Irresistible You

by Francis Ray

  “I never joke about money or women.” Pierce thought that was a nice touch and absolutely the truth.

  “Wow.” Charles turned to stare at Sabra, who was standing with the power players of the college. “Their eyes are bugged.”

  “I’d say that’s a common reaction.”

  “Yeah,” Charles said slowly. “And Max is the one man she loves. That makes him a very lucky man.”

  Pierce didn’t expect to feel the sudden stab of something. His hand lifted to swipe over his face. Get a grip, he ordered.

  The student held out his hand. “Thanks. It’s nice knowing the legend isn’t invincible.”

  “Far from it.” Pierce shook the student’s hand, then turned to stare at Sabra as Charles went to the buffet table. She and his mother were saying goodbye to the president and the others. Sabra’s hand lifted to shove her hair out of her face, causing the material to hug her breasts. Pierce’s gut clenched. No, he definitely wasn’t invincible.

  As soon as the door closed, music, slow and dreamy, filled the room. Catherine loved to dance, and she pulled Luke to an area between the dining room and living room. Morgan and Phoenix followed. They were joined by others.

  Pierce skirted the dancers and went to Sabra. “You game?”

  She tossed her hair back in a reckless gesture. Her eyes sparkled as she placed her hand in his. “Another talent.”

  He pulled her into his arms, their bodies flush. He swayed, dipped. “With you, it just comes naturally.”

  She felt him, the heat, the hardness of conditioned muscles. His body, like his arms, seemed to wrap around her. “You do have talent.”

  “Glad you think so,” he murmured in her ear, his breath brushing across her skin, causing a ripple of pleasure to sweep through her.

  This could get her into trouble, but she stayed where she was, enjoying the way they moved together, the ease with which her body instinctively followed his, as if each already knew the other. Her hand was at the base of his neck, touched his silky hair, the wide band of silver holding it in place.

  She almost sighed. What would he look like if his hair were free? His chest bare? She couldn’t control the shiver that raced through her.

  “You’re cold?”

  Her laughter was part wicked, part torture. “Hardly.”

  His head lifted, he looked into her eyes again. His narrowed.

  Her heart thudded in her chest. “I’m thirsty.”

  “Coward,” he said, but he led her off the dance floor and into the deserted kitchen. He pulled her into his arms again. “What would you like?”

  She licked her lips.

  “Works for me.”

  His mouth touched hers, soft, gentle, and so very seductive. Between one breath and the next, her mouth opened, her tongue swept out to meeet his. She relished the hot taste. Her arms moved around his neck, her hands cupping his head.

  “You taste better than my fantasy.”

  No kiss had ever taken her so high, made her body ache with such need.

  His arms circled her, holding her tightly. “I wasn’t sure how much longer I could have gone without that. I missed kissing you.”

  It had been only one time, but she knew exactly what he meant. “You do have talent.”

  His head lifted, his hands palmed her face. The teasing smile she expected wasn’t there. “You think this is the norm.”

  “No, and that makes whatever this is uncharted territory.” She pulled her arms from around his neck. “Thus filled with potential land mines.”

  His dark brow lifted. “I thought you liked dangerous.”

  “That was before I met you.” Before his reaching hands touched her again she moved around the table to the cooler of drinks and picked up the first thing her nervous fingers touched. “You want one?”

  “I don’t think it will satisfy the craving I have.” Arms folded, Pierce leaned against the edge of the countertop.

  Sabra plucked another Pepsi from the ice, dried both off with a paper towel, and handed it to him. “You might be surprised.”

  He popped the top, then exchanged cans with her and popped hers. “I could have done that,” she said.

  “Home training.”

  Sabra leaned beside him and sipped her drink, hoping it would help her body cool down. So far it wasn’t working.

  Sierra pushed the swinging door open and paused on seeing Sabra and Pierce side by side. “More unexpected big shots from the college just arrived. Mama sent me to find you.”

  “Duty calls.” Sabra placed the can on the counter and left.

  Sierra let the door close as Sabra passed, then went to stand in front of Pierce. He took a swig of his drink. “Get it off your chest.”

  “Since you know what I’m thinking, it sort of loses its punch.” Going to the cooler, she pulled out a diet cola and popped the top.

  “You like her, like sparring with her,” Pierce said.

  “Sort of surprised me, too, given the circumstances.” She leaned back against the cabinet. “But that doesn’t mean I want forever for you and her.”

  “She plans on leaving the day after the play. Her schedule is booked for weeks afterwards,” he said.

  Sierra tossed him a look. “I seem to remember you flying to New York to see the owner of the art gallery that held Phoenix’s first opening. Then there were those before her who lived out of town.”

  He rolled his shoulders. “That’s different.” He answered her next question before she voiced it. “We were just having fun, nothing serious.”

  “Meaning with Sabra, it would be different?”

  “I’m not sure what it means with Sabra.” Draining the can, he crushed it in with a clenched fist. “I can’t get a handle on her.”

  “Or your hands?” Sierra said.

  Pierce blinked, then laughed, throwing his arms around his sister’s shoulder. “Why did we teach you how to talk?”

  “Because you had no choice, but mostly because I’m irresistible.”

  His mouth quirked. “It’s going to take some kind of man to catch you.”

  Sierra turned up her nose. “I’ve already told you. I don’t need or want a man cluttering up my life. Just look at you.”

  His expression sobered. “There’s nothing different about me.”

  Sierra rolled her eyes. “Why is it so hard for men to admit the truth?”

  Panic gripped him. The last time Sierra had made such a statement, a Grayson became engaged less than a week later.

  “I don’t think Sabra is the kind of woman who just has fun, which presents a problem to a fun-loving, no-strings man like you who obviously has a thing for her.”

  Pierce thought it wasn’t fair that women, at least in Sierra’s case, knew men so well while men didn’t understand women. At least he didn’t understand complicated ones like Sabra. “I’m glad you’re not a business rival.”

  “I miss the mark sometimes.”

  He realized she was thinking about the altercation with Shuler. “But you handled it. Shuler won’t underestimate the next woman he has to deal with.”

  “Let’s hope not.” She hooked her arm through Pierce’s. “Let’s go join the party. Sabra is probably looking for you.”

  “She’s too busy.”

  “Why don’t we go see?”

  They went into the living area and easily located Sabra standing with his mother and three well-dressed men in suits. Sabra looked up, and their gaze caught. A familiar warmth coursed through him.

  “It’s great being right,” Sierra said with undisguised satisfaction. “She’s definitely interested. You still have it, Pierce, but you just might have to think up a new game plan to snag this one.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  A NEW GAME PLAN.

  Pierce hadn’t been able to get Sierra’s words out of his head. As he walked Sabra to her door the words seemed to boom louder and louder in his brain.

  “Thanks, Pierce. I had a wonderful time.”

  Taking the key from her,
he unlocked the door and handed the key back to her. “I’m glad.”

  “You’ve been quiet since we left the party.” She slipped the key into her small clutch. “Problems at work?”

  His hand played with a lock of curly black hair. “A few.”

  “Any way I could help?”

  He wound more strands around his fingers. “Yes. Turn yourself into an ugly toad so I’ll stop thinking about you.”

  “You first.” She’d surprised herself by that admission. “This isn’t just going to disappear, is it?”

  His arms circled her waist, drawing her closer. “Not from where I’m standing.”

  She stared into his intense gaze. She had two choices: keep running or do what she’d wanted to do from almost the moment they met. Her hand splayed across his chest as he tugged her closer.

  “You really are incredible. I can see why Charles is intimidated.”

  She made a face. “Hopefully tonight will give him confidence and help him look at me as just a woman.”

  “But a woman like no other.” Pierce’s mouth brushed against hers, once, twice, then settled. His tongue slipped into the warm interior of her mouth, tasted her sweetness, fed on both of their needs. The kiss deepened. Helplessly, she clung to him, giving back all that he asked for and more.

  His head lifted, his mouth hovered bare inches over hers. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

  “I—”

  His mouth took hers again. His hand swept the elegant length of her back, then settled over her hip. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  The tip of her tongue grazed her upper lip. He made her hot all over. “You do know that you’re making it very difficult to decide. As long as I keep saying no, you’ll keep kissing me.” Her voice trembled. “You have a real talent for kissing.”

  His breath shuddered out. “Say yes, and we’ll continue kissing.”

  “Yes.”

  His mouth covered hers again for a long, deep kiss that emptied her brain and made her body yearn for his. He nipped her earlobe. She whimpered. “You make me weak.”

  “Sabra.” Her name was a ragged thread of sound. He leaned her against the door. It swung open. Isabella barked excitedly, then reared up to place her paws on Pierce. “Just when I was beginning to like you.”

  Sabra’s laugh was unsteady. “Another woman you’ve charmed.”

  “I’ll see you at eight. I’ll make reservations at Antoine’s.”

  “Sounds elegant.”

  “It is.”

  “Then I’ll be sure to wear something appropriate.”

  “I just hope my heart can take it.” He kissed her on the cheek and pulled the plastic-wrapped sandwich from the pocket of his jacket and handed it to Sabra. “Night. Night, Isabella, and enjoy.”

  He was at the door when Sabra asked, “I won’t see you for breakfast?”

  Disappointment crossed his face. “Afraid not. I have appointments all day tomorrow. The first one is on the golf course at seven.”

  “Ouch. Good night.”

  “Sleep well. Night, Beautiful.” He closed the door, thinking that tonight he just might be able to do the same.

  SABRA LOVED CLOTHES AND DRESSING UP. AFTER her success, she indulged herself with whatever suited her rather than what was in style. For her four-week stay, she’d brought enough clothes for a week. The Louis Vuitton steamer trunk had arrived yesterday afternoon. Most of the clothes and shoes were new. She’d acquired them in an invitation-only charity auction for domestic violence in New York the week before she came to Santa Fe.

  When Sabra mentioned the trunk’s arrival to Sierra at breakfast she’d gotten a distinct gleam in her eyes. Moments later they left the restaurant and hurried back to the condo. As instructed, the condo’s maid service had already steamed and hung up the clothes. Like two teenagers, Sabra and Sierra had oohed and ahhed over the clothes, gotten giddy over the shoes, handbag, and jewelry to match.

  Seeing Sierra reverently pick up a mocha belt with smoky topaz hues and Colorado-crystal and nickel buckle, Sabra had insisted she have it and the floral-beaded jeans that went with it. Sierra had gotten the strangest look on her face and said something even stranger. “Are you the one?”

  “One what?” she’d asked.

  Putting the belt on the dresser, Sierra had said she had to run or she’d be late for an appointment. Sabra had stared at the closed door in confusion, then set the belt and jeans aside. She’d just be sneaky and mail them to Sierra with no return address and ask Ruth not to give it to her, either. It was nice having someone who knew and enjoyed clothes as much as she did. Laurel, her sister, unless she was onstage, rarely thought about clothes.

  Now, hours later, Sabra looked at her reflection in the full-lenth mirror, a slow siren’s smile blossoming on her red lips. The red-hot Vera Wang dress hugged her hips and stopped five inches above her knees.

  Pierce would definitely approve. In the next second, the smile faded. What was she doing? She’d dressed for Pierce. She wanted to see approval in his face, the hot lick of desire and then what? She was still leaving. Throwing temptation at a man, then walking away wasn’t her style. She was up-front. It saved aggravation in the end.

  The doorbell rang. She swallowed. It was too late to change.

  “Shall I get it, Sabra?”

  Sweeping her hands over the dress, she went into the living room where Maria sat with her back against the edge of the sofa, a textbook resting against her propped legs. Isabella lay in front of the television with the sound turned down.

  “Wow!” Maria said. “You’re going to stop traffic.”

  Compliments were an everyday thing, yet this time Sabra couldn’t smile. The doorbell came again. She made herself answer it.

  Pierce didn’t say anything; his sudden intake of breath said it all. Before Isabella could bound up, Sabra stepped into the hallway and closed the door. Isabella barked her disappointment. Sabra ignored her. She was dealing with her own problems. Pierce hadn’t backed up.

  She moistened her lips. His burning gaze followed. “I’m sorry.”

  “Am I supposed to guess about what?”

  Only Pierce would be so levelheaded when he was eating her up with his eyes. Her hands ran down the front of the dress. “This dress is for you.”

  His hands settled on her hips. “Thank you.”

  Her hands pressed against the hard wall of his muscled chest, felt the erratic beat that matched hers. “I’m sending mixed signals.”

  A hard frown crossed his face. “I hope you’re not going to suggest we shake hands when the night is over?”

  “I don’t think I have that much willpower,” she blurted, then gasped aloud, her eyes widening in alarm.

  Pierce chuckled. “Ah, Sabra.”

  Lines of confusion ran across her forehead. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

  “Sabra.” He tenderly said her name again, his hands palming her flushed cheeks. “I’m not going to lie and say I wish tonight wouldn’t end up in bed. I do. But I also enjoy being with you, and respect your right to say no.” He stepped back and let his gaze travel up her body. “You could wear a sack and you’d still turn me on.”

  She said what was in her heart. “Promise me that when this is over, we’ll still be friends.”

  He kissed her palm. “You have my word.”

  “Then let’s go to dinner. I’m starved.”

  Antoine’s, the upscale restaurant located near the city limits of Santa Fe, opened only for dinner, had a month-long waiting list and two thousand bottles of wine in the specially made wine cellar. Young, handsome, and buff valets in white dinner jackets warmly greeted guests, then drove their cars to a covered and enclosed parking area in back. In the event of bad weather, the guests could leave through a special back door. No guests would ever have to worry about the elements.

  The table Pierce and Sabra were shown to was quiet and intimate and on the first floor of the two-story restaurant. The other fourteen tables on the same le
vel were spaced to give the dining guests privacy and the waiters room to prepare specialty dishes at the table without fear of bumping into guests or employees. The second floor was for parties over four and had a noise level to match.

  “Mr. Grayson, miss. A pleasure to have you back, sir,” greeted the wine captain in a black tux shortly after they were seated. “Do you require the wine list?”

  “Sabra?”

  “No. Just white wine, please.”

  The slender man nodded to her, then turned to Pierce. “Your usual?”

  “Yes.”

  Nodding again, he withdrew and returned shortly with sparkling cider for Pierce and wine for Sabra. The man waited until she tasted and nodded her approval. “If you require my services further, just tell your waiter.”

  On cue the waiter appeared and spread their napkins in their laps. “Would you like to hear tonight’s specialty or are you ready to order?”

  Again Pierce deferred to Sabra. “Sabra?”

  Sabra handed the man her menu. “The blue cheese iceberg salad and the Pacific halibut al fresco.”

  “Very good.” He turned to Pierce. “And you, sir?”

  “Antoine’s magnum salad, and rare prime porterhouse.”

  “Excellent choices.” The waiter collected Pierce’s leather-bound menu. “Your salads will be here shortly.” True to his words, a server soon brought them their salads and a fresh-baked loaf of brown bread.

  Sabra picked up her wine and held it up. “To the beginning of a wonderful evening.” Their glasses clinked. Taking a sip, they set their glasses on the linen-draped table. She picked up her salad fork, then eyed the honey-glazed pecans in his salad. “I knew I should have ordered that. I love pecans.”

  Pierce held up his hand and the waiter appeared. “Please bring the lady a small salad like mine with extra pecans.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Sabra just stared at him. “I would have settled for a bite.”

  “No offense, but I’ve heard that before from Sierra.”

  She laughed. She didn’t doubt for a moment that he wasn’t kidding.

  “Here you are.”

  Sabra looked at the salad in a plate stretching nine inches across, then at hers, which was just as large. “You’ll have them thinking I’m a pig.”