He didn’t want to wonder what she was really talking about, if she was thinking about what she felt for him.
“Anyway,” she continued, “by most standards, I haven’t been around the block much. The last time I was with a man, he was a consultant at the resort—an architect. I thought we were going places until we weren’t.”
“You realized that what you felt for him wasn’t love.” He had enjoyed saying that a little too much.
“Yeah, and afterward I was sure I’d never be capable of it.” Her gaze went wistful. “And before that, my very first time was in college, senior year. He was a football player. Quarterback.”
“Doesn’t that figure?” He could have guessed that the beauty queen and the homecoming king would have gravitated toward each other, just as they did in most high schools or colleges.
“It’s true—we were such a walking cliché.” She pulled the covers up to her collarbone, turning toward him. “But the same thing happened with Quarterback Jeffrey—I cooled off in our relationship before…”
“…You could commit.”
She nodded, touched his chin with her fingertips, as if to feel the scratch of his five o’clock shadow. “You would know that story well enough.”
“What have I been telling you? We’re two of a kind.”
He smiled at her, and when she did the same, his pulse quickened.
“Know what?” she asked.
“What?”
“I just thought you asked me out because you’d set your cap for the local beauty queen. You were adding to your collection of conquests.”
Shame nicked him, and his first instinct was to skirt the truth. Why hurt her unnecessarily? They would have had enough of each other by the time he left Montana, so why rush a breakup along?
Besides, he didn’t feel that way now, and he didn’t want her to know how much of an ogre he had been.
“Don’t say that, Laila. The first time I saw you, there was…” Something. He rushed on, refusing to think about it too much. “I saw a spark in you, a flame…there are probably a hundred different names for what attracts one person to another.”
“Right.” She said it as if she hadn’t expected him to get deep on her, and that tore at him a bit. “Maybe we were intimate in another life, and you saw the reflection of my reincarnated soul in my limpid gaze…?.”
“Cute.”
Her eyes got that look that told him things were about to go back to square one, with her running and him chasing.
But he had already left all that behind.
“Laila, I just want to see you again. No more cat-and-mouse games, no more silliness. I want to be with you every day and every night while I can.”
She absorbed his candid statements, then whispered, “A fling. That’s what they call it, right? Something discreet?” Her voice broke a little. “Temporary?”
He didn’t want to hear the rest, didn’t want to face the decisions he would have to make someday—not while she was so soft and warm next to him now. Not while he could believe, just for the moment, that there was something here with Laila that he couldn’t live without.
He put an end to the conversation by kissing her, and as she melted in his arms, he forgot the definition of temporary altogether.
Chapter Nine
Days passed, forcing Laila to always look forward to the nights, when she could leave work and be with Jackson.
He was her addiction of choice right now, and she kept taking him in large doses.
The fact hadn’t been lost on Dana, either, and when Laila got home from work tonight, her best friend called her on it over the phone.
“Where did you go so fast today?” Dana asked.
Laila was getting ready for Jackson, who usually dropped in near seven o’clock with take-out dinner—a habit that had formed all too quickly, with Laila barely even realizing it had happened.
The ritual might have given her second, third and fourth thoughts about seeing him if she hadn’t known that their relationship was just a fleeting thing.
A fling.
Wrestling away a dull ache in her chest, she tucked her cell phone between her shoulder and ear while buttoning the roomy red sweater she had cuddled into. “I only came straight home, Dana.”
“You’ve been taking off like a shot from work a lot lately.” Her friend sounded a bit pouty.
“I’ve just been…busy.”
A knowing chuff. “I’m going to assume it’s not because you’re putting in extra hours at your kitchen table on your proposal that Mr. Trudeau is developing now. Jackson’s the reason.”
Caught.
And it wasn’t as if Laila and Jackson had made a spectacle of themselves in public. They had been lying low, basically because neither of them wanted their families to start believing they had some big deal going on.
Nonetheless, Laila couldn’t fib to her best friend about her undercover liaison. “You’re right,” she said, going downstairs. “It’s Jackson. But keep it quiet, okay?”
“Oh.”
Laila didn’t like the sound of that “Oh.”
“I mean,” Dana said, “I’m just kind of surprised you’re seeing him exclusively.”
She halted at the bottom of the stairs. “Why?”
“When Laila Cates goes out with a guy… Let’s just say you’ve never been as busy as you are right now.”
Busy.
What the heck did that mean?
“If you’re saying that I’m so into Jackson that I’m ignoring everyone else in my life, that’s not true.” Laila wasn’t That Girl.
Dana just laughed, as if she knew much better.
Laila rolled her eyes. This was exactly why she and Jackson weren’t shouting out their fling—because everyone would assume there was much more going on than there was in reality.
“Just have fun tonight, Laila,” Dana said. “I’ll see you when I see you.”
“Wait…” The busy comment was bothering her because she had always disliked it when her own friends seemed to disappear into RomanceLand when things got hot and heavy with a man. “Let’s do lunch over the weekend. Saturday, noon, at the Tottering Teapot?”
“All right.” And Dana was appeased. “Say hi to Jackie Boy.”
“I will.”
After hanging up, it wasn’t long before Jackson arrived, pizza box in hand when she met him at the door.
“I had a yen for some pepperoni,” he said, strolling on in as if he was already comfortable in her apartment.
Somehow, she didn’t mind that. And she would have if any other man had done that.
Busy, she thought. Am I?
He kissed her hello, sending her blood pumping.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Jackson said.
She shook her head, afraid to answer, because if she began to talk about what was gnawing at her, it would become an issue. And that was why she liked seeing Jackson—because, with him, there were no issues, just good times.
He looked down at her for a moment longer, then kissed her again, slower and sultrier this time, as if he could chase away whatever was troubling her.
As always, she was putty in his hands, leaning into him, feeling as if she would be content never to come out of a kiss with Jackson Traub.
He smoothed back her hair, leaned his forehead against hers. “All better now?”
“Life is wonderful.”
She smiled, and off he went to the kitchen, again, just as if it was his. But she was actually grateful for his casualness—it reminded her of what they were to each other…and it wasn’t anything serious.
Once more, Dana’s voice came back to Laila.
Busy…
Laila joined him in the kitchen, getting plates and napkins while he doled out the pizza slices. Soon everything was back to the way it should be with them, with her and Jackson flopping onto the couch, getting ready for some relaxing in front of the TV.
Companions—two people who just delighted in being with each other, no s
trings attached.
He cast a look to Lord Vader’s bowl, where the fish was puttering around.
“Wouldn’t you rather have a dog?” Jackson asked.
“I’d love one, but Lord Vader is more my speed.”
“Because he or she ignores you?” He cocked an eyebrow. “That trick always does seem to work with you.”
She smacked his arm because he had the gall to refer to all the times he had played it cool in the Hitching Post, only to stoke her interest.
He laughed. “It’s just that dogs are the best pets of all. I’ve got a few on my ranch.”
She had been about to bite into her pizza but didn’t. “Are they pet dogs? Or do they help on the ranch?”
“I’ve got both kinds, and I’m the one who likes to take care of them when I’m there. You know what they say about dogs being man’s best friend. It’s true.”
Laila still couldn’t wrap her mind around this. “You have actual pets.”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?”
Um, because he was the last person on earth who seemed interested in being any kind of caregiver?
“It’s just…” She laughed. “So very paternal of you, Jackson. I never would’ve guessed.”
“Now you don’t have to.”
He took his bite of pizza, having no idea that he had just tilted her world off its axis. He had been wrong about one thing when he had described himself to her early on—he could commit.
She tried not to let it matter, but damn, it did. Because, as it turned out, it wasn’t that he couldn’t bring himself to care for someone—it was that he had already made a choice not to care for her.
But when had he ever promised anything more?
When had she come to expect it?
Not liking where her thoughts were going, she turned on the TV with the remote. Courtroom drama filled the screen, the volume low.
“Good old Judge Judy,” Jackson said.
Laila, whose stomach had tied itself into knots, put her pizza aside. At least the TV would keep him from asking her if she was okay again.
“I watch her every weeknight,” Laila said. “I was raised on this program—it’s my mom’s favorite.” She even remembered how Mom had always made a point of getting dinner on the table and done with before Judge Judy came on. “Mom always loved how Judge Judy wields her brainpower.”
Had her tone of voice given Jackson some kind of hint about her present, wistful mood? Had he done the math and multiplied that with the quiet way she had greeted him at the door?
He had put aside his pizza as well, so she thought that maybe he had seen past all her joking tonight.
Dang, his ability to sense her moods got to her.
But wouldn’t it be nice to have a man around who balanced a little sensitivity with testosterone?
Just thinking about it sent a pointed longing through Laila—a yearning she couldn’t afford.
As he rested his hand over hers, she thought it might be a good time to ease his mind and let him know that she wouldn’t complicate their time together with deep emotions.
“Mom always did tell me,” she said, “that brains come before beauty. I took that to heart. I made my successes in life top priority because I knew that what I built for myself would always be more solid than what someone else could give me.”
“Are you explaining why you’re not going to fall in love with me, Laila?”
He had said it kiddingly, but it was obvious that he got the gist of what she was trying to do.
For a second, it seemed as if he was just as baffled about what was happening with them as she was, that he was about to get all serious on her again.
Then he pulled out that patented charm-touched grin of his and lightly tugged on her hair.
“Darlin’,” he said, “if there were two more unlikely people to fall in love in this universe, I’d be hard-pressed to discover them.”
It should have made her breathe easier, but instead, it felt as if all the oxygen in her lungs had been punched out.
Nonetheless, she grinned right back at him, showing him that she was fine with what they had…even if she was starting to suspect that she wasn’t.
What the hell am I doing?
Jackson asked himself that for about the hundredth time as the Saturday afternoon sun struggled through a bank of clouds. The light barely touched on the Halloween-painted windows of the Tottering Teapot, where Laila had told him the other night that she would be meeting Dana for lunch.
He was sitting in his truck outside, thinking that he would surprise her by picking her up and spiriting her off to a day of driving through the country before the autumn leaves deserted the tree branches for their winter bareness. When he had made up his mind to do this, he hadn’t realized that he was doing a very boyfriend-type thing.
Hell, they had woken up together in his bed this morning. Shouldn’t he have had his fill of her just from that?
Nope—not from the way his body was going through withdrawal, as if she somehow nourished him in a way that nothing or no one else could.
He recalled what he had said the other night to her about how they were the two least likely people ever to fall in love. And dammit all: As soon as he had uttered it, the comment had struck him as a downright lie.
Across the street, Laila came out of the Tottering Teapot with Dana, whose long, sandy hair sported a vivid purple streak near the back and whose off-the-wall clothing resembled something a Brit might have worn back in the days when Madonna had first hit the scene. But all Jackson really saw was Laila, with her blond hair in a low side braid. She was dressed in a striking gold cashmere sweater and a pencil-straight plaid skirt with knee-high boots.
Just that easily, Jackson’s heart was dust.
She hugged Dana goodbye and spotted Jackson in his truck, waving to him with a beaming smile, then crossing the street.
With every step, his heartbeat got that much louder, overtaking him.
He got out, going around to open her door. Aware that many pairs of curious eyes were on them, he ushered her inside without making a big lovey-dovey production of it. If she noticed, she didn’t seem to mind.
Two of a kind, he thought again—except maybe Laila had a foolproof heart, something he had also thought he possessed.
Girding himself, he climbed back inside, where the scent of her had already infused the air.
“I didn’t know you would be here,” she said.
“I was in the neighborhood.” Total bullcrap. “How was lunch?”
“Chatty, fun. Very girly.”
“Do I want to hear just how girly?”
“For the most part, no.” Laila folded one leg over the other as she faced him. “We talked about Dana’s dating life. Then, while we were still on the subject of men, she asked if Cade had pushed his wedding agenda on me lately and I told her no.”
“Maybe he’s come to the realization that you weren’t just putting him off about getting hitched. You were giving him the straight truth.”
“I hope so. Dana thought that he’s finally getting the hint because I’m still hanging out with you.”
Was that what they were doing—hanging out?
Jackson shifted in his seat. She hadn’t exactly invited him over to meet the parents or anything. He supposed that when that happened, it would be a red flag, and that was when he would start to worry.
“What else did you two talk about?” he asked.
“Oh, just you. Dana’s as curious as anyone about the Jackson Traub.”
“And what did you tell her?”
Laila hesitated just long enough to make him think that she wasn’t going to let him know.
“I told her that I’m having the time of my life.” She ran a finger over the back of his hand, which was resting on the seat.
Pricks of yearning invaded him, and he tried to hold them off.
It was as if she was the one who was playing hard to get today, and she put her hand in her lap, seeming so far away f
rom him.
“We also talked about work,” she said. “How my proposal is coming along, all that.”
“Kicking butt at that bank now,” he said with a sly grin that let her know he had something else to add to the discussion besides.
“What’re you grinning about?”
“I don’t know, but it might have something to do with being inspired by that ‘kick butt versus sweetness’ deal we made.”
“Do tell.”
Shrugging, he said, “I think I’ve come up with a way to do my job and help DJ with the Rib Shack at the same time.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His smile grew. “Since my job is to do community outreach, I’ve been intending to have an open meeting or two to help educate everyone about the oil shale project. But with the way business is going for DJ, we also need to get the community behind him. So why not combine the two goals? Why not host some town halls where the locals can be informed and be treated to DJ’s ribs? It’ll be good promotion for both of us.”
Laila crept her hand back across the neutral zone to where his was still resting on the seat, and she clasped hers over his. Warmth suffused him from fingers to toes.
“That’s a really great idea, Jackson,” she said.
She didn’t voice it, but from the look on her face, she was also thinking about how his family would be proud that he had found a way around brute force with Lip-Smackin’ Ribs. About how, if his father were around, he would be busting his buttons, too.
He turned his hand over, holding hers, and they stayed like that.
Just the two of them.
They were only interrupted by a soft ding from Laila’s cell phone.
She ignored it, but he nodded to her purse, somewhat relieved. Saved by the bell from having something like hand-holding mean a lot more than it should.
“Go ahead,” he said, reaching for the ignition and starting the truck.
“It’s just a text message,” she said, looking at the phone screen. “From Dana. She says that she just drove by and we’re still sitting here in the truck. Then there’s some cheeky speculation that I’m not even going to repeat.”
“Leave it to Dana.” As the engine idled, he glanced out the window, his gaze latching onto a man strolling down the walk, his hands stuffed into his blue jeans pockets, his large silver buckle catching what was there of the sunlight.
The Hard-to-Get Cowboy Page 12
