And all of that was Sandy’s doing.
He ambled toward her, more enthralled than ever by this young woman with her radiant smile and brilliant mind. She spotted him. Her smile wavered for only a second, then she refocused on the people milling about the booth. He was close enough now to hear how enthusiastically she introduced everyone to Yes! Yogurt. He stepped into the open, U-shaped exhibit with her, found another tray and began helping. When he could snatch a moment between chatting with visitors, he leaned toward her and whispered, “You’re a genius.”
She looked startled at first. Then her smile deepened and she said, “I wondered how long it was going to take you to figure that out.”
He laughed. They worked side by side for the rest of the evening. Drew thought he’d never before enjoyed being part of a team as much as he did this night.
* * *
“TIRED?” SANDY ASKED, although personally it was all she could do to keep from skipping down the broad downtown sidewalk. They’d taken the shuttle from Chicago’s convention center to the small hotel where they were staying, but she knew as soon as it dropped them off that she wasn’t yet ready for the silence of her room.
“No,” Drew said, sounding surprised. “I thought I would be, but actually...”
“You’re wired.”
He looked at her and grinned. “Yeah. That’s it.”
“Then let’s walk.”
“Walk? Aren’t your feet killing you?”
She laughed and gestured toward the walking shoes she’d slipped out of her tote bag and onto her feet as soon as the show ended. Drew grinned.
So they walked.
“I always feel this way after opening night of a show,” Sandy said. “It takes me hours to come down. I love meeting all those people, trying to get them excited about my product.”
“And you’re good at it.”
“A genius, actually. I have that on very good authority.”
She paused as they crossed a bridge over the Chicago River and stared at the lights reflected in the water, at the mirror-image of towering buildings shimmering in the dark depths. The sounds of traffic behind her—a random horn, the chug of a decrepit cab engine, the screech of brakes—gave her a sense of having come home.
She sighed contentedly despite the frigid bite of Chicago’s famous wind, and smiled. “Don’t you miss the city?”
“No.”
“But you grew up here. How could you not miss it?”
He shrugged. “Maybe because I know what else is out there, besides all the sparkle.”
“Well, I miss the bright lights,” she declared. “Everything’s so alive in a city, especially Chicago.”
Especially tonight. And it was more than the success of their exhibit; she couldn’t deny that, if she was honest with herself. It was because of Drew. His presence at her side tonight had magnified everything.
“Then what are you doing back in Tyler?”
“It’s a good job.”
She had better reasons, but hesitated to spoil the mood. Tonight felt too perfect, too magical. She wanted to keep it that way, despite the faint warning bell in her head that told her this was crazy, walking at his side like this, talking to him in a way that left her open for examination. You’re nuts, Alexandra.
“Better than the job R. D. Wernikoff offered you?”
See? Definitely nuts, to think she could both open up to him and keep him from getting too close. “How did you know about that?”
“Okay, let me get this straight,” he said, ignoring her question. “You’re ambitious and talented. You’d rather be in the city than back in Tyler. You had a major-league job offer, which no doubt came with major-league money attached, versus a small-potatoes job with money to match. You took the small job in the small town you’re glad to be out of. I’m sure there’s logic somewhere in there, but I’ll be darned if I can find it.”
Nothing could rattle her tonight, she decided. Not even Drew Stirling’s probing. “What are you doing in Tyler?”
“Are you being evasive?”
She grinned. “Do you plan on giving up the inquisition anytime soon?”
“Are you ever going to run out of questions to answer my questions?”
“No.” She laughed at the bemused expression on his face and he joined her. Why was she fighting it? If there was karma at work here, as she sometimes found herself thinking, maybe it wasn’t bad karma. Maybe it was just unfinished business. Maybe this was the way it was supposed to work out, after all these years.
And maybe you’ve used up every single one of your brain cells these past few weeks. That seemed a more plausible explanation for the ease with which she was caving in to Drew’s pressure. Finally, she said, “I’m there because of my grandmother.”
“Okay. This sounds promising.”
“We’ve always been close. Very close.” He was studying her so intently that she couldn’t look into his eyes and keep her train of thought. His intensity was too disconcerting, as if he could see through her and into her. “When Gran moved into Worthington House a few months ago, I guess I got worried that maybe she wouldn’t be around long.”
“Some people might have thought she had plenty of family in town to take care of her.”
The way he said it made Sandy think it wasn’t what he himself thought. After all, there were probably others who could have taken on responsibility for his grandfather, too. But reading so much into what Drew said was probably nothing more than fanciful thinking on her part.
“I know,” she admitted. “But I didn’t want to wake up one morning and find out I’d lost precious time with Gran all for the sake of some big-bucks career move. That made no sense to me.”
“Wow,” he said, so softly she almost missed it in the rumble of a truck on the bridge behind them. “That’s good. I like that.”
His approval shouldn’t have created such a warm spot in her heart. But it did.
“We’d better get back,” she said, moving toward the hotel again.
“Why?”
“Because it’s late. And we have an early morning and a long day ahead of us.”
He fell into step again beside her. His arm brushed hers as they walked. Sandy felt the instantaneous charge she had come to expect every time they touched. She had hoped that reaction would disappear during these past weeks, as she’d overworked herself to the point of exhaustion. A crazy emotion she could only identify as elation burst forth in her chest when she realized it hadn’t. She tried to squelch the feeling, and once again questioned her decision to fight this thing that happened between them so effortlessly, so naturally.
“So, I guess you’ll fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow?” he said.
He knew the answer to that as well as she did, so she gave him a look instead of a response.
“Then what’s the hurry? We should go dancing.” He did an impromptu cha-cha, minus a partner, as they crossed the street. “Or we could sit up and read to each other from the serial-murder thriller I have in my suitcase. Purchased on your advice, I might add. Or how about this? We could eat overpriced cashews from the minibar in your room and lick the salt from each other’s fingers.”
Sandy laughed. “I think the smart thing would be to soak my feet and call it a night.”
“Do you always do the smart thing?”
The answer, of course, was yes, usually. But she couldn’t bring herself to tell him that.
He walked her all the way to her room, which she knew was a mistake; but he was adamant about his misplaced gentlemanly impulses. He stood in the doorway looking forlorn, the twinkle in his eyes telling her he hoped she would take pity. She closed the door, whispering, “Good night, Drew. You’ll thank me for this in the morning. Six a.m. comes awfully early.”
She le
aned against the door, eyes closed, listening to her heart pounding and wishing her exhuberant spirits hadn’t just ebbed away, leaving her feeling empty and alone.
She hung her dress neatly in the closet beside the others she had brought, pulled on her flannel pajamas and the ratty robe that didn’t match. She washed her face and brushed out her hair and began trying to convince herself that a few dozen sit-ups would get her ready for sleep.
She’d done ten when she heard the soft knock on her door. She dropped back to the carpet and let her arms flop at her sides. She knew who it was, of course.
The next knock was a little louder than the first.
This was insane. She couldn’t even consider opening her door to him. This was a hotel room, for heaven’s sake. She was in her pajamas. Her flannel pajamas. Nope, opening the door wasn’t even a remote possibility.
The third knock was loud enough that Sandy figured people up and down the hall must be checking their doors now. How long before someone called Security? She dragged herself up off the floor, went to the door and peeked through the peephole. Yep, there he stood.
“Go away!” she said, pressing her forehead to the door.
“Can’t do that,” he said.
“You certainly can!”
“No. No, I can’t. I have something of a crisis here, Sandy. You’re the only one around I can turn to.”
She knew better. She heard it in his voice: this was one of his sneaky little ploys. But she opened the door and peered out over the chain, which was still in place. “What kind of crisis?”
He turned his head, glancing up and down the hall. The dim overhead light gleamed off his unruly curls. When he looked back, his sheepish smile was as irresistible as a little boy’s. “Not out here, okay?”
The only crisis going on, Sandy thought, was the one inside her own head.
Even as she lifted the chain and opened the door, she knew she wasn’t letting him in because she believed for one minute that he had some kind of problem. She was letting him in because she wanted to. Because his grin reached inside her and tweaked at those little-girl places she didn’t visit often.
And because his eyes suggested that she acknowledge those womanly places she also tended to stay away from.
Yes, a crisis was brewing, but it had nothing to do with whatever excuse Drew had concocted.
He closed the door and sagged against it. “Thank goodness.”
“What is it, Drew?”
“If I hadn’t known you were here, I’m not sure what I would’ve done.”
“I’m waiting.”
“My minibar. It was out of cashews. But I knew you’d have some. You do, don’t you?”
She wanted to laugh at the melodrama with which he delivered his lines. But she discovered she didn’t have enough breath in her to laugh. Her chest felt constricted, tight. Maybe because her heart was still pounding too fast. Way too fast for the few sit-ups she had done.
She tried to look and sound severe. “If I give you cashews, will you leave?”
Obviously, she had not pulled it off. He gazed into her eyes and shook his head.
“Drew...”
He took a step in her direction, and she found herself paralyzed, unable to retreat.
“You’re ravishing in flannel. You know that, don’t you?”
“Nobody likes a wise guy, Drew.”
He grinned. “I wouldn’t say that again if I were you. I think your nose just grew a quarter of an inch. What’s the truth, do you think? That you find it endearing when I’m a wise guy?”
“I really want you to leave.”
He crinkled his face and groaned. “Oh, no! There it goes again. Now, personally, I don’t mind a prominent nose on a woman. But you probably don’t want this getting out of hand.”
Shaking her head, she walked over to the minibar, retrieved a small can and thrust it at him. “Here are the cashews. There’s the door.”
He took the can without touching her fingers, studied it, then studied her again. “If you really mean it, I’m gone.”
For the second time that evening, Sandy felt something begin to ebb out of her, something she felt only when Drew Stirling was nearby. She had felt it as soon as he stepped behind the booth with her at the convention center, an elation that was absent when he was not around. Oh, she knew she was capable and complete all on her own. She’d learned the value of self-reliance from Gran a long time ago. But somehow, when Drew was near, the whole world suddenly became more vivid. Music had more melody and sunshine more warmth and her own heart more lilt. It was almost the way she’d felt when she went away to college and fell in love for the first time with some shallow but pretty college boy, as if the world were suddenly new and fresh.
Almost that way, but not quite. No, this was different. This felt quieter, more serene, more real.
This felt like a grown-up, make-a-commitment kind of thing. Why did that frighten her so? She was an adult. If she didn’t want this to get out of hand, she was perfectly capable of keeping it under control. Wasn’t she?
“So what’ll it be?” Drew asked quietly. “Am I out of here?”
She smiled and said, “And let all this flannel go to waste?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SANDY HEARD ALL the voices of reason that clamored for her attention as Drew took her into his arms. Gin’s voice. Gran’s voice. Sandy didn’t want to listen to them.
“What about all those stories about office love affairs?” she murmured as she hurriedly plucked at the buttons on his shirt. “What about—”
“That was them,” Drew said, his arms becoming entangled with hers as he tried to pull off her pajama top at the same time she worked to rid him of his dress shirt. “This is us.”
He had to be right, she thought, drowning in the warmth of his lips, shivering at the touch of his hand on her breast.
They fell onto the bed, casting off pajama bottoms and trousers, satin panties and boxer shorts. He still wore socks, and one leg of her pajamas still coiled around her foot. But those minor difficulties were no more important at this instant than her grandmother’s warnings.
“Oh!” Sandy said, feeling his touch between her legs and knowing that reason was about to run out entirely. Even as she arched to meet him, she knew she needed reassurance....
“What Gran said...” She sighed. “You Stirling men...” She moaned.
“Ancient history,” he murmured.
Sandy felt the quivers rising in her, taking her. His heat seeped into her. She touched him and found his body spare and hard and rough with springy curls, and she couldn’t caress him in enough places at once.
Love, she thought. So this is love.
Thank goodness she was beyond speech. Those weren’t words she wanted to let slip.
Then he lifted her legs and she wrapped them instinctively around his waist, pulling him to her, into her. And they moved together, a frenzied thrusting that pushed her over the edge. She cried out, clutching him, grasping at him, wanting him closer and deeper and harder, until she at last relaxed completely and lay still.
He lay still, too, his pulse pounding in her ear, which was squashed against his chest, and waited for her to open her eyes. Then he said, “I had no idea flannel was such an aphrodisiac.”
All she could manage was a breathless laugh before he began to move again, slowly this time. Deep and slow, so that the madness built only gradually. But it built, grew, quickened, until, together, they tumbled over the next edge.
* * *
SANDY LEANED BACK against the four fat pillows in the hotel’s king-size bed and managed to hold the telephone to her ear in spite of Drew Stirling.
He sat at the foot of the bed, her feet in his lap, massaging them with the hotel’s fragranced body lotion. With firm, circula
r motions, he touched her and soothed her and made it darn near impossible to think of anything but the feel of his skin on hers.
Since opening night she had spent the entire food show under the spell of his touch, his voice, the magnetic pull of his presence. Why should now be any different?
Because she had told herself it would. Because she had promised herself that leaving Chicago would be the end of it, and their Chicago stay was almost over. Once this trip was behind them, so was this interlude. Back home and back to normal.
No one, she told herself, needed to know that anything had even happened between her and Drew. Sure, she’d had that moment—more than one, actually—these past few days when she’d entertained the crazy notion that she and Drew were different. That these feelings between them were strong and pure. And permanent.
But all she had to do was remind herself that Gin had surely thought the same, in the beginning. For that matter, so had Gran.
No, Sandy wouldn’t repeat their mistakes. This thing with Drew was a one-time aberration. An exciting memory, nothing more.
She’d told herself that a lot these past couple of days.
From the other end of the phone line Britt Marshack’s voice called to Sandy, but so did Drew’s touch, from the foot of the bed. Deciding which call to answer was the toughest thing she’d ever done.
“Oh, yes,” she said to Britt, hoping her voice sounded normal. “Wildly, um, successful. I think even Drew will have to admit we made more of this show than either of us ever expected.”
She wiggled her toes at him.
Drew didn’t let go. Instead, he placed her bare foot on his bare chest.
“Well, tell me all about it.” Britt’s voice seemed to come from a great distance, a sensation Sandy knew had very little to do with long-distance phone lines or hotel switchboards. “Who did you meet? Did you actually sign new customers? How many new prospects?”
“Britt, I’m not sure I can think straight enough right now to even tell you about it.” Too true. Not with Drew massaging her feet. Actually, he now seemed to be inching up, working out the tension in her tight calf muscles. He seemed to know exactly where she ached, exactly where she needed his touch. One of his many talents.
Love and War Page 17
