MORGAN has been a nursery school teacher, a travel agent, a clerk and a business editor, but her best job ever has been writing romances—and fostering romance in her own family at the same time. Current score: two boys married, two more to go. Raye has published more than seventy romance novels and claims to have many more waiting in the wings. She lives in Southern California, with her husband and whichever son happens to be staying at home at the moment.
This is dedicated to Lauri, for everything wonderful that comes out of her oven!
A NIGHTMARE. That was what this had to be. She must be dreaming. But what had she expected from a blind date?
Jill Darling was no shy innocent, but her face was blazing. She could feel it. The man was trying to... Ugh, it was just too creepy to even try to name what he was doing. She couldn’t really be sure unless she took a look under the table. And that would cause a scene. She couldn’t do that. She knew people in this restaurant.
But...was that really his foot sliding up and down her leg?
He was leaning close, talking on and on, his breath hot on her neck. Okay, maybe that was all in the game. But what the heck was that foot doing?
She tried to move away, but she was trapped, huddled right up against the edge of the planter that sat right beside their table, tickling her nose with its palm fronds. They were eating in the restaurant of the nicest hotel in this part of town. It had Irish linen tablecloths, real sterling silverware and a small combo playing for dancers on a tiny dance floor to the side.
She took a long drink from her water glass, then looked over at him. She tried to smile, but she knew it was wobbly and pretty darn unconvincing if he should happen to actually notice it.
Karl Attkins was his name. Her friend’s brother. He was good looking enough, but somehow cold, as though she could have been anyone with an “available female” label stamped on her forehead. Should she ask him about the foot? And maybe warn him not to lose sight of his shoe. It wouldn’t be easy to replace that here in this crowded restaurant.
Oh, Lord, he was using his toes now. She was going to have to say something. If she didn’t, her nice steak dinner just might come back up. And all that wine she drank, trying to keep busy. This just wasn’t cool. She took a deep breath and tried to think of a way to say it without being insulting.
But then he gave her the out she needed.
“Would you like to dance?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow as though he knew she must consider him quite debonair.
Dance. No, not at all. But she steeled herself to the effort. Dancing ought to give him a reason to put his shoe back on, and if so, it would all be worth it.
“Sure,” she said breathlessly. “Why not?”
Well, the fact that they were playing a tango at that very moment might have been a reason to sit this one out. But it hardly mattered. At least the man was shod once more. She tried to keep the electric smile painted on her face as he led her to the proper position. And then she glanced at her watch and wondered how much longer she was going to have to endure this torture. She had to put in a good chunk of time or the friends who’d got her into this wouldn’t believe she’d really tried.
Oh, Mary Ellen, she groaned silently as Karl pushed her to and fro dramatically across the dancing floor, leaving her to lunge about like a puppet with its strings cut. I love you dearly, but this is just too high a price to pay for your friendship.
“But, Jill,” all her friends had counseled solemnly, “you’ve got to do it. You’ve got to get back into the swim of things. It’s been over a year since Brad...well, since you’ve been alone.” The timing had helped make her receptive. Changes were making her feel vulnerable. Her sister was probably moving away, and her younger half-sister had recently died. Loneliness was looming large in her life. “Time is streaking by,” another friend lectured. “Don’t let it leave you behind. Don’t be a coward. Get out there and fight!”
Fight? For what?
“A man, of course,” said Mary Ellen. “Once you hit your age, they don’t come a dime a dozen any more. You’ve got competition.”
“But, what if I...?”
“No! You can’t give up!” her friend Crystal had chimed in. “Your kids need a father figure in the home.”
Mary Ellen had fixed her with a steely stare. “And you want to show old Brad, don’t you?”
Show old Brad. The need to do just that surged in her. Of course she wanted to show old Brad. Sure. She would date. If he could do it, so could she. Stand back. She was ready for the challenge.
But where would she find someone to date? Mary Ellen knew just the man for her.
“My brother Karl is a real player,” she said airily. “He’ll get you back into the swing of things in no time. He has so many friends. You’ll be dating like crazy before you know it.”
Dating. She remembered dating. The way your heart raced as you waited for him to come to the door, the shy pauses, the way your eyes met his and then looked quickly away. Would he kiss you on the doorstep? Were you really going to let him?
Fun!
But that was then. This was a completely different thing, seemingly from a galaxy far, far away. She was older now. She’d been married and she had two kids. She knew how things worked. She could handle it. Or so she thought.
No. This was a nightmare.
At least her dress was pretty, and she didn’t get many chances to wear something like this anymore. A sleek shift dress in teal-blue, it was covered with sequins and glistened as she walked, making her feel sexy and pretty and nice. Too bad she was wasting that on a man who spent more time looking at himself in the mirror than she did.
The tango was over. She turned back toward the table in relief, but Karl grabbed her free hand and twirled her around to face him. The band was playing a cha cha. He grinned. “Hey mambo!” he cried out and began to sway. He seemed to consider himself quite the ballroom dancer, even if he couldn’t tell one Latin dance from another.
Jill had a decision to make. Would she rather dance, or go back to playing footsie? She wasn’t sure she knew how to cha cha. But she knew she didn’t want to feel that foot on her leg again.
What the hell.
“Everybody loves to cha-cha-cha,” she murmured as she let him twirl her again.
And then she looked up and saw Connor McNair staring at her in horror.
Her blood ran cold. She was still moving, but no one could accuse her of dancing at this point. The music didn’t mean a thing.
Connor. Oh, no.
First, it appalled her to think that anyone she knew might see her here like this. But close on that thought came the shock question—was Brad with him?
No. She glanced around quickly and didn’t see any sign of her ex-husband at all. Thank heaven
