by Anna Jeffrey
He walked back into the kitchen. He stopped at the gray slab-granite cooking island and turned to face her so abruptly, she nearly collided with him. “Oh! Excuse me.” She stepped back.
He planted a palm on the cooking island, a fist on the opposite hip and gave her a direct look. “So why the charade?”
Seeing him standing beside the cooking island set off another erotic memory and her heart began pounding so loudly, the entire county, the world, the universe must hear it. She might forget many things, but sex on that cooking island in his condo would not be one of them.
She gathered herself. “How did you find me?”
“Babe, if you’re hiding out, you probably shouldn’t have your life-size picture plastered on billboards on a major highway.”
She bristled at him calling her babe. “What are you doing in Camden? Somehow, I can’t believe you’re planning on settling down in this quaint little community. From what I saw, it doesn’t fit your lifestyle.”
“Ahh, fit. I like that word. I think I’ve heard you use it before.”
…Oh, wow….It fits….
Oh, hell. A blood rush heated her face. Speech failed her. She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath.
“You’re right. I’m not interested,” he said, “though it does have some charm.”
She opened her eyes in time to see him smooth his hand over the cooking island’s glossy surface. “I like the cooking island.” He looked up at her and grinned in that devilish-little-boy way she had found so charming at first.
She let out a shaky breath. “Okay. I get it. I get it. You came here to rub my nose in it.”
“Now, darlin’, your nose is too pretty to risk harming it. But you know what? Your reaction tells me you’ve got a fondness for the cooking island yourself.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.”
“Honey, that’s exactly what you said the other night. And more than once, as I recall. I did my best to oblige. I’m even willing to do it again.”
She drew in a controlled breath. “I do not appreciate your calling me babe and honey and silly meaningless names. It’s insulting.”
He continued to grin. “I haven’t gotten used to your real name yet. Shannon.” He chuckled, obviously amused by her distress. “But to answer your question, I’m passing through. I’ve been down with the family in Drinkwell for a few days. A blind man couldn’t miss your billboards. And I couldn’t control my curiosity.”
“Oh, really? Should I be flattered?”
His expression changed from smirky to earnest, a look she had seen on his face before. “I don’t know. Are you?”
More memories of that Saturday night flooded her mind: …It’s never been this good….Why do I think you say that to all the girls?...I don’t say things I don’t mean.
A profound yearning wrenched her insides. Oh, dear God. She had to get control of herself. And the situation. “You’ve seen the house,” she said anxiously. “You said you aren’t interested. We should go now.”
“Let’s go to dinner,” he said. “Talk a little bit. We were talking the last time I saw you.” His eyes bored into her again. “Before I fell asleep and you skipped out.”
Was he angry? Why should he be? He surely wasn’t upset over her leaving when he had probably walked out on more women than most men knew. “Wrong word choice, Mr. Lockhart. I didn’t skip out. I merely left. I told you I had to get home.”
She tried to walk past him, but he clasped her arm, his touch like an electrical shock to her system. “Don’t get so excited,” he said. “There must be a good place to eat in Camden.”
She stepped away from his grasp. “I don’t have time to go out to dinner. Someone’s expecting me.”
“Call ’em up. Tell ’em an old friend dropped in. Believe me, sugar, I won’t take no for an answer.”
He was angry, all right. She had no idea what he might do if she didn’t agree to eat with him. She was worse off than a bug caught in a spider web. The smartest plan would be to walk away from him and never look back. But the easiest was to just go to dinner and get it over with.
And then there was that lustful, out-of-control part of her that wanted to be with him. Oh, dear God. Get thee behind me, Satan. Please.
Her mind darted through Camden’s limited list of restaurants as she tried to think of one that would get them in and out quickly and afford the least privacy. She was sure he would not go for McDonald’s. “Do you like Mexican food?”
“This is Texas. Who doesn’t like Mexican food?”
“There’s a café in the shopping center. Casa Familia. We can go there. It’s on your way out of town.”
His brow arched. “Shopping center?”
She gave him a flat look. “This is Camden.”
“Okay then, shopping center it is.” He held out his arm, gesturing toward the front door. “After you, sugar.”
She swished past him, giving him a defiant glower. “You can follow me. Sugar.”
She heard him laugh behind her. Damn him.
Once she got in her SUV, her shoulders sagged and she let out a breath she felt as if she had been holding thirty minutes. She should just speed away, but since he seemed to be determined to torment her, he would probably chase her down.
As she drove toward Camden’s only shopping center, she called Grammy Evelyn and told her she would be late. Her heart kept up a drumbeat in her ears. Such a huge spike of adrenaline had flooded her system she might never calm down.
Reaching the strip mall, she drove behind Casa Familia and parked in the darkest corner of the employees’ parking lot, where she hoped no one would see her Sorrento. She had expected him to park out front with the other customers, but he followed her and brought his pickup to a stop beside her.
He walked over and opened the SUV’s door. “Are you sure it’s dark enough back here? Maybe we could park in the alley.”
She scooted out, ignoring his smart mouth and pulling her hobo bag behind her. They walked toward the front door.
“Why are you parking in the employees’ parking lot?” he asked.
“Because I want to. And I know the owners. Their daughter and I were friends in high school. Why do you ask?”
“It’s pretty dark is all I’m saying.”
“You’re concerned for my safety?”
Before the conversation could become more confrontational, they arrived at the entrance. She had suggested Casa Familia for a reason. It was a popular, colorful haunt that held happy hour at this time of day. A loud crowd was always present
They stepped inside to a roar of conversation and earsplitting Tejano music, just what she had hoped for. The place was brightly decorated for Christmas and the crowd was larger than usual. Drake asked the hostess for a table for two, his voice almost a yell.
Inwardly, Shannon smiled.
“Right this way,” the hostess shouted. She led them to a booth at the back of the dining room a few steps from the bar’s wide entrance. They were surrounded by noise and bodies passing in and out of the bar. The din of many voices combined with the blaring music made conversation impossible.
“Do you have a quieter spot?” Drake asked the hostess in an elevated voice.
“Nossir,” she yelled back. “Somebody just left or we wouldn’t even have this.”
Shannon looked over the crowd, still smiling inside. Though she couldn’t see Drake’s face, she heard him grunt. He probably never got this kind of treatment in a restaurant. Serves him right, she thought.
“This is fine,” Shannon told the hostess, who was obviously eager to escape them.
Shannon shrugged out of her coat and claimed the side of the booth that would allow her to
watch the front entrance. She hardly ever came here that she didn’t run into mutual acquaintances. She wanted to know who might see her and call her tomorrow asking about her escort. Who knew? Someone might even recognize Drake.
Drake, too, shed his coat and cap and scooted into the booth. H
e ran a hand through his perfectly-layered hair, but it still looked mussed and sexy, just like that night at the Worthington. Shannon cautioned herself again about letting her focus be diverted and looked over the crowd for the cocktail waitress. A strong shot of alcohol was what she needed to settle her nerves.
Seconds later, the young woman appeared. “I’ll have a margarita with a splash of Grand Marnier,” Shannon said.
“Top shelf,” Drake told the waitress, then ordered a Dos Equis for himself.
Shannon thought of the price of top shelf liquor and started to protest, but stopped herself. Though she didn’t know Drake that well, she suspected that if he was buying, he always asked for the best. The waitress had no sooner left before a waiter came, presented them with menus and hurried away.
“It’s too loud to talk,” Drake shouted.
Thank God for that. Shannon studied the menu, not wanting to look at him.
The waitress brought their drinks. Shannon called on all of her will power to keep from gulping hers. The waiter followed the waitress, ready to take their orders. Shannon pointed to taco salad on the menu and Drake ordered beef enchiladas. When their food came, Shannon ate lightly and hurriedly and mostly in silence since yelling was the only option for talking. But soon the crowd had had dwindled and the din had diminished to a purr.
“Decent food,” Drake said in a normal tone. “Is it always this loud?”
“It’s happy hour.”
She signaled the waitress and ordered another margarita. Drake declined a second beer.
“So tell me about your business,” he said, pushing his plate aside and resting his forearms on the table.
The question surprised her. She couldn’t believe he had any real interest in her brokerage. “Nothing to tell. A small town sales office. Just me and my team. Nothing like what you do.”
He leaned forward. “Not typical. I had my assistant look you up. You’re a multimillion dollar producer, even in this small population. That’s no mean feat.”
Her ego trilled. She wanted him to know she was good and was flattered to hear him say it. But that didn’t mean that she wasn’t wary.
As the waitress came again and placed a frosty margarita in front of her, Shannon gave him a quizzical look. “Why would you do that? Look me up, I mean.”
“Why wouldn’t I? We got along. We had a good time.”
Hah. And “a good time” was all that Saturday night had meant to him. An opportunity for sex with someone besides his regular partner. By now, he had probably made up with Donna Schoonover, if they had ever really broken up in the first place. Shannon drained her drink.
“How else was I going to find you?” Drake continued. “Or find out about you? You weren’t exactly forthcoming with information.”
“What difference does it make? We both know why you invited me to your condo at eleven o’clock at night. And for that matter, why I went. I’m not putting on any self-righteous airs here.”
A busboy came and cleared off the table, interrupting their conversation. She asked him to send the cocktail waitress. Two drinks was her limit, but so far, tequila hadn’t done much toward calming her. Even so, she was beginning to feel a buzz. “After this drink, I have to go home,”
she said.
“I also know you specialize in high-end homes,” Drake said, as if she hadn’t just declared she needed to leave. “I assume that house we just left is an example of your listings?”
“I list all of that builder’s homes. He and his wife and I went to high school together.” The waitress came with a third fresh margarita. Shannon thanked her and sipped. “He knows I work hard and I’m honest.”
Drake leaned closer, holding her in place with his eyes. “Does he now? Then he’s one up on me.”
Was that an insult? It had to be. Lord, his eyes were almost hypnotic. A flashback of those eyes dark with lust almost undid her determination to be strong and tough.
She sat back against the booth’s tall back, putting distance between them. “Why are you doing this? What is there to discuss? If you’re afraid I might become a pest in your life, you don’t have to worry. Until you showed up today, I’d almost forgotten that…that what happened …happened. Actually, I’ve put a lot of effort into forgetting it.”
“I hate hearing that, darlin’. My impression was that you didn’t think it was that bad.”
“What I thought isn’t the issue. You and I live in two different worlds. And for the sake of my well-being, I think it should stay that way.”
“So that’s why you cut out in the middle of the night? For your well-being?”
She shook her head impatiently. “I told you. I had to go home. I live with my grandmother. I couldn’t let her wake up on Sunday morning and find my bed empty. With the bad weather, she would’ve been frantic with worry.”
As she reached for her drink, across Drake’s shoulder she spotted an acquaintance headed in their direction. Hal Grayson, Camden’s divorced city manager. Oh. Hell.
Hal had asked her out a few times, but she had only met him for drinks twice. He had made it plain he would like to see more of her, but she kept him at arm’s length. He was an attractive man, but not her type. She didn’t know what her type was these days, but a guy with fewer muscles than she and a whiny voice definitely wasn’t it. In terms of being attractive, he was far from being competition for Drake. She held her breath, hoping he didn’t stop. His eyes locked on hers, but he neither stopped nor spoke.
Even more stressed by the appearance of a local that she knew, she signaled the waitress again, then reached over and picked up her bag. “I’m going to the ladies’ room. When the waitress comes, if you don’t mind, order another margarita for me.”
Drake gave her that little-boy-grin. “There’s not a window or a back door in that restroom, is there?”
“Oh, just stop it.”
When she came out of the ladies’ room, Hal sat perched on a tall stool at the end of the bar, as if he were waiting for her. She couldn’t avoid him. His hand reached out and clamped around her arm and he pulled her near.
“How have you been?” he asked, placing his opposite hand on her waist. She could see he’d had more than one drink.
“I’m good, Hal.”
“Where have you been keeping yourself? I’ve called a couple of times.” His hand moved down to her hip.
She gasped. She had never allowed him to touch her in a proprietary way. He had to be drunk. She lifted her arm from his grip. “Look, Hal, I need to go. I’m with someone.”
“I saw. Is he from Camden? I think I’ve seen him before, but I can’t place him.”
A tiny panic gripped her. If he recognized Drake, she might just faint dead away. For that matter, Hal Grayson might faint at being in the same room with a celebrity millionaire of Drake’s repute. She had a vision of the whole room gathering around him and asking for his autograph or something equally bizarre. “Uh, no. He’s from out of town.”
“The Realtors’ party is coming up this weekend. You’ll be there, won’t you?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. I really do have to go, Hal.” She backed away.
Chapter 17
Drake had seen Shannon when she reappeared in the bar. The guy she had traded looks with a few minutes earlier—she thought she had hidden that little exchange—had reached out, caught her arm and drawn her over to where he sat. His hand had landed on her hip and she had made no attempt to move it.
An odd annoyance coursed through Drake, out of his control, pushing him to an uncharacteristic reaction. The closest word he could think of to define it was “possessiveness.” Then he realized it was jealousy. He was stunned. He had never been jealous of a woman, had always felt sorry for poor bastards who were so whipped they let a woman control their peace of mind. Men like his dad who let Mom flip him inside out and turn him into a fool.
The bar’s lighting cast Shannon’s crown in a flaming halo, her face in dramatic contrasts. She had a movie-star profile.
An image came to him of her standing in the firelight that Saturday night in his living room and how delectable she had looked. Tonight, even covered from neck to toe in a plain dress and boots, she still looked sexy and elegant. Having no trouble visualizing what was under all of that clothing and her hair loose and free, he felt a tightening behind his fly.
But she was a different person from the woman in the hotel ballroom and in his bed. Christ, she was behaving as if he had never seen her naked, never taken her to multiple screaming orgasms, never heard her beg him for satisfaction.
Was she fucking that dude at the bar? She could be. Hell, the guy might even be an ex of some kind. Who knew? Drake knew almost nothing about her.
Trouble and turmoil. He sensed she was both. A threat to his orderly life. Didn’t his family generate enough tumult without him asking for more from an outsider? Perhaps it had been a bad idea to even have looked her up. Maybe he should have been content to just know who she was and left her alone.
But he was confused by his own desires. Hot sex was one thing, but as juvenile as it sounded, what he wanted from her most was for her to look at him with genuine awe and admiration, the same way she had looked at him in that hotel ballroom.
Just then, the waitress appeared and he ordered Cokes for himself and Shannon both. She’d had three margaritas, which was enough. He didn’t want her snockered and driving drunk. He shouldn’t care, but he felt responsible for her.
Seconds later, his very own mystery woman was reclaiming her seat across from him in the booth. She must have applied new lipstick. Her lips looked full and wet and inviting in the indirect lighting, which sent another sensation south of his belt buckle.
Frowning, she gave an evil eye to the spot where her margarita glass had been, where a small glass of Coke and ice now sat. “What’s this?”
“Coca-Cola. You’re driving, remember?”
Her eyes narrowed. “What?”
In spite of warning himself not to be a damn fool, he asked, “So who’s the dude with his hand on your ass?”
Her green eyes roasted him, a tiny frown coming and going between her brows. “What?...No one had his hand on my—”
