They went in to dinner shortly afterward, Rafe holding out his arm in a courtly manner for Lacey, As she leaned on him, steadying herself on her heels, she looked up at his face. He was just the right height when she was in heels. He'd be just the right height when she was barefoot, too, making her feel womanly.
"George's wife warned me you might show up in chaps and boots," she told him. "I'm not surprised to see you wearing spurs tonight."
"I hope you don't mind, but I guess the military is something that will never fully let go of me. Of course tonight I have to play the role of cavalry officer, just to keep up the image."
She nodded. It was another sign of his flair.
What was he like behind the boots and spurs and the decorations gracing his chest?
Whatever the answer, she knew the discovery would be exciting. It seemed like anything but a boring prospect for the next few weeks, if, as she now sincerely hoped, he continued to call her after tonight.
She smiled up at him and whispered, "Thanks for inviting me here tonight."
"My pleasure," he answered. "I'm glad you could come."
The dinner conversation gave Lacey further revelations about Rafe Chancellor. As the wine flowed and the meal progressed, different men rose from their seats to toast and make speeches. Reminiscences were recalled, stories about close calls in Vietnam and humorous anecdotes about life on military posts held Lacey spellbound and produced tears of laughter in her eyes. She found herself hanging on every word. She propped her elbows on the table as she leaned forward with interest, absorbing all of this background information on her date.
How many women, she asked herself, were given references and resume's for men who wanted to date them? How many people were given such privileged insights into such serious aspects of another person's past on the first date? How many people ever had the opportunity to meet a living legend?
She had been in Rafe's company briefly only once before, but through his friends and acquaintances she felt she knew him better than many married couples knew their spouses. It was a good sign too that she liked his friends; but as revealing as everyone had been with her in describing Rafe Chancellor, she felt they each knew only the tip of the iceberg. She felt a wealth of warmth stored within him. She liked his humor and his bravado and his bold, offbeat style.
Dinner went on pleasantly for a couple of hours. Lacey was content, yet she sensed Rafe's restlessness beside her. As pleasant as his friends were, she wanted to be alone with him, to ask him questions that didn't have anything to do with Vietnam. She wanted to feel his arms close around her and to taste more of the affection she sensed he was eager to give her. He appeared to be a touching person, in the way he had touched her shoulder, patted her hand, looked for small excuses, like passing the salt and pepper shakers, to brush hands with her. She wanted to touch him back, without the U.S. Cavalry looking on.
Eventually the party began breaking up. Rafe and Lacey were the last to leave; she was surprised when Bob left without them. "Aren't we going home in your 1933 Chevy?" she asked.
He shook his head as he escorted her ahead of him out of the Officers' Club. "I have the other car."
"I had a wonderful time," she said as they walked out into the parking lot. "Thank you again for having me with you."
"Don't tell me you're ready to go home."
"No, not necessarily," she answered hesitantly. She wasn't ready to go to his home, but she didn't want to leave him yet either. There was so much more she wanted to tell him, so much more she wanted to ask.
"Because the evening is still young and I'm not ready to take you home," he told her, taking her hand and stopping in the middle of the parking lot. "Thank you for being my date for the evening," he said, saluting her, then taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. "May I kiss you on the cheek?"
She smiled. He had already done that this evening when they had met for the first official time. "I suppose so," she said, grinning, and then giggled as their noses bumped. She wasn't used to being kissed on the cheek and wasn't quite certain how to position her face in relation to his. Leave it to Rafe, she thought, sighing against him as he kissed first one cheek and then the other. He'll find a way.
He pulled her gently into his arms and started dancing with her in the parking lot. Lacey was entranced. She had never met a more romantic man. He found music in the stars; his blood beat to the rhythm. He was a smooth dancer. Naturally, her mind added. Their bodies fit nicely together.
"I hope you don't think I'm too forward," he said to her, his cheek light against hers as he turned with her in a sensuous, slow step.
"I don't," she answered. "You've been wonderful. You know you captured my imagination." And you're now slowly working on lassoing my heart, she thought.
"Would you like to go dancing?" he asked.
"You mean somewhere other than in the parking lot?"
"Uhm-hm," he said, his lips against her ear as he kissed her cheek again and continued to hold her close against him.
They did fit together well, she thought, just the way she had known they would. "That would be nice," she said, knowing whatever they did, it was too early to let go of him after finally finding him.
He put his arm around her shoulder and turned to walk with her toward a strange-looking low-slung automobile.
"Whatever kind of car is this?" she asked when he opened the passenger door and held it for her to slip inside. "Not another antique, is it?" It smelled new. It also smelled expensive.
"It's an Excalibur," he told her, and slammed the door.
She ran her hand over the rich upholstery and stretched her legs in the comfortable space in front of her. Just like everything else she was learning about him, it figured that he wouldn't have an ordinary car like most mortals. He'd have something with flair and style. Everything about him would stand out from the crowd—from his height to the kind of car he drove.
He climbed in beside her and looked across at her. "You're some kind of lady."
"Me?" she said, laughing. He was some kind of man. "I haven't done anything. You're the one."
He shook his head. "You're a neat lady. I'm sure glad George told me about you."
"I'm glad too," she said, her grin widening. "Maybe I should send him flowers."
He looked at her for a long time as if stunned by the starlight. "You have to understand. I love women. I love the affection of a woman. And I'd like to be your friend and lover. But right now I'd settle for just being your friend. If you'll let me."
Lacey grinned. "I'd like that very much," she answered, growing hot just at the thought of being this man's lover. She already felt as if they had been friends for years. She wanted to reach out and touch him as much as he seemed to want the same with her.
"I hope you don't think I'm being too forward," he said again. "But you're a neat lady and I like your company."
"Thank you," she said. "I'm enjoying being with you too. And I like being affectionate, as long as it's not misinterpreted."
He reached out and touched her hand. "I don't want you to feel that if I touch you or hold you, then you have to feel obligated to do anything else. You're your own person, and whatever affection you'd like to give back to me, I'll be happy to accept. We'll go by your rules."
She blinked, awed. No man had ever spoken to her so openly. That was what struck her as so unique about Rafe; he didn't play games with her. He was attracted to her, he was telling her how much he wanted to make love to her, but he was telling her it would be on her terms and when she was ready. Maybe this was some kind of new male strategy, because she was ready now, but she wasn't going to tell him that.
"Thank you," she said, and leaned forward, hugging him. He held her as if they were parting in preparation for a lengthy journey after knowing each other for a long time instead of just having found one another. Could it have been as recently as tonight?
He held her for a long while. She felt his breathing, erratic, excited, and then realized her own r
eactions were just as crazy. She smiled as he kissed her cheeks again; she had never met a more tender man.
He let her go, but looked at her as if he wasn't convinced she was sitting in his front seat where he could reach out and touch her warm body. He turned and started the car, easing it out of the parking lot and into the main road.
"You won't mind if we go by my house first?" he asked as they left the Air Force base and headed along the Back Bay drive. "If we're going dancing I need to change out of this uniform."
"Fine," she said, grateful he was stating why they were going to his house. She would hold him to leaving again for the dancing, just in case he decided to change her friend status to lover.
He lived on the outskirts of the city in a house that couldn't be seen from the road. A long tree-lined drive led along a wooden pasture fence for a distance, making Lacey wonder if this was a road or his driveway.
It was his driveway, she soon realized as he made a sharp left turn and drove the car into the garage next to the 1933 Chevy. The Kincaids must have left their car here to pick his up, Lacey decided, waiting for Rafe to walk around to her side to let her out.
He took her hand as he helped her out of the car, and kept it in his as they approached the back porch. Lacey waited while he found the correct key and opened the door, inviting her to precede him inside.
He guided her through the utility room into a wide kitchen and breakfast area with a recessed bay window. He flipped light switches as he went, leading her through the modern kitchen into the den, dominated by a complicated-looking stereo system. Rafe went over to the unit and flipped another switch, filling the room with country music. He smiled, returning to her and taking her in his arms again, dancing around the room with her.
Lacey laughed, entranced with this person who integrated music so thoroughly into his life. He was a good dancer, too, and it was pleasant to feel his heart beating and feel his cheek against hers. She thought again of his scar and wondered if he could feel the softness of her cheek the way she could feel the subtle texture of his skin.
"We could stay here," he whispered.
"Uh-oh," Lacey protested, liking it even better when he kissed her on the cheek again and then on the lips. She laughed against his mouth, loving the spontaneity of this man.
"I hope you don't think I'm too forward," he said another time.
"No," she said, drawing a little away from him so that he could see she wasn't offended. "Don't stop asking. It's just that tonight isn't the night."
He nodded in acquiescence and let her slip out of his arms as she turned to study the framed posters and art he had decorating his walls. He told her his stories behind his photograph of himself with his favorite horse, the sabers and stirrups mounted on plaques, pictures of helicopters in the jungle, and a poster on the evolution of the Air Cavalry.
"I like your furniture," she told him, looking around. "You probably won't believe this, but we have the same taste."
"Do we?" he asked, looking for another station on the radio.
"You have all dark wood bamboo. I have all the blond bamboo."
He looked across the room at her, another mind-stabbing glance that said he was overwhelmed by that simple coincidence. "Would you like to see the rest of the house?"
She nodded eagerly. He took her into the living room, where a papasan chair accented bamboo etageres. Fine crystal stemware sat on the shelves. "I have a papasan chair too," she said, delighted as she looked at the artwork on the walls. They were all original rubbings from Eastern temples. That appealed to the artist in her. He told her about the different pieces of furniture and turned and directed her down the hallway, where she lagged behind him to admire the other framed paintings along the walls.
He led her into his bedroom, decorated with more prints and original drawings, a mother and child, scenes from some of the places he had lived around the world. The room was spacious, furnished simply with a bed, dresser and chair. The hide of a cow was spread across the carpeted floor.
"I do like your taste in art," she said, trying not to stand too close to the bed so that he wouldn't get the wrong idea. It was difficult to be impersonal about a room when there was the intimidation of a bed glaring at her right at knee level.
"Tell me what you think of this," he said, dragging a large poster out from beneath the bed. "This is the explanation that goes with it," he said, continuing to talk to her as she read about the poster and how he had produced it, hiring an artist to create a scene that commemorated the centennial of the U.S. Army C.G.S.C. school.
Lacey tried to concentrate on the words, comparing it to the picture, trying to pay the least attention to Rafe, who was taking off his jacket, pulling off his boots, unbuttoning his shirt-undressing around her.
Read the poster, she told herself. Pay attention to the words. Ignore the sounds of his pants coming off and the implication of what could happen next.
I can't believe he's doing this, she thought. On a first date. Does he do this with every date he has the first time?
She blushed, burying her nose in the sheet in front of her, trying to think of something "arty" to say.
He walked in front of her, jeans in place of the yellow-striped blue pants from the uniform.
She sighed. At least he had gotten dressed again. Maybe she should take that as a compliment that he had accepted her so completely, so quickly, that he thought nothing of undressing with her in the room—and then dressing again.
Almost. He had his shirt off.
Lacey smiled at him, her eyes mirroring her confusion. What did he have on his mind?
"Well, what do you think?" he asked. It took a few seconds for her to realize he was referring to the print now, not the fact that he looked terrific in bare skin. "Notice anything?" he asked.
In the print, not the body, she told herself, training her eyes back on the drawing in front of her. She stared at it, trying to forget the well-toned angles and lines of his arms, shoulders, chest.
"Oh!" she squealed, suddenly seeing what she should have seen when he handed the print to her. "That's you. I thought it looked familiar—I'm impressed."
He pushed the print aside to sit on the edge of the bed, pulling on his western boots to replace the cavalry dress boots he had just shed. When he stood again, it was to lean forward and kiss her, taking her very gently in his arms.
Lacey smiled, liking these sensations of gentle loving sweeping through her veins from his touch. It was so easy to cling to him, so easy to open her mouth wider for him, so easy to let him take her down to the bed with him and lie in his arms.
He pushed the hair out of her eyes and smiled at her. He brought his lips next to hers again, and tenderly kissed her. "Sure you don't want to stay here tonight?" he whispered.
She smiled, lazily looking at him, kissing him this time herself, and shaking her head. "You said dancing, and I'm going to hold you to it."
"I thought you'd say that. But I had to ask. I hope you don't feel like I'm too forward, ma'am."
"Not at all," she answered, knowing he was not going to press her into anything she didn't want, warming even more toward him because of it. "I'm glad you asked. I hope you ask again. Just not tonight."
"I'll ask again," he said, "friend." He kissed her again, and then he sat up, letting her get up on her own as he left the bed to rummage in the closet for a western-style shirt to go with his jeans.
Lacey watched him openly now, admiring the way his body moved, finding a new attractiveness in his slim physique. It pleased her to be watching him dress, knowing that he was moving unselfconsciously in front of her.
He finished dressing, tucked in his shirt and looked for a belt to feed through the loops. Then he pulled a hat from the top shelf of the closet, a different one from the hat he had worn on the plane in Atlanta; this one was straw with a rattlesnake band.
"Where did you find that hat band?"
"I made it," he said, tossing her the hat and pointing out the snake's rattle
r pointing up in the back of the hat.
Yes, she thought, that did fit her image of "mountain man". She stood up, handing the hat back to him, and inched farther from the bed. It was too inviting. He was doing too many things right. He couldn't be totally real. She'd better move away from the bed before she found her fingers turning down the covers.
"I'm ready," she announced.
He looked at her, at the bed, and smiled, then put his hat on his head and took her hand as he turned off the light switch in the bedroom and pushed her ahead of him down the hall to the den, through the kitchen and out of the house.
Chapter Seven
The music was lively, blaring into the parking lot of the lounge. She waited for Rafe to walk around to her side of the car to let her out, then kept holding his hand as he locked the car. As they stepped up to the entrance, he slipped a hand around her waist and she slipped her arm around his, hugging next to him, loving the feel of the man, matching her high-heeled stride to his loping, booted steps.
She needed to touch him to reassure herself it wasn't a pumpkin coach they had just stepped out of and that this prince on the white charger wasn't going to turn into a frog.
"Would you like a drink?" he asked, his mouth close to her ear because of the loud music.
She shook her head. "Let's just dance."
He took her hand and led her through the crowded tables to the dance floor. He was a good dancer, a man with rhythm. Whoever had told her that about him had been correct. He knew how to lead her through dances she had never tried before, making her feel as if she had become an expert in less than one lesson. They danced fast songs, disco and slow songs, hanging on to each other intimately.
Finally on a particularly fast number, Lacey pleaded for a break. Rafe took her hand, leading her off the dance floor, and picked out a table where they could still watch the other dancers while sipping two beers.
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