It was just that her thoughts kept wandering to Rand and what he might be up to on date night.
“A chicken pot pie it is,” she said to distract her wayward mind, taking the package out of the freezer and closing the door resoundingly, as if that would put an end to Rand’s occupation of her brain.
She would put the pot pie in the oven, she told herself, fill the tub with bubbles, condition her hair, give her face a mud mask, then curl up in front of the television with dinner and the pint of brownie fudge ice cream she’d bought as a treat. A night of pampering and indulgence—just what the doctor ordered after a long, hard workweek.
She was tearing open the package on the pot pie when the doorbell rang. She wasn’t expecting anyone. After all, she hardly knew anyone in Washington. She doubted it was a door-to-door salesperson at seven o’clock on a Saturday night and she knew her aunt was having dinner with a man she’d met at a fund-raiser the weekend before. So she was careful to peer through the peephole in her front door before opening it.
One peek was all it took to make her pulse pick up speed.
It was Rand. All dressed up, with a limousine parked at the curb behind him.
Lucy glanced down at her sweat suit, raised a hand to her pony-tailed hair, and considered not opening the door at all rather than face him looking the way she did.
But curiosity—and the instant rush of excitement that one glance at him sent through her—wouldn’t allow vanity to rule.
So on the second ring she opened the door.
“I knew you were here,” he said in greeting.
“I was in the kitchen,” she answered as if that explained the tardiness that had required two rings.
The view through the peephole hadn’t done him justice. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored suit cut too formally to be a work suit. It was a blue-tinged black and beneath it he wore a blindingly white silk shirt and a yellow tie that matched the pocket square that poked artfully from his breast pocket.
The clean, intoxicating scent of his aftershave wafted in to her, and unless she was mistaken, he’d had a haircut that had left his coffee-colored hair perfect and, at the same time, so natural looking.
“Are you going to invite me in or leave me standing on the stoop?” he asked then, with a crooked smile arching only one side of his oh-so-provocative mouth.
Caught ogling him, Lucy snapped to attention. “Of course. I’m sorry. I’m just surprised to see you.”
“Surprise is the point,” he whispered in her ear as he came in, striding past her into the entryway as if he owned the place. “My original plan was to whisk you and Max away for dinner to reward you both for the week I put you through. But I called Sadie first to find out if I had clear sailing, and she told me Max would be spending the night with a friend. So instead I’ll whisk just you away.”
Lucy had closed the door and was leaning against it, still fighting not to get lost in the jaw-dropping splendor of him.
“You’re going to whisk me away?” she repeated, trying to grasp what he was talking about through the haze of his effect on her.
“First I’m going to give you about an hour to get dressed and then I’m going to take you to Aux Beaux Champs for dinner,” he announced, his French pronunciation absolutely flawless.
Lucy hadn’t been in town long enough to know about many restaurants or nightspots, but she had heard about the posh, four-diamond restaurant in the Four Seasons hotel. It was Georgetown’s finest among a wealth of fine eateries.
“Aux Beaux Champs is quite a reward,” she said, thinking that it was much more than that. It was a place for very special celebrations or very fancy dates.
“You put in quite a week. And after working all day long on the Turnenbill case and coming to the conclusion that you laid the groundwork for my likely winning it, you’ve earned a sizable reward. So what do you say?”
What did she say to a Saturday night in the best restaurant in town with the man who inspired things inside her that no one had ever inspired in the past?
Before she could say anything, Rand held up one hand to stop her. “I know. You’re going to tell me you’re my secretary and that it’s inappropriate. But for just this one night let’s put that on the shelf. Let’s be two people who deserve a break, two people who enjoy each other’s company, and go out for a little fun.”
A little fun that would likely cost him what the average person paid in rent.
But how could she refuse? Especially when she wanted so much not to? Couldn’t she do as he’d suggested and allow herself to let her hair down just this one night? Just this one night couldn’t corrupt her whole life or the course she’d set it on, could it?
Okay, potentially it could.
But not if she were careful.
“Okay,” she finally agreed.
“Okay,” Rand repeated enthusiastically, as if he’d expected more of a fight. “Then point me to the remote control and I’ll watch TV while you get ready.”
“Would you like something to drink while you wait?”
“There’s champagne chilling in the limo. I’ll hold off until we can share it.”
Even if he’d anticipated more of a fight, obviously he hadn’t anticipated losing it.
Lucy didn’t argue. She just showed him to the overstuffed chair in front of the television, handed him the remote control and hurried to the kitchen to put the pot pie back in the freezer.
Then she ran up the stairs to her bedroom, wondering if she was being totally stupid for doing this.
Okay, yes, maybe she was being totally stupid. But she didn’t care. She was just too excited, too elated. Rand wasn’t spending date night with another woman, he was spending it with her.
Just be careful, she reminded herself. Be very careful….
Lucy wasted no time taking her best little black dress out of the closet and then out of the dry-cleaning bag, carrying it with her into the bathroom. It wasn’t wrinkled but there was a small crease on one shoulder that she knew the shower steam would relax.
From her hiding place in the back of the vanity where Max couldn’t get into them, she broke out her favorite and most expensive gel and shampoo. But she didn’t linger in the shower the way she would have liked, because she had too much more she wanted to do before her hour was up.
Once she was toweled off, powdered and perfumed, she blew-dry and scrunched her hair until it was a glistening riot of curls. Then she went on to makeup, using an artfully light touch with her usual blush and mascara, adding a soft pewter eye shadow and just a hint of liner, too.
She poked her late grandmother’s pearl stud earrings into her lobes even though they could only be seen when her hair was brushed back. But they always made her feel dressed up and tonight that was what she wanted. It wouldn’t do for her not to feel at her best when Rand looked the way he did.
At her best—that was what was still on her mind when she opted for the barely-there bra and panties she chose, along with the panty hose that were so sheer they made her legs look like they’d just come from a San Tropez vacation.
Then she donned her dress—a sleeveless, body-hugging length of matte jersey knit that traced every curve from the split-V neckline to the hem that ended two inches above her knees and left nothing to the imagination in between.
Last but not least, she slipped her feet into a pair of spike-heeled strappy pumps and carefully applied a plum-raisin colored lipstick too dark for daytime but just the right finishing touch for evening.
“Very nice,” Rand said in genuine appreciation as he glanced over his shoulder when she descended the stairs fifty-five minutes later.
Off went the television and he stood, facing her so he could give her a second once-over from top to bottom and back again.
“Very, very nice,” he repeated.
Lucy inclined her head to accept the compliment. “Didn’t I hear something about champagne?”
“Champagne it is,” he said, crossing to her to take her evening
coat from her so he could help her on with it.
But once it was on, his hands lingered at her shoulders and he leaned in so close she thought he was going to kiss her ear. He merely took a deep whiff of her though and said, “You smell as fantastic as you look.”
“So do you,” she said since she’d been savoring the scent of his aftershave again.
He chuckled a deep, sexy chuckle. “I guess we should go out and knock ’em dead, then.”
Lucy didn’t agree with him immediately because as nice as the evening he had planned sounded, his touch, his nearness, his voice, everything about him sent a sudden flash-fire through her that almost made her want to stay home instead. With him. Alone…
Be careful, a voice in the back of her head cautioned.
“We’ll have to go out because we can’t knock ’em dead from here,” she said when she could summon her voice.
Rand took his cue, releasing her to open the front door, holding it for her.
Frank was behind the wheel of the limousine and came out as they left the town house, rounding the car to open the rear door for them.
Lucy greeted the driver and exchanged pleasantries, then slid into the plush back seat with Rand following close behind.
“What happened to the Town Car?” Lucy asked when Frank had shut the door behind them, leaving them enclosed in the expansive gray interior complete with a tinted-glass window that separated them from Frank and an open bar where the champagne chilled in a crystal bucket and two glasses waited.
“The same service that provides the Town Car also has limousines. It’s my choice which I use and I thought tonight called for the limo.”
Rand poured the champagne, handing her one of the flutes as he settled back with his own.
“And you thought Max would do all right in this car and at Aux Beaux Champs?” she asked with a small laugh at the notion.
“I had no doubt he would rise to the occasion.”
“Don’t be too sure about that.”
“I figured there was a little gentleman lurking beneath the surface and we might bring it out in him tonight.”
“Well, one way or another it was a nice idea. But to be honest it’s nicer to have an adult night for a change.”
Rand gave her a secret smile. “I’m glad it worked out this way then. And I’ll save all the dinosaur trivia I read up on on the way over for another time.”
Lucy laughed. “You boned up on dinosaur trivia so you could make conversation with Max?”
Rand flipped open a compartment below the bar and produced a dinosaur book. “I also thought if worst came to worst it would give Max something to look through. There are great pictures.”
If Rand was searching for a way to melt the last of her reserves, he’d found it because Lucy was touched by the trouble he’d gone to to relate to her son.
“You really are something,” she said softly.
Rand didn’t respond to that. He just put the book back in the compartment and closed it securely. “But that’s it for dinosaur talk. Unless you want me to woo you with the statistics of the Triceratops?”
“Are you wooing me?”
His smile this time was boyish. “Not so you’re supposed to notice.”
They’d arrived at the restaurant then and the valet opened their door before Frank had a chance. Rand got out then turned to offer her a hand, and Lucy accepted it without a thought, slipping her own into his much larger one as if it were something she’d been doing forever.
Once he had a hold of it, he didn’t let it go.
It delighted Lucy more than she knew it should have. But it felt so good to have her hand in his. To walk into the elegant restaurant with such a man staking a claim to her in a way that all the room could see.
Rand was greeted by name and they were led without pause to the best table in the house where another bottle of champagne was already chilling. As the maître d’ seated and welcomed them, the wine steward poured the bubbly elixir and an appetizer tray appeared as if by magic, laden with tiny pastries stuffed with crab and caviar.
And so their night truly began.
Over courses of soup, salad, succulent beef Wellington and artfully presented chocolate mousse cake for dessert, Rand kept up a conversation that might have bored someone else but was as much a feast for Lucy’s mind as the food was a feast for her palate. He told her about his years in law school, about clerking for a Supreme Court judge, about the beginning of his career, about his most interesting cases.
Once again Lucy held her own with him, asking pertinent questions and even debating better ways he might have argued two cases he lost.
Before she knew it, it was eleven o’clock and Rand was suggesting dancing at a nightclub he knew of.
Lucy didn’t hesitate to accept and off they went to what looked like an old-time ballroom complete with a full orchestra that played big band music from the forties and fifties.
After the stimulation of their dinner talk it was nice to take a more mellow turn, to be in Rand’s arms, led around the dance floor as adeptly, as gracefully, as he did everything else.
Conversation slowed and they just let the music waft around them, carrying them along until the wee hours of the morning when the last song was played.
But somehow Lucy felt as if the evening shouldn’t be drawing to a close yet, as strange as that seemed for someone who was usually asleep by midnight.
The truth was that she didn’t want to say good-night to Rand. Not yet. And so when the limo pulled up in front of her town house again, she asked him in for a nightcap.
He didn’t hesitate to accept, countering with a suggestion that they stick with champagne and bringing inside the bottle and glasses they’d started with.
Coming from a subtly lit restaurant and a dimly lit nightclub, bright lamplight didn’t seem called for so once Lucy had shed her coat and folded Rand’s suit jacket over the banister, she led the way into the living room and turned on only one table lamp to cast an amber glow.
Rand poured them each more champagne but after handing her her glass he whisked her into his arms the way he had been all evening on the dance floor and began to sway with her as if there were still music playing.
“I think this was the perfect evening,” he said.
“You make that sound as if it isn’t something you do all the time and I don’t believe that for a second,” she countered with a laugh.
“That all depends on how you look at it.”
“Oh? And how do you look at it?”
“I look at it as a rare occasion when I can share good food, good wine, good dancing and excellent conversation with a woman whose face I never seem to tire of looking at.”
“Is that a line you use at the end of every Saturday night?” she joked.
He angled a mock frown down at her. “I do not use lines,” he corrected. “And even if I did, what I just said was the absolute truth, so help me God.”
“Well, now that you’re sworn in…” Lucy said with a laugh.
“Go ahead. Ask me anything,” he challenged.
“Are you drunk?”
He laughed that oh-so-masculine laugh that gave her goose bumps. “No, I am not drunk. I’m perfectly clearheaded.” He set his champagne flute on the mantelpiece. “And rather than have you think for one minute that I’m not in full command of my senses, I will forego a single sip more.”
Lucy set her glass beside his. Not only because she’d had enough and didn’t want to get drunk either, but also because what she really wanted was her hand free to place against his biceps as they danced.
“All right, you’re not drunk. You’re just smooth,” she teased.
“Am I? I don’t feel smooth when I’m with you.”
“Why not?”
He laughed again. “Because you ruffle me up inside.”
“Remember you’re under oath,” she reminded, her tone dubious.
“I remember,” he assured. “The whole truth and nothing but the truth.
The truth is that you ruffle me up inside.”
“How do I do that?”
“Just by walking into a room. Or looking at me with those big blue eyes. Or giving me a run for my money intellectually. Or by smiling, or laughing or tilting your head the way you do when you’re intent on something. You ruffle me up inside just by being you.”
“What does that mean exactly? That I ruffle you up inside?”
“It means that my heart beats a timpani. That my blood runs faster in my veins. That I’m suddenly aware of every nerve, every sensation, every smell and taste and touch in ways I’ve never been aware of before. Sometimes I think you’re spiking my coffee with love potion or something.”
“You’ve found me out,” she said to make light of what was actually the same reaction she had to him.
His eyes met hers and they suddenly seemed somehow darker, deeper than normal. And when he spoke, his voice was more solemn, too. “What are you doing to me, Lucy Lowry?”
“The same thing you’re doing to me,” she admitted in a near whisper.
“Do I ruffle up things inside you?” he asked almost as quietly. “Terribly.”
“I haven’t been the same since the day I met you.”
“Neither have I.”
“Maybe we should do something about it,” he said on a breath that heated her ear before he raised his head to look down at her again. “Like what?”
He just smiled. A warm smile that said she could trust him. That opened him up to her in a way she’d never seen before, that let her know he was as vulnerable to her as she was to him.
He kissed her bare shoulder. Then the sensitive L of shoulder into neck. Then the side of her neck.
Soft kisses that enticed, that entreated, that gave her the opportunity to tell him to stop before he reached her mouth.
But Lucy didn’t tell him to stop. Instead she angled her head to one side to allow him free access, and lifted her chin when she knew her mouth was what he sought.
From Boss to Bridegroom Page 14
