“You haven’t said anything, have you?” she countered, seeming pretty sure of him.
He shook his head. “Nobody’s business but yours.”
“So…thank you. It’s been a difficult enough thing, coming out here, needing to set things right with my mother. We’ve always been really close, but her quickie wedding—” She stopped and held up her hand. “Sorry. I’m very sure you don’t want to hear about any of that and I don’t want to put you any further in the middle of anything.”
“What makes you think you have?”
“You belong here, you know these people, live with them, work with them. I don’t want you in any position to be defending me or choosing sides, if, God forbid, it comes to that.”
A Great Kisser Page 7
