by Peggy Webb
“It’s good to be loved.” His hands went to the waistband of his briefs.
“Wait.” She stood up and lifted his stack of clothes into her arms. “I’ve decided to be generous.”
He inched the briefs down below his navel. “You won fair and square. I insist.”
“No!”
“No?” He grinned. “Afraid my other body parts will be nice, too, Hannah?”
“You’re impossible.”
“It was your game.” He slid the briefs down another inch.
For a moment Hannah was mesmerized by the dark swirl of hair on his flat stomach. She licked her dry lips as her gaze dropped lower. If he hadn’t chuckled, she might have made a complete fool of herself, standing there imagining what he had in his briefs. Whoever had said revenge was sweet had never dealt with Jim Roman. Thoroughly aggravated at herself, she jerked her head up and glared at him.
“Keep the underwear. I don’t think Greenville is ready for the sight of you naked.” And neither was she. She whirled around and headed toward the door. His mocking laughter followed her through. She sailed across the empty room, bearing his clothes in front of her like a burnt offering. Her heart rate was up, and she felt flushed. Even the brush of his clothes against her skin made her tingle.
Her impetus carried her all the way to the parking lot. She leaned against her van and took several deep, steadying breaths. Lord, what that man did to her! Still holding his clothes, she lifted her face to the sky. It was navy blue velvet and lit with so many stars it looked like an artist’s fantasy. A cool breeze fanned her hot face.
She’d give him three more minutes, she thought, three minutes to wonder how he was going to get across town in his underpants without being stopped by the cops and put in jail. That should teach him that she wasn’t the kind of women he could pluck off the ground, plop onto a filly, and lead away like a child. She smiled. There was something to be said for his audacity.
She glanced down at her watch. He’d had time enough to worry about his predicament. Taking the armload of clothes, she started back toward the clubhouse.
“Going somewhere, Hannah?”
Jim appeared out of the darkness like a giant Greek god. A large white tablecloth was draped over his body, toga-style. For a moment she stood in the parking lot and stared. Never had she seen a man more magnificently suited to wear a toga. He looked even better than he had in his briefs.
“Good grief. Julius Caesar?”
“No. Mark Antony. I’m glad you waited, my serpent of old Nile.” He didn’t move; he simply stood there, a powerful man playing a powerful game.
She didn’t know what bothered her the most—the way Jim Roman looked or the way he called her his serpent of old Nile, Antony’s pet name for Cleopatra. Mark Antony and Cleopatra had been history’s greatest lovers. They’d also been star-crossed, just as she and Jim were.
Her heart rate picked up speed as she faced him. Lovers. The word echoed through her mind. Even as she yearned for him, she denied her feelings. They weren’t lovers; they never would be lovers. They were merely two gamblers who were fated for a casual mating. Unconsciously Hannah jutted her chin out. She was determined that was all they would be— casual bedfellows.
“You’re very resourceful, Jim.”
“I’ve always had to be.”
Something in his tone made her look at his face. Behind the dashing smile was a vulnerable man. For the first time since they’d met, she wondered about his childhood. Her mother had described Jim’s mother as “having had a hard time.” She thought of her own happy, privileged childhood, and guilt slashed through her. She wondered if she’d carried her prank too far.
“I was on my way back with your clothes. I never meant to let you ride across town in your underwear.” She held his clothes out to him.
To her surprise, he lifted her off the ground and spun around with her, laughing. “My beautiful wildcat, do you have any idea how appealing you are when you’re repenting of your mischievous deeds?”
“I am not repenting. Put me down.”
He held her aloft as easily as he would a doll. “What will you give me?”
She leaned toward him and practically purred, “Great pain if you don’t.”
“Woman, you drive an irresistible bargain.” He set her on her feet but kept his hand on her waist. “Hannah, be nice to me. This is my last night here.”
“So it is.” The wedding was the next day, then Jim would be gone. Somehow she hadn’t thought of him leaving so soon. He’d become so much a part of the family celebration, she’d been lulled into thinking he belonged in the Delta. But, of course, he didn’t. He belonged in San Francisco as surely as she belonged in Glacier Bay.
She tipped her head back so she could look into his eyes. “How nice do you want me to be?”
“Go dancing with me.”
“Dancing?”
He chuckled. “You had something else in mind?”
“Not in the parking lot.”
His chuckle became an appreciative boom of laughter. “That’s my Hannah, wicked to the very end.” Taking her elbow, he led her toward his rented car.
“Aren’t you going to change first?”
“No. I’ve grown fond of this toga. It lets in the breeze.”
“Has our Mississippi heat been getting to you?”
His gaze stroked over her. “The heat, among other things.” He opened her door and helped her inside.
“You’re really serious about wearing that thing dancing?”
“I intend to have lots of fun watching you explain why you’re dancing with a man wearing a tablecloth.”
o0o
He drove to his favorite little dive by the waterfront. It was pleasantly smoky and uncrowded. Two couples sat in a corner booth holding hands, and one lone man occupied a barstool. The pianist glanced up and smiled, but never missed a beat.
The bartender called out a greeting as if seeing a man in a tablecloth toga was an everyday occurrence to him. “Glad you’re back, Jim. Bourbon?”
“Not yet, Wayne. Have to dance with my lady.”
He took Hannah in his arms and began to dance.
“I’m no lady.”
“How well I know.” Pulling her closer, he pressed his cheek onto her hair. “Hmmm, nice. What is that fragrance you’re wearing?”
“Lavender.”
“The fragrance of ladies.”
“What?”
“Nothing. You just jogged an old memory.”
Hannah waited to see if he would elaborate, and when he didn’t, she talked on. It helped keep her mind off the slow fire that was building in her.
“When I’m on the job, I can never wear perfume. The sweet smell would attract too much attention. It’s one of my small indulgences when I come home.”
“Along with bubble baths?”
“How did you know?”
“It was a lucky guess. You stayed in that bathroom last night long enough to shrivel.” He smiled down at her. “I’m so glad you didn’t.”
“You were listening?”
“At the door. Have you forgotten that I’m an eavesdropper?”
“I’ve forgotten nothing about you, Jim Roman.”
“And I’ve forgotten nothing about you, Hannah Donovan.” Nor was he likely to, he thought as they moved to the pulsing sensuous beat of the music. Blues would always remind him of this moment, with the Mississippi River whispering its secrets outside the window and Hannah Donovan working her magic in his arms.
They were good together, just as he’d known they would be. She responded to the slightest pressure of his hand, her body moving in perfect rhythm with his.
He felt the tension building inside him until it was desire, full blown and heady. The woman in his arms had woven a spell around him, a spell that almost made him believe he could fall in love with a hellcat and settle down in some sleepy southern town. Or perhaps it was the town itself that had worked the magic. The languid pace of the days, the lack
of noise and neon, and the quiet grace of the river had seduced him. He hadn’t thought of crime in the last twenty-four hours nor had he felt his usual overwhelming need for frantic activity.
Hannah pulled back and tipped her face up to his. “You’re so quiet. What are you thinking, Jim?”
“I’m thinking that I’ll miss this little town.” And you, he added to himself.
“This little town will miss you.” And so will I, she thought. “We don’t often get strangers dancing in tablecloth togas.”
“Is that all they’ll miss?”
“Yes,” she lied.
She moved her head back against his shoulder so she wouldn’t see his charming, lopsided half smile. She wouldn’t allow herself to think of all the reasons for that vulnerable look on his face. She wouldn’t allow herself to speculate about the man beneath that tough-warrior facade. She didn’t want to know whether he’d ever loved or been loved, whether he’d ever been hurt, whether he’d ever been lonesome.
Dancing the way they were—so in tune they were almost one—was too much like being in love. And love had no place in her well-ordered life in the remote fjords of Alaska.
“I should go back,” she said.
“One more dance, Hannah.”
“Just one more.”
o0o
It was well past midnight when they left the waterfront.
Hannah looked back at the cozy little place and was filled with a sweet nostalgia. The tender way Jim had held her, the way his eyes had deepened when he’d looked at her, the way his voice had wrapped her in velvet—all came rushing over her. She hadn’t allowed herself to feel so much in a long, long time. Maybe too long.
She wished she could press the evening and put it in a scrapbook.
Jim was unusually quiet as he drove her back to the country club for her van. It was a comfortable silence, and she discovered that she liked it. There was a great difference between the quietness of being alone and the quietness of a shared moment. In her cabin in Alaska she’d had years of being alone, and she’d always believed she wanted it that way. Now she wondered.
“I wish the evening could last forever, Hannah.”
With a start she realized they were in the parking lot beside the clubhouse.
“You sound as if you really mean that, Jim.”
“I do.” He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “I’ve discovered that romancing you is just as much fun as sparring with you.”
Her breath caught at his choice of words. “Was it romance?”
With one arm he pulled her close, so close she could feel his warm breath against her temple. She saw the sparks ignite in his eyes. He was going to kiss her. She could almost taste his lips on hers.
“It might have been—” Abruptly he stopped speaking and pulled back from her. She felt the distance he put between them. “It might have been,” he repeated, “if you were the girl of my dreams.”
Was it hope that shriveled inside her at his words? Don’t be ridiculous.
“How fortunate for both of us that I’m not.” She jerked open the car door and plunged out into the night.
“Hannah. Hannah! Wait!”
She ignored his calls. She probably should turn around and thank him. For a giddy, foolish moment she’d been dangerously close to making the same mistake she’d made with Rai.
She slammed the door of her van and revved the engine. The tired old motor sounded like a polar bear with a toothache and was loud enough to wake everybody in Greenville, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to be home and out of Jim Roman’s sight.
o0o
By the time she got home, she’d cooled off enough to think straight. What she needed was to forget about the unexpected glow Jim Roman lit inside her and to follow through with her original plan—seduce him and forget him. Once and for all she needed to prove to herself that she was in charge of her life and that no man could ever take that from her again.
Although the air-conditioning was running full force, she felt the need for some fresh air. She opened her bedroom window and sat on the windowsill, leaning out so she could breathe the night air and glimpse the stars. The peace of the evening was in direct contrast to the turmoil inside her.
Ahhh, Jim. Why do you make me feel this way?
Far in the distance she heard the sounds of a car. He was coming. The moonlight lent a magic to the moment so that the dusty rented car seemed to be a glorious chariot and Jim a mighty warrior returning from battle. Hannah leaned farther out the window to get a better view.
Jim still wore the toga with the air of a man who didn’t care what the rest of the world thought. As she watched, he absently patted his hips, then reached inside the car and pulled out a pipe. She had never seen him smoke. Her brother Paul had once told her that he smoked his pipe only when he needed to do some serious thinking.
What was Jim thinking? Was he shaken by the same feelings that raged through her? Was he replaying every kiss, every touch, every look they’d shared, just as she was? She envied him his pipe. It gave him something solid to hold on to.
Hannah stayed at the window until Jim started toward the house and disappeared under the eave of the front porch. She imagined the way the front door creaked when he came through, imagined the way he would be moving quietly so he wouldn’t wake the rest of the household. Her heart hammered as she listened for that one squeaky board at the top of the stairs that would betray him.
When she heard it, her resolve firmed. She’d give him five minutes, then she’d make her move.
o0o
Jim was standing at the window, looking out, when she opened the door that connected his bedroom to the bath they shared. He turned at the sound of her entrance.
She stood just inside the door in a patch of moonlight. With her swirling red dress and her tumbled dark hair she looked like fire and smoke, he thought. He didn’t smile, didn’t speak, merely stood watching her. Hot, dangerous, wild, exciting—all the things she was washed over him.
“I knew you’d come.” He watched the effect of his statement on her. She remained in the doorway, composed and serene.
“You give yourself too much credit.”
Her tart reply made him smile. Sweet would never be the word to describe Hannah. “You’re not here because of my irresistible charm?”
“I’m not even here because of your refreshing arrogance.”
The offhand compliment pleased him. “Do you find me refreshing, Hannah?”
“Invigorating probably would be a better word. Being with you is like taking a cold dip in Glacier Bay.”
“Come closer, Hannah. I have a way to heat the waters.”
She seemed to float toward him, borne along on the billowing red cloud of a dress and a wave of heady fragrance. Passion ripped through him with a suddenness that made him almost dizzy. He’d never known a woman’s walk could do that to a man.
She stopped inches away from him. With her index finger she reached out and skimmed his cheek. He didn’t move. He barely breathed as her finger moved slowly downward, across his throat and into the mat of chest hair exposed by his makeshift toga.
“That’s what I’m counting on, West Coast Warrior.”
The blues music of her voice hummed through him, tensing his already tight muscles. He hadn’t meant to be bewitched by her.
He caught the hand that played along his chest. Lifting it, palm up, to his lips, he sucked, trying to ease his hot aching by drinking in the coolness of her. He heard her catch her breath.
“Do you like that, Hannah?”
“Skilled lips always excite me.”
“Do you want more?”
“Yes.”
He gathered her into his embrace and took her lips. She was willing and pliant, fiery and passionate. She was all the things he’d ever wanted in a woman except one: She was not and never would be a woman he could take care of. Hannah Donovan was the most strongly independent woman he’d ever met. And the most exciting.
; Heat seemed to steam up from them as they kissed. The term “burning passion” took on new meaning for him. He was on fire with need, sizzling, scorching with desire. He wanted to rip her dress away. And yet . . .
His thoughts spun away. Sweet. Her lips were so sweet.
“Hannah. My Hannah.” He was scarcely aware that he’d spoken, was scarcely aware that he was moving his hands over her body as if she were something precious.
“Hmmm . . .” she whispered, “you are . . . delicious. I can’t . . . get enough.”
Nor can I, he thought. Nor will I ever. With sudden clarity he realized that nothing would ever be casual between them. What had started as a challenge had turned into something else entirely, something he didn’t want to name, something he didn’t want to think about. More to the point, he realized he couldn’t have casual sex with Hannah.
Recklessly he took one last deep drink from her lips, then he broke the kiss and gazed down at her. With her wide indigo eyes and her tumbled jet hair, she was desirable almost beyond imagining. He nearly changed his mind.
“Jim?”
“Did I succeed in making things hot for you?”
His words hit Hannah like a dash of ice water. She raked her hands through her hair and tried to decide what had happened. One minute she’d been in charge and the next she’d been lost. All it had taken was one look, one touch from Jim.
She drew a shaky breath. The game she was playing had taken a dangerous turn. With great certainty she realized that Jim’s bed would never be a proving ground of her independence. She didn’t want to think about what it would have been: She merely wanted to hang on to the few shreds of control she still possessed.
Without taking her eyes off his, she reached out and loosened the knot that held his makeshift toga in place.
“Not hot enough.”
When she peeled the tablecloth from his body, she managed to look both cool and wickedly desirable. She’d have been pleased if she had known what a struggle Jim had to keep his hands off her.