by Francis Ray
Miranda’s heart thudded. Her mouth dried. There was no mistaking the type of work he was referring to, or her body’s eager reaction. She wanted him, but nothing had changed. There was no place for Lucian or any other man in her life. She took another step backward, and placed the plate and fork back on the table. “Thank you, but I’ve learned it’s best not to give in to temptation. Good-bye, Lucian.”
Lucian watched Miranda walk away, and wasn’t surprised to feel the same anger and hurt he’d felt after she’d done the same thing when they were in college. They’d met when she’d dropped her books in the library and he’d picked them up. One look and he had been a goner. It had taken him two very long weeks to wear down her resistance to go out with him. A month later they had become lovers.
He hadn’t planned on it happening. Fact was, he’d been scared of doing anything that might push her away. He could tell she hadn’t much experience with dating and even suspected she was a virgin. They’d been at his off-campus apartment testing the chocolate syrup his grandmother was thinking of carrying. She had wanted him to try it out. He had—just not in the way she had ever imagined: on a woman’s skin.
One moment they had been laughing as they made chocolate sundaes; the next moment he was licking the syrup off her fingers, the corner of her mouth. Things had rapidly progressed to his wondering how the chocolate syrup would taste on other parts of her body. He’d found out, and the experience had blown his mind. The taste of her had been incredible, an experience he would never forget.
They’d seen each other every chance they got for the next three weeks. . . . Then Miranda broke a movie date and afterward never went out with him again. He moved on to other women.
But no woman since then had even come close to making him feel a fraction of the emotions or the connection he’d felt with Miranda. Suddenly he realized just how much he’d missed that connection and how he had looked for it with every woman he’d dated since college.
Before Lucian knew it, he had followed the women into the house. At the door to the great room, he immediately found Miranda in the crowd of women. He hadn’t had to look for her; it was as if they were connected in some way.
Suddenly she looked toward him. Desire lanced between them like a current of electricity. Her eyes rounded; her parted lips trembled. It wasn’t over between them. The question was, what, if anything, did either of them plan to do about it?
Desire coursed through Miranda, and there was nothing she could do about it. Lucian had always had that effect on her. That was why back in college she had so long resisted going out with him. He drew her like metal shavings to a magnet. She had looked at him holding out her books to her the night they had met and forgot her own name. She’d been lost in the midnight black of his eyes, his sexy dimpled grin.
Instinctively she had known that caring too deeply for him could derail her plans of becoming a top fashion designer. But Lucian had been a hard man to resist. They’d had three fantastic weeks before reality had set in. She could have him, or a successful career. She’d made her choice and tried not to look back.
Since then she’d accomplished what she had set out to do, but a designer was only as good as his or her last collection. The upcoming fall/winter collection, in which she planned to preview her newest designs of scarves and belts with her day- and evening-wear collection, was four months away.
All of the designs were complete except for one magnificent gown that would be the crowning touch to the night and mark her as a designer who remained fresh and innovative. She had to keep her mind clear and focused. She couldn’t do that with Lucian around.
She turned and gave her attention to Emma, who was opening another gift, this one from Miranda. White paper and thick gold ribbon were cast aside in greedy and acceptable haste to reveal a set of handcrafted sterling toasting goblets. There was a collective indrawn breath as Emma held the goblets up for inspection.
“They’re exquisite, Miranda. Thank you,” Emma said.
“I hope you’ll use them to toast each other on your wedding night and every anniversary thereafter,” Miranda said. “Your initials and the marriage date are inscribed on the inside of the handle, so each time you pick up the goblet it will remind you of your special day and your love.”
There was a mixture of sighs and oohs. Emma crossed the lavishly decorated room to hug Miranda, then went back to her seat on the sofa and picked up another gift. Miranda was glad the attention was no longer on her. She didn’t want anyone to see the sadness in her eyes. She was happy for her friend and client. If, at times, Miranda felt sad that she would never experience such happiness or be married, it was her own secret.
Lucian had listened intently to Miranda and wondered if he was the only one in the room who heard the ache in her voice, the loneliness—if he was the only one who saw it in her face when she embraced the bride-to-be with her eyes closed. Or did they think the sheen of moisture in Miranda’s eyes afterward was due to happiness?
Why had she turned her back on love? At almost thirty-one, he found the words didn’t scare him as much as they might have at twenty-one. Good sex could make some men do anything and be as possessive as hell. He and Miranda had had great, mind-blowing sex, and he hadn’t known how to handle her not being as caught up in the relationship as he had been. He was stunned to realize that Miranda didn’t plan on letting herself care about him or any man.
While that fact might soothe a wounded ego that still smarted after all these years, it did nothing to take the edge off his wanting to make her his again. He didn’t think it would be any easier this time than the last to persuade her to go out with him.
Miranda could feel Lucian’s eyes on her. Clasping her hands in her lap, she kept her gaze straight ahead, refusing to succumb to his will. Giving him even a hint that her body still craved his would not only be foolish—it would be disastrous.
Emma pulled a frothy ivory bit of nothing negligee from a box, and the women broke into bawdy comments and suggestions. Miranda laughed, but didn’t comment. The first time she’d actually planned on spending the night with Lucian she hadn’t wanted him to see the cheap cotton gowns she slept in, so she had said she’d forgotten hers. He’d told her she didn’t need one, and he had been right. They’d made love most of the night. She’d awakened content and naked in his arms to make love again. With the right man, what you wore or didn’t wear was immaterial.
“Thank you, everyone,” Emma said, a tremulous smile on her lips. “I can’t believe I’ll be married in four weeks to the most wonderful man in the world. I wish all of you could feel the happiness I feel.”
Amid applause, the hostess stood. “Let’s go back on the terrace and finish decimating the desserts. I’ve also asked the caterer to set out a couple of trays of goodies to nibble on.”
“I wouldn’t mind nibbling on Lucian Faulkner,” a woman near Miranda whispered.
“Get in line,” replied another woman beside her. “I bet he’s as yummy as any of his chocolates.”
Miranda didn’t expect the spike of jealousy as she watched the two women making their way outside. But their comments reinforced her decision to stay as far away from Lucian as possible. Just like her father, Lucian was too handsome and too charming for a woman ever to be able to completely him call her own. Her mother had taught her that depending on a man for anything was asking for disaster. She’d known that since she was seven years old.
Chapter Two
MIRANDA PROMISED HERSELF that she was not going to be tempted. She lost her resolve less than an hour later as the bridal shower finally broke up. She’d hung back on the terrace. As the last woman filed inside, Miranda glanced around to make sure she was alone, then picked up one of the bonbons Lucian had offered her earlier. The women had raved about how scrumptious they tasted. Since she couldn’t have the man, she’d settle for one of his exquisite chocolates.
The rich flavor of the imported chocolate burst on her palate. Closing her eyes, she savored the tas
te. A moan slipped past her lips.
“Just as I remembered. Only your moan wasn’t caused by chocolate.”
Caught, Miranda snapped her eyes open. She spun around to see Lucian walking toward her in what could only be called a predatory swagger. Damn, he was gorgeous and dangerous, which made him all the more tempting. He made a woman want to throw caution and common sense to the wind.
But she’d done that once before, with almost disastrous consequences. She popped the last bit of chocolate into her mouth to give herself time to think. “We’ve both moved on since then,” she finally said.
He kept coming until she could see her own reflection in his eyes. She looked just the way she felt, panic-stricken and aroused. “Have we?” He ran a blunt-tipped finger down her jaw, causing her to tense, then shiver with awareness.
She thought he’d grin with triumph. Instead his gaze centered on her trembling mouth. “I still want you just as much as you want me.”
With her body almost melting at his feet, lying would be a waste of time. She’d resisted once; she could do so again. “Wanting isn’t enough.” She stepped back and held out her steady hand to show him she controlled her emotions. “Good-bye, Lucian. Please give Devin my regards.”
His large hand closed over hers, his thumb raking across her open palm, causing her to jerk. “This isn’t over.”
Pulling her hand free, she resisted the urge to rub her palm against her skirt in an attempt to stop the tingling sensation. But that wouldn’t help, because the disturbing spark had spread rapidly, centering in the middle of her body. Turning, she went inside to call a cab. With each step, the ache deepened. Her mother had been right: She had been a fool to have come to Dallas . . . even if she’d believed the chances of seeing Lucian again were a million to one.
Once Lucian made up his mind about something, he seldom veered from his decision. Almost ten years ago he’d vowed he wouldn’t take Miranda back on a silver platter. Now, parked across the street from where the bridal shower had been held, he admitted he’d take her any way he could get her.
It hadn’t taken a rocket scientist to figure out that Miranda had come from the airport in a cab and, being her independent self and after living in New York, she was used to getting herself where she needed to go. Only this time, he was taking her.
He glanced at his watch: 6:32 P.M. He didn’t know if she planned to fly back out or stay overnight, but he was going to find out. A cab pulled up across the street in front of the house and the recessed front door opened. Miranda hugged the hostess, then started toward the cab, pulling a rolling suitcase behind her. She was at least staying overnight.
Lucian had a wide grin on his face as he emerged from the SUV. The grin evaporated when Miranda saw him and stopped, then started forward again. This time her lips were pressed tightly together in annoyance.
“I’ll take you where you need to go,” he said, reaching for the handle of the Gucci suitcase.
She deftly stepped around him. “That won’t be necessary. And if you don’t mind, I’d like not to be the topic of gossip for the next month.”
Lucian looked over his shoulder and saw Callie, the hostess, and her best friend, Sydney, closely watching them. Both were wonderful women, but, like a lot of women, they probably enjoyed nothing better than to be able to be the first one with new gossip. He waved to the women, who dutifully waved back. “Thanks again, Callie. Take care, Sydney.”
By the time Lucian turned, the cabbie was loading Miranda’s luggage into the trunk of his cab. Hands in his pockets, whistling as if he didn’t have a care in the world, Lucian strolled to his Navigator and pulled off, thankful that Callie lived on a cul-de-sac and the cab would have to turn around. When it did, Lucian planned to follow.
Miranda breathed easier on seeing Lucian pull off. She hadn’t thought he’d give in so easily. She tried to tell herself she wasn’t disappointed and almost convinced herself. Digging into her oversize bag, she pulled out her cell phone, then hesitated before placing a call to her mother. Miranda loved her mother; she just didn’t always agree with her.
Jessica Johnson Collins, pampered only child of lower-middle-class parents, had married a rich man who had promised to love and take care of her forever. Instead, after eight years of marriage he had left her for a younger woman. Miranda and her mother had been forced to move from the big house with a swimming pool and servants on Long Island to her grandparents’ two-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn.
While Miranda missed her father, she had gradually adjusted. Her mother refused to. She had loved living the life of luxury her marriage afforded her and was bitter that it had been snatched from her, that another woman was living the life that should have been hers. Her anger increased on learning that alimony and child support wouldn’t even pay for the weekly trips to the upscale salon that she had grown accustomed to, or the two-seater red convertible Mercedes she loved, or her numerous shopping trips.
Miranda’s father’s death in an automobile accident two years later hadn’t appeased her mother’s anger or sense of betrayal. He’d been deep in debt at the time, and once his creditors were paid there was nothing left. In her mother’s opinion, her husband had failed her twice.
After the funeral, her mother had been even more relentless in teaching Miranda never to be dependent on a man to take care of her, as she had been. Consequently, Miranda dated very little. Her entire focus had been to sharpen the skills and talent her instructors had seen in her designs, to make enough money to give her mother the things she desperately seemed to need to be happy. Nothing had come close to disturbing her focus on doing just that . . . until Lucian.
Miranda’s hand tightened on the cell phone. She pressed the code to dial her mother’s number. She didn’t want to think about Lucian.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Mother.” Miranda settled back into the cushioned seat. “How are you?”
“Better if my back didn’t bother me so much. My inept doctor wouldn’t know how to treat a bunion,” her mother grumbled.
Miranda wondered why she’d asked. Her mother seemed to take pleasure in being miserable. Miranda rubbed her forehead at the unfairness of her thought. The divorce had not only humiliated her mother—it had thrust her into a world she was unable to cope with. They might have ended up homeless if not for her grandparents. As it was, with only a few hours of college credit, her mother had never seemed able to hold a job longer than a few months.
“I want another doctor,” her mother continued.
Miranda refrained from reminding her mother that she had been through five doctors in the past two years and not one of them could find anything wrong with her. “We’ll see. How is the decorating coming?”
“Wonderful.” Her voice perked up. “My friends are green with envy that I have a top interior designer working for me.”
“I’m glad you’re happy,” Miranda said as the driver turned onto a long driveway. With her success, her mother had once again been able to move in the social circles she had enjoyed when she was married.
“You don’t sound happy,” her mother said. “You saw him, didn’t you?”
There was no reason to elaborate on who her mother was talking about, but Miranda wanted to lie. A twenty-nine-year-old woman should be able to stand up to her mother.
“Miranda, answer me this instant.”
“Yes. He happened to be one of the caterers at the bridal shower,” she explained.
“Bet it knocked him for a loop seeing you again and knowing how far you had come on your own,” her mother said gleefully.
Miranda doubted Lucian thought about her success. He was too much his own man to worry about or envy anyone else.
“You don’t need him or any other man,” her mother reminded her. “You listened to me, and see where it’s taken you? Straight to the top. It’s lucky for you that I came up that weekend to check on you and put a stop to that nonsense.”
Miranda had been embarrassed to find her mother waiti
ng for her when she’d come back to the dorm after spending the night with Lucian. Jessica had arrived the night before. Two of Miranda’s professors had contacted her mother because Miranda hadn’t done well on a major exam and had been late with two design projects. If her grades fell, she’d lose her academic scholarship.
When her mother hadn’t been able to contact Miranda by phone all day Saturday, she’d gone to her dormitory. Miranda’s roommate told her mother that Miranda had signed out for the night and gone on a date.
Her mother had met Miranda at the door of her dorm room. She had never seen Jessica so upset and angry. She accused Miranda of throwing away her life for a man who probably had forgotten about her as soon as she left. She’d end up just like her, alone and with nothing.
Miranda might have tried to reason with her mother if Jessica hadn’t told her that two of her professors were worried about her. If she lost her scholarship, there was no way she could afford to remain in college. Scared, she finally agreed with her mother that she shouldn’t see Lucian again. She broke their date for that night to the movies, and never went out with him again. She’d graduated at the top of her class and tried never to look back.
The cab stopped in front of a single-story ranch house with late-blooming pink azaleas bordering the house and ringing the two giant oak trees in front. “I’m at Simone’s place. I’ll call you later.”
“You do that. I want to tell you the idea I had for the vaulted ceiling in the bathroom. I saw it on Oprah. My friends’ eyes will pop.”
Her mother was happiest when she was impressing people. “All right. Bye, Mother.”
“Bye.”
Miranda disconnected the phone and climbed out of the cab while the driver retrieved her luggage from the back. Including a generous tip with the fare, she took the suitcase and went up the winding walkway, feeling more relaxed already. Maybe coming to Dallas for a few weeks to finish up her design wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
