Irresistible You

by Francis Ray

  “I’m more concerned with you having a good time.” He speared toasted pecan and spring lettuce.

  Sabra took a bite of both salads. “This was a good choice.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  Sabra leaned across the table and spoke over a low-burning candle surrounded by white rose petals. “How did the golfing appointment go this morning?”

  “Not as well as I would have liked.” He braced his arms on the table. “He’s determined not to listen to my advice. He’s chasing what’s hot instead of holding steady in conservative funds.”

  Sabra recalled her father’s own frustrations with his clients at times. Especially the ones who could ill afford to stand the loss. At the time, she hadn’t realized how much in common he had with them. “Does he have time to recoup?”

  “No,” Pierce bit out. “And the worst of it is that he’s spending as if he’s still bringing in the high-six-figure salary. He’s sixty-one. His wife has never worked. They’re financially dependent on his retirement fund. If he doesn’t stop, he’ll be broke within three years.”

  “And you get blamed.”

  “I could take that. What I don’t want to see happen is them going broke and having to sell the house they’ve lived in for thirty years, the house they raised their children in.” He took a sip of his drink.

  “Can their children talk to them?” she asked. If her father had talked to her, perhaps they could have found another way. Or at least he wouldn’t have had to shoulder the burden alone.

  Pierce’s mouth tightened. “Even if our dealing wasn’t confidential, his two children are both grown and still holding their hands out. The major reason I think he wants to make money is for them.”

  Sabra felt a catch in her throat. She’d been just as selfish.

  “What is it?”

  “They sound like me.” She placed her fork on her plate. “I lost jobs going to casting calls, more jobs if I got the part. I never asked Daddy for money, but he always seemed to know when I was behind. I’d find the rent receipt in his letter.” She swallowed. “He’d always write ‘I love you’ on the receipt. I still have them.”

  Pierce’s hand covered hers. “There’s no comparison. His children are leeches. The only time he and his wife see them is if they need something. As soon as the check is in their grasping hands, they’re out the door until the next time.” He squeezed. “I’m not a betting man, but I’d bet you paid your father back every cent and then some. But even if you hadn’t repaid one penny, he did it out of love and you loved him back. He didn’t expect anything in return but for you to achieve your dream.”

  She managed a shaky smile. “He always tried to give the money back or slip it into my purse.”

  “Parents stand behind their children no matter how old they are. That’s what parents do.”

  “Ruth is a good role model.”

  “The best, although lately she has made me wonder.”

  The server arrived with their food. “Finished with your salads?”

  “Not quite, but there’s no room,” Sabra said. “Please make her a small salad of the two,” Pierce suggested.

  “Right away.” One server took Sabra’s two salads while the other served their entrées. By the time he’d finished, the other waiter had returned with her salad on a small plate.

  “Thank you,” Pierce and Sabra said.

  “Our pleasure.”

  “I bet they won’t want to see me again.” Sierra picked up her wine.

  “I doubt that. The owner is a client, yet I’ve never gotten this kind of service.” He cut into the porterhouse that covered his plate. “One guess why.”

  Sabra slowly turned. A group of male employees congregating nearby scattered.

  “Now the other diners might not feel so charitable.” He chewed. “Since I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, who am I to complain?”

  “I missed lunch, too.” She sent an apologetic smile to the diners on either side of her. The men returned the smile. The women did not.

  “Eat up while it’s hot. Nothing tastes worse than cold fish.”

  She picked up her fork but didn’t move it toward her food. “This is one reason why I’m hesitant to make the movie. Once the studio puts the publicity wheels in motion, they plan to do a major push. I want to go out and just be like everybody else. No one pays any attention to me at home or at Brandon’s restaurant.”

  “I don’t know about New York, but the male waitstaff was scoping you out at Brandon’s place, just doing it a bit more discreetly because you were with me.”

  “Territorial, huh?”

  “Very.” He waved his fork toward her food. “Get busy. Even if Antoine had takeaway containers I don’t think Isabella would eat your fish.”

  She began to eat. “You should do something about that bossy attitude.”

  “Me?” He pretended innocence.

  “You. But since the food is good and the company even better, I’ll let you get by with it this time.”

  “Good, because the night has just begun. Next stop, the Rebel.”

  THE REBEL WAS A SWANK DANCE CLUB WITH LEATHER seats, two thirty-foot cherrywood bars on either side of the room, brass-plated fixtures, and a wooden dance floor. The music ranged from western to retro, thus the name. The live DJ in a Plexiglas booth over the dance floor played whatever the mood struck or the crowd demanded. Pierce and Sabra were greeted with the country-western tune “I Hope You Dance.”

  Pierce tucked Sabra’s small jeweled bag in the shape of a butterfly into his jacket pocket and pulled her onto the floor. “I’m not taking a chance he’ll play another slow song. I’m getting you in my arms.”

  Since that was where she’d been thinking she wanted to be since her confession at her apartment, she went easily. It was as amazing as she remembered. It didn’t matter that they were surrounded by other couples, some singing off-key with Lee Ann Womack, some humming, the strobe lights dissecting the floor. The only thing that mattered was that she was in Pierce’s arms and he was holding her as if he never wanted to let go.

  Neither did she.

  As luck would have it, the next song, “Private Dancer” by Tina Turner, was slow enough for them to stay on the floor and in each other’s arms. “I hope I have her legs and her stamina when I’m sixty,” Sabra murmured.

  “That lady is phenomenal, but so are you.” They swayed with the music. “You’ll be even sexier.”

  “Sexy is overrated.”

  “Not from where I’m standing.”

  “Flatterer,” she murmured, her fingers absently stroking the side of his neck.

  The music changed to a pulsating salsa beat. Approving shrieks went through the club as people moved off the floor and others moved on. Reluctant, Pierce started off the floor. “I guess we’ll sit this one out.”

  “That’s what you think.” Sabra stepped forward, then back, her hips moving as she kept a heart-stopping beat to the music. She danced around Pierce, her back against his, then moved away.

  Not sure if he could take any more, Pierce circled her waist and just held her, which was a bad idea, since he was teetering on the brink. She smiled up at him, beads of perspiration on her forehead, her hair tumbling around her shoulders. He’d never wanted a woman more.

  “Hey, man. Let the lady in red dance.”

  Whistles and applause sounded around them in response to the loudspeaker announcement. Pierce felt Sabra tense. He didn’t have a doubt in the world that she had forgotten they were in a club the same as he had. No woman before had ever made the world disappear. Since he appeared to have the same effect on her, it wasn’t quite so terrifying.

  Pierce waved to the DJ in the booth. “Maybe next time. Good night.”

  “Night,” called the DJ. “Some men were born lucky. For the rest of us, here’s a song to ease the pain.”

  Hand in hand, Pierce and Sabra left to the unmistakable voice of Vanessa Williams singing “Save the Best for Last.” Neither spoke as they w
aited for the valet to bring Pierce’s SUV. Still trying to come to grips with her behavior, Sabra allowed Pierce to help her inside his vehicle. She didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything on the way to the condo.

  “Where did you learn to dance like that?” he asked as they stepped out of the elevator on their floor.

  She thought she might escape his displeasure for embarrassing him. “In college a group of us would go out on weekends and dance.”

  “You’re really something.”

  She bit her lip. What could she say?

  “Brandon and Faith are terrific on the dance floor.” Pierce stopped in front of Sabra’s door. “Wait until they see you. Of course, I’ll have to do more than stand there like a lump of coal.”

  “What?”

  “I’m just glad I don’t have heart problems.” His hands settled on her small waist. “You were sensational.”

  Her head leaned against his chest. “I thought I embarrassed you.”

  His hands lifted her chin. He looked deep into her eyes. “For a while there were only the two of us on that dance floor. You didn’t embarrass me; you mesmerized me.”

  Barking sounds erupted from the other side of the door. Pierce kissed Sabra softly on the lips. “Isabella and her timing.” Holding his hand out for the key, Pierce unlocked the door and gave the key back to Sabra.

  “Would you like to come in?” she asked.

  “I’d like nothing more, but I don’t think I should.”

  “I had a wonderful time,” she said.

  “Then how about brunch in the morning? We usually get together around eleven at the Mesa.”

  “You and Sierra?”

  He played with a lock of her hair. “Brandon and Faith might join us if they can keep their hands off each other long enough.”

  “I would have loved to, but I’m going to church with your mother.”

  They all usually sat together at church. Was his mother being hospitable or trying to pull something? “I’ll be there as well. Brunch is afterwards. You can ride with me back to the restaurant.” He was taking a chance, but the pleased smile on Sabra’s face was worth it even if his mother decided to join them, as she occasionally did.

  “I’d like that. Good night.” Sabra kissed him on the cheek, then went inside.

  Pierce placed his hand on the closed door and wanted to beat his head against it, howl at the moon. Drawing in one, then another breath, he slowly turned and went to his condo.

  Inside, Pierce wondered again how Brandon had stood celibacy for so long. Sitting on the edge of the black-finished king poster bed, Pierce slipped off his loafers and the answer came to him.

  When you want one woman, a substitute is impossible.

  For Pierce it was Sabra or no one. He wasn’t feeding her a line when he said he respected her right to say no. He just wasn’t used to dating women who said no to him and meant it. He winced. He wasn’t sure what that said about him. Unbuttoning his shirt, he stood, shucked his slacks, and continued to ponder his problem.

  He dated one woman at a time. When he was ready to move on, he did. But he didn’t jump from woman to woman, from bed to bed. He had more respect for the woman and for himself. Unfortunately, it had been a long dry spell between women.

  As best man, he’d gotten caught up in Brandon and Faith’s wedding plans. For a man who hadn’t cared what he wore as long as it was clean, it had come as a shock to them all that Brandon was so fussy about the right tux. Since Brandon had no sense of style, Pierce had gone with him to shop. Then there were the bachelor parties to plan. Brandon’s staff and loyal customers demanded Pierce throw one just for them. Pierce had, and it was a doozy.

  Emptying his pockets onto the brass tray of the suit valet, Pierce neatly hung up his clothes, then went to the large walk-in shower, turned on the multiple jets, and let the cold water pummel him. Cold showers were another thing he wasn’t used to. Yet, for the time being, he didn’t have a choice.

  Moving on wasn’t an option. As much as he wanted Sabra, he also wanted to keep seeing that quick smile, hearing her full-throated laughter, holding her, kissing her. He also wanted to be there for her, to listen to her problems, her fears. He wanted the woman few others probably knew.

  For that, he was willing to wait.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SHE CAME TO HIM WITH OPEN ARMS, A SIREN’S SMILE on her tempting ruby lips. Even before the first touch, she made him want her, made the hunger he fought to keep under control strain to be free. Not yet. He wanted to enjoy every moment.

  The tantalizing brush of her lush, naked body against his as he pulled her under him caused his blood to run hot, his arousal to harden almost painfully. He wanted to bury his face in her long black jasmine-scented hair spread on his pillow, bury himself in her velvet sheath.

  He’d never wanted this fiercely. Hadn’t known he could. He held it together by sheer force of will.

  This was going to be explosive for both of them. His head lowered to let his lips slowly glide and feast their way down, then up her shivering body. His hands followed.

  Her dusky nipple pebbled beneath his hot mouth. His tongue circled the hard peak, suckled. Her whimper of pleasure fueled his senses. She cupped his head to draw him closer. She was everything he had ever wanted. He couldn’t wait any longer.

  He brought them together with one sure thrust. She arched upward, her long legs wrapping around him, taking him deeper. Exquisite sensation rippled through him. The fit was perfect, just as she was. His eyes opened and met hers. In them he saw the same intense passion, the same driving need, that he knew she saw in his.

  His hips moved downward; hers lifted. They moved in perfect harmony. He stroked her, loved her. Her legs around his waist tightened, drawing him closer, taking him deeper still. Her nails dug into his back, telling him how much he pleased her and urging him on. His deep moan of pleasure echoed hers.

  He needed more. His hand moved to bring her hips—His ears rang. For a crazy moment her image wavered. Panicked, he gathered her closer. But the tighter he tried to hold her, the more she slipped away, and the louder the sound became . . . until she was gone.

  Pierce jerked awake.

  He blinked and discovered he was hugging himself. If he had been a lesser man he might have cried. Feeling the unfulfilled need of his body, he wasn’t so sure he might not anyway.

  The phone rang again. The clock dial on the nightstand read 8:13 A.M. His first thought was to disconnect the phone, but common sense prevailed. It was probably a client. Like a doctor, Pierce was on call 24/7. He plopped back in bed and groped for the phone. “Hello.”

  “Pierce.”

  He jerked upright. “Mama?”

  “Are you all right? You sound strange.”

  “I’m fine, Mama.” He threw his legs over the side of the bed and pulled a sheet over the lower half of his body. “I was asleep.”

  “Oh,” she said.

  Often, having a perceptive mother was a drawback. “Been working in your flower garden this morning before church?” His mother loved plants and had a beautiful year-round garden. She and Faith, who liked flowers as well, were always talking about this plant or that.

  “Yes.”

  There was just a long enough pause for him to know Ruth wasn’t fooled. There wasn’t a woman in his bed, but there had definitely been one in his dreams. He shifted uncomfortably, fighting embarrassment. He’d sort his dream out later. Now he had his mother to deal with.

  Certain things a man didn’t want his mother to know about. His sex life was at the top of that list.

  “How are rehearsals going?” he asked, hoping she’d stop thinking what she was probably thinking.

  “Much better,” she said, enthusiasm entering her voice. “Sabra is something to watch.”

  Pierce almost groaned. His unruly mind pictured Sabra in the wicked stop-a-man-in-his-tracks red dress, and his body reacted predictably. The duvet joined the sheet over his arousal. “The president and
the others on the board of regents were suitably impressed.” As any man breathing would be.

  “Everything is going well. I hate to ask since you were asleep, but could you come out now? I need to talk with you.”

  Pierce came to his feet. His mother was as independent as they came. She’d taught her children to be the same way. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine. If you could come over, we can have breakfast together.”

  By the time she finished speaking, Pierce was already moving to his closet. Since his three older brothers had married, their mother looked to Pierce if anything came up.

  Although none of her daughters-in-law would have minded, in fact they would have been hurt if they found out, his mother didn’t want to infringe on Luke’s, Morgan’s, or Brandon’s time. She’d told Pierce a week after Brandon’s marriage that there wasn’t a problem in the world the two of them couldn’t handle. Pierce didn’t take the responsibility lightly. “Don’t worry about breakfast for me. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “I can always count on you, Pierce. Bye, and drive carefully.”

  “Bye, Mama.” Disconnecting the phone, Pierce quickly showered, dressed, and was out the door in minutes. He shaved the drive time to his mother’s house by six minutes. He jumped out of the SUV and rushed up the sidewalk to push open the unlocked black wrought-iron outer gate. He rang the doorbell, then rang again when she didn’t answer, considered knocking on the recessed double doors.

  “Come on, Mama.”

  The door opened. His gaze ran from her smiling face to her booted feet peeking out from beneath one of the long skirts she preferred. His heart stopped thumping in his chest. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, Pierce. Come on in.” His mother stepped aside for him to enter.

  He was barely two steps into the living room when he came to a dead stop. Slowly his gaze went from the pretty young woman on the sofa to his mother. Her grin widened. She took Pierce by the arm and steered him across the room to stand in front of the woman.

  “Pierce, I’d like for you to meet Raven Le Blanc, a new anthropology teacher at St. John’s. My son Pierce.”