The Indy Man

by Janet Dailey

  'Don't I have some say in it?' Susan protested with astonishment at his high-handed manner.

  'I have your brother's permission.' He sent her a wicked smile. 'And I thought by the time you had finished all your objections about why you didn't want to ride with me, I would have you home.'

  Susan breathed in deeply and finally expelled the breath in an impotently angry sigh.

  'What's the matter?' he mocked. 'Don't you think I will take you straight home?'

  'Will you?' she returned acidly.

  'No side trips,' Mitch assured her with a mock promise, his blue eyes sparkling with an audacious light. 'Of course with such precious cargo, I'll take my time.'

  'I think, Mr. Braden, that you're impossible,' she retorted tightly.

  'Call me Mitch. And what warm-blooded male would deprive himself of such beautiful company sooner than he had to?' he grinned.

  Susan turned her head away, a faint warmth creeping into her limbs. She had to remind herself how easily he issued compliments. She mustn't let them go to her head.

  'Would you please not talk to me that way?' she requested icily, her fingers nervously clutching the purse in her lap.

  'You don't like me to say that I think you're beautiful, is that it?' he rephrased the compliment with infuriating calm.

  'That's it,' she tried to reply in the same vein.

  'Okay,' Mitch agreed with a faint shrug.

  They drove for a time in a silence that was unnerving for Susan. She simply couldn't seem to relax. Every muscle was taut with her inner tension.

  'Do you know something, Susan?' he spoke finally in a thoughtful tone. 'You're the first woman who's kissed me today.'

  'That must be a record,' was her initial reply, until she realized what he had said. Her head pivoted sharply to stare at him. 'I haven't kissed you!'

  'Haven't you?' A wicked light flickered in his brief glance. 'That's okay, there's still time.'

  'You will have a long wait for that time,' she snapped. 'In case you've forgotten, Mr. Braden, I am engaged.'

  'But you're not married,' he reminded her. 'Why do you suppose your fiancé told me you were?'

  An uncomfortable flush began to warm her cheeks, and she averted her face so he wouldn't see.

  'I really wouldn't know,' she answered haughtily.

  'Maybe he didn't feel secure enough about your affection to risk any competition?' Mitch suggested.

  'Warren is very much aware of how much I love him and how eagerly I look forward to our marriage,' Susan told him in no uncertain terms.

  'But to claim you were married?' An eyebrow arched with faint arrogance. 'Surely it would have been enough to admit that you were engaged.'

  'Unfortunately Warren couldn't guess that you wouldn't respect the bonds of matrimony any more than an engagement ring,' she flashed.

  'Hey!' he laughed softly. 'You are aiming those blows below the belt, aren't you?'

  She tilted her head to the side in defiant challenge. 'I thought I was only speaking the truth.'

  'You don't think much of me, do you?' drawled Mitch.

  'Actually, I don't think of you at all,' she said coolly.

  'Ooh—ouch!' he smiled with a mock grimace of inflicted pain. 'Now you really are trying to upset my ego!'

  'I think it's of sufficient size not to suffer any lasting harm.' Susan directed her gaze out the window at the rows of homes on the residential street. 'Our house is the two-story brick home, the second from the corner on the next block.'

  Mitch Braden didn't comment as he swung the car into the driveway, stopping in front of the two-car garage. Her hand had closed over the metal door handle when her other wrist was seized.

  'Will you let me go?' She looked at him coldly.

  'You remind me of a racing car,' he said thoughtfully, his gaze sweeping her in absent appraisal. 'All classic design and beautiful to look at, with a lot of fire under the hood. Fire that could be amazingly responsive with the right man at the controls.'

  Her pulse thudded a little faster. It was impossible to remain passive any longer and she strained to free her wrist from his firm grip. Applying only the slightest pressure, Mitch pulled her toward him.

  His other hand reached out to cup the back of her neck, entangling itself in the silky curtain of her dark hair. 'You forgot to kiss me, Susan,' he said softly.

  Susan forgot to struggle as the sensual line of his mouth moved closer. Then it was closing warmly over hers and her lashes fluttered down, the craziest sensation rocking her body. Almost before the kiss began, he was ending it, moving away to his own side of the car.

  She blinked at him once and turned hurriedly away, opening the car door quickly, needing desperately to escape his presence. It only occurred to her when she was standing in the driveway, the car door slammed shut, that she should have slapped him for taking such liberties when he knew she was engaged.

  But of course she should have offered some sort of protest, too. Slapping him after the fact would have been equal to locking the door after the house had been burglarized.

  The driver's door opened and closed, too. Susan stared in disbelief when Mitch Braden walked around the car to her side.

  'I am home now. You can leave any time,' she said huskily.

  The grooves around his mouth deepened although he didn't actually smile. 'I promised Greg I would stick around until he came back. I think he intends to invite me to dinner. Naturally I'll accept.'

  Susan breathed in sharply, ready to demand that he leave. At that same moment a car pulled into the drive. A quick glance said it was her father. Recognition of Mitch Braden was already flashing in his face, and Susan knew any hope that she would soon be rid of this man was lost.

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  Chapter Three

  AN explanation why Mitch Braden had brought Susan home had been required by her father as well as an introduction. Then Susan had had to repeat the same thing again for her mother with an added word from Mitch that Greg had asked him to stay until he returned. The expected invitation to stay for dinner had immediately come from Beth Mabry.

  The glitter in the blue eyes had mocked Susan's tight-lipped expression as Mitch Braden had murmured politely that he didn't want to inconvenience Mrs. Mabry before he allowed himself to be talked into staying.

  It had irritated Susan, the way her mother treated him like visiting royalty. Amy hadn't been much better, practically swooning at his feet when she saw him as if he were a movie star. Her father had seemed to be the only one in her family to react normally, but then few things had ever ruffled him.

  As for Susan, she had made an escape to the privacy of her room as soon as she decently could. Changing out of her office clothes, she had donned a cotton robe of cranberry red, offering a silent prayer that Warren's meeting with his father would not cancel their dinner. The alarm clock at her bedside had ticked the minutes away with infuriating slowness.

  Downstairs the telephone rang. She unconsciously held her breath until her mother called, 'Susan, it's for you!'

  It had to be Warren. With fingers crossed, she hurried down the stairs, the long robe swinging about her ankles. Her mother was near the base of the stairs in the living room alcove that served as an entrance hall. The phone was in her hand.

  'It's Warren,' she told Susan. 'You aren't going out tonight, are you? Not with Mr. Braden staying for dinner?'

  'Mitch Braden is Greg's guest, not mine,' Susan answered airily, reaching to take the receiver from her mother's hand.

  Her moving gaze was caught by the man seated in the living room talking with her father. She quickly turned her back on the secretly amused gleam as she brought the telephone to her ear.

  'Hello, darling,' she spoke into the mouthpiece with forced brightness.

  Her greeting was not returned. Instead, Warren's harsh voice demanded, 'What did your mother just say? What was that about Mitch Braden staying for dinner?'

  'That's right,' Susan breathed softly and hesi
tantly.

  'What's he doing there?'

  'I'll … I'll explain later,' she stalled.

  'Does he know— Of course he knows,' Warren answered his own half-spoken question in a disgusted voice. But Susan knew what he had been going to ask, whether Mitch had learned they weren't married. 'Has he been bothering you?'

  'No, of course not.' That was a lie, but the last thing Susan wanted was for Warren to make a scene. 'What about dinner this evening? Will you be free?' There was a slightly desperate ring to her voice in spite of her effort to reassure him that everything was all right.

  Warren hesitated. 'Yes,' he said, then more firmly, 'Yes, I will be free. I'll be at your house in the time it takes me to drive from the office.'

  'I'll be ready,' she promised, knowing that didn't give her a great deal of time.

  'I'll see you, then,' he said with his usual clipped shortness, and hung up.

  After Susan replaced the receiver in its cradle, her mother approached again. 'Susan—?' she began.

  'Excuse me. Mom,' Susan interrupted quickly, 'but Warren is on his way here now and I don't have much time to get ready.'

  Without giving her mother a chance to reply, she hurried up the stairs to her room. The cranberry-colored robe was tossed onto the bed and a classically straight dress of beige knit was taken from the clothes closet.

  Dressing in record time, Susan dashed to the single bathroom on the second floor to repair her makeup. Amy was there in front of the mirror, carefully stroking her eyebrows with a tiny brush.

  'Do you mind, Amy?' Susan rushed impatiently. 'I have to get ready. Warren will be here any minute.'

  Her sister stepped sideways so she would be occupying only one small corner of the mirror. 'No, go ahead. You can use the mirror, too.' She set the brush in the makeup tray and picked up a tube of lip gloss.

  Susan shook her head in despair and made use of her larger portion of the mirror. Sharing the bathroom with her teenage sister was something she probably should start becoming accustomed to.

  'Do you think Mom would notice if I used some mascara?' Amy asked thoughtfully as she touched the corner of her mouth where some gloss had smeared.

  'I'm quite sure she would,' Susan answered, hiding a smile while she remembered how impatient she had been to wear makeup.

  Amy sighed and picked up the hairbrush to run it through her long auburn hair. 'He likes long hair. Did you know that?'

  A tiny frown of confusion knitted her eyebrows as Susan glanced curiously at Amy's reflection in the mirror. 'Who's "he"?' she asked, retouching the light green eyeshadow.

  'Mitch,' was the prompt answer. 'He asked me to call him Mitch.'

  'He did?' Susan responded dryly.

  'Yes.' Amy leaned forward to fluff her bangs. 'He said he had a fondness for redheads, too. Of course, he said there was nothing wrong with brunettes,' she hastened to add as if suddenly worried that Susan might have felt insulted.

  'I think Mitch Braden likes women, period.' Susan added a touch of peach blusher to her cheekbones, unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

  'Well, women like him, so I guess that makes the feeling mutual,' Amy declared with an airy toss of her head. 'I suppose I'd better get downstairs. Mom is almost ready to put the food on the table.'

  That was an understatement, Susan thought as her sister went out of the room. Mitch Braden's sex appeal seemed to know no age barriers either. Her thirteen-year-old sister had just toppled under the spell of his charm. Unless she was careful, there was no telling who might be next.

  When she was finished, Susan didn't go downstairs to wait for Warren. She chose to watch for him from her bedroom window that faced the street. As soon as she saw his car drive up, she hurried downstairs to the front door, calling goodbye to her family in the dining room.

  There was a chorus of answering goodbyes including Mitch Braden's mocking, 'Have a good time, Susan.'

  Warren had just emerged from his car when she darted out the front door. She saw him eye the blue sports car in the driveway and the black scowl that had appeared instantaneously on his face.

  'I suppose that's his car,' he commented contemptuously as he held the passenger door open for Susan.

  'Yes,' she nodded.

  'It's disgusting the amount of money those racing drivers win,' he muttered almost beneath his breath, closed Susan's door and walked around to the driver's side. He didn't speak again until he was behind the wheel and they were driving away from the house. 'Now tell me how you ran into that Indy man again,' he commanded.

  For the third time Susan repeated the story about Greg's car breaking down and Mitch Braden's arrival to help. Then she tacked on Greg's request that Mitch wait at the house for him and her mother's subsequent invitation to dinner which was accepted.

  'What did he say to you?' Warren asked when she had finished.

  Susan glanced at his stern profile with some confusion. 'When?'

  'When he found out about—the marriage thing?'

  Taking a deep, considering breath, Susan knew she couldn't repeat Mitch's response, so she chose to lie tactfully instead.

  'When he said he thought I was married, I simply told him that he had misunderstood you. That what you'd actually said was that I was to be your wife.'

  'Good thinking.' The look in his dark eyes was almost grateful, except Warren was much too proud. 'I should have known I could count on you.'

  The topic of Mitch Braden was dropped for the time being, although Susan longed to ask why Warren had lied in the beginning. Yet his name cropped up the entire evening, usually in derogatory comments made by Warren. Fortunately the blue sports car was gone when Warren brought her home.

  At the office the following morning, Warren questioned her very thoroughly about what her family had told Susan concerning Mitch's visit. Since Susan had not questioned them herself, she could answer very little. She had gathered the impression that possibly Greg planned to see Mitch Braden again, but since she wasn't positive of that she didn't tell Warren.

  By Saturday evening Warren seemed to have forgotten Mitch Braden's existence completely. That brought Susan considerable relief because she had been uneasy discussing him with Warren. She constantly felt she had to be on guard in case something slipped. And she didn't want to have to watch her words when she was with the man she was going to marry.'

  After a quiet dinner, Warren had told her that they were going to have to attend a party being given by one of his clients. Normally Susan didn't object to the mingling of business with their evenings together.

  After all, when they were married, she would need to know the people Warren associated with outside of business hours. Yet tonight she had wanted them to be alone so she could be the center of his attention.

  Warren had indicated they wouldn't stay long, but they had already been at Grayson Trevor's house for an hour. Susan was standing on the fringe of a group of men gathered around Warren, all of them deeply embroiled in a political discussion.

  She had been with some of the younger women, but had become bored with their never-ending gossip. She had hoped to catch Warren's eye and suggest that they leave. He had seen her, but he was quite plainly not ready to leave.

  Beat music was coming from the glassed veranda of the ultramodern home and Susan gravitated toward it. She stood quietly near the wall watching the rhythmic, swaying motions of the couples dancing on the tiled floor. Hidden by her long black skirt, a toe tapped in time with the music.

  A young attractively dressed woman entered the room, ash blonde hair coiled in a sophisticated bun at the nape of her neck. Susan smiled in warm recognition. Anna Kemper was two years older, married with two small children. Since Susan had started dating Warren, she had met Anna at many functions such as this.

  Anna spotted Susan at almost the same instant. 'Hello. Where's Warren?'

  'In the other room talking politics,' she answered, smiling wryly. 'Where's Frank?'

  'By now he's probably joined Warren,' An
na laughed.

  'How are the children?'

  Susan never learned the answer. At that moment a man came up behind her friend, his arms circling her waist. Brown hair flashed golden as the man bent his head to place a kiss in the hollow of Anna's neck. Susan's mouth opened in disbelief.

  'Anna—still breathtakingly lovely, I see,' Mitch Braden murmured as he allowed the ash blonde to turn in his arms.

  'Mitch!' she exclaimed gaily. 'I might have known it was you. How are you? All in one piece?'

  'I'm fine,' he smiled lazily, and loosened his hold so Anna stood free. 'I can see for myself that you are, too.'

  Anna turned to Susan, her hazel eyes dancing with pleasure. The words of introduction were forming on her lips, but Mitch didn't allow her to get them out.

  'I knew if I looked long enough I'd find the most beautiful girl in the house,' he stated softly. 'Hello, Susan.'

  'Mr. Braden.' Susan stiffly tilted her head in acknowledgment, placing emphasis on the formality of her greeting.

  'Do you two know each other?' Anna asked with a frown of surprise.

  'We have met,' Susan admitted in the same rigid tone, 'but I couldn't know he would be here tonight.'

  'Didn't you know, Susan?' Mitch taunted mockingly, his eyes crinkling merrily at the corners. 'Well, listen, I'm the proverbial bad penny. I always turn up.'

  'So I'm beginning to learn,' she said coolly.

  'Do I dare ask,' Anna hesitated, laughing nervously, 'what the problem is between you two?'

  'There isn't any problem as far as I'm concerned, but you might ask that question of Susan later when the two of you are alone,' Mitch suggested, the directness of his gaze compelling Susan to look at him. His voice became husky, losing its amused quality to become caressing. 'Dance with me, Susan.'

  It was neither an order nor a question. Not even a challenge. There was a small, negative movement of her dark head.

  'No, thank you,' she refused, but the firmness in her voice wavered.

  He reached out and lightly closed his fingers over the wrist of one of the hands clasped in front of her. There was something very winning in the boyishly pleading tilt of his handsome face.