style="font-size:15px;"> “Oh.” He thought of the Western art, all originals, hanging in his mother and dad’s house. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to suggest selling those, either. He studied the print more closely and found the signature. “I thought Georgia O’Keefe painted cow skulls.”
“She did that, too. But her work with flowers is quite sexual, don’t you think?”
He turned to look at her. “So it wasn’t my imagination.”
“No.” Her color was high, but she met his gaze without hesitation. “Do you like it?”
“Yeah,” he said softly, thinking about the hours that lay ahead of them, hours that just might unfold with promise like this exotic flower. “I definitely like it.”
2
AS ERICA LOCKED UP her apartment and walked to the stairway with Dustin, she wondered what in hell she was doing, inviting him to have lunch with her. Testing her courage, most likely. Venturing into the scary old haunted house to see if the boogeyman really lived there.
She wanted Dustin to think of her as a sophisticated, sexual creature, and so far she believed she’d pulled it off. The smart thing would have been to take his envelope and send him out the door with his new vision of her intact. She had a deadline to think about. Instead she was accompanying him out the door, as if she had to continue proving her point.
Apparently she did. He’d showed signs of being very turned on by her. She’d detected a bulge behind his fly as they’d been talking. The possibility that he still wanted her was so fascinating she had to follow up on it.
Besides, he looked damned good—more of a hottie than she’d remembered, and that was saying something. Although she’d been taught by her parents to be suspicious of men wearing expensive sport coats, she had to admit Dustin looked excellent in one and even better out of it.
For the trip down the stairs, he’d taken off his jacket and slung it over one shoulder. The western cut of his shirt emphasized those shoulders, which had broadened since high school. His voice was a shade deeper, too, and listening to him gave her goose bumps. She liked the tiny character lines fanning out from the corners of his blue eyes and the leanness in his face that had turned a handsome boy into an awesome man.
Maybe she’d decided to spend more time with him so she could figure out why he turned her on. Because he definitely did. All she had to do was look at him and she got all warm and pliable. But that reaction was very inconvenient, because he was not her type. Her type wore loose cotton pants and sandals, not snug western-cut slacks and snakeskin boots.
“Have you been working for your parents since college?” she asked.
“Uh, no, not exactly. I got back into the family business a few months ago.”
“Really?” She would have thought he’d slide right into a job with Ramsey Enterprises. “Then what have you been up to?”
He hesitated, as if he didn’t want to discuss it. “Amateur auto racing,” he said at last.
“Oh.” In other words, he’d extended his childhood so he could race around a track burning up precious fossil fuels while he helped destroy the ozone layer. He was so not her kind of guy. She dated men who held environmentally responsible jobs and spent their weekends browsing used bookstores or seeking out interesting foreign films. Any day now she was going to find a man like that who also excited her sexually.
He glanced at her. “You don’t approve of the racing thing.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. I could hear it in your voice.” He sighed. “I knew you wouldn’t.”
He sounded much like a remorseful little kid and she smiled.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m a little embarrassed that I stayed with it so long,” he continued. “I realize it was a purely selfish deal—I barely made enough money to support myself, and although I had a hell of a good time, I probably should have been doing something more constructive.”
She tried to banish a picture of him emerging from a fast car with a triumphant grin, because the image was so damned sexy. “Then you can understand why I don’t want to devote my life to putting out a newsletter for singles, when I could be investigating important stuff like the disposal of toxic waste.” She hoped she wasn’t attracted to his flash and dash. As they continued down the stairs, she studied him with covert glances, trying to decide if that was the appeal.
“There’s a huge difference between my racing days and this newsletter,” he said. “I loved the racing, but nobody benefited from it but me. By putting out the newsletter, you’re bringing people together, making things better.”
“In a small way, maybe, but—”
“I know, I know. You want to change the world. I always admired that about you.”
“You did?” She’d never imagined herself the focus of his admiration. The focus of his temporary lust, maybe, but not admiration.
“Sure. Most of the girls were concentrating on makeup and clothes, but you picketed the administration for recycled TP in the bathrooms.”
“Which we didn’t get.”
“You were ahead of your time.”
“Thanks. I think so, too.” She also thought it was pretty cool that he’d paid attention to her antics. She’d paid attention to him, too, but not for such noble reasons.
He’d worn those sleek satin football pants to good advantage. No doubt about it, he had great buns then and still had them now. The baggy look so many of her dates liked didn’t give her a chance to find out if she liked their buns or not.
“I’m really sorry I didn’t get to the reunion,” she said, meaning it. She could ask him to give her the name of the coordinators so she could attend the next one. “How many people showed up?”
“About two hundred graduates, so the kids and spouses made it closer to four hundred at the picnic.”
“I can’t believe the kids in our class have kids of their own.”
“Some have two or three. Jeremy and Lucinda have four. Some people are on their second marriages already.”
“Unbelievable.” Speaking of Jeremy and Lucinda took her right back to that party where she and Dustin had become involved. They’d shared their first kiss out on the patio beside the swimming pool. She’d loved the shape of Dustin’s mouth. His lips were full enough to qualify him as a great kisser, yet not so full that he looked feminine.
As they reached the bottom of the stairs, she had a sudden thought. “Do you have kids?” No wedding ring didn’t necessarily mean no kids.
He shook his head. “Nope. No ex-wife, either. Not even an ex-fiancée.” He gave her that winning smile of his. “I’ve been having too much fun to think of tying myself down.”
Fortunately she remembered her savvy chick line as they walked out into the midday heat. “Me, too. Way too much fun.” His
