by Liz Talley
His eyes moved over the crowd as they ebbed and flowed onto the dance floor. Several women tried catching his eye, but he looked past them, refusing to open himself to any conversation. Mostly, everyone left him alone, only occasionally eyeballing him curiously, before going about the business of getting drunk or getting lucky.
The door opened and four women entered.
The last one made him swallow. Hard.
Damn, she was gorgeous with straight blond hair, high full breasts and long, long legs. He watched as she crowded into the woman in front of her, who by his estimate was forty pounds too heavy to be wearing the clothes she wore. He watched the blonde—and so did almost every other man in the room.
If this were the ball, then Cinderella had just walked in.
He lifted his beer and took the last swig. He’d told himself he would leave when the bottle was empty. He glanced over at the bartender who’d raised himself onto the balls of his boots to get a look at the beauty. He raised his eyebrows and whistled in admiration.
“Can I get another one over here?” Abram called.
So much for an early night.
The bartender flung a towel over his shoulder. “Same?”
“Why not,” Abram said, moving his gaze back to the woman. He couldn’t find her, mostly because several rowdy-looking rednecks had blocked his view. Followed by a few more. Then a few more.
The bartender used a church key, cracking open the beer with a practiced motion, and setting it on the bar. “Wanna tab?”
Abram shook his head and placed a ten on the bar. “This will be my last. Keep the change.”
The man nodded his thanks. “She’s a beauty, ain’t she?”
So he’d seen him notice Cinderella. Figured. Bartenders didn’t miss a thing. “Yeah. Is she your local beauty queen?”
“Ain’t never seen her in my life. Must be a stranger. Like you.”
There was a subtle question in the statement. An invitation to state his business. He ignored it. “Maybe I’ll buy her a drink.”
“Better get in line.”
The bartender went back to work, mostly because money was being waggled at him. Lots of thirsty customers at Rendezvous. And Abram went back to watching the beauty dodge the advances of the men surrounding her and her friends. She looked like a dog he’d once seen trapped by animal control. Caught and not happy about it.
“I haven’t seen you here before.” The voice came from his left. He turned to find one of the women who’d walked in with Cinderella. She looked kind of pissy. Definitely mad.
“First timer,” he said, toasting her with the fresh beer. “Can I buy you one?”
Her gaze was fastened on someone behind him. He turned and saw the man she was trying to burn a hole through with her poisonous eyes. He stood in line for Cinderella. She looked back at Abram. “Well, honey, you’re the best-looking man in this place. Think I’m gonna turn that down?”
He smiled.
She smiled in return, but it didn’t reach her blue eyes.
“I’m Mary,” she said, elbowing the man next to him off his stool. “Move, Eddie. Can’t you see I’m a lady and I need to sit down?”
“That’s stretchin’ it by a mile,” the man said, but he grinned fondly at the woman who settled her rather plump butt on the bar stool. “How’s it going, Mary Belle?”
“It’s goin’,” she said, motioning the bartender over. “Hey, Butch, get me an Abita amber and put it on this fellow’s tab.”
Butch glanced over. “He ain’t gotta tab.”
She looked at Abram, who pulled out his wallet. “So whatcha doing here? We don’t get too many visitors. You with Wildlife and Fisheries? Over at Chicot?”
“Nah,” he said, sliding a bill toward the bartender. “Just traveling through.”
“Oh.” She turned to look at her friend and her bevy of admirers, including the Wrangler-clad guy she’d shot daggers at earlier. “Well, then you’re perfect to do me a little favor, aren’t you?”
Alarm bells clanged. He started shaking his head.
She grabbed the elbow of his shirt. “It’s easy as long as you aren’t married. You ain’t married, are you? I didn’t see a ring, but some guys don’t wear ’em, you know.”
“I’m not married, but I’m about to head out.”
“Won’t take long. I just need you to pretend to be my friend’s date.”
“Date?”
“Yeah, Louise over there. I didn’t realize the ruckus she’d cause. She’s pretty.”
That was an understatement. The woman she pointed at wasn’t merely pretty. She was sensationally gorgeous. “So I see.”
“You and every other man. It’s her birthday and I wanted her to come out with us and have a little fun, you know? But damn ol’ Bear Rodrigue don’t even know I’m in the room. He’s standing over there by her like a rutting buck.” She turned her blue eyes back to him. “And he’s supposed to be ruttin’ me.”
He didn’t know why or how this woman had found him in the sea of people stomping around Rendezvous, but she had. With a plan in mind.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
“Of course it is. You think she wants all those dumbass men tripping over themselves like that? She is clearly drowning in ’em. All you have to do is pretend to be her date. I’ll introduce you as my cousin. Come on.”
She pulled on his arm. Insistently.
He shook his head. “I’ve got to be going.”
She looked down at her watch. “Give me thirty minutes to help a stranger out. What’s your name?”
“Abram.” He sighed. Well, he’d wanted to buy Cinderella a drink, hadn’t he? This would be his chance. Plus, poor Mary Belle needed someone to help her, too. He rose, picking up his fresh beer, and allowed the crazy woman to pull him toward the center of Rendezvous’ universe for the moment.
Cinderella had pasted a fake smile on her gorgeous mouth. She nodded and darted desperate glances at her two remaining friends. Yeah, she needed some help.
He’d pretend to be her date for the next half hour.
Surely there was no harm in that.
CHAPTER TWO
LOU PEERED OVER the shoulder of Sid Lattier, which was easy to do since he barely came to her nose thanks to the four-inch heels she balanced in. She needed to be rescued and didn’t see the one person who could move these men out of her way. Mary Belle had disappeared into the thick of the crowd after seeing her man ogling Lou’s breasts.
Mary was pissed. Oh, she wasn’t mad at Lou, but Bear might as well stretch out his palms because his ass was about to be handed to him. Mary Belle didn’t shoot marbles.
“Excuse me, guys,” Lou said, stepping past a man she vaguely recalled spraying her house for bugs once. Or was he the guy who cleaned their ancient chimney? She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t plan to find out. “Hey, Brit, find a table?”
“You can sit with us,” Lloyd Day said, jabbing a thick finger at a tiny table where two guys with huge beer bellies ate peanuts out of a bowl. “Plenty of room.”
“No, thank you, Mr. Day. I’m here with my girlfriends.”
Brenda waved her toward a table in the back where Brit had dropped her purse. Lou tried to shuffle through the men, but they didn’t want to move. She truly felt like she was in some crazy movie. She knew these guys. She’d worked with half of them and they’d never treated her this way before. Her grandmother’s words came back to her. A little powder, a little paint, will make you what you ain’t.
“You look mighty good tonight, Lou,” Bear drawled, his pretty hazel eyes moving over her body.
“Thanks, Bear. That means a lot coming from Mary Belle’s boyfriend.” Lou frowned at him as he tried to give her a seductive smile. Lord, help him. It wasn’t going to work. Was he dumb as a brick? Wait, she shouldn’t answer that. She’d gone to high school with him and knew the answer.
“Boyfriend? I don’t know if I’d go as far to—”
“Here he is!” Mary Belle
interrupted, dragging a man behind her. As if Lou needed another one. “He was waiting at the bar just like I told him to.”
Eight pairs of eyes turned toward the man standing behind Mary Belle.
He was easily six foot two or three with light brown hair cut military short. His eyes were a bemused soft green and his jaw was nice and lean. He moved with a loose-limbed elegance, like her brother. Like an athlete. His white oxford shirt was open at the throat and rolled up at the sleeves, giving him a sort of Abercrombie-ish look. Breezy and totally gorgeous.
“Who was where?” Bear asked, stiffening like an old dog guarding a bone.
“My cousin Abram. He’s Louise’s date tonight, so all you fellas can just back it on up now. She’s taken for the evening.”
“Date?” Lou chirped, looking around for Brenda as if the older woman could save her. She couldn’t have been party to setting Lou up on a blind date, could she? That would be, well, plain mean.
“What cousin is this?” Bear demanded, crossing his arms across his broad chest and once-overing the guy Mary Belle clutched.
“From Baton Rouge. On her daddy’s side,” the stranger said, nodding at Mary Belle. “She sometimes forgets about us over there.”
Mary Belle punched his arm. “Oh, you know we love you guys. See? Here’s Louise. Didn’t I tell you she’s the prettiest thing this side of the Mississippi?” She gestured to Lou as if she were a prized heifer.
Lou felt her hackles rise. What in the hell was Mary Belle thinking? “I don’t need—”
“Of course, you do.” The man answered for her, sliding his hand to her elbow and pulling her to his side. He leaned down, dropping his voice into her ear. She felt a bit shivery when the warmth of his breath caressed her neck. “I’ve driven all this way to meet you, Cinderella. Mary Belle said you’d be perfect for me and we should never argue with Mary Belle. At least let me buy you a drink.”
His touch was firm. And hot on her skin. She watched as he lifted a hand, Moses-style, and parted the men standing between them and the bar on the far side of the room. They stacked up to either side of them like obedient soldiers. If they had saluted, Lou wouldn’t have been surprised.
Like an idiot, she let him escort her around the perimeter of the dance floor toward the bar.
He pulled out a stool and gestured. She folded her arms and stood. “I’m not prepared for a date. I don’t know what Mary told you but this is not—”
“—a date,” he finished, a twinkle in his eyes. “I know. Though I must say when I saw you come in I thought the idea had merit, but I can see now you’re a stubborn sort of girl.”
Lou narrowed her eyes. “Stubborn?”
He smiled and sank onto another stool. “I’m guessing, but I’m pretty good at reading people. And it’s not an insult. Stubborn people are some of my favorite people.”
She uncrossed her arms. “Who are you? Mary Belle doesn’t have people in Baton Rouge.”
“That you know of.”
She tilted her head. “That I know of, but she talks about everyone in her family. Great-Aunt Velma who’s still canning tomatoes at age ninety-three. Her niece Kaley who won a twirling competition in Lafayette last week. And she’s never mentioned a hot cousin in Baton Rouge.”
“Thanks,” he said.
“For what?”
“The ‘hot’ compliment.”
Lou hadn’t realized she’d even loaned an adjective to him. Damn the mojitos. They’d made her fuzzy. “I didn’t mean to say that.”
He smirked in a pleasant way. “No take-backs.”
Lou shrugged, uncrossed her arms and used her foot to pull the empty stool to her. She sat down. “Seriously, who are you?”
He glanced at the bartender and lifted a finger. The man immediately appeared in front of him. “I need a drink for the lady.” He turned to her with a lifted eyebrow.
She shouldn’t have anything else. The clock over the bar read 10:15 p.m. She had maybe thirty more minutes before she could talk Brit into taking her back to Bonnet Creek and the patched-up ranch-style house on Turtle Bay Road. “Um, a rum and Coke.”
The bartender nodded and grabbed a highball and a bottle of Captain Morgan.
“My name truly is Abram and I actually live in Baton Rouge. However, I met Mary Belle about ten minutes ago. She slipped me a twenty to be your date.”
“She paid you?”
He laughed and something plinked in her tummy. He had a good laugh. Deep, rich and filling like a good piece of chocolate cake. “No. She twisted my arm a little, but I could see very plainly you needed rescuing.”
“I don’t need rescuing.” She nodded at the bartender and lifted the glass he’d set in front of her to her lips. He’d been generous with the spicy rum and it burned a hot trail down her throat. “I’ve been seeing after myself for quite a while. I certainly don’t need a man doing it for me.”
“Oh, you’re one of those women.” His eyes laughed at her and she saw he liked to tease.
“What women? Just because I don’t need a man—”
“I didn’t realize you were a feminist, but I’ll buy your drink anyway.”
She laughed. “I’m not a feminist. Much. And you’re a tease.”
At this he smiled again. She felt his smile. Like really felt his smile. “I’m not a tease. I like to deliver the goods, lady.”
She sobered. “I’m not taking deliveries.”
But even as she uttered the words, an idea formed in her mind. What if. What if.
He lifted his eyebrows. “Okay, no deliveries, but will you dance?”
She looked out at the dance floor, at the couples joining hands, wrapping arms around waists, swaying to the slower rhythm of a misty-eyed country song and a long-buried urge slammed her. “Sure.”
Lou downed the last of her drink, telling herself she needed liquid courage. She hadn’t been held in a man’s arms on the dance floor since her senior prom, and Ben Braud hadn’t qualified as a man at seventeen. She set the empty glass down and took Abram’s hand.
Ten steps later, he gathered her in his arms, leading her with a smooth glide around the worn boards. For a moment, Lou forgot to breathe. It was that wonderful.
“I don’t remember the last time I danced,” Abram murmured, meeting her gaze with a shadowed one of his own.
“I do,” she said. “April 16, 2003.”
He stiffened. “Seriously? You haven’t danced in almost ten years?”
“Well, I’ve danced around my kitchen. Does that count?”
He shook his head. “I’m feeling the pressure. We’ve got to make this count.”
He spun her away from him then reeled her back in, tugging her closer to his body, before sliding left then right. Her hair fanned out behind her as they whirled around the floor. She felt his hardness against the soft parts of her body, and all her good intentions for getting home early enough to watch the Iron Chef episode she’d DVR’d earlier in the week flew right out the front door of Rendezvous.
Then and there whirling around the dance floor in the arms of a mysterious stranger, Louise Kay Boyd thought about getting a little bit of what she’d not gotten the chance to do after her daddy crashed his plane into the Ouachita National Forest, leaving her and her siblings without parents. Her days of irresponsible, selfish, wanton behavior had disappeared before she’d had the chance to use even one of them. Gone was her freshman year at Ole Miss—cramming for tests, trying pot, drinking too much and going all the way with a Kappa Sig she’d met at a kegger. Gone were the days of little responsibility and lots of spare time. They’d vanished in a whirl of funeral preparation, a looming mortgage payment, and the tear-streaked faces of her six- and seven-year-old brother and sister.
So would it be wrong to grab a little bit back?
The drinks and this sexy stranger had unwittingly unleashed pinings no one could possibly know anything about.
She didn’t know him.
He didn’t know her.
So what
would it hurt to pretend to be someone other than who she was?
She was already halfway there, looking like some honky-tonk angel. No, he’d called her Cinderella. A honky-tonk Cinderella. What would it hurt to pretend herself into a fantasy for a few hours? Maybe this was her time to cut loose. Maybe this was her time to lose the monkey riding on her back.
The song ended and the band launched into a rendition of an old Kenny Chesney song mixed with something that sounded like reggae. Abram stopped and looked down at her. “You wanna go again?”
She shook her head. “Let’s get another drink.”
He nodded and curved an arm around her waist, making her feel gooey inside. Like melting caramel. She sank a little bit into him And he tightened his hand on her hip, an almost caress. Her mind said Don’t. Do. This.
But her bratty, whiny, life’s-not-fair voice said, Get jiggy with it, sister. You’ve missed out on too much. You need this.
Abram slid a hand under her elbow as she dropped onto the scarred wooden stool. Definitely a caress. Definitely revving something in her blood she’d locked away ever since her last boyfriend had unhooked her bra and slid one hand down her panties the night before he told her he was seeing someone else. She decided to give whiny, not-fair inner voice some headway.
She smiled at him and felt his reaction. He didn’t flare his nostrils or anything like some of the heroes did in those novels she kept stacked by the bed, but he got the message in her smile.
Abram beckoned the bartender again. And again the man flew to do his bidding. A rum and Coke sat before her not two minutes later joined by an ice water for Abram. “He’s bustin’ his hump for you.”
“I’m tipping him more than twenty percent. I learned long ago to treat bartenders well.” He watched her as she raised the glass to her lips. She returned his measure. He really was too good-looking. Sweet temptation swirled around her and she wondered about what it would be like to taste him. Was he good at kissing? She stared at his lips as he lifted the glass of water and drank. Was drinking supposed to be sexy?