Designs On Daphne (3 page)

5

  After Rodric’s call, Daphne dropped the magazines and began to plan her look. Meeting one of Austin’s top attorneys for a drink at one of the city’s finest establishments was an opportunity to dress for!

  For the past week and a half, since Miz Esther had returned home to Dallas and her husband, Daphne had worked directly with Rodric. At Ty’s ranch, Rodric might have appeared frumpy and goon-faced, but here in Austin he was actually quite spectacular, and he treated her like a professional.

   She was free of the mawkish, gaped-jawed, overly-interested Rodric who had plagued her at Hymie’s.

Polite and detached, friendly but cool, he blessedly spared her being fawned over.  Since she didn’t need to worry about his unnecessary, over-flattering comments anymore, tonight, she should go all out. She did have an appearance to maintain!

  In fact, one or two careful looks from him might even be flattering. No one had been flattering her at all lately, certainly not Rodric. She was beginning to miss it.

  Her new stylist at Jose Luis on West Sixth had shown her a picture of Gwyneth Paltrow, suggesting ash lowlights. Thinking about the sleek hair of the ladies in her design class, Daphne agreed. Now, taking a further page from Gwynnie’s playbook, she tamed her waves with a flat-iron. She made her hair look all New York, but her footwear had to be straight-up Texas, she decided; the balance seemed just right for Austin.

  She paired golden ostrich boots with blue alligator shafts with a simple, peacock-blue sleeveless silk shift. Narrow cut and high necked, it emphasized her bosom, which was no inconsequential thing.

  God may have skimped her on brains and natural athletic talent, especially compared to Daisy, and money had always been tight growing up, too. It wasn’t until she turned fourteen that she’d realized she had indeed been blessed. Next to her boot collection, her long, well-muscled legs and high firm butt and Ella Jean’s recent financial largesse, Daphne did appreciate her well shaped bosom.

She admired herself in the mirror before taking the elevator down to the waiting car.

  She’d only kept the driver waiting ten minutes.

  Since her teen years, men had feasted their eyes on her breasts, but only a select few had enjoyed them lips on flesh. Even fewer had gotten to sample any of her other offerings, either. Daphne always wanted a nice husband and some sweet babies. Since she wasn’t keen on animals, she’d never seen herself as a Hobble Creek ranch wife; it had been easy to put off the hot pawing of boys in high school.

   In her early twenties, she’d enjoyed a few brief flings just to experiment. Then she decided that until she met her husband, it was silly to waste energy on emotional entanglements. Besides, she liked taking care of herself!

  Keeping her body real nice for her dream man while enjoying it herself was a worthwhile endeavor, as far as Daphne was concerned. She’d learned quite a bit experimenting on her own, enough that she was certain she’d enjoy letting her husband please her as often as he wanted, once she had that ring on her finger.

  She liked to think she’d enjoy him just as well.

  She didn’t mind letting the boys look all they wanted in the meantime, though, and, now that he was behaving himself, she’d include Rodric in that.

   There was always some pleasure when pathetic bristled-jaws dropped at the sight of her, she thought, checking her reflection in the big, shadowy exterior glass windows of Jeffrey’s as the driver helped her from the car at precisely six-thirty-five.

  She did so like what the peacock blue dress did to her bosom and to her eyes; she’d chosen gold jewelry too, studded with big, fake sapphires, for just the right snazzy sizzle.  

  The doorman swung the exterior door open for her, and there was Rodric, waiting dutifully, chatting it up with a bunch of suits in the foyer. He couldn’t help but do a double-take when he saw her come in, she noticed, giving him a little smile. Since she was there for him, he had no choice.

  He did what any man would do instinctively.

  She looked fabulous and she knew it.

  Like the gentleman he was, Rodric stepped quickly forward to greet her. He was wearing a suit, as he had every time she’d met him after work. Yesterday it had been navy, exquisitely cut. Today it was very fine, a deep charcoal summer-weight suit. He was a powerful man in his suits; tall, masculine, take-charge.

  Rodric had a good tailor, she’d give him that.

  At Hymie’s, he’d looked blubbery and out of place in his golf shirts and khakis, next to the strapping muscle of tall, lean ranchers. But here in Austin, in a suit, the layer of softness that coated the muscle of his large frame made him even more imposing, adding bulk. And his ties. . . Well, his ties were divine. What girl wouldn’t weaken at the knees at the sight of a crisp white shirt paired with a brilliantly colored, patterned silk tie?

  And, while Daphne was a huge fan of boots, seeing Rodric in his dark handmade Italian lace-ups . . . well. She had a new appreciation for men’s footwear. Fine leather was fine leather. Period.

  Rodric’s clothing certainly did flatter him.

  In fact, she’d admit it to no one, but she’d never seen a man look as good in a suit as Rodric did, she thought, as his eyes roamed her dress and boots, discreet but approving. Ever since that darn rodeo, she’d been plagued by an unfamiliar, unsettling tickle of femininity whenever he was near. But instead of gushing, or even complimenting her, he merely smiled.

 
Darn it!

  Leaning in to peck her cheek, Rodric asked, “And how was your day, Miz Daphne?”

  His voice was warm and kind. Unable to help herself, she put a hand to his lapel and inclined her head, catching a hint of cologne mixed with something else, a heady man-smell that suggested he must have had a long day in a courtroom doing something very important.

   “Just fine, d-....”
Was I really just about to say dear?

 
He grinned as if he’d caught her mistake.

  As she slipped away from him, she couldn’t mind the weight of his warm hand at her back as the maitre d’ led them to a table in the window. And she did like the way Rodric stood at the entry of her booth while she slid in, as if he were guarding her. He was really very thoughtful, especially when he asked that a split of Cristal be brought right away.

  
How does he know how thirsty I am?

   A girl certainly could certainly get used to a split of fine champagne, she thought, smiling eagerly as the ice bucket containing her Cristal was brought immediately to the table and a tall flute was placed in front of her and filled.  

  Rodric waved his champagne glass away, ordered a double Scotch, and insisted that she sip. Obviously enjoying the sight of her, he placed a large hand on the table near hers.  She couldn’t help liking its proximity, so as she sipped, she moved hers closer.

  He asked how her classes were going, lifting that big, warm hand. She began to tell him about value, chroma and hue, and how exactly she thought she could make those color concepts work in his living room, and her hand slipped beneath his.

  Clasped beneath his giant hand, enveloped there, hers was small, but it felt very warm and safe.

  She made sure her tone was all business, but she did like the way her hand felt under his. It was impossible that he would get ideas that this was anything but a very professional meeting if she kept her voice businesslike, so that was what she did.

  The waiter brought his Scotch, and his wide lips parted to sip it. She said, “The table was delivered for the dining nook in the kitchen. It looks just lovely. We have to think about window dressings next. They are really going to define that space.” Rodric tried to look as if he was really concentrating on what she was saying, but there were lines around his eyes.

 
He looks tired, poor thing.

  Without thinking, she said, “You’ve had a long day, haven’t you?”

  The lines creased. He set the Scotch down and took his water, pressing his hand over hers more firmly. The heat of his hand made her want to wiggle in her seat!

  “I did, Miz Daphne. In fact, I had a killer day. Depositions all morning and an afternoon in court, then a meeting with a very disappointed, very difficult client.”   She’d always considered Rodric pasty-faced, nondescript and unappealing, but that was next to tanned, lean ranchers. His face wasn’t particularly handsome, but it was honest. Honest and kind and trustworthy. His eyes were pale, a blue-green, like the clear water she’d seen in magazine pictures of island resorts.

  They were earnest, and very patient.

  Suddenly, she realized that mattered. A lot.

  She sat up taller. “Rodric, can I ask you something?”

  “Why, certainly, Miz Daphne.” His beefy lips parted wider, and his smile made the creases around his eyes deepen.

  “Why does decorating this apartment matter to you?”

   He sipped his Scotch and his hand pressed hers again. It sent a little thrill to her middle, which she didn’t want to understand.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, it just seems that you are so busy with your work right now. All of these decisions you have to make about the apartment must feel silly and burdensome, on top of everything else you’ve had to think about all day. You’ve set this deadline to move in at the end of the month, but with your work, how important can that be? You haven’t had a moment to yourself. Does decorating this apartment really matter to you so much?”

  Rodric sighed. His eyes searched hers, and she felt anxious for some dumb reason. He was kind, was paying her so well, but really, how necessary could what she was doing be to him?

  She felt a sinking sense of insignificance. Rodric was an important man, and she was nothing but a bother.

  An expensive bother, at that.

  “Miz Daphne, I’ve been where I am since Caroline and I separated, over two years now,” he began. “It’s a rented apartment, furnished, with three bedrooms. . . Plenty of space, and comfortable enough. But it’s never felt like home to me. And it never will. Home is important, Miz Daphne. At the end of a long day, I want to enjoy the comforts of a place that feels welcoming and easy, but is stylish and interesting, too. It has to be restful for me and the people I care about. That’s just about essential to me.”

  “But why?”

  “Because, honey, I need a nice place to escape from all the work I do. And home is my escape. I need a place I can relax and feel like myself in, feel good about showing off a little. Without a home, none of the work I do seems very worthwhile to me.” 

  “I see,” she said, secretly enjoying that he had said “honey”. To her. “So creating a place you will feel comfortable in makes these long evenings on top of your already full days worthwhile?”

  He set his Scotch down and took her other hand, which she’d conveniently set on the table as well. Now, both were trapped between his warm strength and the cool tabletop. The sensation was oddly thrilling, and she pressed her knees together to keep from squirming.

   In a deep voice, his eyes so very sincere, he said, “I knew if you would help me, Miz Daphne, that whatever we ended up with would feel like home to me. So yes, it’s very worthwhile.”

  “Oh, Rodric. . . ”

   His words made something in her middle pinch, and a warm buzz spread all over her, a buzz she wanted to chalk up to champagne. She felt her throat catch, and she could barely whisper her next words. “I had no idea that you believed in me that way. I’m really very flattered that you thought to ask me for help. It’s an honor to make a home for you, and a great deal of fun, too. I’m just beginning to feel guilty that I make so much unnecessary extra work for you.”

  “No, Miz Daphne, it’s not at all unnecessary. Actually, I enjoy planning with you immensely.” He slid his hands over back and forth over hers, then took her fingertips, touching them one at a time as he spoke. “You point out things I’ve never even thought about. For instance, apart from how it feels when you sit on it, how a sofa is much like a woman. She can be streamlined, modern and cool, or curvy and deep-cushioned and homey.”

  Their eyes met for a long moment, and Daphne felt a warm buzz boil from her belly to her nipples. She liked Rodric, she had to admit. She really, really liked him.

  Spending time with him had shaped her idea of what a real man should be, she realized. He was really and truly a gentleman; he had refined tastes and a true appreciation for her, looking out for her comfort as if it were second nature.

  She’d never met a real gentleman before.

  Daphne felt a tingle up her spine.
Caroline was a fool to let him slip away!

   But instead of lifting her fingers to kiss them, as she hoped Rodric would do, he gently but firmly set her hands back on the table. Picking up his Scotch, his tone changed.   “Besides that, there are only two and a half weeks left until I want to be moved in. First of September, remember? What do we have on the short list, as far as must haves?”

  He’d broken the warm glow that surrounded them, but that was all right; she was a professional, after all.
Even though we’ve become friends, too.

  Daphne straightened up.

  She didn’t need to consult a list, she had it all memorized. “Your sofas for the living area will arrive this week, and some end tables. Since you want something very unique and don’t want to be rushed, we’re deferring a decision on the coffee tables. There will be paintings and rugs and wall accessories and maybe a few sculptures for the living room to select in good time, but what’s really important is something comfortable and appealing to sit on, and we’ve taken care of that.”

  “As far as your study, your desk and filing cabinets and other things will be delivered from storage tomorrow. The everyday dining table is already in the kitchen, so you have a place to enjoy your meals, and some of your kitchen items have come from storage as well.”

  Looking at him, she lowered her eyes, suddenly embarrassed by the little fantasies she’d found herself entertaining that afternoon, in his apartment. Her voice was faint with nerves when she admitted, “I unpacked your things and started organizing the kitchen earlier.”

  “Did you?” He nodded warmly, and those creases around his eyes deepened. He touched her hand again. “Thank you for that. A well-organized kitchen is very important to me, and I’m sure you know how to get it just right.”

  She felt another warm glow of pleasure at his praise.

  “Of course you do,” he continued. “The kitchen is the heart of the home, so it needs to be just so. I have no idea about any of that, but I’m certain you do. And soon I’ll be able to sit in the living room to enjoy the view on the new sofas, have my coffee and breakfast in the kitchen at the new table. You have no idea how happy that makes me, Miz Daphne.”

  “Shall I organize the study tomorrow, so you can get to work right away?”

  He nodded. “I’d really appreciate that. Estevez offered to set up my computer. He’ll coordinate everything with the utilities. Once my home office is up and running, I can take a few days and work from the apartment while I move in, to be more available to help with what you need.”

  The thought of both of them together in the apartment made another wave of heat course through her middle, and Daphne became positively flustered.“So I guess. . .” She paused as the next item on the list tickled her throat, and then she swallowed. “Well, Rodric, I guess you’ll need a place to sleep.”

******

Extremely pleased, Rodric polished off the last of his Scotch. His groin jumped when Daphne mentioned the bedroom, and it took some effort to resist throwing a ‘significant look’ her way.

  As the waiter re-filled his water glass, he pretended to think, steeling himself to avoid temptation. Pressing his lips together firmly, he said, “Hmm”, but he could actually feel himself lunge across the table, bury his hands in the smooth blonde gorgeousness of her hair, and claim the sin of Daphne’s plush lips. Doing that in the middle of the week in downtown Austin at Jeffrey’s guaranteed his mother would have news of his escapade in Dallas in less than twenty-four hours. Not to mention the humiliation of it all if he wasn’t successful in winning Miz Daphne’s hand.

  Content to be satisfied with the shy, confused, yet somewhat hopeful look in Miz Daphne’s eyes, he said, “Welp, it’s silly to pretend my apartment will be as comfortable as it could be with a wife, Miz Daphne. I want to be married, of course. Perhaps I should hold off, let my fiancee choose our bedroom furniture? I can only imagine she’d like that honor herself.”