by Liz Talley
The decision still stunned him. Yet, he knew it was the right thing to do. His heart wasn’t in running the business anymore. Wasn’t fair to the guys who’d bought into the business or to the patrons who’d come to expect superior service and atmosphere from the nightclubs.
And his behavior in the business world wasn’t the only thing puzzling him. Just last week he had turned down Greta Palmer, the flavor of the month in starlets, when she had blatantly propositioned him during a celebrity poker game. What man turned down lips like that?
Then to further bewilder himself, he had gone to church last Sunday. To church! Why? He had no idea. He hadn’t been to a church since he wore short pants, but he’d been looking for answers to why his life had suddenly become so dissatisfying. And then on the street someone had handed him a flyer. It read Is your life empty?
And it was, so he went.
Frankly, he’d been surprised the whole place hadn’t caved in as he walked up the aisle. He sat down, looked up at the cross affixed to the wall, and then got up and left before they could hand him a visitor tag. He felt like a hypocrite, wanting God to give him answers when he’d done nothing worthy to merit them.
Jack was stumped by his own sense of confusion. He felt lost, floating around, unanchored and unfulfilled. Lonely.
Until last night.
Until he met Elle.
Something about her felt right. The way his father said it would when the right girl came along. The way it had been with his parents.
Jack snorted when he thought about his parents and his dad’s conviction that love could slam into you like a two-ton truck.
He could still remember scoffing as a teenager when his father first told the tale of falling in love with his mother. The two of them had been sitting in his father’s old farm truck, waiting for Miss Kitty, their best milk cow, to deliver her second calf.
“Mark my words, Jackie boy, one day she will come in and, whoosh, it will hit you like a ton of bricks.”
“What will hit me?” A fourteen-year-old Jack scowled, peeling the price tag off the side of his root beer bottle.
“L-O-V-E, that’s what. Just like it was with your mother.”
“Aw, Dad, please, this is just lame,” Jack moaned, rolling the sticker into a cylindrical sticky projectile. He flicked it out the open window. Crickets chirped in the warm California night air, and Jack wondered why he was stuck in the musty cab of the Ford with his father instead of playing Sega at his best friend’s house.
Tom Darby chuckled. “One day you won’t find anything lame about girls or about love.”
Jack had thought about Christie Jenkins and the way her wrap shirt pulled against her breasts when she leaned over to slip her calculator into her backpack. Did his dad think he was a dweeb? Or worse? Oblivious to girls? Shit, he’d already been to third base with Courtney Arnold. Or at least he thought it was third base.
“Yep, your mama walked into the co-op, and I about dropped that thirty-pound bag of seed I was loading. She was as pretty as a buttercup. My whole body just kinda froze up. Couldn’t decide whether I wanted to run laps around the store or just throw up. But I knew it. Knew it like I knew the sky was blue or the grass was green.”
“Well, sometimes the sky is gray, Dad. And grass turns yellow in the winter.” Jack knew he was being a smart-ass, but what could he do? His old man was loopy.
His dad just chuckled. “Good point, son. Never said it was a cakewalk. There were hard times, times where the clouds grew mean and the grass got beat down, but it’s always been worth it.” He rubbed his Levi’s-clad thigh and then reached for his thermos of coffee. “I knew Lila was the one for me the first time I saw her. And one day it will happen to you. You’ll take one look and that’ll be it.”
Jack had watched his father take three long gulps of coffee, his strong muscles moving in his massive neck, and wondered if he ever wanted to feel that way. Love? Sounded kinda stupid. Sex, well, that sounded good. Way good. But love? That Romeo-Juliet-till-the-death crap? Stupid.
As a teen, Jack had been convinced love was for the weak, the poets, the guys who couldn’t get laid. Even if his old man was one of them.
But at thirty-two, Jack wondered if his old man hadn’t been right. Was Elle his blue sky? His green grass? The breath of air he’d been searching for these many months? Or was it just that everything else in his life felt so topsy-turvy? Maybe she was just a diversion—someone to prevent him from thinking about the road ahead?
Not sure.
But he was damned sure going to find out.
Jack reached for the cellphone he’d left on the edge of the desk. Elle had given him her number last night right before he’d pulled away from the hotel. He’d tried to be casual about it. Gave her the old “let me get your number and maybe we can get together again before you leave town” routine, knowing all the while he’d call her. Her eyes said yes even though she’d dropped the phone twice while trying to peck her info into his phone.
He pressed the button on his desk.
“Yes, Jack?”
“Marie, call Marcelle at L’Esperer and get me a table. Tell him I want the best. And a limo. Don’t forget a bottle of Cristal.”
“Of course, Jack.” Marie responded in her normal tone, but he could hear the question in her voice. It had been months since he had been to the trendy French restaurant, months since he had ordered flowers, months since he’d even thought about a date.
Jack leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. Tonight he wanted the best for Elle. He wanted to see if the feeling was still there or if it was just something conjured up by the full moon and a belly full of Earl’s pancakes.
The knot in his stomach loosened.
Elle Hughes.
Was she his match?
CHAPTER SIX
There’s only one way to learn how. You gotta just dig right in. They ain’t gonna bite you, girl.
—Grandmother Tucker to Nellie as she contemplated the foam worm tub on their first fishing trip.
NELLIE STOOD at the hotel lobby bar, agog at the exotic atmosphere. Huge, chunky Oriental bar, delicate lotus blossoms, swanky leather chairs—all designed to help patrons achieve their perfect Zen. Man, Vegas did everything bigger and better, yet she had to admit the smooth elegance of the hotel bar could not capture the energetic vibe of Agave Blue. Jack Darby knew what he was doing.
At the thought of the man she was awaiting, Nellie’s stomach plummeted. She was as nervous as a pet coon. For the twentieth time that evening she wondered if she’d done the right thing in agreeing to this date.What if last night had been a fluke? What if the ease between them was a sham made possible only by the three deadly cocktails she had swilled? Had it all been an illusion? Would she see him and stammer? Forget the sophisticated woman she was supposed to be? Fall flat?
The questions went unanswered.
Nellie slid onto the sleek bar stool trying to affect an air of remoteness. She’d been hit on twice already and turned down several drinks sent her way. Nervously, she glanced yet again at the glowing numbers on her cell phone.
Seven-ten.
He was late.
Maybe he wasn’t coming. She’d received his message on her phone and texted the meeting place back. What if he hadn’t received it? What if he had just changed his mind?
A movement behind her pulled her back into the present. Lips brushed her shoulder.
Nellie spun around and met impish blue eyes.
Before she could say hello, his lips were on hers, soft, yet branding her as his. Nellie didn’t resist. She surrendered, melting into the kiss.
Jack.
He tasted as good as she remembered. Mmm. Better.
He eased back, his eyes unfathomable in the low light of the bar, and it struck Nellie that this was the third time she’d been at a bar with him. She glanced at her drink. Not a chance of a spill this time.
“Ready?” Jack queried, his minty-fresh breath stirring the wisps of hair framing
her face.
“Of course,” Nellie responded, scooping up her beaded evening bag and placing her hand in his.
“By the way, you look delicious tonight,” Jack drawled, flipping her hand and bringing it to his lips.
He bestowed a gentlemanly kiss on her hand, and she couldn’t stop the delicate shiver that ran up her spine at the heat in his touch. She wanted to go slow, but wasn’t sure if she could. She felt all coiled up, ready to leap out of her skin, excited to be with Jack, at what the night might hold.
“Thank you,” she said, glad she’d taken the saleslady’s advice and bought the strapless dress. The deep blue cotton hugged her body, hitting all the right points before stopping mid-thigh. Simple, revealing and oh, so sexy, the sheath needed no adornment. Silver Grecian sandals graced her feet and dangling earrings brushed the tops of her shoulders. The only spot of color was the cherry-red of her lips and matching red heart tattooed on her shoulder. Coincidently, the teardrop matched the blue dress. She looked so sinful she was certain if she’d been back home, the Ladies’ Christian Book Club would have thrown her into the back of a minivan and whisked her down to Larson’s Creek for a forced baptism.
Nellie Hughes looked hot. In a dangerous, not so innocent way.
And if the book club ladies knew she wore nothing but a barely there satin thong beneath the sinful dress, well, that might have involved an exorcism.
Easy girl, she thought, trying to control the naughtiness rising within her. It was a second date, and even though there probably wouldn’t be a third or fourth, she didn’t need to throw herself at the man.
Jack placed his hand on her hip, steering her through the crowded bar. As hot as a cattle iron, his grip burned through the thin material, pressing into her sensitive flesh. She tried to take her mind off the way he made her feel but couldn’t seem to stop.
As they entered the lobby, Jack dropped his hand from her hip and picked up her hand. The move was sweet, very second-date-like. And, just like that, Nellie swung from visions of twisted sheets to the novelty of going on a date. Not counting last night’s impromptu dash for pancakes, it had been too long since she had gotten dolled up and been taken out to dinner.
They exited the posh lobby and a long stretch limousine materialized outside the revolving door. A uniformed driver opened the limo door with a little flourish. “Madam. Mr. Darby.”
Nellie turned to Jack with a smile. “You’re joking! What fun!”
She sank into the plush seats, feeling much like Cinderella must have felt en route to the ball. Except her prince was with her. And she didn’t have on a fluffy dress and loads of underclothes.
Jack gave the driver a smile as he climbed in beside her. “Thanks, Jeff.”
The driver closed the door and the overhead lights dimmed. She gulped as Jack pushed a button, raising the darkened partition between the passenger area and driver.
“Really?” she squeaked, not knowing whether she should put on a show of maidenly modesty or just go ahead and kiss Jack as soon as the window slid into place.
“What?” he said innocently.
“Oh,” she muttered, motioning toward the dark glass now separating them from their driver. “I mean…uh, nothing.”
“What? Did you think I wanted to take advantage of the situation, Elle?”
“I didn’t mean to imply…I mean—oh!” Nellie cried as his hand brushed her breast when he reached across the seat toward the bar. He picked up a crystal glass and handed it to her.
“Champagne,” he said, taking his own glass from the drink holder set into the faux wood.
Nellie took a sip. “Wow, that’s…um, good. And very bubbly.” She sneezed.
Jack laughed. “It’s Cristal…only the best.”
She sneezed again. Then she felt incredibly gauche. Jeez. One sip of champagne and sophistication sailed out the window. “I don’t usually drink champagne. It gives me a headache in the morning.”
He grinned. “Me, too. I got it because I was trying to impress you with a romantic gesture.”
Nellie’s heart thumped at his words. Jack didn’t see her pleased smile; he had turned and started digging through a small refrigerator set into the side of the long car.
“Voilà!” He held two beers aloft. “Would a beer suit you better?”
She clapped her hands together. “Now you’re talking. I’m from Texas. We don’t drink girly champagne.”
He smiled and popped the tops, handing her one and keeping the other for himself. She watched him take a long draw off his beer, enjoying the way he tipped his head back and savored the taste. He’d dressed in charcoal slacks with a light gray button-down shirt opened at the throat. He looked what he was—sexy, charming and urbane.
Nellie took a sip of the beer. It tasted way better than the champagne. And no sneezing.
Jack held his beer bottle toward her. “To us. To our second date.”
Nellie clinked her bottle against his. “To our second date. And to Earl’s pancakes.”
That made him laugh. She decided she liked making him laugh.
“SO WHERE DO YOU LIVE in Dallas, Elle?”
Nellie took a huge gulp of wine, certain someone was about to jump out from behind the lush foliage beside the table and yell, Liar!“Well, I have an old house in the center of town. Very trendy area.”
Jack smiled. “Must be nice. Which area? University? Or near the West End—what’s the new place? Victory…”
“Park,” Nellie finished for him, thankful she’d read an article about the artsy community near the American Airlines Center. “No, I live in an older neighborhood.”
“Do you like living there?”
Nellie hardly ever went to Dallas, but she remembered the shady streets in the heart of Dallas and the pricey homes there. She couldn’t be too rich, or could she? Jack didn’t know her from Adam so she could be anything she wanted to be, right? Yet it would probably be better to stick closer to the truth—less chance of screwing her story up.
“I love living there. Um…it’s the city, of course, but at times it’s quiet, simple.” Nellie smiled and raised a forkful of chicken to her mouth.
“I’ve been to Dallas several times. I have two sisters who live in Texas. Houston and San Antonio.”
Well, that probably explained his being in Texas when she’d sloshed her drink on him the first time. The time he blew her off. “Really? Older or younger?”
“Hmm? Oh, older. I’m the baby of the family. The only boy. How ’bout you?”
“I have a younger half sister, Anne Marie. She’s fifteen and lives in Tyler with my father and his wife. My mother’s not really in the picture. She’s mentally ill.” God, why had she volunteered that information? What a downer.
“Sorry.” Jack shot Nellie a compassionate look. “That must be hard.”
Nellie nodded. What could she say? It had been hard, but she’d been loved by her feisty grandmother, the same woman who would have padlocked her in her room if she’d known Nellie had gone off with a virtual stranger and then made out with him in the parking lot of a pancake house.
They both took a sip of wine. She could see Jack searching for something to say, something not so personal as a parent being off her rocker.
“Well, I know what you mean about enjoying the simplicity of a quiet neighborhood. I like to escape from the hubbub of the city myself. That’s why I bought a place out in Henderson. Most find it odd that a guy like me would prefer suburbia, but I need a retreat every now and then. Sometimes all of this gets to me.” Jack gestured toward the awesome view afforded by the open balcony doors of the French restaurant perched on the side of the Forty Palms Hotel, twenty-two flights up. Vegas nightlife winked below them, unceasing and tireless.
“I totally get it,” Nellie said. “Everyone needs some peace, huh?”
Peace. Exactly, Jack thought. And that was what he felt with Elle. Along with excitement, joy and wonder. Lord, he hadn’t felt like this in forever. And it felt good.
/> It felt good to be himself. To not have to be so slick, so witty and “in the know.” He felt relaxed, better than he had in months, maybe years.
And at the same time there was an undercurrent, a sort of hum of sexual tension. He wanted her, that much was true, but it felt good to let things run their course.
Yet with Elle studying his mouth, her own lips parted, her eyes reflecting something deeply mysterious, he wanted to rush her through dinner. And through this mini-courtship.
Shit. Was that what he was doing? Dating a girl who would be leaving in a day or two? Setting himself up for failure?
No. Again, he reminded himself to trust his gut.
“Sir, is there anything else I can get you? Dessert, perhaps? A cordial?” The snooty waiter cleared the remains of their dinner. Jack noted his pencil-thin mustache, regal manner and affected French accent.
“I don’t think so. We prefer pancakes with lots of syrup.” Jack waggled his eyebrows at Elle, delighting in the pink kissing her cheeks.
The waiter frowned, obviously not pleased they would choose such an inferior food over his cherries jubilee. “Very well then, sir.” He placed the bill on the table with a flourish and spun away.
Jack shook his head. “If he’d had syrup like I had last night, he’d no doubt know why pancakes trump any dessert ever known to man.”
Elle giggled, involuntarily touching the mark still faintly visible on her collarbone.
And Jack found himself inordinately pleased with the sound. Honestly, he’d never had a woman giggle with him. Laugh, sure. Snicker, certainly. But giggle? Nope. The sophisticated, world-weary Jack would not have tolerated it. That Jack demanded urbane, experienced women. Women who would have sipped the Cristal champagne just because it cost more than a hard day’s wage. Women who would have blanched at the thought of eating pancakes.
Elle Hughes was beautiful and sexy, but she’d never be in the same category as the women Jack had dated in the past. And, surprisingly, that’s what drew him to her.
