between us. You were honest when you danced with me that night at Nels’s party. But because I didn’t know where I was headed and showed it, I earned your displeasure and perhaps your distrust. I called you today to put it right. The ball is in your court now. I want to know you better, but crawling is not something that I do.”
“We could have dinner together tomorrow night.” Had she said that? She knew that she would regret it. She could never be indifferent to this man. And yet she could not—would not—open herself to the possibility of another demoralizing intimacy.
“What about that urgent proposal?”
“Dinner with you may be just what’s needed to expedite it,” she said, cryptically.
Jon pondered that for a bit.
“I’ll call for you at seven-thirty.” She hadn’t given him her address, but he’d get it just like she got his telephone number—from Nels.
He leaned forward, elbows on his desk, hands together and fingers spread pyramid fashion. Why had he agreed to that date? When he’d heard her voice, he’d felt a yearning for her that he hadn’t had for a woman in years. He’d been alone by choice for five years, forcing himself not to want, not to need. But she made him want, made him need, made him ache. He hungered for her. He’d suspected that her cool composure was a farce, a facade, a cover for the softness that she had unwittingly displayed in unguarded moments when they danced.
One thing was certain: Haley Feldon did not want to be soft or passionate. She was trying to project an image of being cool, tough and unattainable. He’d have dinner with her, yes, but he’d be damned if he was going to be sucked into a quicksand of emotion.
He closed his eyes, and the vision of her floated before him. He could see her doe-soft, beguiling brown eyes, and he shuddered. Hell, what he needed was fifty laps in his upstate pool.
“Ecklund, you’re losing it,” he said aloud. But his spirits buoyed for reasons that he didn’t bother to examine. He left his office whistling “If I Loved You.”
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