by Janet Dailey
"No hurry," Jim drawled lazily, moving farther into the room toward her parents. "It's good to see you again." He held out a hand to her father.
There was a polite and friendly exchange of greetings while Brandy collected her bag, then walked with quiet pride to her place at Jim's side.
He glanced down, his eyes moving warmly over her glowing face. "Ready?"
"Yes," she nodded. "Goodnight, Mom, Dad."
His hand slipped lightly to the inside of her elbow. "Goodnight." The wish was offered jointly to her parents. Then he added perceptively, "Don't worry, Mrs. Ames. Brandy is quite safe with me."
Her mother smiled in surprise and looked curiously at Brandy, but didn't comment. In the next instant, the pressure of his hand was guiding Brandy towards the door.
Outside, she tipped her head sideways, an earring trailing along the side of her neck. "How did you know my mother was concerned about me going out with you?"
"It's normal," Jim smiled mockingly down at her. "Among other things, I'm certain my reputation has preceded me."
"True," she agreed with a jesting light in her eyes to match his. "I've heard that you make a habit of loving them and leaving them."
"Worried?" He held the car door for her.
"Not yet," she laughed, but it was strangely true.
Before she could slide into the car, his hand caught her arm to hold her motionless. Surprised, she looked at him with questioning eyes. A finger lifted her chin as he smiled and warmly kissed her parted lips.
"Don't worry," he ordered, and lightly pushed her into the car.
What did that mean? Brandy watched him walk around the car. Was he telling her that this time it would be different? She was too eager to enjoy every minute spent in his company to use any of the precious time trying to guess what was going through his mind.
"Are you hungry?" Jim reversed the car out of the drive and turned on to the gravel road toward the city of Tucson.
"Starved!" Brandy declared fervently. "Where are we going?"
He named a restaurant that she was familiar with although she hadn't been there. When she didn't comment, he asked, "Is there something wrong?"
"No," she answered quickly. "I thought—" she hesitated, "I thought that we might eat at your ranch. I wasn't sure whether you would want to go anywhere public."
"Did you think I would be ashamed to be seen with you?" he accused, the dark slash of his brows drawn together in an exasperated frown.
"No, I thought you would want privacy," Brandy protested.
The frown was swept away by a quiet chuckle, the rapid transformation from controlled anger to humor confusing her with its swiftness.
"Why is that funny?"
"Because I convinced myself that you'd be reluctant to spend an evening alone with me in my home." Jim darted her a brief look, a roguish sparkle in his eyes. "The real truth is that I didn't trust myself to be alone with you."
A hot flaming weakness licked through her limbs at the prospect of Jim making love to her. The heady thought took her breath away.
"No reply?" he mocked with teasing humor.
Brandy bobbed her head negatively. "None," she said, not able to make her voice sound calm and unconcerned when her senses were in such a turmoil imagining what it might be like.
His voice immediately became very calm and gentle. "Does the idea frighten you, Brandy?"
"No," she breathed truthfully.
There was a surprised silence, then she saw the whistle flash of a rueful smile. "Wish you hadn't said that."
"Why?"
"Because I might take you at your word, literally." His gaze smoldered over her face, stopping her heart, then sending it rocketing off. "And it's too soon for you yet."
He was probably right, Brandy acknowledged silently. She wasn't used to the fact that she loved him yet. A few days ago she hadn't even wanted to see him again, probably because subconsciously she had known she would fall in love with him if she did.
They were driving through the mountain pass, the curve in the road giving them their first glimpse of Tucson. The lights of the city glimmered low in the purpling haze of sunset. The mountain ranges protecting the city were dark silhouettes against the skyline.
"Have you been to this restaurant before?" Jim deftly changed the subject.
"No. Have you?"
"Yes. They're accustomed to having well-known personalities as customers, so we won't create a stir when we arrive," he assured her.
It was partially true, Brandy later discovered as they entered the restaurant. Jim was recognized instantly, although she was certain that even if he hadn't been a well-known actor, he still would have commanded attention.
The maître d'hotel stepped forward. "Mr. Corbett, this is indeed an honor," he said with a deferential nod of his head.
Jim acknowledged the comment with a faint smile. "A quiet table for two, please." With emphasis on the "quiet."
"Of course, sir."
Within a few minutes they were led to a fairly secluded corner of the room. It was impossible for Brandy not to be aware of the heads turning as they walked by the tables of people. It was a silent recognition to Jim, unlike the camera clicking, autograph response to his presence that had occurred at the movie location of Old Tucson. She realized that was what he meant when he had said their arrival wouldn't create a stir in this restaurant, but he was definitely the object of considerable attention.
She wasn't conscious of being studied with almost equal interest. Not simply because she was being escorted by Jim Corbett or envied because his arm rested so possessively along the back of her waist.
As a couple they made a stunning contrast. Jim was tall and broad-shouldered and utterly masculine, while Brandy was deceptively shorter next to him, slenderly curved and essentially feminine. Her classically simple cream white pantsuit and her fair coloring were set off by the darkness of his hair and eyes, and the richly tailored dark suit he wore.
At the table, Jim stepped ahead of Brandy to hold out a chair for her. When she sat down, he leaned forward as if to edge her chair closer to the table. Instead he warmly pressed his mouth against the pulsing cord of her neck, sending goosebumps over her arms.
Disconcerted by his action, she glanced around the room, catching the knowing looks of those who had seen the intimate caress. She tried to laugh away the hint of pink in her cheeks as Jim sat beside her.
"You shouldn't have done that. You made all your female fans jealous."
"And all the men envious," he countered, lazily surveying her self-conscious expression.
"Don't be silly." Brandy opened the menu to escape his disturbing gaze.
"I'm not," Jim replied smoothly. "I saw the looks you received when we walked through. There isn't a man in the house who wouldn't want to trade places with me. Now they know they have to go through me to get to you."
She gave him a startled glance, but he was studying the menu. She wasn't able to tell by the impassive expression on his carved features whether he was serious or merely being gallant.
"I imagine they thought that since I was with you, I was someone they should recognize and they were trying to place me," she tried to shrug away his compliment, if that was what it was.
"Possibly," Jim admitted, his dark gaze dancing over her, "but that wasn't all they were thinking."
The waiter appeared at their table. "Would you like cocktails before ordering?"
His arrival successfully changed the subject. With cocktails ordered, Jim leaned back in his chair, unconsciously flexing a shoulder muscle. The action prompted Brandy to notice the faint lines of tiredness around his mouth.
"Did you have a rough day?" Her softly worded question was gently sympathetic.
"Does it show?" His mouth crooked wryly, then he sighed. "It was a physical day, running up and down stairs, busting down doors, rolling in the dirt, discovering muscles I'd forgotten." He laughed quietly at himself. "Just your average, ordinary day at the office."
"That's what it sounds like," Brandy agreed with a dimpling smile. "It also sounds as if you aren't in very good condition," she teased.
"I'm getting old," Jim shrugged without a note of regret in his low voice.
The waiter returned with their drinks. Brandy waited until he had left before she responded to Jim's statement.
"You must be ancient. What are you—all of thirty-three?"
"You haven't read my resumé or you'd know I'm thirty-four," he corrected.
"Jim, darling!" The throaty female voice struck Brandy like a body blow to her midsection.
Her widened, blue-green eyes swerved to the raven-haired LaRaine Evans gliding toward their table. A stunning gown of black lace left little of the actress's figure to the imagination, the color intensifying the midnight blackness of her hair and eyes, the vivid red of her lips and her ivory complexion. Brandy felt like a pale nothing in comparison.
A quick glance at Jim found him rising to his feet, his expression unrevealing, and she couldn't tell if he was surprised, glad, or annoyed by the brunette's appearance.
Without regard to the onlooking restaurant customers, or perhaps because of the audience, LaRaine moved directly to Jim, spreading ringed fingers on his chest and rising up to kiss his smoothly-shaven cheek. A red brand was left on his tanned skin.
"Look what I've done," LaRaine murmured, her dark eyes sparkling in satisfaction at the scarlet mark. She reached into his pocket and removed his handkerchief, dabbing at the mark with the familiarity of a wife—or a mistress. Brandy's stomach churned at the sight. "There, darling," the brunette purred, "it's all gone now."
When she started to replace the white kerchief in his pocket, Jim took it from her hand and put it away himself. "Thank you, LaRaine," he offered dryly.
There was a sensuously petulant droop of her lower lip. "I'm quite angry with you, darling, for running off like that tonight without a word."
"I was late for an engagement," Jim answered smoothly. "You remember Miss Ames, don't you?" forcing LaRaine to direct her attention to Brandy.
Cool, faintly haughty brown eyes looked at Brandy. "Of course, I do," the actress drawled. "Brandy, isn't it? I remember it was such an unusual name."
The comment left the impression that if it hadn't been for the name LaRaine would have forgotten having met her entirely.
"That's correct, Miss Evans," replied Brandy.
"Do call me LaRaine," she insisted, and looked pointedly at Jim. "After all, we do have so much in common."
Meaning we both want the same man, Brandy thought with a sinking feeling in her stomach. At this moment, she felt miserably inadequate to compete with the likes of LaRaine Evans for Jim's attention.
"As for you, Jim," LaRaine smiled bewitchingly, "I'll forgive you for not taking the time to let me know you were coming tonight. I know you like to be punctual when you tell a girl you'll pick her up at a certain time. Since you did come to my party after all, I won't scold you for all I went through wondering if you'd come or not."
Brandy looked warily at Jim, questions racing through her mind. What was LaRaine talking about? What was all this about a party? Jim hadn't mentioned anything about it.
"Was your party this evening, LaRaine?" He tilted his head, aloof and cool. "I do remember you mentioning it, but I'm afraid I'd forgotten about it."
"Now you're being cruel, darling," the actress declared. The secret smile on her face seemed to say that she knew why and understood. "You know very well that I told you we all would be meeting here tonight."
The statement caused a painful picture to form in Brandy's mind. If Jim had no intention of joining the party and had brought her here anyway, it could have been for only one reason—he had wanted LaRaine to see him with Brandy. She couldn't believe it was all a coincidence.
"The others are in the lounge," LaRaine continued. "Why don't you bring your drink and come and join us? And you, too, Brandy."
"No, thank you," Jim refused smoothly. "I think Brandy and I would prefer to have a quiet dinner alone."
"Nonsense!" A practiced, throaty laugh was emitted from the perfectly outlined red mouth. "Every girl would prefer a party. Isn't that right, Brandy?"
What was she supposed to say? She looked to Jim for an answer, but he was lazily studying the dark-haired beauty standing so very near his side. They were such a perfect pair, each so dark and compelling in their looks. Was she supposed to be persuaded to join the party or refuse? She didn't want to be drawn into their argument—whatever it was. It hurt to think that Jim was using her this way. It hurt unbearably.
Feeling betrayed by the way he had misled her into believing that he had genuinely wanted her company only tonight, Brandy refused to answer LaRaine's question in any positive way.
"Not necessarily," she hedged, glancing briefly to Jim.
"Of course you would, a young girl like you," LaRaine waved aside her response. The slender wing of an eyebrow was lifted in sarcastic mockery as the brunette glanced at Jim through her long lashes. "I do believe she's afraid of you, darling. She doesn't want to say the wrong thing for fear you'll be angry."
A black frown clouded his features as he shot Brandy a stormy look. "Do you want to go to the party?" he demanded with ominous quiet.
No, she wanted to scream, I want to stay here and have dinner with you alone. But how could she say that? Surely it was already obvious that was what she wanted.
"It doesn't matter to me," she shrugged, and looked away, feeling angry, hurt and confused all at the same time.
"There, you see, she does want to come!" LaRaine declared triumphantly. "She's simply too shy to tell you so!"
His mouth thinned into an uncompromising line, his jaw clenched tautly. "In that case, we'll join your party, LaRaine. Lead the way." His hand closed over the back of Brandy's chair. Only she could feel the controlled violence in his seemingly polite assistance.
The look on the brunette's face was one of feline satisfaction as she led them toward the lounge. Jim's hand almost punishingly clasped Brandy's elbow. He paused once to tell the waiter they were joining some friends, forcing Brandy to do the same. The delay put LaRaine several steps ahead of them.
"There was no need to be hesitant about joining the party." Jim's voice growled near Brandy's ear. "You should have said so instead of hinting."
His unwarranted accusation prompted Brandy to retaliate. "If I'd wanted to go, I would have said so. But it was obvious that it was what you wanted!"
"What I wanted?" Jim glared.
"It's why we came here, isn't it?" She tossed her head back and stared straight ahead, the dangling earrings bouncing against her neck.
He laughed softly, the black temper vanishing as quickly as it had come. "I should have remembered that you have no qualms about speaking your mind, but now we're committed."
She tipped her head back to look at him. "Do you mean you didn't want to?"
"No," he said quite firmly, but the grooves around his mouth deepened. "I would have been content to have a quiet dinner with you."
They had entered the lounge. The bombardment of greetings from the party members prevented Brandy from asking Jim to enlarge on that statement. If his intention in taking her out was to make LaRaine jealous, he would hardly be willing to tell her that. Not when he must know that at the very least she was infatuated with him.
There were approximately ten people in the party group, not counting Brandy and Jim. The exact number was uncertain because some were on the dance floor, floating around changing partners, and one or two were dashing back and forth to the bar to get quick refills of their drinks.
One thing Brandy recognized instantly was that there were more men than women. The women who were there were attractive in a plain sort of way; it was not surprising under the circumstances, Brandy decided. She doubted that LaRaine would want any genuine competition around her by choice. The actress's ego was probably also the reason more men were invited, so that she could be certain more than one
would be flocking around her.
None of the people were among those Brandy had met at the movie location. Those who noticed her now as LaRaine briefly made the introductions regarded her curiously. Their looks were already accompanied by questioning glances from Jim to LaRaine. Whatever had been going on between the two of them must have been common knowledge to them.
Brandy felt decidedly uncomfortable. The artificial gaiety that bubbled around her was grating in its effusiveness. She was glad of the firm grip that kept her at Jim's side, despite LaRaine's less than subtle attempts to separate them.
Although Brandy was seated beside Jim, LaRaine occupied the chair to his right, her hand resting casually on his arm. The talk, led by LaRaine, centered on the day's filming, a subject that Brandy knew nothing about. There was little she could do except to listen so that possibly she might be able to join the conversation later.
One of the apparently unattached men sat down in the vacant chair beside her. He was comparatively young, only two or three years older than herself, with sandy hair streaked platinum by the sun.
"Hello." Despite the friendly smile that accompanied his greeting there seemed to be a perpetual gleam of rebellion in his blue eyes, a pale shade unlike the brilliant color of hers.
"Hello." Brandy knew she had been introduced to him, but his name escaped her.
"Bryce Conover is the name," he replied wryly, interpreting the blank look in her expression. "And you're Brandy."
She smiled an apology, then glanced at Jim to see if he had noticed the man at her side, but his dark head was tilted toward LaRaine, listening intently to what she was saying.
"I know you don't remember me," Bryce Conover's tenor voice was low, meant only for Brandy's ears, "but I noticed you when you came out to the set the other day with Jim."
"I'm sorry. There were so many people," Brandy shrugged. She felt suddenly cut adrift.
It was true that Jim had kept her by his side as though that was where he wanted her to be, and he had indicated that he hadn't wanted to join this party. Yet there he was talking to LaRaine—he was virtually ignoring her now.
"That's all right. I understand," Bryce replied. The trace of bitterness in his voice said he was accustomed to being overlooked, but didn't like it. A slow tune was playing softly in the background. "Would you like to dance?"