She studied the tips of his black cowboy boots. “How about that drink?”
With a sigh of frustration, McCade navigated his way to the bar, trying to decide whether to get himself a beer or a soda. Caffeine or alcohol. Which would cool him down the quickest? He decided on the beer. As long as he didn’t have too many, he’d probably be better off. But God help him if he drank too much. He’d probably end up throwing himself at Sandy’s feet, begging her to have mercy on him.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” He leaned toward her in the crush of people gathered around the long bar. Crowds usually bothered him, but he liked this one. It forced Sandy to stand close enough to him so that he could breathe in her delicious scent. Mercy, she smelled good. She never wore perfume, but the mixture of the shampoo and soap that she used, along with the unmistakable musky scent that belonged to Sandy alone, was better than any bottled aroma.
He felt his body respond to her closeness. Oh, man, he wanted her. Right here and now. He wanted to pull her into the empty coat-check room, lock the door behind them, and—
“Can I get you something?” the bartender asked.
“Beer,” Sandy said. “Right, McCade? Bottled and imported. Make it two.”
She smiled at the bartender as he poured two bottles of beer into tall, V-shaped glasses. She handed one to McCade and raised the other in a small toast. “Here’s to body language.”
Their glasses clinked, and they both took a long sip of the foaming beer.
“Speaking of body language…” McCade moved her away from the crowded bar. “I think you should pretend…”
He took another sip of his beer while Sandy waited for him to continue. “What?” she finally said.
“Pretend that you want me.” He was serious. He smiled as she gazed up into his eyes, but this was no joke. She had never seen him so absolutely serious.
Sandy was silent as he pulled her farther away from the crowd. When they reached a small, deserted cluster of white wicker chairs and a glass-topped table, he stopped and gently took her beer from her hand, setting both of their drinks down.
“First thing you need to do is relax,” McCade said, and she realized she had her arms tightly crossed in front of her. “Start at least by pretending that you like me.”
“McCade, I don’t have to pretend
that.
”
“Good.” His smile widened as he took both of her hands in his, tugging on them slightly. “Now pretend I’m an old friend who’s come into town. Pretend I’m just here for tonight, and pretend that you’ve just realized that you’re in love with me. Pretend that you’ve only got a few hours to let me know how you feel, and pretend that you’re not the type to blurt out the truth.” He dropped her hands and stepped back, away from her. “What are you going to do?”
“This is silly,” Sandy said. “Why do I have to pretend all of those things?”
“Because if I told you to pretend I’m a stranger who caught your eye, we’d get into an hour-long discussion on the stupidity of picking up a person you know nothing about. Besides, you’re going to come on differently to a man you know isn’t a potential ax murderer, like James…or me.”
Sandy nervously picked up her glass of beer and took a sip. “But I don’t know James well enough to be sure he’s not an ax murderer.”
McCade laughed. “Now you’re stalling.”
She frowned into her beer, watching bubbles escape from the amber liquid. “But I’m…” She shook her head. “I’m lousy at pretending, and on top of that, I’m lousy at seduction. It’s a wonder I’m not still a virgin. Do you think it’s too late for me to become a nun?”
“Yes,” McCade said firmly. “Much too late.” He took a deep breath. “You don’t need to know how to seduce a man. You just need to know how to…let yourself be seduced.
“Trust me,” he added softly. “Do you trust me?”
She nodded, looking down into her beer again.
“Use your eyes. Remember what I told you about eye contact?”
Sandy nodded again.
As she looked up to meet his eyes he smiled ruefully. “I’m reading scared in your expression. Shyness too. You’ve got to be bolder. Let me know you’re thinking about sex.”
“But I’m not.”
“You should be. Watch me, Sandy. Cassandra.”
As Sandy watched, McCade’s gaze turned fiery, burning hot. He let his eyes sweep down her body, taking his time as he looked her over, inch by inch. “Can you guess what I’m thinking?” He glanced back into her eyes and she blushed.
“Yeah,” she said. “But—”
She didn’t go on.
“But what?”
“I guess I’m a little more old-fashioned than you, McCade. I can’t just flip a switch whenever I want to and feel…lust.”
“I prefer to call it physical attraction,” he told her. “And with me it’s not a matter of flipping a switch. It’s a matter of dropping defenses, of letting something show that I would normally keep hidden.”
Sandy stared at him, trying to make sense of his words. “You don’t really expect me to believe that you find me that attractive,” she said flatly.
“Believe it or not, Kirk,” he retorted, a hint of annoyance in his voice, “I do. I’ve always found you outrageously sexy.”
Laughing disparagingly, she turned away. “Right.”
McCade caught her arm, nearly knocking the glass of beer out of her hands. “Dammit, Sandy,” he hissed. “When are you going to stop knocking yourself? I’ve never lied to you, why should I start now?”
“I’m sorry, I know you’re not lying.” Of course he was attracted to her as a friend. And as for the physical thing, well, it wasn’t news to her that he liked anything female. She just hadn’t realized he knew she was female.
Sandy gently pulled her arm from his grasp. She didn’t want to fight. She was tired and hungry and she wanted to go home. But she knew McCade wasn’t going to let her leave until she came through with this body-language stuff. She put her glass of beer down.
She didn’t have to pretend she wanted McCade. All she’d have to pretend was that she was finally in that perfect world she’d dreamed about so many times. She looked up at him, and let all the passion and all the longing she’d ever felt for him show in her eyes.
She held his gaze as a series of emotions flitted across his face. She could see surprise, disbelief, amazement, and finally approval in his eyes. It was followed closely by a flare of what must have been reflective heat.
“That’s the look,” McCade breathed as she gave him a very obvious once-over.
When Sandy looked back into his eyes, she smiled self-consciously and held out both hands to him, palms up. “How’m I doing?” she asked.
“Not exactly subtle, but it’ll do. Dance with me.”
“What? Why?”
“It’s the next logical step,” he explained. “You just told me with your eyes that the game you want to play is one on one. Unless I’m crazy or brain-dead, I’m going to respond by trying to get you into my arms. That’s what dancing’s all about. It’s an excuse for people to hold each other.”
“I’m not a very good dancer.”
“You do just fine.” McCade smiled. “Besides, this isn’t about dancing. It’s about sex. Think of it as foreplay.”
Sandy felt herself blush. “McCade, I’m exhausted—”
“Just one dance, then we’ll go. I promise.”
“I’m going to hold you to that,” she told him as he led her onto the dance floor.
Sandy felt McCade’s strong arms surround her and wondered why she bothered to protest. Dancing with him was heaven. It was absolute paradise. She gazed into his eyes, and his arms tightened around her, pulling her against his muscular body. There was no space between them, no way they could get any closer—at least not with their clothes on.
Sandy could feel McCade’s hand on the bare skin exposed by the deep V of the back of her dress. He slowly moved his hand down, touching her lightly and so sensuously.
“Yeah.” His breath was warm as he spoke softly into her ear. “You remembered step four.”
With a start, Sandy realized she was stroking the back of his neck, twining her fingers in his thick, soft hair. Without thinking, she
had
followed McCade’s fourth step. She had taken a normal, polite dance hold and turned it into a caress. But she’d done it naturally, without being aware. Gee, maybe there was hope for her yet with this body-language thing.
“Cassandra.” He said her name softly. “You know, there’s not a single man in this room who isn’t watching us dance.”
She felt his hand move up her back, underneath her hair. His touch felt sinfully good. His fingers sent both chills and heat racing through her until she was nearly dizzy.
“They’re all thinking, ‘What a lucky guy.’” McCade smiled lazily. “And you know, they’re right.”
The song ended, but he didn’t let her go.
“Vandenberg’s watching us too.” His eyes were glued to her mouth.
“Who?” Sandy said faintly.
“Vandenberg,” he repeated. “James?”
James. “Oh.”
“What do you say we really give him something to look at?” he murmured. It was as good an excuse as any, and right now he desperately needed an excuse. He couldn’t bring himself to kiss her without one, and mercy, he wanted to kiss her. “Maybe this will give him the right idea,” he added, even though the only idea he wanted to give James Vandenberg was that this woman in his arms belonged to McCade, heart, body, and soul.
Sandy nervously moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, and it was all the invitation McCade needed.
He used his left hand to push her curls gently back from her face as he bent down and brushed her soft lips with his own. It was torture, sweet, delicious torture. One taste, one tiny, little, almost nonexistent kiss simply wasn’t enough. He could feel his heart pounding, and he struggled to keep his breathing steady.
But when he looked into Sandy’s eyes, he couldn’t stop himself. “I don’t know,” he said, ignoring the fact that the band had started another slow song and people were dancing around them. “Do you think he noticed? We better do that again, just to make sure.”
He kissed her again, longer this time, letting his mouth linger. It was still as sweet, though, still as gentle.
“Come on. I promised I’d take you home.” Almost desperately, he led her off of the dance floor. If they stayed much longer, he wouldn’t be able to keep from kissing her again, and if he kissed her again, he’d give himself away. He wasn’t ready for that yet. It was too soon.
“Cassandra Kirk.”
He looked up to see James Vandenberg and another man on a direct intercept path with them. He swore silently as he put a pleasant smile on his face.
“James. Hi.” Instantly self-conscious, Sandy dropped McCade’s hand and started to cross her arms. She caught herself and stopped, nervously pushing her hair back, then standing with her hands loosely clasped in front of her.
“I’m glad you could make it,” James said warmly. He glanced at McCade. “Clint McCade, right?”
“Good memory.” McCade smiled as they shook hands.
“Politician in training,” James explained with an easy smile. “Cassandra, do you know Aaron Fields? He’s with Channel Five News. He’s agreed to supply us with additional footage of Simon Harcourt from their video archives.”
As McCade watched Sandy all uncertainty seemed to drop from her and she became the president of Video Enterprises. She stood slightly taller, and was instantly confident, cool, and reserved. “Mr. Fields and I are acquainted, yes.” She fixed Fields with a rather icy smile. She didn’t offer him her hand, and McCade realized that she did not like this man.
Impressed, he studied Aaron Fields. Out of all the billions and billions of people in the world, there were just a very small handful that Sandy actively disliked. And because she was full of second chances and forgiveness for bad behavior, it was not easy to fall into that tiny subset of humanity. But somehow Aaron Fields had managed to do so.
He wasn’t short, not exactly, but with Sandy in her heels, he was a good four inches shorter than she. The man looked to be in his early thirties, and his widening girth put a definite strain on the seams of his tuxedo. He was obviously falling prey to a changing metabolism. His hair was blond, and his face nearly florid from a recent sunburn. Despite the red glow, he was still handsome, but unless he started to detour around the cheeseburger stand and take a few more trips to the salad bar instead, he was going to lose his good looks. His face was starting to get fleshy, making his small, gray eyes seem even smaller. He was a former prom king, McCade decided, maybe even a former high-school football star.
There was a story here, and knowing Sandy, it was bound to be a good one.
Unaware of the undercurrent of animosity, James was talking about setting up a meeting where Fields and Sandy could sort through the vast footage that the television station had taken of Simon Harcourt over the course of the years.
“Call my secretary,” Fields said. “Although, my schedule’s heavy for the next few weeks. Of course, we could always do it in the evening.”
“We should have an intern catalog the videotapes first.” Sandy was obviously not thrilled with the thought of spending an evening with Fields. “That will take a few weeks and—”
“It’s already cataloged,” Fields said with a smug smile.
Sandy hesitated, and McCade understood instantly. She didn’t want to be alone with this man. “I’ll have my secretary call yours,” she told Fields coolly. “Maybe there’s some time during the day you can fit me in.”
“James, you’ll want to review this footage.” McCade spoke up. “Why don’t you try to be there too?”
Sandy glanced at McCade, uncertain whether he was trying to throw her together with James, or if somehow he had figured out what a sleaze bucket Aaron Fields was. He smiled calmly back at her, and her heart sank. McCade
had
to be playing matchmaker. How could he know about Fields? She hadn’t known the kind of man Fields was when she first met him.
Of course McCade was trying to get James to spend time with her. That was the goal here. She felt a little foolish for hoping that those kisses had actually meant something. Had she really thought McCade had kissed her for any reason other than catching James’s attention?
“Actually, evenings are better for me,” James was saying. He looked at Sandy. “But I can try to rearrange my schedule if days are better for you.”