by Leanne Banks
She shimmied out of the dress, threw it on the bed and pushed down her stockings and garter belt. Then she stood in her darkened bedroom wearing nothing but her sinful red silk slip.
She shouldn’t have worn red.
Men seemed to sense it. She was convinced they had some kind of sonar when it came to detecting her past. No matter how prim the outer layer was, they seemed to sense the sensual Sara underneath it all, the Sara who enjoyed all kinds of pleasures, from the sensation of velvet, silk, sun and water on her bare skin to the flavors of a succulent rare steak; fresh, yeasty bread; and strawberries dipped in rich, dark chocolate. The Sara who hid over a dozen bottles of perfume underneath her sink and had trouble deciding which to wear because she liked them all.
Sara pushed back the hair from her face in frustration. Even now, at the age of twenty-seven, she fought a constant battle with herself, torn somewhere between being the quiet, reserved woman who garnered the respect of the community and the sensual one she hid in the privacy of her home. The sensual one had been known to get her into trouble.
A stab of pain cut through her as she remembered the senator. He’d been such a nice, decent middle-aged man, but so lonely since his wife had been ill. Sara had been his receptionist. Her first job at eighteen, and she’d been thrilled and scared. It all began quite innocently with her working late nights, then having coffee with the senator and other staff at an all-night diner. He’d been like a father figure to her, and God knew she’d never had a father in her life.
When her apartment building had been destroyed in a fire, the senator found a place for her to live. It had been easier to say yes than no, easier to accept the affection she craved. He gave her a single red rose the day she moved in, and one yes led to another and another and…
One year later the press found out, and the nice senator blew his brains out.
Sara’s mind seemed bent on punishing her tonight. The thought of her deceased husband loomed over her like a dark shadow, and still more guilt flooded her. When he’d learned about her past, he’d hated her for it. When he’d died in an automobile accident, he was still hating her.
Sara shuddered at the memories. Sinking down on her bed, she wrapped her arms around herself. She didn’t want to turn on the light. She didn’t want to see herself in the mirror. She needed to let the guilt and shame pass.
It would have been comforting to have a man hold her during that painful moment. An image of Daniel Pendleton with the strong, gentle hands and broad shoulders seeped through her mind like mist.
Sara impatiently shook it off and rose from the bed to turn on the light. She was lifting the hem of her slip to strip it off when her doorbell rang. She glanced at her brass alarm clock and frowned. Twelve-thirty. Who in the world could it be at this hour?
Snatching the ankle-length kimono from the hook on the back of her closet door, she wrapped it around herself, marched to her front door and looked through the peephole.
Daniel Pendleton. Her heart gave a tiny, involuntary flutter.
She opened the door, saying the first thing that came to mind. “Is something wrong with Carly?”
“No.” Daniel looked into Sara’s wary eyes and immediately knew he’d have to temper the Romeo bit. She looked small and vulnerable and mussed in a thoroughly inviting way, but she also looked distrustful. He shoved the rosebud into his pocket and stepped through the doorway. “Mind if I come in?”
“Well—”
“I wanted to make sure you got home okay.” He paused, sweeping the living room with a curious glance. His first impressions were of femininity, comfort and privacy. Puffy curtains and pastel miniblinds covered the windows. On the mantel he noticed a lot of candles and a stuffed teddy bear wearing a floppy hat and lace dress. One end table held a bestselling novel, a few women’s magazines and a bottle of nail polish. An image flashed through his mind of Sara wearing the red silk slip as she painted her nails and blew them dry. He could almost feel the warmth of her breath, and just the thought of it made him tug at his starched collar.
Her coat and purse had been thrown carelessly on the floral sofa, which, in Daniel’s opinion, held too many little pillows and was too small for sleeping. But he could imagine ditching those little pillows, easing Sara into his lap and kissing her until they were both ready for bed.
He’d trade the lower forty for a peek at her bedroom.
“I’m fine,” Sara said.
His gaze automatically went to her. “And we never finished our conversation.”
Sara looked at him blankly.
Daniel’s mouth lifted in a slow grin. “Dinner.”
Uneasy, Sara picked up her coat and hung it in the closet, feeling Daniel’s gaze track her every movement. He seemed to take up an enormous amount of space in her house. “I think it would be best if we didn’t.”
“Why?”
She wished he hadn’t asked that. “Because you’re Carly’s brother and she’s my boss.”
Propping himself against the sofa, he crossed his arms over his chest. “So?”
“So it could get awkward.” She tried, surreptitiously, to kick her shoes under an end table. When Daniel’s gaze slid to her feet and seemed to settle on her red toenails, Sara felt terribly self-conscious. It was one of her little eccentricities. She painted her toenails bright, flashy colors while she kept her fingernails trimmed and painted them neutral colors. She cleared her throat, wishing for steel-toed boots.
He stood and walked closer to her, setting off all her warning bells and whistles.
“Does that mean you don’t want to?” he asked.
Sara swallowed. “I—” She searched for an honest but polite response and came up empty.
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as if he truly wanted to understand. “You don’t like the way I look?”
She shook her head, wishing desperately that she wasn’t having this conversation. “No. That’s not—”
His gaze swept her from head to toe. “You’re not attracted to me?”
She felt her cheeks heat. “I didn’t say that.”
“You’re still missing your husband?” His voice held sympathy, but no pity.
He gave her the perfect excuse, and Sara almost took the easy way out. “I miss him.” She felt dishonest letting the statement sit between them. Sighing, she lifted her hand and briefly touched his arm. “But that’s not why I don’t go out.”
Daniel’s hand slid out and captured hers. “Then I don’t understand.”
Sara’s pulse jumped. A strong, solid male hand held hers, and the simple act short-circuited her brain. How could she explain that she had a unique ability to ruin good men? His thumb caressed her knuckles, and the gesture seemed more intimate than it should have. Was it the late hour or the man?
She took a deep breath. “I’m not very good at male-female relationships,” she admitted.
“Maybe you’re just out of practice,” he said, twining their fingers together one by one. His gaze hovered on her mouth, and Sara had the oddest sensation of being thoroughly kissed. She could almost feel his mouth, soft and mobile, on hers. He would slowly slide his tongue past her teeth and explore her vulnerable softness, then tease her into giving him what he wanted. Oh, yes, she’d bet Daniel Pendleton would know how to tease a woman.
She shook her head at the sudden heat rising in her body. She licked her burning lips and heard his quick intake of breath.
He squeezed her fingers, a silent reprimand for her involuntarily provocative gesture. His gaze rose to meet hers. “Practice makes perfect, Sara, and I think,” he said in a low, rough voice, looking at her through hooded violet eyes, “you should practice on me.”
Chapter Two
A flicker of awareness darkened Sara’s eyes, then her eyelashes lowered as if they were a silk curtain. Daniel felt her withdrawal before she moved away.
She whispered something under her breath. He couldn’t make out the words, but her tone was that of a chiding reminder. Clutching the fr
ont of her robe, she shook her head. “It’s so late. I appreciate—” she hesitated, leading him to believe she did not appreciate it “—your checking on me. It was kind of you. I’m getting up early tomorrow morning.” She moved toward the door. “I bet you are too.”
She put her hand on the doorknob, and Daniel experienced the urge to goad her into dropping the polite shield. She exhibited the dignity of a queen, and her will was far stronger than he’d anticipated.
He reluctantly admired her at the same time that he was stymied by her.
Shoving his hand into his pocket in frustration, he felt something sharp jab his finger. He jerked, grimacing. A thorn from that damn rose, he realized belatedly.
Most of his calculations about Sara had been off tonight. Cranky enough to use Sara’s politeness against her, he walked toward her.
“I guess we’ll have to figure out those dinner arrangements another time,” he said, getting closer and closer, betting the clutching and unclutching of her hand meant that his nearness made her nervous. That was okay. Nervous was better than nothing.
She opened her mouth to refuse, he was certain, and Daniel covered her hand on the doorknob, stopping her cold.
Feeling both predatory and frustrated, he smiled. “You’re going to Erin and Garth’s wedding, aren’t you?”
She hesitated. “Yes.”
“Carly said your car’s been a little temperamental, so I’ll take you.”
He bent his head toward her and watched another protest die on her lips. “See you next Saturday,” he said, pushing the door open. He took one last glance at her before he left, and what he saw sent his blood pressure into the ozone. Her robe gaped slightly, and underneath that long robe sweet Sara Kingston was wearing the wicked red slip from his dream.
“Is Sara off today?” Daniel asked his sister with forced nonchalance.
Carly shook her head. “No. She’s gone to the post office. She’ll probably be back in a few minutes.” Carly riffled through the papers on the top of her desk, obviously looking for something. “Why do you want to know?”
Daniel shrugged. “No reason. When I made sure she got home from the party the other night, she seemed a little edgy.”
Carly frowned. “Edgy? I wondered about that. She’s been dropping things lately.”
His interest perked up. “Dropping things?”
“Yeah. Like on the floor.” She pulled a letter from the pile and smiled. “There it is.” She turned her attention toward Daniel. “I noticed you danced with her at the party.”
Baby sister didn’t miss a thing. “You said you wished I would act nicer to her.”
Suspicion glinted in her eyes. “You didn’t make any lewd propositions, did you?”
Daniel didn’t consider them lewd. He lifted his hands in innocence. “Me?”
Carly wasn’t totally convinced. “I’d like you to bear in mind that I couldn’t replace her if she quit. She’s competent enough to run this business without me. I told you about how her husband died, and since you know what a good friend she’s been to me,” she said meaningfully, “I hope you will be careful with her. She’s more tender-hearted than she appears.”
“I’m always careful,” Daniel muttered, feeling a sharp jab of irritation. Since he was the oldest, he’d always had to be careful. Every once in a while he’d like to indulge himself and do something irresponsible, disreputable and enjoyable, but he always managed to restrain himself. Lately that restraint was wearing thin.
As for Sara’s heart, he had no desire to claim it. He wanted her body. And he just wanted to borrow it until he got her out of his system. It had become a matter of survival, and it would be his greatest pleasure to make sure Sara got as much out of their affair as he did. “There’s nothing for you to worry about.”
A knock sounded at the door. “Carly?”
“Come in,” Carly called.
Sara pushed open the door, holding a stack of papers. “I need to clarify something on this contract with—” She saw Daniel and promptly dropped the papers.
“Oh my.” Distressed, Sara dropped to her knees. She wasn’t a fumbler. She made it a point not to fumble, trip or fidget. It was all part of the cool, competent image she worked hard to project. That cool, competent image covered a boatload of vulnerability and self-doubt. The senator had helped her acquire a poise that lifted her beyond her seedy background. But the last few days, to her chagrin, she’d been a total klutz, all because of Daniel Pendleton.
Suddenly Daniel was beside her on the floor, collecting the papers. “Here, let me help you.”
“No. That’s okay.” Past caring that the papers were out of order, she gathered them together in her hands as quickly as possible. “I think I’ve got them now.”
She stood; Daniel followed. She could feel his gaze on her, and an awkward silence hummed between them.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw him shove his hands into his pockets. She wondered what that gesture meant. She’d once read an article about how body language often told the truth more than a person’s words did.
“Since I was in town today,” Daniel ventured, “I was wondering if either of you ladies would like to have lunch with me. I thought I’d try one of those places on the wharf.”
Carly sighed, shaking her head. “Count me out.” She pointed toward the desk. “All you have to do is take a look at my desk.”
Relieved that Carly had paved the way so nicely for her, Sara shrugged. “I brought a sandwich to eat at my desk, so…”
Carly looked contrite. “Sara, don’t feel like you’ve got to miss lunch just because I’m working. You’ve stayed late every night this week.”
Sara shook her head. “But—”
“I’m beginning to feel like Simon Legree and Scrooge all rolled into one. Please. Appease my guilt and go.”
Feeling cornered, Sara glanced at Daniel, then back at Carly. “Are you sure? I’m so distracted with these contracts, I’m sure I’ll be rotten company.”
“I’m sure,” Carly said.
Daniel hitched one dark eyebrow in amusement. Sara knew he could tell she was trying to get out of it. “I’m sure too,” he said in a low, taunting voice.
And he was, Sara thought. Daniel Pendleton was always insufferably sure of himself. It was one more reason for her not to like him. “I’ll get my coat,” she said reluctantly, deciding to order something that could be eaten quickly.
To her dismay they ended up at the Cimarron Rose, where barbecued baby back ribs, onion-ring loaves and gooey cinnamon rolls were the order of the day.
“A salad,” she said firmly.
“Anything else?” the waitress asked.
“No. Just a salad.”
Daniel frowned for a moment, then gave his order—an entire rack of those baby back ribs along with crab legs and a baked potato.
Sara reconsidered her choice. There was no reason to deprive herself of some of her favorite foods just because she was eating with Daniel. It wasn’t as if they were sharing a candlelight dinner for two in the privacy of her home. That thought gave her a jolt.
The waitress sent Daniel a broad smile and started to leave.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Sara said quickly, not meeting Daniel’s gaze. “I’d like an onion-ring loaf, a half rack of baby back ribs, Western-style sauce and a baked potato.” She closed the menu. “Please.”
“Sure you don’t want crab legs?” Daniel asked after the waitress left. He wore a subtle, teasing grin.
“No.” Sara chewed her lip to keep from smiling back at him, but failed. “If I eat any more, you’ll have to wheel me out of here in a cart.”
Daniel’s gaze fell over her in assessment. “I wouldn’t need a cart to carry you even if you tripled your order. Not with your weight.”
“You have no idea what my weight is,” Sara said, turning the subject away from the notion of him “carrying” her.
“Bet I could guess.”
The way he said it caused a tickling
sensation in her stomach. She usually squashed this kind of flirty conversation. It was too personal, and she needed to keep her distance. But something about him, the I-dare-you-lady expression, made her want to accept the little challenge. “Okay. Winner gets the onion-ring loaf.”
His eyes widened. “High stakes. How close do I have to get?”
Sara stared at him, feeling her pulse leap. Close.
“In pounds,” he clarified.
Her mind going blank with relief, she pulled a figure out of nowhere. “Two pounds.”
“Oooh. That’s tough.” He shook his head. “I’ll give it a try.”
That was when Sara realized this conversation had been a huge error. Daniel’s gaze measured her neck, and she felt the warmth of it as if his hands gently touched her skin. He studied the width of her shoulders down her white silk blouse to her elbows. Then she watched the motion of his eyes as they moved to the bow that rested against her throat.
Sara’s breath hung suspended while, ever so slowly, that violet gaze lowered to assess her breasts. Beyond her lacy bra his gaze caressed like fingers, cupping the weight of her, testing her softness. Sara felt a stinging arousal shoot straight to her nipples. Her face flamed with heat, and she nearly grabbed a napkin to hide herself.
Daniel stared straight at the center of her swollen breasts.
Sara bit her lip. Unable to stand his scrutiny any longer, she crossed her arms. “Time’s—”
“One hundred and seventeen pounds,” he said in a rough voice, reaching for his water glass. “One nineteen after you’ve just gotten out of a shower and you’re soaking wet.”
He sounded as if that last idea appealed to him. How had this discussion gotten so intimate? “How on earth did you guess?” she choked out.
He gave a chuckle and shook his head. “You wouldn’t like my answer.”
“Why?”
“Because my expertise comes from hauling bags of feed and sizing up livestock.”
