When Rasa waved the cowboy hat again, Amy jumped up and grabbed it. Would you stop? The room whirled. She had to quit sipping this delicious drink.
The hat was still warm and damp around the headband because hed worn it and worked in it. She caught the sharp, masculine scent of his cologne. Hardly knowing what she did, Amy flipped the battered hat over and then glanced toward him again. Without even realizing her intention, she put it on her head. When it sank to midbrow, she spun it around on her head, feeling like a kid playing dress-up.
Oh, God, what was she doing? Making a pass at astranger? Wearing his hat? She should have known the last place she should have come to was a cowboy bar with posters of cowgirls riding horses on the walls, not to mention Flirtitas. The posters and the sweet fruit drink mixed with vodka had made her feel crazy. All of a sudden she was remembering how it felt to be young and to ride like the wind under a blazing sun. To be happy. To trust in the beauty of life itself. To feel immortal.
Amys hand tightened around the stem of her cold, wet glass. She had no right to flirt with anybody ever, even if he was dark and broad-shouldered and the hunkiest guy shed seen in years.
Flirtita or no Flirtita, hunk or no hunk, she couldnt lose control. She was damaged and dangerous and therefore determined never to hurt anybody else, not even herself, ever again.
Look, she began softly, removing his hat and placing it very firmly on the table. Rasa, I dont come to bars. I dont pick up strange men. Especially not cowboys. I work. Thats all I do.
Why not cowboys? You prejudiced or something?
No. Its because She looked up into Rasas dark, imploring eyes. Just because.
Okay, so you met one bad cowboy.
No! You dont understand. Again, she felt too near some dangerous edge. Defiantly Amy swirled her Flirtita glass so vigorously the liquid flashed like angry fire.
Are you going to punish yourself forever?
You dont understand.
Betsy has told me a little.
Really? Well, she doesnt know the half of it, okay?
Not okay. Baby, hes still watching you while he talks to that bartender. Its not too late. Maybe you should go over there and
No.
You should definitely lighten up.
If I do that, anything could happen.
So let it.
Amy set her glass down by the beige Stetson. Hed looked so handsome in that rumpled hat. So dark and virile and absolutely adorable. Intending to push the hat away, she pulled it toward her and stroked the brim with a trembling fingertip.
Youre way too serious, Rasa persisted.
Why should I listen to advice from someone Ive known all of two hours? Someone who doesnt have a clue what kind of person I really am?
You should try to be friendly. Rasas hand squeezed hers gently. Maybe then youd meet some interesting people and move on. Her voice softened. Betsy says you bury yourself alive.
Maybe I dont want to move on.
Or maybe you just need a helping hand.
Amy yanked her hand free and drained the last of her Flirtita. Betsys a big one to talk.
Hey, he just looked at you again.
Amy didnt smile or look his way or even look at Rasa, who was staring at her way too intently now. The words dead and bury had Amy too tense and scared to think what she should do. She had to get out of here. She had to get back to her safe, controlled life.
Rasa, you said one drink and wed go to dinner.
And I havent finished my drink.
Because you wont drink it.
Rasa laughed.
If only Betsy were here, Amy said.
You wouldnt be here if Betsy were here. You two would be at that boring restaurant she told me about. Youd be taking a rash of heat over the cell phone from your number-one client, and shed be reading her book.
Exactly.
Ouch. Rasa laughed.
Betsy Pinkley, Amys best friend, who had mousy brown hair and thick glasses and who was even duller than she was, if that were possible, had ditched her to stay home and read because her allergies had flared up.
Tonight when Amy had dropped by Betsys apartment to pick her up, a red-eyed Betsy had been sitting on her couch in her pajamas dabbing tissues at her running eyes and nose.
Its the cedar again. Im too sick to go out, shed said miserably. But not to worry. I didnt call you because Rasa can go with you instead.
Rasa? I dont know a Rasa.
My next-door neighbors baby sister. Betsy had blown her nose messily and then plucked handfuls of tissues from the box beside. Rasas from out of town. Her brother Trell had a date, and shes dying to see the action on Sixth Street. So I thought since you want to go out and she wants to go outbingo!
I dont want to go out with just anybody! And not to Sixth Street! I want to have dinner with you. Just you. Amys cell phone rang. When she saw it was her mother, she didnt answer it.
Dont you care that Im sick at all? I made these special arrangements for you even when my head was killing me.
Of course I care. But cant you pop an allergy pill?
Wait until you meet Rasa, Betsy said.
Im leaving. But just as Amy switched off her cell phone and headed for the door, the bell rang and Rasa burst inside, only to stop and stare at Amy. Rasa wore a revealing, low, tight red sheath and lots of gold bangles while Amy was swathed from head to toe in gray silk.
Rasa, this is Amy. Amy
Glad to meet you, baby, but, hey I thought we were gonna have some fun tonight. Whats with the gray shroud? She turned to Betsy. How come you didnt tell me your friend was a nun?
What? Amy said. Now Im being stood up and insulted!
Rasa rolled her almond-shaped eyes. Hey, sorry. Sometimes I come on a little strong.
A little?
Sorry. I didnt mean to hurt your feelings. Youre great looking. The question iswhy are you hiding that fact? Rasa lifted her brows and then walked around Amy, studying her figure closely. Lucky for you, were about the same size. I bought a couple of hot new outfits this afternoon that will do wonders for you.
II dont do hot. Amy felt the blood drain from her face as guilt squeezed her chest in a vise. It had been a long time since shed worn dramatic clothes to draw attention to herself. Lately, though, shed been sick of her dull wardrobe. Truly, all I want is a quiet dinner.
Instead of listening, Rasa raced outside. Amy heard a car door slam. Then Rasa burst inside again. She was as quick in her movements and thought processes as Lexie had been.
Amy couldnt help being reminded of Lexies laughing face as shed jumped into the boat that last, fatal night.
Rasa ripped open a paper bag and held up two spandex skirts and blouses the size of postage stamps. Arent they just darling?
Lexie would have loved them. The old Amy would have loved them.
Black spandex? Amy said.
This new look will do wonders for you.
I am not wearing that.
Thanks, darlin, for guarding my hat in this den of iniquity.
The deep, male drawl cut into Amys thoughts, and she jumped, sloshing her Flirtita all over her right hand and his hat.
I am not wearing that.
Thanks, darlin, for guarding my hat in this den of iniquity.
The deep, male drawl cut into Amys thoughts, and she jumped, sloshing her Flirtita all over her right hand and his hat.
His quick grin was wolflike. She felt her face flame with unwanted pleasure even before his large hand lifted the damp Stetson from her table and placed it on his head. Fits me better than it does you, he drawled softly as he picked up a napkin and handed it to her. Looks better on you, though, darlin.
Hot and cold chills raced through her body as she dabbed at her hand.
He leaned over her shoulder. Would you like to dance? he whispered into her ear. His warm breath stirring the golden tendrils against her earlobe sent wild, tingly sensations down her spine as glass and cutlery tinkled somewhere nearby. The heat of her body stirred her, too.
N-no!
All right, then. Just thought Id ask. He grinned his big-bad-wolf grin. See ya round.
He turned, and she found herself gaping with dismay at the breadth of his magnificent, broad shoulders. He was gorgeous. He would ask somebody else. She knew that.
An inexplicable pain knifed her heart. She wouldnt see him ever again. Shed go back to her safe, controlled, workaholic life.
Amy swallowed the lump in her throat. She had to let him go.
Would you like to sit down? Rasa quickly invited, causing Amys heart to leap. My friend here was just saying she could use another Flirtita.
I was not!
Maybe if she has one, shell lighten up and dance with me, he said.
Amy couldnt quite suppress her smile.
She had a tough day, Rasa said. Real tough. Her boss is rich and famous and demanding. Not to mention she just turned thirty. She could use some sympathy.
The cowboy was staring at Amy again. Thirty? You dont look twenty.
I feel thirty.
Bye, you two, Rasa said, pulling out a chair for him as she winked at Amy. Have fun! I think Ill go ask somebody cute to dance while you two get to know each other.
Burning color washed Amys cheeks. Rasa!
Its okay, he said. I understand. Ill go if you want me to.
His eyes lingered on her face. They reminded her of warm, rich, dark chocolate, at least in color. At the same time, they were hard and shrewd, wary, too.
He seemed vulnerable and almost shy. Was he from the country, in town for a night of fun? If so, what would be the harm of sharing a drink if it went no further than a little flirting?
No. Was that squeaky, very unsexy sound her voice? Dont go, she pleaded.
He turned. You sure?
No, Im not sure. Im the farthest thing from sure. But she said nothing more, and he sat down and signaled a waiter, who came flying to their table to wait on him. Quickly he ordered another round of drinks. Then he turned his full attention back to her.
Close up he was remarkably good-looking, too good-looking, really. Gorgeous even, if one could call such a big, dark, rough-looking man, gorgeous. His body was tall and lean and hard, and he had those wonderfully wide shoulders. His face, with its masculine, angular planes and chiseled cheekbones, was strong. He had thick, dark brows, a long, straight nose, and a full, sensual mouth. He wore a snowy white western shirt with pearl snap buttons.
Where do you live? she said, swallowing to wet the dryness in her throat.
I have a ranch southwest of here.
I wondered if you were a real cowboy.
So, the country in me shows.
Only a little. She laughed, and so did he. Shed once had a thing for cowboys.
Ive been ranching for ten yearsamong other things. Too many other things. Id like to start concentrating on the ranching, but I needed to raise capital from my other ventures to buy land and stock.
When she finished her Flirtita, he held up his hand, and the bartender brought her another.
I really shouldnt.
Its a hot night, he said. You feel like dancing with me yet?
When she gazed at him, his dark face blurred, which meant shed better dance to burn off that last Flirtita. Why not?
He took her hand and led her onto the dance floor. Slowly he folded her into his arms. Then he simply held her against his body for a long time, hesitating, before starting to dance. Still, all too soon they were swaying together to a slow western tune.
She didnt consider herself a good dancer, and she hadnt danced in years. He was sure and masterful even though he danced away from the other couples, who glided past them in a circle. As he held her against his powerful chest and they moved together, she forgot her fear of him and her guilt, at least for the moment. Dancing in his arms was like a drug. Soon her spirits rocketed sky-high.
Although they didnt speak in words, their bodies spoke, and she began to feel more and more at ease with him. Or maybe it was the two Flirtitas. Soon it was as if shed known him always. Gradually she relaxed, and their bodies became more intimately entwined.
When that song ended, he held her, his heat seeping into her, until the next one, which was a polka, started. Thank God. This time they skipped along expertly with the other dancers until her heart was beating in her throat and her breath began coming faster and faster. He never removed his gaze from her face, nor could she quit looking at him.
They danced to song after song, to waltzes, polkas and two-steps, and each number was more fun than the one before. She felt almost lighthearted. She floated in his arms. When at last the music slowed again, he held her more tightly than before, so tightly that their bodies melted into each other and she felt the hard imprint of his muscular frame molding her softer flesh. He was hot, and his white shirt felt damp. She caught the scent of his spicy aftershave spiked by his own clean scent, which was both musky and pleasantly distinctive.
His holding her with their faces mere inches apart slowly became too erotic to bear.
Youre a good dancer. You must practice. Do you come here often? she asked, hoping hed say no.
But he didnt. He crushed her tighter. I came here to meet somebody just for tonight. But this is different. Dont you know that? He stroked her throat with a callused thumb, causing a thousand little nerves to tingle delicately.
She gasped.
Youre different, he said. I think you know that I could care about youtoo much.
Hearing the change in his rough voice, Amy glanced up at him. His intense, dark eyes were grave.
Then you docome hereoften?
His face was suddenly so serious, her heart ached.
And do you dance with a different woman every night?
If you want to know do I sleep with a lot of different women, just ask me.
Well, do you?
I said you were different. His voice had darkened. I said I could care. I shouldnt have said that, but I meant it.
You told me to ask, but you didnt answer. Do you sleep around or not? Am I just tonights flavor?
His mouth thinned. He spun her in an intricate turn and then snapped her back into his arms. If I have in the past, I had my reasons, he growled.
A man either has character when it comes to women or he doesnt, she said.
So, things are black-and-white with you, no shades of gray? Good or bad? Evil or virtuous?