It wasn’t like him to be gallant.
Yes, she was his landlady, which offered up all sorts of potential complications. But there was more. Despite the come-on, he sensed a loneliness about her and an underlying tension. Something wasn’t right here. She wasn’t herself, and until he knew why, Marco couldn’t take advantage of her vulnerability. He had no choice but to say no.
“I think,” he said carefully, reluctantly, “that the timing isn’t right.”
She looked away from him, but not before he caught a flash of what he could swear was relief in her eyes. He had been right. Something was definitely going on here. If only he could figure out what it was.
“So you’re saying no,” she said flatly.
“Have you had an accident at work?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Have you fallen, hit your head? Perhaps a reaction to a new medication? You’re not acting at all like yourself today.”
Her body went rigid. “Oh? And just how should I be acting?”
“This isn’t you, Gretchen.”
Her gaze met his, her eyes defiant. If relief was what he’d glimpsed in them a minute ago, it was absent now.
“What isn’t me?”
“This.” He swept an arm out. “The car, the clothing, the come-on. Especially the come-on.”
She bit her lip and looked down at her lap. “So, what you’re saying is that I look ridiculous.”
“Not ridiculous,” he replied gently. “Not even close. You just seem a little…well, uncomfortable.”
For a long minute she didn’t say anything. Then, with a rueful smile, she tugged at the hemline of her dress.
“You’d be uncomfortable, too, if you’d poured yourself into this thing. It’s so tight I can barely breathe. It may fit like a second skin, but it feels like a tourniquet.”
“For what it’s worth, you look great.”
“Not great enough to make you want me.”
If only she knew how wrong she was. “I have my reasons, Gretchen.”
“And I respect them. Don’t worry. I won’t bother you anymore with my unwanted attentions.”
“They’re not entirely unwanted,” he admitted.
“They’re just…”
“Inconvenient?”
It was as good a word as any. “The dress really isn’t you, you know.”
“Why?” Her voice took on a bitter note. “Because it isn’t practical?”
“Yes. No. I guess so,” he ended lamely, not knowing what to say.
“And I’m a practical woman.”
“I’ve always thought of you that way.”
“Well, maybe I’ve decided to erase the word practical from my vocabulary.”
“What’s wrong with being practical?”
“Let me ask you something,” she retorted. “When’s the last time you took a practical woman like me to your bed?”
When he didn’t answer, she gave a hollow laugh. “That’s what I thought.”
Shifting, she pulled back onto the highway. At the first exit she turned around and headed for home. The sun was setting when she pulled into her garage.
“Thank you for the ride,” Marco said, feeling awkward.
“Anytime.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Next time, though, I’ll leave out the seduction scene.”
“Gretchen,” he began.
She held up a hand. “It’s okay. You don’t have to try to make me feel better. I’m a big girl. I’ll be just fine.”
There was so much he wanted to say to her. That he thought she was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen. That he wanted her. That he regretted his clumsiness in his handling of the situation. That, under the proper circumstances, he would kill to have a wild, crazy affair with her. That he was there for her if she just wanted to talk.
The way she held her body, stiff and unyielding, told him the words wouldn’t be welcome, so he remained mute. When they parted at their respective front doors, Marco felt more confused than ever.
She’d blown it. Big-time.
Bracing one hand on the edge of the kitchen sink, Gretchen pressed a frosted mug of root beer to cheeks that still burned with embarrassment. Outside her kitchen window the sun dropped below the horizon. A romantic scene if ever there was one, and she was watching it all alone. Which was a good thing, because she had never felt more mortified in her entire life.
How could she ever face him again?
She hadn’t set out to try to seduce him. For one thing, she was in the middle of her period, which made things logistically difficult. The only purpose of the dress and the drive was to get his attention and to, hopefully, pique his interest. No one—except maybe Marco himself—had been more surprised when the words rolled out of her mouth. If she had piqued any interest on his part, it was whether or not she was playing the cards of life with a full deck.
What hurt the most was that she’d planned it out so painstakingly. For the past three and a half weeks, during which time she’d recovered from lasik surgery, had her hair styled and bought a whole new wardrobe, she’d been careful to keep out of his sight. She’d been especially careful to confine her piano practice to times when she was certain he wasn’t home.
While she’d waited for the perfect time to put her plan into action, she’d read books on flirting, along with car brochures. She’d found herself listening for Marco and trying to ascertain his schedule. Then, when she was ready, she’d dressed herself up and shamelessly placed herself in his path.
The naked appreciation in his eyes had made her giddy. For the first time in what seemed forever, a man wasn’t looking at her for just her mind. On the contrary, Marco had regarded her solely as a sexual object. Though she had known that officially she should be offended, she hadn’t been able to summon up any indignation. The look in Marco’s eyes was heady stuff for someone who was used to having men’s glances slide away from her to more attractive women.
Never before had Gretchen felt such confidence, such an incredible sense of her power as a woman. And it had all fallen apart the minute she’d thrown caution to the wind rushing through their hair and propositioned him.
She heaved a heavy sigh. What had every flirting book instructed? Dress your best. Be mysterious. Play hard to get. Keep him off balance.
If Marco’s reaction was anything to go by, she’d gotten the dressing-her-best part down
