feel sorry for me—?”
He put his thumb gently against her lips, silencing her. “I wouldn’t take you to the post office out of pity,” he replied. “Are you getting cold feet?” he added softly.
She grimaced and stared at his jacket. “Yes.”
“I won’t hurt you,” he said, his voice quiet and deep. “I won’t rush you or embarrass you.”
She bit her lower lip. “It’s just that it’s…new.”
“You’ll get used to it.” He moved restlessly. “Are you ready to go? I’m early, but I was afraid I’d get held up if I didn’t leave while I could.”
“Yes. I’ll just get my purse.”
She got her purse and her black velvet blazer, as well, and let him escort her out to the Jaguar. She got more nervous by the minute, which was absurd considering how long she’d dreamed of going anywhere with him. She could hardly talk, and her hands shook.
“How do you like living with Mrs. Simpson?” Calhoun asked on the way to Houston.
She smiled. “I like it very much.” Her fingers toyed with the handle of her purse. “I miss the house sometimes. It’s different, living alone.”
He glanced at her, his eyes narrow. “Yes.” He turned his eyes back to the road, frowning as he pulled a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. He reached for the car lighter, noticing her curious stare. “I’m nervous,” he said without thinking, and then he laughed at his own confession. “That’s one for the books, isn’t it, Abby, with my reputation?”
She felt warm all over. She smiled, her eyes carefully lowered. “I’m nervous, too,” she said.
“I’m not a virgin,” he reminded her as he put the lighter against the cigarette.
“Rub it in,” she sighed miserably.
“Don’t make it sound like leprosy,” he teased as he replaced the lighter in its hole beside the ashtray in the dash. “Frankly, I’ve had my fill of experienced women telling me what to do in bed.”
She stared at him, torn between curiosity and jealousy. “Do women really do that?”
His eyebrows arched. He hadn’t realized how innocent she really was. “Don’t you go to movies?”
“I tried,” she recalled. “You never would let me in to see the really good ones.”
He whistled softly. “Well, well.” His eyes brushed her slender body, then returned to the road. “You’ll take a lot of teaching, won’t you, tidbit?” he murmured.
She shifted against the seatbelt. “Which would probably bore you to death.”
“I don’t think so,” he mused. “After all—” he lifted the cigarette to his firm lips “—I could customize you.”
She gaped at him. “Now I’ve heard everything!”
“Tell me you’d hate being my lover, Abby,” he challenged softly, glancing her way.
She couldn’t. But she couldn’t quite admit the truth, either. She averted her face, burning with subdued irritation at his soft, predatory laughter.
They went to the same club where she’d seen him with the blonde, but this time was different. There seemed to be no barriers after the first few awkward minutes.
“I’ve never had rice made like this,” Abby remarked as she enjoyed the small portion that came with her roast beef au jus.
“With scallions, you mean? It’s unique. Like you,” he added, and she looked up to find his eyes steady on her face. Intent. Unblinking.
She gazed back at him. He made her feel giddy when he looked at her that way. Her whole body tingled.
And she wasn’t the only one affected. His heart was doing a tango in his chest at the way she was watching him, at her pleasure in his company. He even liked the way he felt himself, nervous and a little uncertain.
They finished their meal, and the dessert that followed it, in silence. As they lingered over a second cup of coffee, he finally spoke. “Want to dance?” he asked softly.
She swallowed. Her eyes traveled slowly over his big body, and just the thought of being pressed against him on the dance floor frightened her. She’d drown in pleasure, and he’d know it. He’d see how helpless she was, how vulnerable.
“I—don’t know,” she stammered finally, and swallowed the last spoonful of her apple pie.
“Are you really afraid to let me hold you in front of a roomful of people, Abby?” he asked with narrowed eyes.
She lifted her own gaze. “Yes.”
“Why?” he persisted.
Well, why not be honest, she thought fatalistically. “Because I want you,” she whispered softly, watching his expression become taut. “And because you’ll be able to see how much.”
Her lack of guile floored him. He couldn’t remember a single woman in his past being quite so straightforward about such things. He took a slow breath and reached across the table for her hand, turning it over to trace the palm tenderly with a long forefinger.
“I want you just as badly,” he said, watching her hand instead of her eyes. “And you’ll be able to feel how much, as well as see it. And I still want to dance with you.”
She was so hungry for him that her body was pulsing softly. Even having him know every thought in her mind, being vulnerable, didn’t seem to matter anymore. She worshiped him with her eyes, and he looked up and caught her in the act.
“Let’s stop pretending,” he said quietly. “Come here.”
He got up, drawing her with him. He led her to the small dance floor, where a band was playing a lazy tune, and when he pulled her close, she went without a murmur.
“Have you ever noticed how perfectly we fit together?” he asked against her hair as they moved to the music. His hand at her back contracted, bringing her even closer, and the sound of his voice at her ear was deliciously exciting. “I like the way you feel against me.”
She could tell that, because his body was beginning to react in a totally masculine way to her softness. She stiffened a little, but the caressing motion of his fingers on hers relaxed her.
“It’s all right,” he whispered. “I won’t hurt you.”
“I know that.” She closed her eyes, drowning in his nearness, in the music, in the magic.
He shuddered, a barely perceptible stiffening of his big body, and his hand pressed her against him for one wild second. “This is stupid,” he said tautly.
“I tried to tell you that,” she whispered shakily as her fingers contracted helplessly in his and she looked up into his eyes.
His
