by Dancing
with homemaking aspirations."
"You're kidding, right?" Rose said with a sputter of
wine. "Homemaking aspirations? What century were
you in at the time?"
"Crazy, huh?"
"That's the polite way of putting it. And here I
thought I had issues."
"Told you," he said, leaning in for another kiss.
"So anyway, imagine my surprise when I got to
college and discovered this whole other world. For
once, late-night discussions didn't revolve around
money, or whether to send three or four tellers to the
state teller convention."
"They have such a thing?"
"Last year's international teller convention was held
in Stockholm."
Rose whistled. "Okay, so enough of your brain being
expanded while in college. How did you do with the
ladies once Mommy and Daddy weren't looking on?"
He laughed. "Let's just say I was a quick learner and
leave it at that."
"Mmm. Met up with a few naughty girls, did you?
Shame, shame." This time, she leaned in to kiss him.
"So which came first, all this wild-girl chasing? Or the
sculpting?"
"Actually, around about the first time we had a nude
model in figure studies, things started getting fun."
His grin and wink earned him a playful rib jab. "You
were a bad boy."
She snuggled deeper against him. "Okay, so tell me
what drew you to sculpting. What is there about it that
makes your heart feel full?"
"First off, aside from Anna's Play-Doh, I haven't so
much as touched a lump of clay in a decade, so I don't
even know if it would still be a thrill. All I do know is
that back then, something about the connection between
my hands and brain and the way I could actually make
something of strength and importance and beauty that
had nothing to do with numbers, but simply my sheer
will to create." Sharply exhaling, he said, "It was
heady stuff."
She didn't say anything. Just sat there, grinning.
"What? I pour out my heart to you and you think
it's funny?"
"Dalton, Dalton," she said, voice as refreshing as a
margarita. Urging him sideways, she placed her hands
on his shoulders and rubbed. "You're tense. Meaning,
you've taken my actions in the wrong spirit. I'm smiling
because I'm touched by the notion of you having a
grand passion outside of the bank. That's a wonderful
thing." She deepened her strokes, and he closed his
eyes, loving every second of the massage. "You've got
to learn to relax. Take time out from your busy schedule
to smell the roses. Who knows? Maybe your best course
of action would be running right out in the morning to
purchase a chunk of clay."
He swung around to face her, a look of desperation in
his eyes. "Don't you get it? My whole life is mapped out.
My dad isn't well and, possibly within the year, that bank
and all the people who work there will become my respon-
sibility."
"But, Dalton, you could—"
"It's late," he said with a tender kiss to her forehead.
"I should go."
"But shouldn't we talk? You're obviously upset."
"I'm fine. Just not ready to tackle something this big."
"Fair enough. But what if I said I have other reasons
for not wanting you to go?"
"Like what?"
"I don't want you to." She rested her head on his
shoulder, flooding him with well-being and a consuming
urge to protect and comfort and make her fears go away.
"I don't want me to, either. But we've both got full
days tomorrow."
"I know. I guess I just want to establish what it is
we're doing."
"In what sense?"
"I don't know." Hand fisted beneath her chin, she
sighed. "You and me. Us. All of this is so comfortable
and yet foreign."
"Tell you what," he said, tucking her hands into his,
"let's just take this one day at a time. No rules or expec-
tations. Just fun."
"Yeah," she said, blindsiding him with a smile that
didn't quite reach her eyes. She was such a contradic-
tion. All at once full of life, and yet heartbreaking in her
buried sorrow. With everything in him, he wanted to be
everything to her. But even he was smart enough to
realize he didn't have that kind of power. Moreover,
shouldn't want that kind of power. "Let's just play."
"Walk me out?"
"Uh-huh."
Dalton stood, offering his hand to help her from the
sofa. They walked to the back door in companionable
silence. He kissed her forehead. She gave his waist a
squeeze, and he left, knowing that no matter what else
happened between them, his life was forever changed
by Rose Vasquez's smile.
"Aren'tyou the new owner of Miss Gertrude's?"
Rose glanced up from the paperback she'd been
reading at the corner booth of Big Daddy's to see a
burly man grinning down at her. "Yes, I'm Rose
Vasquez," she said, holding out her hand for him to
shake. "And you're...?"
"Frank Loveaux. This is my place and that's my
secret raspberry-tea recipe you've now had five
glasses of."
"You've been counting?" she asked. Was it time for
her to slowly get up, then run?
"Oh—the only reason I even paid attention was because
I've been working up my courage to come talk to you."
"Am I that scary?"
"No, no," he said with a brawny laugh that instantly put
her at ease. "Just that we've got a bit of a situation brewing
on the Miss Hot Pepper Pageant committee, and—"
"Are Mona and Alice still not talking?"
"You've heard about that?"
"Dalton filled me in, and I told him I'd be happy to
help with whatever you need."
"When did you talk with him?" Frank asked, easing
his large frame into the booth's empty half.
"Last night."
"Did he have a lesson?"
"No."
"Did he call?" Frank helped himself to one of Rose's
homemade chips.
Rose eyed him. "Do you mind?"
"Oops. Sorry. Nervous habit." He waved over the
waitress to bring more. "Now, where were we?"
"You were in the process of seriously invading my
privacy."
"About Dalton, you mean? I just don't understand
how he got to you so quickly if you didn't have a lesson.
Alice says she thinks y'all are sweet on each other, but
I told her that with his dad so ill, Dalton's got his mind
on taking care of business."
"I knew his dad had heart trouble, but is it really
that serious?"
When the new chips came, Frank helped himself. "I
don't gossip, but word around town is that he's got one
foot in the grave. 'Course, he's always been ornery as
a swarm of hornets, so he's one of those sorts I expect
to outlast us all."
"Oh," Rose said, sipping her tea. While she was sorry
to hear that Dalton's father t
ruly was gravely ill, it was
reassuring to know that Dalton had been telling the
truth. Not that she'd doubted him. Or had she? Maybe
it was her own feelings she distrusted?
"So which is it?" Frank asked, leaning in extra
close. "I can keep a secret. You and Dalton having a
wild fling?"
"Mr. Loveaux!" Reaching for her purse, Rose fished
out a ten and slapped it on the table.
"Sorry, sorry. Didn't mean to offend. It's just that if
Mona and Alice don't soon make amends, I'm not sure
what we're going to do."
"Mr. Loveaux, I've already said I don't mind helping.
And for the record, Dalton and I are not sweet on each
other, merely friends."
"Of course. Again, sorry, sorry." The man shot her a
flamboyant wave. "Usually when Alice says something,
you can take it as gospel, but duly noted that in this case,
she was wrong."
During the walk back to her studio, Rose tried
focusing on the beautiful spring day. On the historic,
weathered brick storefronts, the red and yellow tulips
lining the brick sidewalk and sounds of giggling kinder-
gartners walking in a row on their field trip to the fire
station. Anna's first-grade class would be going soon,
too. Rose tried focusing on all of that, but instead, the
only thing she could think about was her speedy denial
of her and Dalton's relationship.
For heaven's sake, she'd spent a large portion of last
night kissing the man, pouring out her soul to him,
admiring his gorgeous face and broad shoulders and
knack for making her little girl smile. If all of that
didn't add up to at the very least a serious crush, she
wasn't sure what did. What was she so afraid of? Why
couldn't she—
"Hi, Miss Rose!" Samantha, from her Tuesday-
night ballet class, waved from her spot in the line of
kindergartners.
"Hey, sweetie. Having a good time?"
"Uh-huh! We're going to pet the firemen's Dalmatian."
"Mmm... Sounds fun." She patted the girl's back.
"Give him a hug from me."
"Okay."
Rose should've felt uplifted by the fact that she and
her dance academy were getting established enough in
the community that in taking a simple walk down the
street, she'd encountered one of her students. But even
that did nothing to lighten the dull ache in her heart.
Why?
Because, as she'd told him, falling for Dalton was
potentially risky. Not just for herself, but Anna. What if
they both gave of themselves heart and soul to him,
only to have something tragic happen again? Would
they survive the pain? Was she being a responsible
parent in considering entering another serious relation-
ship? On the flip side, why did anything about what she
and Dalton shared have to be serious?
They were adults. What were a few fun kisses
between friends?
Trouble was, the more she was around Dalton, the
more her heart trilled at just the sight of him, the more
she realized her burning fascination with him was
starting to be a problem.
She had a little girl and a growing dance studio
needing her attention.
Dalton had a bank to run.
So where did that leave them?
Rose was heartily confused, but unwilling to hide
from the issue. If there was one thing losing her husband
at such a young age, then single-handedly raising their
daughter, had taught her, it was to fight for what she
wanted. And truthfully, in a secret, lonely corner of her
heart, she very much wanted a confidant, friend and
possibly even lover in Dalton Montgomery.
Chapter Eight
"You again?" the bank lobby's boyish, redheaded guard
dog asked when Rose marched by later in the afternoon.
"Excuse me?" she said, caught off guard by the
man's rather rude greeting.
"Sorry, it's just that I got in trouble for letting you
wander through the executive wing. No one's supposed
to be up there except people who have appointments."
"Oh," she said, continuing toward the lobby stairs.
"Do you?" he asked, doggedly trailing after her.
"Do I what?" she asked with an innocent smile.
"Have an appointment?"
"Of course."
"With who?" he probed, while she shifted her heavy
package from the crook of her right arm to her left and
kept right on marching up the stairs.
"Dalton Montgomery."
"I'm pretty sure he's in a meeting."
"I'm pretty sure—"
"Bradley, let me handle this." Dalton, looking in-
credibly sexy in a black suit and cobalt shirt that
matched his eyes, strode across the sea of navy carpet.
Her pulse raced. "Are you ever a sight for sore eyes."
Ditto.
"Thank you," she said while he proprietarily slipped
his hand around her waist, drawing her into his office,
then shutting the door. "You're looking pretty good
yourself."
She adjusted his tie, flicked a bit of lint from his left
lapel.
While Dalton struggled for something appropriately
witty to say, Rose flashed that smile of hers that always
managed to turn his heart upside down. Calmly setting
her brown paper bag on his desk before taking a seat in
his chair, she spun a couple times before landing her feet
square in the middle of his latest file. Her silky red dress
slid high on her thighs as she raised her hands to sweep
her hair back from her forehead.
Just looking at her stole his every thought.
Did she have any idea what her being here did to him?
His whole life had been about carefully compartmen-
talizing his emotions, but from the second she'd walked
through his office door, his safety net had hung in tatters.
"What's wrong?" she asked, crossing her arms
beneath her breasts, unwittingly deepening her cleavage
by a tantalizing inch. "Your complexion looks pasty."
She touched her forehead. "And your frown is back."
"I feel tired. You shouldn't be here."
"How come?"
"Because you're bad for my concentration."
"When you admittedly don't much care for your
work," she teased, "I fail to see how my distracting you
is a bad thing."
"I'm the boss," he said, taking hold of her slim
ankles. "My being distracted is potentially bad for
business." Not to mention his failing willpower. His
hand on her left calf, he eased it up past her knee, not
stopping until he reached the back of her thigh.
She swallowed hard. "Looks like you're in total
control to me." Wriggling free of his hold to rest her feet
primly on the floor, she nodded to the bag. "Aren't you
going to open your present?"
"Why? When I have a pretty good guess what's inside."
"You're no fun," she said with a playful pout.
Oh, but the sight of her made him want to be.
"Okay, so you guessed I bought you a chunk of clay.
Maybe the real question of the day is what are you
going to do with it."
"Not a bloody thing," he said with regret, grasping
her hands to pull her out of his chair. "I've got meetings
stacked like jumbo jets waiting to land. I've got letters
to dictate and contracts to sign. I've got—"
She pressed her fingers to his lips, her body to his.
"What you've got," she said, her voice a throaty whisper,
"is a woman who wants to spend the day with you."
Fisting his starched shirt, she pulled him excruciatingly
close before planting a warm, juicy, delectably sweet
kiss to his lips.
Through a groan, he said, "I can't do this____"
"Try," she said, deepening the kiss, deepening his
internal struggle. He wanted this—her—so damn bad,
but he was due in Alice's office in two minutes. "You've
got too many clothes on," she said, sliding nimble
fingers between the buttons on his shirt, only to en-
counter a T-shirt.
"And I mean to keep them on."
"Not if I can help it." She flashed her sexiest grin,
telling him loud and clear that he was lost. She'd
somehow, some way, taken him hostage.
"Why are you doing this? What about everything we
talked about last night?" Sliding his fingers under the
fall of her hair, he demanded, "Taking things slow?"
"Just for today," she said, kissing him senseless,
"make me forget the heartache. Anna's at school, then
going straight to soccer. The dance academy's closed till
later. Come with me to the loft. We'll be all alone. Just
you and me and your clay."
Eyes closed, he drew her close. "You don't know how
tempting that sounds."
The intercom on his desk buzzed. "Dalton?"
"Yes?"
The object of his every desire slowly backed toward
the door, temptingly crooking her index finger, beckon-
ing him to take a walk on the wild side.
Joan, his secretary, said, "Mr. Rossdale from Fon-
taine Industries is on line one. He doesn't sound happy
about the rating you gave their stock."
"Come with me," Rose whispered. "Make me happy.
Make you happy."
"I can't," Dalton whispered back.
"Excuse me?" Joan said. "Shall I tell him you're in
a meeting?"
"No—yes." Dear God, what was he doing? "Tell
everyone I'm out for the day."
"Um, okay. Shall I tell folks why?"
"I'm sick." Lovesick. Heartsick. Crazed in the head.
It didn't matter what the malaise was. All that truly
mattered was that the cure stood smiling before him.