by Desiree Holt
Curt Sanderson. Delivered as if in answer to a silent prayer. Fifty-nine years old, he’d come to her as a client two years ago, recommended by a mutual friend. Since then, he’d tried every way possible to get her to date him, and so far, she’d been able to gracefully refuse. He was settled, stable and wealthy. And, like the few other men she’d permitted in her life, bland, smooth and colorless. And boring.
But maybe boring was what she needed right now. It was a lot safer than the red-zone she’d fallen into. And Curt, fifteen years older than she was, would certainly never demand that she open her body to him in the ways that Ben did.
He was the first client she’d dated. Their first dinner together she’d pigeon-holed as a business discussion. And a need to get out of the office and breathe air in a different environment. She’d continued to see him very occasionally because he was exactly what he appeared to be and nothing more. Safe. Non-threatening. A man she could write off with one excuse or another and do it politely enough he wouldn’t be offended. Like she did with the others. Safe required nothing of her.
Ben Lowell was certainly far from safe. He made her blood boil and her juices flow, found that hidden flame of desire she didn’t even know she had and fanned it into a raging inferno.
Curt would be a good neutralizer for her out-of-control libido.
“Put him on,” she told Joyce.
“Grace, good morning.” His voice slid through the connection.
“Good morning, Curt. Is there something I can do for you? I thought the quarterly reports were all in order.”
“They were fine,” he assured her. “As always. Your work is impeccable.” He paused. “I thought I’d make my usual pitch and see if maybe this time I could persuade you to have dinner with me? It’s been a long time since our last one. There’s a terrific new Italian restaurant that’s opened on the Riverwalk. I understand their food is great and they have an excellent wine cellar. How about it? Is this my lucky day?”
Why not? I need to step away from Ben before he swallows me whole.
Wondering if she’d regret it later she said, “Why, Curt, I think that would be very nice.”
“My God, did you actually say yes?”
Grace laughed. She could imagine the shocked look on his face. “I did. See? Persistence pays off.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven, if that’s all right with you.”
For a moment, she was tempted to tell him she’d made a mistake, but she swallowed her words. “Seven will be fine.”
She sat with her hand on the receiver after she’d hung up, still trying to convince herself she’d done the right thing. On impulse she unpinned the little boot from her collar and dropped it into her purse. There. She might not be superstitious but it was better not to take chances. Clearing her throat, she dialed the number of Ben’s hotel and asked to be connected to his room.
Please don’t let him be there. Please, please, please.
She clutched the receiver so tightly her fingers hurt.
“I’m sorry, but the room doesn’t answer,” the operator told her. “Would you like to leave a message? I can put you through to voice mail.”
Relief whooshed through her. Yes. A message. She wouldn’t have to confront him. She’d worry about his reaction another time.
“Yes, please.” When the recorded tone beeped at her, she got it all out as quickly as she could. “Hi, Ben. Sorry to leave you a message like this, but something came up and I won’t be able to make it tonight.” Then, “Bye,” and she hung up before she could change her mind.
She leaned back in her chair, shaking. He’d be mad. No, furious. Outraged. He wouldn’t take kindly to being brushed off like this. On the other hand, maybe he’d be glad to be rid of her and find someone else.
No, not Ben.
Sighing, she managed to push it all from her mind and turn once again to the file open on her computer. One thing at a time, she told herself. Maybe Curt Sanderson had somehow morphed into a hot, sexy hunk who could get her juices flowing. If not, so much the better. Curt was safe. Settled. Predictable. All the things that Ben was not. But all the things the sensible side of her brain told her she needed in her life, not some rodeo drifter taking her on a wild ride.
* * * *
By seven-thirty, Grace knew her idea had been foolish if not downright idiotic. Almost from the moment Curt had ushered her into the restaurant and they’d followed the maître d’ to their table, she’d known this was a mistake.
As she sipped her wine from the oversized goblet, took in every detail of the man across from her that she could see, hoping she was missing something. But, no, it was the same old Curt. The one who had seemed like such a good candidate for socializing. A carbon copy of the other men she’d allowed herself to date since she’d taken down the Keep Away sign. Gray hair combed so carefully not one strand would dare move out of place. Closely shaven face pink from the effects, she was sure, of the three glasses of wine he’d already had to her one. Suit almost the same shade of gray as his hair. With his impeccably laundered white shirt and precisely knotted tie, he looked like a cover model for a senior citizens’ magazine.
But Curt no longer appeared to her as a person who was aging gracefully as she’d once thought. Already, he had a hint of jowls along his jawline and the beginning of liver spots on the backs of his hands. He never worked out, didn’t even play golf, and she wondered now if the body beneath the expensive tailoring was already showing the first signs of flab.
As an image of him naked flashed in her brain, a shiver of revulsion raced over her that she could barely control.
What am I thinking here? Curt is exactly what I need. The perfect…the perfect…the perfect what?
The perfect waste of time, her mind screamed at her. Put him next to Ben and there was no comparison.
Ben!
Get out of my mind. I need to stop thinking about you.
“Grace?”
She jerked herself back to the present, realizing Curt was talking to her.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “Just winding down from the day. What were you saying?”
He reached across the table and closed his hand over the one she had resting on the fine linen. It took all her willpower not to jerk it away.
“I was just remarking how nice it is to finally spend some time with you again that doesn’t involve my business.”
“Oh. Yes. Thank you.”
Her mind blanked and she sipped at her wine. Without thinking, she lifted her hand to touch the pin she’d placed on the lapel. She had no idea what had made her fasten it on at the last moment. Now it was like a flame thrower burning a hole into her body. She rubbed the tip of one finger over the smooth, burnished surface and instantly an image of a naked Ben flashed across her brain.
No, no, no! This is what I’m trying to get away from.
Ben Lowell had Danger—Handle With Care written all over him. The intensity of what was building between them scared her to death, so she’d run again to what was safe. Secure. Non-threatening. Curt Sanderson.
But if I choose to dance with the devil, I won’t be able to slow down for a sedate waltz.
All that wild music just keeps on playing, drawing me in. I’m afraid to look inside myself, so here I sit, time moving as slowly as if weighted by concrete.
She had no idea how she got through the rest of the dinner. Of course, she had no one but herself to blame. She was careful never to leave her hand where Curt could grab it again, or to lean forward in an attitude he could in any way consider intimate. She forced herself to eat enough of her meal so he wouldn’t question her lack of appetite but everything she chewed tasted like sawdust.
This was a stupid idea. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
And she’d broken one of her firm, cardinal rules. Don’t date clients.
Thinking she could wipe away traces of Ben by having dinner with Curt had been a big mistake. She might as well admit to herself she was hooked on the rodeo cowboy with
a desire so intense it almost frightened her.
Letting Curt’s prattle drift over her head, she tried to imagine him naked in bed. Wondered how inventive he’d be. How quickly he got hard and how long he could hold it.
Jesus! What’s happening to me?
But the visions, rather than arousing her, made her nauseous.
Now she sat here with a pounding headache trying to keep a polite smile on her face and not to sneak a look at her watch. Finally she gave up the ghost.
“Curt, I’m so sorry.” She leaned forward, rubbing her temples with her fingertips. “I just can’t seem to get rid of this headache. Would you mind very much taking me home?”
He pressed his lips together then forced a smile. “Of course. I hope it isn’t the company.”
“Not at all.” Liar! “I’ve enjoyed myself tremendously.” I’ll go to hell for that one. “Maybe we could do this again sometime.” Like in another life.
“You work too hard,” he told her, signaling for the check. “I tell you that all the time. You should hand off more to the people who work for you.”
“You know I’d never have anyone else handle my special clients like you.” Maybe I should flutter my eyelashes, too. How disgusting I am.
“And thank you for being so understanding.”
“Not at all. As long as I get another shot. I’ve enjoyed myself tremendously, too.” He scribbled his name on the charge slip then rose and held her chair for her.
Grace tried to stay far enough ahead of him as they headed toward the restaurant door, but Curt was right there beside her. His hand on her elbow made her skin crawl. As soon as they reached the front of the building and he gave his ticket to the valet, she moved away, out of reach.
The drive home seemed almost as interminable as the dinner. Not just because she had to face the fact that Curt was an incredible bore and physically unappealing to her. No, it was more than that. She was running away from herself as a woman. From her needs. Her wants. Only the place she thought she could run to was suddenly no longer attractive to her.
The moment the car pulled into her driveway, she had her door open and was heading toward her porch, keys in hand. When she turned to say goodnight, Curt was so close she could count the threads in his shirt. She forced her hand up between them and grabbed his, shaking it.
“Good night, Curt. Thank you very much. The dinner was terrific.”
Liar.
He leaned forward slightly, his intent very clear, but the last thing in the world she could stomach was a kiss from this man. She shoved her front door open and smiled over her shoulder.
“Thanks again, Curt. I’ll be talking to you soon.”
Inside, she closed the door and leaned against it, waiting for the sound of the car leaving. Finally she pushed herself away and headed toward the kitchen for a glass of water, only to hear a loud knocking on the door.
Oh, hell. Please don’t let him be back here. I’ve had it for the night.
She wanted to ignore the summons, but, knowing Curt, he’d stand there all night or call emergency services to see if she’d passed out. Pasting a smile on her face, she jerked the door open, ready with her excuses.
But it wasn’t Curt standing on her porch. Instead an angry Ben Lowell pushed his way inside, slammed her door and bracketed her face with his hands before she could react. His mouth was inches from hers.
“Do you mind telling me,” he asked in a voice taut with fury, “just exactly what the fuck that message was you left me, and who the fuck you’ve just been out flouncing yourself around with?”
Grace’s heart was beating so fast she was sure it would jump out of her chest and her mouth was suddenly so dry she couldn’t form one word.
“Well?” His hot breath fanned her face and his eyes glittered like twin torches. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? Trying to think up an appropriate lie?”
“I-I-I was…out with a-a client,” she finally stammered.
“A client?” He spat out the words. “If that’s what it really was, you could have asked me to call you and told me in person. I certainly understand that you run a business, Grace. But you leave me a message as if we’ve done nothing more than share a casual cup of coffee and had a maybe date you had to cancel. Shit, Grace. I thought we were well beyond that.”
“I…I can’t breathe,” she gasped, needing to put some space between them.
At once, he loosened the pressure of his hands and stepped away. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.” A wicked grin tilted one corner of his mouth. “Except for pleasure, of course. You just made me so damn mad.” His voice softened. “I missed you tonight, Gracie. And I was as jealous as hell when that guy pulled up in your driveway.”
“He’s just a client,” she repeated, stepping back and taking a deep breath. “Nothing more.” And that’s all he’ll ever be, that’s for sure. “Nobody important.”
“And what am I?” His voice was husky, with a slight catch in it. “Also nobody important?”
Grace had backed up into the living room, Ben following her, until her calves hit an armchair and she dropped into it gratefully.
“Well?” he persisted.
“You know better than that.” She tried desperately to pull her scattered thoughts together.
“Then prove it. Let’s go upstairs right now and make up for lost time.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Upstairs? In my room?”
That smile appeared again. “Unless you’d rather use one of the others.”
Ohmigod. Have sex with Ben Lowell in my bedroom?
Somehow, keeping all this away from the house had made everything seem far enough removed that it didn’t affect her regular life. Didn’t actually seem real. More like acting out a scene from one of her books. But bringing him into her bed would personalize it. Break down the barriers she’d erected that allowed her the freedom to be someone else when she was with him.
“I…I can’t do that, Ben.” She gripped her hands together tightly in her lap, watching a hot flush creep up his cheeks.
“Why not?” The edge of anger had returned, making his voice sound hard.
“I just can’t.” She twisted the folds of her skirt.
“Oh, I see.” He took a step back, angry understanding hardening his face. “I’m good enough to fuck in a hotel room, but not here where you live. Where my scummy presence might invade your pristine life. Or dirty your pristine bed. Your life where you have everything organized so you won’t have to feel. I’ll bet you don’t even color outside the lines, do you? Okay, okay. I get it. Your adventure to the underbelly is over. That’s what your date with grandpa was about tonight, wasn’t it?”
“No,” she cried, “that’s not it at all.”
“It isn’t?” He tilted his head. “Then what, Grace? What is it? Tell me, because I thought we had something good going here. Really great for the time it lasts.”
She wet her lips. “I just… I think we need to take a step back. Take a breath. I feel as if I’m on a runaway train and the only way to stop it is to crash. Please understand,” she begged. “This is all so new to me. So different. I just can’t…”
“Can’t what, Grace? Allow yourself to be human? To explore your sexuality? Or are you afraid you might enjoy things with me you never did with your husband and you’d be somehow disloyal. Is that it? Are you afraid to join the land of the living?”
Tears burned the backs of her eyelids. “I don’t know, Ben. I just know I need some space. Please.”
He stood there, his fiery gaze raking her from head to toe and back. At last, he stepped away.
“Fine. You can have all the space you want, Grace. But when you make up your mind, you’ll have to come to me. And take a chance that I’ll still be waiting.”
He yanked the front door open then slammed it behind himself. Grace listened for the sound of his car pulling away before she allowed the tears to flow. Putting her head in her hands, she sobbed harder tha
n she had since the day of Joe’s funeral. She was just glad there was no one there to see it.
Ben floored the accelerator until he was out of sight of Grace’s house then turned a corner and pulled into the curb, putting the gear shift in Park. The last thing he needed was a speeding ticket. For the first time since he’d gotten Grace’s voice mail message, he allowed himself to take a deep breath and ease the tension in his body.
He still didn’t know why the hell he was so angry. Grace Delaney was just another woman, right? They’d had some outstanding sex, but there were certainly a ton of other women out there who would eagerly share his bed. And his brand of sex.
Except he didn’t want any of them. He wanted Grace.And that bugged the shit out of him.He was going against all his rules. All the dos and don’ts he’d set up years ago, to protect himself from choking entanglements. Everything that allowed him to control his life. Specific rodeos. Specific bulls he wanted to ride. Number of points he wanted to win each year. And mindless sex, so nothing endangered his plans for the distant future. He might look like a rodeo bum to Grace Delaney, but he had plans and no one was going to interrupt them. Two or three more years at the most and he’d achieve his goal.
Because Ben Lowell had a secret. He rode the bulls for far more than the thrill of it. Entered the roping competitions for far more than showing off his skill. In all these years on the circuit, he’d been stashing his winnings away. Hotshot always went first class, no scrimping there. And Ben always stayed in good hotels, his one concession to his beat-up body. But everything else went to help him reach his secret goal—buying a ranch.
Just as he’d told Grace, he wasn’t stupid enough to think he could do this forever. At thirty-two, he was already feeling his age and then some. He’d done some research, found someone he trusted and opened an investment account. Every time he got a check, a big chunk of it went to that pot of money, which, if his statements could be believed, was growing at a rapid rate.
He’d sworn to himself he’d never let some woman come along and get her hooks into it. When he left the circuit and settled down, he’d take his time, choose just the right person. Someone who’d love the ranch life as much as he did and could see beyond his public image.
