by Webb, Peggy
“Two.” He was chuckling openly now.
Holding the instant tea jar in front of her chest like a sacrificial offering, Maggie approached him. He watched as she hastily dumped tea into his cup. “You can do your own stirring.” She already regretted her burst of Southern hospitality. “If you can control yourself, we’ll move into the den with our tea.”
She’d probably regret that, too. Wonder-boy bankers with gorgeous legs could be dangerous in a cozy den. She studied his legs as they moved into the room. No doubt about it. Under the trim fit of his slacks, she could just tell that his legs were gorgeous.
Adam sat on the plump calico sofa and managed to look as if he belonged there. The fire crackled cozily as he sipped his tea and glanced around the room. “Tell me, Maggie. What do you do when you’re not crashing through the woods banging pots and pans, or carting little old ladies around on field trips in freezing weather?”
“I take it you didn’t like my concert today?” Maggie smiled over her teacup at him. She could afford to be charitable. After all, she had won again. And his eyelashes curved so nicely on his cheeks when he lowered his eyes to look down at the teacup.
“Do you always throw down the gauntlet at every opportunity?”
“Yes.”
He caught and held her captive with such a predatory look she could hardly breathe. “Then I was right,” he said softly. “You do need taming.”
“You can just march right out the front door if you’re going to say ridiculous things.” With a wonderful flash of hindsight, she realized enemies should never be invited to tea.
His mouth crinkled up at the corners, and he took a huge gulp of tea to strangle his mirth. Obviously, he guessed, Maggie didn’t realize what she had said, for she sat sipping her tea and looking smug.
“Let’s start this conversation over, Maggie. We’re two adults. Surely we can be civil.”
He shouldn’t have smiled, she thought. It was an incredible smile that would melt icebergs and cold hearts. If he hadn’t smiled, she could have turned him out into the wintry night and let him freeze his gorgeous legs. Her eyes gleamed at him over the teacup as she said, “Try me.”
“What do you do?”
“I teach second grade at East Heights Elementary.”
“Lucky little rascals. My second grade teacher looked like a female version of Frankenstein.”
“I’m sure she wasn’t that bad.”
“Yes, she was. I distinctly remember a wart on her chin.” He placed his empty teacup on the table beside the sofa and moved toward the fire. Maggie shifted uncomfortably in the antique rocking chair and wished he would sit back down. Civil was one thing; shockingly close was another altogether. Adam leaned an elbow on the mantel above her crackling fire. “Do you approach teaching with the same spirit you use in your FOA activities?”
“Certainly. Dad taught us to give one hundred percent to whatever we do.”
“Us?”
“My brother Jim and me. Mom died when I was five, and Dad threw all the books away in raising us. We were wild, and the whole community said we would never amount to a hill of beans. Dad just smiled and went quietly about his business of healing sick animals and caring for us. He taught us to be free thinking, independent, and outspoken.”
Adam smiled. “I’ll vouch for that.” He leaned close to Maggie and scrutinized her face. “I should have known. Your eyes are the same.”
“You know my brother?”
“Jim Merriweather is a customer of mine. I gave him the loan to start his farm when every other banker in town said he was too young, too much of a risk. He was filled with the same fire that I see in you when you defend animals.”
“They deserve to be defended with fire—and brimstone, too, if necessary. Every living creature has the right to live, to be free.” Passion for her cause burned brightly within her, and she sprang from her chair, unable to sit still as she spoke her staunch beliefs. “I watched sick animals come into Dad’s clinic, and I saw their struggles to live. I was there, Adam. Animals are capable of feelings, of showing love. They don’t deserve to be slaughtered.”
“Hunting is not slaughter, Maggie.”
“Oh, no?” Maggie put her hands on her hips and charged forward for the cause. “Then, why do you carry such a big gun?”
Adam reached out, grasped her wrists in his hands, and pulled her toward him. “Maggie. Maggie.” His voice was low and urgent. “Why are you so stubborn... and so damned beautiful?”
It couldn’t be December, with ice on the roads. It was much too hot in her den. Oh, why did this enemy have to be so pure male animal stunning? She pulled fiercely, trying to release her wrists from his grasp. “Why are you here, Adam?”
“I came to your FOA meeting.”
“To steal our battle plans?”
“I told you this afternoon. I plan to educate you.” He pulled her a fraction of an inch closer. She could see a small muscle pulsing in his cheek. “I’ve decided to invest some time in you, Maggie. You challenge me. Intrigue me.”
She summoned up a remnant of bravado from the depths of her soul. “You’re wasting your time. I’m not one of your banks.”
“How well I know.” His eyes were blue fire that threatened to consume her. “But I’m going to tame you, Maggie.” He was so close now that she could feel the heat of his breath stirring against her cheek.
She almost melted and ran down into her fuzzy slippers. “You’re suffering from delusions. I don’t consort with the enemy.”
“And I don’t walk away from a challenge.” With quick sureness, his lips scorched down the side of her cheek and burned briefly across her lips.
“What are you doing?” she whispered hoarsely.
“Giving you something besides your cause to think about.” He released her wrists, stepped back, and smiled at her. “That robe is quite an improvement over your baggy britches.” He walked toward the door and then turned back to her. “See you in the woods, Maggie.”
The front door clicked shut behind him, and Maggie stood there clutching her burning face. In the stillness of the night, she heard his car door slam. The Mercedes engine purred into life, and gravel crunched under his tires as he spun out of her driveway.
Why couldn’t life be as simple as it was in the days of Joan of Arc when activists were merely burned at the stake? She touched her lips with her fingertips and gazed at her closed front door.
“No!” she said fiercely. She would not think of Adam. With superhuman effort, she forced herself to remember what she was fighting for.
“Barbarian.” Proud of reminding herself who Adam Trent really was, even if it was only half hearted, she walked to the kitchen and picked up the broken pieces of her china teacup.
CHAPTER FOUR
The cold front kept its icy grip on Tupelo for three days, paralyzing the city. Snowplows were rare in the Deep South, and tire chains were as scarce as icicles on the equator. Only the foolhardy ventured forth on the treacherous roads. The wise accepted the rare, ice-bound days as a gift of leisure time, perfectly suited to the slow pace of the region.
She was not being foolhardy, Maggie told herself as she shoved her belly dancing costume into a tote bag and slipped her parka on over her army pants….just adventurous. She and Martha Jo had enrolled in a belly dancing class back in September, a night class taught through the Parks and Recreation Department, and their teacher had said that they could come in any time and practice with the records.
Not that she would ever make any sultan sit up and take notice, Maggie mused as she carefully eased her pickup truck onto the icy roads. Belly dancing was just a fun thing to do, and dancing in a costume of gauze and bangles during a freezing spell appealed to Maggie’s sense of the ridiculous.
She whistled a snatch of Scheherezade and tried to remember how to keep the ruby from falling out of her navel. The truck skidded. Well, heck, if she slid into a ditch, somebody would come along and pull her out. The back end of the truck righted
itself then, and Maggie inched across the bridge to Bel Air Center. The Highway Department had spread a layer of salt and slag on the bridge, so that she felt safe as she chugged across. Except for a solitary bakery truck, Maggie had the road all to herself.
She slid down the hill to the parking lot and noticed with surprise that several cars were already there. Maybe there was a party going on and she could join the fun.
She hopped from the truck, grabbed her tote bag, pulled her toboggan cap low over her forehead, and walked inside the Center. Its cavernous hall was empty except for a lone man sitting half-asleep in a chair in front of the ballroom. Maggie tiptoed in his direction, hoping not to disturb him. Her class was always held in the ballroom, and that was where the records were kept.
The man snorted and shook his shaggy head as she approached. He grabbed his fat stomach with two chubby hands and peered nearsightedly up at her. The dark circles under his eyes and his heavy jowls gave him the look of a panda bear.
“Where you goin’, young feller?” The two front legs of the straight-backed chair he was sitting in banged against the wooden floor. ‘This ain’t no Boy Scout meetin’.”
“I’m not a boy...” The man glared distrustfully at her. “...scout.” She realized that all her hair was tucked up under her cap. No wonder the poor man was confused.
The panda-bear man ignored her statement. “They’s a meetin’ goin’ on in there, and I had to come all the way out here in the ice to lock up and clean up after them.” He scratched his shaggy head. “They just ain’t no accountin’ for what foolish folks will do these days. Makin’ a feller go out in weather like this! The whole world’s gone plumb loco. Ain’t that right, young feller?”
Telling the man again that she was not a boy would be futile. “I’ll just slip in quietly and get my records and—”
“Can’t let you do that, young feller.” The man shifted his rotund body so that one leg was blocking the doorway. “They don’t want no commotion. Them fellers in there is sure ‘nuff aristicats.”
Maggie put her hands on her hips and rocked back on her heels. Aristicats, were they? Well, there was nothing she liked better than giving a few pompous aristicats a run for their money. Yessir, she’d just shake them up a little. There was too much stuffiness and not enough fun in the world.
“Thank you, sir,” she told the guardian of the aristicats in what she hoped was a meek voice. “I’ll just be on my way.” She whirled quickly before the man could see her broad grin.
Her heels tapped smartly on the floor as she strode with purpose toward the ladies’ room. Once inside, she shed her heavy winter clothes and donned the flimsy belly-dancing costume. The gold gossamer skirt hung low around her hips, suspended there from a wide band of gold sequins and spangles. The skimpy gold-sequined bra with its tiny straps looked as if a puff of wind might blow it away.
Maggie twirled around, her golden hair and the golden skirt making a bright cloud around her. She laughed aloud. This was going to be fun.
And now for the coup de grace. Maggie reached into her bag and brought out a large imitation ruby. She fitted it carefully into her navel and hoped that she remembered how to hold her stomach muscles taut, so that it would stay there.
Fastening on her finger cymbals, she backed out the bathroom door, butting it open with her fanny, and strode back down the hall. When she neared panda bear, she slowed down and put a flirtatious sway in her walk.
Panda bear’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He stood up so hastily that his chair fell with a clunk to the floor. “Well, I’ll be a son of a gun! Where’d you come from?”
Maggie nodded toward the bathroom door and shot him a dazzling smile that made his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “I’m the entertainment,” she said sweetly.
“They didn’t mention no entertainment.”
“I’m sure it must have been an oversight.”
“Lordy mercy! I’m sure it was.” He spoke directly to Maggie’s cleavage. His eyes swiveled slowly downward, taking in the ruby and the spangled band around her hips. “You got quite a hitch in your git along there.”
“Why, thank you.” I think.. “Would you mind holding the door open for me?”
“Would I mind...” His Adam’s apple did another jig as his eyes moved back to Maggie’s face. “The door? Lordy mercy, the door! ‘Course not.” He tripped over the fallen chair and banged his foot against the wall, getting to the door.
Maggie lifted her arms, clicked her finger cymbals, and backed into the room, hips swaying to the remembered beat of the music from Scheherezade. The sudden silence that greeted her entry was electrifying. She smiled as she danced, seeing the open-mouthed amazement on the faces of the six men seated at a corner table.
They were aristicats all right. To a man, their hair was carefully styled, and their dark ties were knotted under crisp white shirts. They looked as if they had just stepped from the pages of Esquire, and would never spill soup or smack bubble gum or go to a belly dancing performance.
Maggie swayed and swirled and clicked her cymbals, wondering if she’d regret this tomorrow. Sometimes her impulsive actions got her into more trouble than she cared to think about.
“What is going on?” The roar was unmistakably Adam Trent’s.
Maggie stopped dead in her tracks, her right hip still poised on the upbeat, not daring to turn around. And then all pandemonium broke loose.
“Where did that girl come from?”
“My Lord, she has a ruby in her...”
“Who hired her?”
“What kind of banking seminar is this, anyway?”
“You have to admit, George, that she has panache!”
Maggie slowly turned to face the music. Adam stood at the podium, one button on his beautifully tailored suit jacket unbuttoned and one perfectly polished shoe resting on the rail of a chair that was shoved under the table. His familiar blue eyes blazed over at her, and she couldn’t tell if they were shining with anger or amusement.
Oh, help! She’d crashed a banking seminar and Adam was the head aristicat. There was nothing quite like the feeling of looking after you have leaped, and it was a feeling all too familiar to Maggie. An extra shot of adrenaline pumped into her veins as she stared boldly back at Adam, hands on her hips and head held high.
“Is there a costume party and somebody forgot to tell me?” There was a general hubbub still going on in the room around them, but Maggie heard only Adam. His rich, deep voice made goose bumps pop up along her bare arms. She had forgotten how incredibly handsome he was. Well, almost.
“No. This is the dance instruction room and somebody forgot to tell you.”
One eyebrow inclined upward over his extraordinary eyes. “And you are the emissary, bringing the news?” He studied the golden girl in front of him, his eyes taking in the alluring curves and gorgeous legs visible beneath the gossamer skirt. “There’s been quite an improvement in emissaries lately.”
“I’m not an emissary; I’m just here to... to...” Maggie was not handling the situation with her usual aplomb, and that made her furious. “I’m here to dance,” she finally got out.
“Be my guest.” Adam still stood at the podium, one foot resting casually on the chair rail, completely dignified and utterly in charge.
“Suddenly I don’t like the audience.” Maggie thrust out her chin and tried to keep from shivering.
The costume was awfully skimpy, and it was dreadfully cold outside. Or was her trembling caused by the blaze in Adam’s eyes as they traveled boldly up and down her body?
He made no attempt to hide his fascination with the beautiful woman standing before him.
“Correct me if I’m wrong. It was you who chose the audience.”
He certainly didn’t make things easy. But then, he never had. Her mind reeled backward to the night in her den, the night he had repeated his intent to tame her. Could he? Green eyes locked with blue. Impossible! Or was it?
“Yes, I did.” She flung her hair
back and glanced around the room. How long had it been since any of those men had done a single impulsive thing? How long since they had laughed with abandon? How long since they had had fun just for the heck of it? Maggie’s hips began to sway, and an impish grin lit her face.
“I certainly did,” she added with renewed confidence.
Adam’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Maggie, what are you doing?” he hissed.
“Dancing.” She grinned. “Taking a little starch out of some stuffed shirts.”
“Stuffed shirts!” he exploded. “Maggie, stop that.”
“Loosen up, Adam. Have a little fun.” She danced across to him, her hips undulating in the fascinating rhythm of the East. Leaning close, she clicked the finger cymbals in his face. “Or better still, go outside and check your Mercedes while I finish my number. I skidded down the hill, and I may have rearranged a fender or two.”
Adam cast a beseeching look toward the ceiling and turned his back on Maggie. He banged the gavel sharply on the podium and had to bang it once more before her delighted audience would give him their attention.
“We’ll take a coffee break while I clear up this... situation.” The pause in his words was barely noticeable.
Was the head aristicat rattled? Maggie grinned. Tame her, would he? She weaved around behind him and bumped him lightly with her hip.
He made a strangled sound into the microphone and then resumed speaking. “Coffee is set up in the adjoining room. I’ll see everybody back here in fifteen minutes.” He banged the gavel with unnecessary vigor as a sign of dismissal.
“Aw, shucks, Trent, you’ve spoiled all the fun.”
“I was just beginning to enjoy the show.”
“I don’t know who planned it, but it’s the best bank seminar I’ve attended all year.”
With good-natured joshing, the group of bankers left the ballroom, and Maggie and Adam were all alone. He turned to face her in the quiet room, and her hips slowed, faltered, swayed once more, and then stopped.
Adam’s eyes were riveted on hers, and somehow the dance had stopped being just fun and had become an erotic ritual, the slave girl entertaining the sheikh.