by Debra Webb
A smile tipped his lips and she was glad to see that those volatile emotions no longer cluttered his handsome face. “Just like you,” he said huskily.
Amy’s heart skipped a beat and much-needed oxygen came in a hard rush. “Thank you.” She had dressed up a little today. She’d wanted to impress her new colleagues in research. The wrap skirt was her favorite, the filmy material with its vivid colors made her feel strong and even a little sexy. The sleeveless blouse fit nicely and had a kind of wrap design as well, but instead of tying, it had a couple of buttons on the side. The V-neck plunged just low enough to show a hint of cleavage but not too much. Her shoes were another funky buy, strappy sandals with just enough of a spiky heel to look feminine.
He’d dropped his hat on her coffee table and he stood there now, his hands shoved into his trouser pockets. “I like your place, it’s…” He took another look around and appeared to grapple for the right words. “It’s just what I expected.”
Not sure how to take that remark, she moved toward him. “Would you like something to drink?”
He shook his head. “I thought maybe we could talk.”
Amy was afraid to hope…afraid to even think for a second that he was here because he couldn’t live without her. Forcing the silly notion aside, she took a seat on the sofa, he sat down in the chair facing her. His navy suit and pale blue shirt were tailored just for him and looked as freshly pressed as if he’d just put them on. The color highlighted those gorgeous eyes.
He looked away for a moment and dragged in a big breath, then those steady blue eyes leveled fully on her once more. “Amy, I wish I knew all the right words to say to fix…” He shrugged. “…what happened. But I don’t. I do, however, know that the time we spent together was special. Very special.”
She sat completely still, afraid to move, to speak, even to breathe for fear of breaking the spell.
“I don’t want to pretend that last weekend never happened. I can’t just go on with my life acting like we never met.” He stared at the floor for a moment before meeting her eyes once more. “Is there some way that we can start this whole thing over again? Get to know each other, see if that special connection is as real as I believe it is?”
She forced herself to remain seated when every fiber of her being wanted to jump for joy. She wanted to dive into his arms and scream yes. Fighting to keep a calm exterior she said, “I’d like that. Very much. How…how would you like to go about starting over?”
Relief flooded his expression, making the devilish grin that slid across his face not quite so devilish but incredibly sexy and sweet. “I know where I’d like to start, but it wouldn’t be the wise thing to do. So why don’t you show me who the real Amy Wells is and we’ll take it from there.”
Oh, now that she could do.
“It’d be my pleasure,” she said with a distinctly mysterious air of promise.
She’d make tonight one night that this cowboy would never forget.
Chapter Thirteen
So far Amy had given him the Chicago version of what she’d gotten in Texas. They’d strolled through Grant Park. He had to admit that it was pretty impressive considering it sat on the edge of a large metropolis. The sun still shone high enough in the sky to make the view out over Lake Michigan a spectacular site. Between the elm trees and the unexpected splashes of color offered by the rose gardens one would never suspect that some of the nation’s tallest highrises, such as the Wrigley Building and the Sears Tower, were mere blocks away.
Now as they stood admiring the Buckingham Fountain he wondered briefly what was next on the agenda. A gentle breeze from the lake sent a cool mist against their skin. Her long silky hair shifted around her shoulders making him want to touch her. Looking at her with the Chicago skyline in the background he suddenly wished he had a camera and could capture this moment forever on film. She looked so serene and so damn beautiful.
“Next we eat.” She looked up at him and smiled. “Chicago style.”
The twinkle in her eyes told him that she was truly enjoying being in charge. And, oddly enough, he didn’t mind at all. In fact, he kind of liked it.
Rafael’s was dimly lit, but Amy knew the place like the back of her hand. The owner claimed that his restaurant was the home of the original Chicago deep-dish style pizza. There were a couple others who made the same claim, but as far as Amy was concerned there was no place on earth like Rafael’s. Well, except for the numerous others just like it, all run by the same owner, around town.
She watched John’s expression go from curious to hesitant as they entered the biker-themed food haven. She could imagine that he considered the dark, murky atmosphere just a little unsettling, the same way most people did the first time they came here. But the pizza would more than make up for it.
“Let’s sit over here.” She tugged him toward a booth that looked as if it had seen better days with its cracked Naugahyde seats. The graffiti on the walls and the plastic Italian checkered table clothes all looked authentic.
He slid onto the bench across from her and sat his hat on the seat beside him. “Considering we’re not wearing leather and didn’t ride in on a Harley, are you sure we’re at the right place?”
Amy laughed because she had a feeling he was about half serious. “I’m sure.” When the waiter dropped by she ordered an original with the works and a soft drink for herself. She looked to John to supply his own drink request.
“Beer.”
“I didn’t even ask,” she said to him after the waiter had gone, “if you like pizza.”
He shrugged. “Everyone likes pizza,” he offered without answering her question.
“Everyone likes this pizza,” she countered.
He settled back in his seat and studied her for a moment. “So this is where you come with your friends like Lance?”
Amy stifled a little smile. “Sometimes.” He probably thought this place looked like Lance’s style, since he’d been wearing leather pants today and had a number of visible tattoos on his arms.
“You and this Lance date from time to time?” John ventured without looking at her. He pretended to be distracted by the spicy pepper shaker.
“No, we don’t date at all. We’re just friends.” She loved that he was jealous. Then she wondered if he actually realized that he was behaving like a jealous lover. The lover part sent another delicious little shiver through her.
“So you come here just for fun as friends?” he persisted.
She crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head to consider him a moment before she answered. “No. We come here to eat when we’re hungry. The place you and I are going next is where we go for fun.”
His frustration level had just crept up a notch. She saw it in the almost imperceptible pulse of a muscle in his jaw. Sexy as hell, she decided.
He wasn’t the only one who could ask the questions. “You didn’t tell me why you’re in town.” She’d been so startled to see him she hadn’t thought to ask. It would be nice to think that he’d come just for her, but she had a feeling that wasn’t the case.
“We signed the contracts on the merger with Winterborne Industries today.”
She nodded. “I see.” Perfect. He’d spent the day with Regina and her father. To her supreme annoyance she felt that old nag of jealousy nipping at her emotions. That’s what she got for taking such glee from his discomfort.
“Cal-Borne Alliance officially gets under way next month,” he went on, seemingly immensely proud of the accomplishment.
“That’s good.” She hadn’t meant it to come out so hard and unfeeling, but it had just the same.
“But that has nothing to do with us,” he said, sensing her displeasure with the subject. “Tonight is about us.”
Just then the pizza came and cut right though the tension. Amy moaned with pleasure as she bit into a thick, juicy slice with its garden-fresh ingredients and maddeningly delectable crust. She’d have to work out an extra hour at the gym to burn off these delicio
us calories.
“You’re right,” John said after swallowing a swig of beer. “This is great.”
They ate in contented silence. He was as starved as she was and they’d put away nearly the entire pizza before they were finished.
She was glad now that they’d parked a few blocks away, the walking would help burn off a few of those gazillion calories she’d just consumed. She unlocked the driver’s-side door of her small coupe and depressed the unlock button. Though she rarely drove to work, whenever she went out at night she preferred to use her car rather than public transportation.
“What’s next?” he asked as he folded his long, lean frame into her compact car.
“Fun,” she said mysteriously. She didn’t know how he was going to take their next stop, but he wanted to know the real Amy Wells. And she loved the place. She was still a young woman after all. Country clubs were nice, but they were a little stuffy and the music had left a lot to be desired.
There was absolutely nothing about their next destination that could even remotely be called stuffy.
It would be the true test of John’s intentions. If he could hang with her on this one, there might just be hope for them. If not, well then, she was pretty sure he’d turn tail and run all the way back to Texas.
JOHN STOOD staring at the massive steel door for a full five seconds before he allowed Amy to drag him inside. Something about the Buddha sculpted into the heavy door had given him pause.
Just what the hell was this place?
He could hear the music.
Two seconds later, his hat in his hand, he stood in a nightclub with a distinctly Moroccan decor, but with odd little idiosyncrasies all around. The first thing to catch his eye were the wall paintings of women in repose. Then there was the long burnished-wood bar lined with stools. Antique light fixtures glittered a thousands shards of light over the couples gyrating on the floor. Around the perimeter of the dance floor were areas that looked almost like drawing-room settings with their Victorian-style easy chairs grouped around metal tables. And if that wasn’t enough to mess with a guy’s mind, there were long black leather and faux leopard-skin benches that formed groupings. Whoever had decorated this place had been in serious need of medication at the time. Or perhaps he or she had been over-medicated. Whatever the case, he’d definitely have to call it eclectic.
A deejay danced on a platform as what John presumed to be hip-hop screamed from the speakers. The club was definitely laid-back, but there was a wild quality to it that didn’t quite fit with his sensibilities. Still, Amy looked excited to be here. He frowned, trying to remember the establishment’s name. Oh, yeah. The Funky Buddha.
It was funky all right.
She tugged on his hand and pointed across the room. He followed her gesture and spotted the empty table. God only knew if they could squeeze through this crowd quickly enough to reach it before someone else did.
When they’d taken possession of the chairs and pulled them close so they could speak to each other without yelling, she said, “Don’t you just love it?” She smiled and surveyed the couples bumping and grinding on the floor.
“Love it,” he enthused, nodding like a wobble-head puppy glued to the dash of a speeding car.
“What’s it gonna be?” A barmaid shouted as she paused at their table.
It wasn’t until she glanced curiously at his hat lying on the table that he considered just how out of place he must look. This was no place for a cowboy.
Amy ordered a virgin Margarita and he stuck with beer.
He remembered what she’d said about going out with her friends from time to time and he decided that this place looked exactly right for Lance. He would fit in here.
Amy said something but he missed it. He leaned forward and asked, “What?” He could hardly hear himself think, much less hear anyone speak.
“Do you want to dance?” She was already swaying from side to side in her chair to the sexy Latin tune now playing.
Panic slammed into his gut. The two-step was all that a cowboy like him had ever seen the need to learn. He peered out over the sea of swaying bodies and felt reasonably sure he’d never be able to master moves like that with his clothes on and while in the vertical position.
“I’m not sure that’s my speed,” he offered apologetically. He hated to turn her down but he hated worse the idea of embarrassing himself as well as her.
“Oh, come on, cowboy.” She moved in close, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “I know you’ve got the right moves. Besides, if this one’s not your style give it a minute and they’ll be playing something else.”
He hadn’t meant to be persuaded. He’d considered himself stronger than this…but he’d been wrong.
He was a pushover when it came to her.
The next thing he knew she was pulling him from his chair and in the direction of the undulating throng of dancers. The music was so loud it thumped in his head, in his chest, but the deafening quality faded into the background as Amy began to sway to the beat.
She closed her eyes and moved so sensually it stole his breath. Her hands glided over her body as she swayed and undulated those softly rounded feminine hips. The tempting rise and fall of her breasts jerked his attention upward, made him want to reach out and palm one. Instinctively he moved closer to her, his own body now shifting in time with hers. Slowly another kind of music took over, the sensual tension vibrating between them. The beat slowed and so did their rhythm. Slower, a little more bump, a little harder grind.
The music suddenly stopped. She was planted firmly between his spread legs, her pelvis snug against his, her face mere inches from his own.
“See, cowboy, I knew you had it in you.”
He almost kissed her right there. That lush mouth looked dewy sweet where her tongue had slid over her lips, dampening them and at the same time drawing his full attention there. Then someone bumped into him and the spell was broken. She backed out of the intimate embrace and weaved her way through the sea of people. He found her at their table sipping on her drink.
Whatever possessed him that night he would never know for sure, but he danced every dance with her. He didn’t let her out of his sight for fear that someone else would take his place. The dance partners on the floor changed practically every time the music did. But he never let her go.
Shortly after midnight Amy figured she’d better call it a night. She did have work tomorrow and John, well, she wasn’t sure what he had planned. But it was late and she was tired. A good kind of tired, but tired nonetheless. He’d surprised her tonight. She hadn’t expected him to go along with her, to dive in so readily.
“What’s next?” he asked as they climbed into her car.
He wore a smile but she recognized the weariness in his voice. He was an early riser, she imagined he was pretty beat by now.
“Time to call it a night. What hotel are you in and I’ll drop you off.”
She stopped at a traffic light in time to see the startled look on his face.
“You do have a hotel, don’t you?”
If his sheepish expression was any indication the answer was no.
“Actually I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” he confessed. He gifted her with a smile. “Any place will do.”
Amy sighed. She was going to regret this.
“You can stay at my place.”
God, she’d said it. There was no taking it back now.
“I wouldn’t want to put you out.”
She shook her head as she pressed the accelerator to set the vehicle back in motion. “Don’t be silly. It’s the least I can do. After all, you put me up for the weekend.”
He didn’t argue further. She couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. She mentally compared the length of her sofa with his tall frame. Wouldn’t work, she woefully suspected. She’d have to take the sofa and give him the bed.
She parked at the curb around the corner from her building and climbed out of the car. When he’d emerged as well she pressed
the lock button and headed toward her building’s main entrance. He caught up with her in three long strides.
“I don’t mind going to a hotel,” he offered again. “It’s not a problem.”
“Really, John, it’s okay.” She’d made up her mind, so why did he keep bringing it up? Surely he wasn’t as uncertain about all this as she was. A little shiver quivered through her at the idea that things could happen…
No. That wouldn’t be smart. They needed to take this slowly.
Inside her apartment she set the deadbolt and tossed her keys onto the table by the door. “Would you like some coffee or anything?” She kicked off her shoes and headed toward the kitchen. Café mocha would be good. She had the instant decaf kind so it wouldn’t keep her up and it would be easy.
“Only if you’re having something.”
Forever the gentleman, she mused. Then she thought about the way he’d moved on that dance floor. She smiled as she reached for the kettle. Who would have thought a straitlaced cowboy like him could move so sensually? She’d known he could do a darn good two-step and there was definitely nothing missing from his love-making moves. But not every man could move like that on a dance floor, especially not in a crowd of strangers to music he didn’t even like.
She knew what John Calhoun liked—country music. Beer-drinking, boot-stomping pure country. She’d seen the CDs at his house, noted the tunes he liked at the dance they’d attended at the Runaway Bay Country Club. He definitely wasn’t an alternative rocker or even a hip-hopper. But, damn, if he couldn’t ooze to a hot Latin beat. Whew! She started to sweat just thinking about it.
“It’ll take a couple of minutes,” she said as she strode back into the living room, which was, technically, part of the room she’d just left, but the divisions made by furniture and the cabinets made it feel like different rooms. Right now she needed a thick brick wall between her and the cowboy currently dogging her every step. Otherwise she was going to end up in his arms again, only this time they were all alone. No crowd of dancers to keep them from stripping off their clothes and following the instincts of their bodies.
