by Webb, Peggy
“In my bedroom.”
Lily pursed her lips and shook her head. “It’s not right. James wouldn’t leave me with strangers.”
This time Holly couldn’t force a laugh, not even a small one.
“Well, James is not here, Lily. Loweva will have to do.”
“I hope I don’t get sick while you’re gone.”
“If you do, Loweva will take care of you.”
“What if I have to go to the doctor?”
“She has a car.” And then, because Holly felt guilty for being so curt, she sat beside her grandmother and took her hand. “It’s a white Cadillac, Grandma. You’ll love it.”
“I don’t like Cadillacs,” Lily said, and Holly knew it was useless. No matter what she said, Lily was going to find fault. There was no way that Holly could leave for even one day with a clear conscience, let alone Lily’s blessing.
She glanced at her watch. There were still five minutes left... if Ben arrived on time—and he didn’t look like the kind of man with a cavalier attitude about time. Five minutes to think about wearing the wrong kind of dress that made her hips look big. Five minutes to wish she’d said no. Five minutes to wish she’d had two weeks before the party to diet instead of two days.
Speaking of which, she was starving. To top it all off she felt as if her stomach was going to growl. Wouldn’t that be mortifying?
Hello, Senator Whosis, my name is Holly and that other greeting you hear is from my stomach.
She was so nervous she had forgotten the senator’s name. Graden? Gibson? Grover? Something with a G.
Maybe she should eat a cracker before Ben came. Her hand was in the cracker box when the doorbell rang. That’s all she needed—Ben Sullivan to find her eating.
She closed her eyes for a second and imagined herself slim, sophisticated, and scintillating. If she could get through the rest of the day, she promised God and herself and her mother and everybody else who counted that she would start a serious diet tomorrow.
But tomorrow night was Loweva’s Christmas party, and her pecan tassies were the best in the state. Then there was the Sunday school ice cream party, and after that the senior citizens’ Christmas dessert extravaganza.
She would start Tuesday. Definitely Tuesday.
The doorbell pinged again. Leaving Ben Sullivan standing out in the cold was not the way to start a date.
Long ago Holly had learned that if she put on a fancy smile, people didn’t notice that she was scared and uncertain. “Look at that smile,” they’d say. “Holly Jones has the world by the tail.”
With her most brilliant smile in place, she swung the door open, but the minute she saw Ben Sullivan every ounce of bravado she’d managed to work up suddenly deserted her. In suit and tie he’d been gorgeous; in a tuxedo he was lethal.
Her wits left her, and she said the first thing that came to her mind.
“You are dangerous and must be destroyed.”
“I can think of a number of exciting ways for you to do that.”
Holly felt her cheeks go hot. “That’s an old habit, saying the first thing that pops into my mind. Don’t worry, though. I promise not to embarrass you with that kind of remark.”
“On the contrary. Hearing people say what they really think is a novelty. If you’ll do that at the political function, it will not only be a refreshing change, it might relieve the tedium.”
Visions of riding across the state line with soft music playing and Ben reaching for her hand suddenly vanished. He had made his intentions clear during the phone call: He needed a date. Still she had persisted in thinking of this outing as a romantic evening. Foolish dreams of a foolish woman.
“That’s a tall order,” she quipped, “relieving the tedium of three hundred people, but I’m equal to the task.” She held the door wide. “Won’t you come in and meet my grandmother.” When he hesitated, she winked. “Don’t be scared. She bites, but it’s not life threatening.”
Her house was neither fancy nor fine, but it was sparkling clean and it had a homey charm all its own. Holly was fond of candid snapshots, and there were always cheap frames to be had at flea markets and garage sales. She liked being able to look almost anywhere in her house and be greeted by the smiling face of one of her friends.
She loved flowers, too, and had a knack not only for growing them but for preserving the dried blossoms. Roses that still held a hint of the vivid pink they possessed when Holly had them delivered to Lily for her birthday last year topped the drop-leaf table on the west wall. Baby’s breath, which dried so well, was intertwined with dried purple violets in a small grapevine wreath that hung over the TV.
If Ben found fault with her house, she was going to march into her bedroom and remove her tacky purple velvet dress and tell him to go relieve the tedium by himself. Only when he nodded his approval did she realize how tense she was.
He was equally gracious when she introduced him to Lily. Unfortunately, she couldn’t say the same for her grandmother.
“I don’t approve of Yankees,” she said.
“I live here now,” Ben said. “Maybe Mississippi will smooth out my rough edges.”
“You have a glib tongue, young man. See that you don’t use it on Holly. She’s prone to fool notions.”
“That’s excellent advice, and I’m sure your granddaughter will see that I don’t misbehave, ma’am.”
Lily warmed a little. Who wouldn’t? Ben’s smile would thaw icebergs, and his use of politeness and formality was a clever ploy.
On more than one occasion Ben had told Holly that he was dangerous. With Lily he proved it once more. When he bent over her hand, he outdid Rhett Butler for true Southern charm.
Finally he said, “Ready to go, Holly?”
She told him yes, knowing it was a lie. How could she ever be ready for such a dangerous man?
Chapter 13
Three and half hours in a car with a woman was a long time, long enough to discover things not only about Holly but about himself as well. For instance, Ben had prided himself on the careful research job he was doing regarding Holly. He had told himself that this trip to the political rally would be one more chance to unmask her as a consummate actress if not a downright opportunist. After all, a woman in her position could do worse than land a man of his considerable wealth and influence.
What he hadn’t counted on was the effect her perfume would have on him in close quarters. One whiff of her fragrance and research went right out of his mind. Instead he thought how pleasant it would be to sit beside a roaring fire with her and bury his face in the soft white curve between her neck and her shoulder. Without asking, he knew she had put perfume there.
“What is that fragrance?” he asked.
“Do you like it?”
Her artless question took him by surprise. It was a totally feminine response, one he found utterly delightful.
“Yes, I like it. It reminds me of flowers.”
“That’s what it’s supposed to do. It’s ginger lily. My brother got it for me in Hawaii.”
Had she worn that perfume just for him? The thought pleased Ben.
“Have you been to Hawaii, Holly?”
“Not yet. But someday I will. I want to see the whales.”
“I expected you to say you wanted to see the flowers or the beaches or even the volcanoes. Why the whales?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because they travel all that distance so they can breed in the warm waters of a tropical paradise. There’s something beautiful and terribly romantic about that.”
Ben took note: Holly loved romance. She was the kind of woman who would enjoy flowers on Valentine’s Day and perfume on her birthday. Not that any of that mattered, of course. He wasn’t about to do anything so foolish as send flowers and perfume to a woman who took romance seriously.
He glanced her way and caught her studying him. There was a glow in her eyes that he found disturbing. Quickly he returned his attention to the road, and she reached over to turn up
the volume on the radio. A nice easy blues tune was playing. Holly hummed along softly, and he tried to concentrate on the road.
But the sweet way she smelled kept intruding. And the way she hummed, low and throaty and sexy. And the way she looked framed by the late afternoon sun and the glittering waters beyond the car window.
“Not that I believe in all those romantic myths,” she said. “For whales or people, either.”
“Of course not. Neither do I.”
“I mean... anybody who has been burned twice should know better. Right?”
“Absolutely. I agree with you.”
She turned up the radio another notch then settled into silence on her side of the car. Though she wasn’t pouting, and even glanced his way every now and then to smile, Ben felt a sense of loss, as if he had let something precious slip by.
“Sooo,” she said, finally breaking the silence, her voice soft and breathless as if she were running all the way from Sunday Cove to Birmingham instead of traveling along in the comfort of a car. “I’ve never been to an important political rally. Tell me what to expect.”
Talking about politics was safe and familiar, but Ben missed their talk of perfume and ginger lilies and whales and paradise. He told her about some of the rallies he had attended in the past, and even made some of the stories funny. Funnier than they warranted. With a few exceptions, he had hated that aspect of his job. He found the ostentatious display of money repugnant and the pseudo-intellectualism boring.
Because of their long drive, the rally was in full swing when they arrived. Crowds thronged around the buffet tables and a dance band was playing music with a good beat.
“A band,” Holly said. “How wonderful!”
How many women would be happy over such a small thing? None that he knew.
Holly swayed to the beat, enraptured with the music, it seemed, enraptured and glowing and so very, very appealing.
“Would you like to dance?” He didn’t even like to dance. Couldn’t, as a matter of fact. “I have to warn you, I’m not any good at this. I’m liable to step all over your feet.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
The way she fit into his arms was too good to be true. Suddenly he realized that every game he had played with her had been a prelude to this moment, a carefully orchestrated plan to get close enough to feel the seductive curve of her breasts and the soft slide of her hips as they danced on the polished floor.
She wore her hair loose, and it was as silky as he had imagined. The subtle fragrance of ginger lily wafted from those soft strands, and something else, a fragrance that reminded him of citrus groves. If he weren’t careful, he would be burying his nose in her hair.
He didn’t know the name of the song the band played, but it was something that didn’t require a lot of moving around.
“Why, you’re a good dancer, Ben.”
“Who wouldn’t be with you? You have a natural rhythm.”
“Thank you.”
Would that rhythm translate from the dance floor to the bedroom? He loosened his hold and put some distance between their hips so she wouldn’t know the effect she had on him.
This business of dancing was dangerous. Men bent on avoiding such things as romance and love and marriage should avoid it at all costs.
No sooner had the last note died than he released her.
“That about does it for me,” he said. “I guess I’m a one-dance man.”
“I’m glad that dance was with me.”
Every time Holly made one of those sweet, artless remarks Ben wanted to kiss her. If she kept it up, he was going to be in deep trouble.
Fortunately, Senator Marion Glenn and his wife, Ginger, arrived and saved him. Ben made the introductions, and small talk followed. He hated small talk. When the Senator’s wife drew him aside to inquire whether he thought his alma mater would be a suitable school for her youngest son, he was more than happy to shift conversational gears.
During his years in D.C., Ben had mastered the art of listening to two conversations at once and never missing a word. While he conversed with the senator’s wife, he heard everything that was said by Holly and the senator.
She was relating the story of the cow in the fellowship hall, with frequent pauses for the senator’s bursts of laughter.
“And then the preacher said the benediction, and Gertrude arose like a martyred saint.” More laughter from the senator. “Loweva said it was divine intervention.”
“My dear, I haven’t laughed so much in years. Where in the world has our Benjamin been keeping you?”
“Oh, I keep myself, as well as my grandmother Lily and a parrot who never says a word except help.”
“I’m sure you have a delightful explanation as to why that bird has such a limited vocabulary.”
As she launched into another funny story Holly’s face glowed with happiness and good humor. What a contrast she was to all the other women Ben had dated. What a contrast to his mother.
Her story of the parrot ended, and the senator put his arm around her shoulders.
“My dear, you’re a gold mine. If Ben’s smart, he’ll stake out his claim before some other fellow snatches you up.” Taking Holly’s arm, Marion Glenn joined his wife and Ben. “Did you hear that, Ben? I know you did. You never miss a trick.”
“I heard.”
Holly’s cheeks were bright pink, and there was a barely perceptible line of moisture on her upper lip. For some reason that telltale glow lifted Ben’s spirits. Women in D.C. society didn’t allow themselves to sweat.
The senator clapped him on the arm. “You’re the same old Ben, I see. Nobody on Capitol Hill ever had an inkling of what you thought or where you stood until you quietly slipped in and slit their throats, then left them bleeding on the floor. That’s what made you so good at your job.”
“I’m afraid life in the slow lane has destroyed my killer instincts.”
“Once a shark, always a shark.” Senator Glenn swiveled to smile at Holly. “And I mean that in the most complimentary of ways, my dear.”
“Pay him no mind,” Ben said to Holly. “Men on the campaign trail will say anything to get what they want.”
“I guess you know what it is that I want, don’t you, Ben?”
“Yes, Senator. And you already know the answer to that.”
“I need you, my boy.”
“There are other lobbyists who can get the job done.”
“But not with your subtlety, not with your class.”
“I’m just a farmer.”
“You’ll never be just a farmer. You’ll never be just anything. You’re the best, and if I’m going to get reelected, I need the best handling of that farm subsidy bill on the floor.” The senator caught Ben’s arm. “Don’t say no yet, not till you’ve heard my story.” Turning to Holly and his wife, he said, “My dears, do you mind if Ben and I slip off for a quiet talk?”
Ginger Glenn smiled at her husband. “Darling, if I panicked every time you slipped away, I’d have divorced you long ago.” She pecked him affectionately on the cheek. “Be convincing, Senator.”
Ben missed nothing of their exchange, all the while keeping his eyes on Holly. In a crowd of women sporting designer gowns and a king’s ransom in jewels, she made a statement of simplicity and elegance. In the midst of the brittle laughter and the false smiles, her spontaneity and charm were as refreshing as cool rain on a scorching summer day.
She turned then, and smiled at him. Something akin to firecrackers went off inside his chest, and in that brief shining moment he understood that she was more than refreshing: She was necessary. Though he knew little of love and had, in fact, denied its very existence, that one simple smile proved him wrong.
The days of collecting bits and pieces of her life in a file folder were over. The days of wondering whether she was real were past. None of that mattered anymore. The only thing that mattered was that he had found her, and having found her, he was determined not to lose her.
Unfortunately he had no idea how to go about the process of wooing and winning a special woman.
“Holly?” Ben said, taking her hand. It took all his willpower not to scoop her into his arms and run. Caveman tactics. That ought to win him some points... as the biggest jackass this side of the Mason Dixon line. “Do you mind if I leave you alone while I talk with the senator?”
“Not at all. This is Birmingham. I’ve already claimed kin to half the people in this room.”
He could have kissed her. Would have if the room hadn’t been full of people. But the kiss he had in mind was not for public viewing. The kiss he had in mind was the kind that melded souls as well as bodies. Though the idea of love was entirely new to him, the ways of the heart seemed natural.
He squeezed her hand, and the look he gave her was full of promise.
“Until later, then,” he said.
“Later.”
“She’s a jewel,” the senator told him as they headed toward a small sitting room across the hall from the rest of the party. “But then I guess you already know that.”
“Like you said, Senator. I never miss a trick.”
o0o
The senator’s wife was charming, the other party guests were friendly, but they were not Ben. What was keeping him?
Holly glanced at her watch. Even if they started driving back from Birmingham that very minute, it would still be four a.m. when they got back to Sunday Cove.
Her feet were swollen from hours in high-heeled shoes, and if she had to smile one more time, her face was going to crack. But nobody could complain that she hadn’t done her job, least of all Ben. She would relieve the tedium, he had said, and by George, that’s exactly what she had done. Her friends told her she was a great raconteur, and the level of laughter that greeted her stories was ample proof.
The knowledge of her success should have made her happy, but it didn’t. She wanted more. She wanted Ben to like her—more than like her. She wanted him to feel half the sparks she felt when she looked at him.
Was that asking too much? Half the sparks?
She knew that she was no raving beauty, and heaven knew her figure left a lot to be desired, but for one evening she wanted to be more than Holly Jones, social director. She wanted to be Holly Jones, desirable woman. She wanted to be Holly Jones, irresistible female. She wanted to be Holly Jones, lover, the kind of wild wanton lover who stole kisses in the dark driving home, the kind of wicked woman who drove a man so crazy, he had to stop on the side of the road and beg her to give him some relief.
