by Joanna Sims
“Lightning Rock,” Dallas said. “Nick helped me get Pop’s affairs in order.”
Jordan’s playful expression changed to one of regret. “I was so sorry to hear about your father, Dallas. I have—really good memories of him.”
“Thank you.” Dallas tucked her foot underneath her thigh. “Sometimes I forget that he’s gone. I half expect to find him right there at Lightning Rock.”
“But—Nick helped you through it. Dad told me he was out there with you. He didn’t mention anything about...” Jordan waved her finger back and forth “...the two of you...”
“We’re still pretty new.” Dallas noticed how similar Jordan’s eyes were to Nick’s. All these Brand kids had these incredible blue eyes.
Would she have children with those same blue eyes one day? The more time she spent with Nick, the more she started to think that she really would like to have a child. At least one—with Brand-blue eyes.
Jordan sent her an odd look. “Have you met my aunt yet?”
“No—not yet. I think we’re havin’ dinner with them one night this week.”
“She’s a pill.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Nick’s cousin said, “she’s a royal pain in the ass and everyone knows it, including Nick—so expect that she’s going to be horrible. She runs around telling people that she is a direct descendant of President Washington—not true.” Jordan rolled her eyes. “Don’t listen to anything she says, that’s all.”
After they spent some more time catching up, Dallas told Jordan that Nick was taking her to the symphony and that she needed to get a dress for the evening.
“Well—shopping’s really my sister and mother’s area of expertise.”
“I’m jeans and boots.”
Jordan swung her leg off the armrest and stood up. “Let’s go take a walk. There’s a Bloomingdale’s right up the road. Between the two of us, we’ll be able to figure it out.”
* * *
Dallas was genuinely thrilled with her outfit for the symphony. Jordan, who had more shopping skills than even she realized, helped her find a simple, sexy wrap dress, a pair of shoes with a low heel and a purse. When she looked in the mirror, it was hard for her to see herself in clothing so different than her typical uniform. It took some coaxing on Jordan’s part to get her out of the dressing room; Nick’s cousin had made her feel good about herself in that dress. The more she looked at her reflection in the mirror, the more she thought that Nick was going to love this look on her.
“I can’t believe I bought a dress,” Dallas said after they ordered lunch.
“You look like a boss in that dress.”
“I’ve never owned a dress.”
Jordan, who was drinking an extra-large Thai tea, put her drink down on the table with a thud. “Never?”
Dallas laughed a little. “Mom used to say that the only dress she ever got me to wear was my christening gown as a baby. I hated dresses. So after Mom and Pop split, and I chose to go with Pop—I never had anyone to fight with me ’bout wearin’ a dress.”
“Well—for what it’s worth, you look really good in a dress.”
“I’m excited to wear it now.” Dallas tried to imagine the look on Nick’s face when he first saw her in the dress. “I’ve done nothin’ but try new things ever since I met Nick. That’s partly why I like him so much.”
Dallas looked off in thought and added, “I’m not so sure what I do for him, though.”
Jordan took gulp after gulp of her drink until her straw was gurgling before she said, “That’s obvious. You give my cousin someone awesome to love.”
She was someone who didn’t blush—but Jordan’s words made her face and neck feel flushed, as if she were blushing.
“You know,” Jordan said after a moment of thought, “if you want, we can get your hair and makeup done while he’s at work tomorrow. Really freak Nicky out when he sees you.”
“Yeah.” Dallas reached up to touch her unruly mass of brown curls. “Let’s do it.”
Chapter Twelve
The night of the symphony, Nick was running late from the office. He hated that he had to spend so much time away from Dallas when she was in a strange city, but he couldn’t take off so early on in his employment. Yes, his father had a lot of pull with the firm, but he wasn’t his father. If anything, the partners at the firm expected more out of him because of his father. Sometimes he wondered if it was the best idea to follow in his father’s exact footsteps; no matter how many times he asked that question, he couldn’t imagine any other path than the one he was on. This was his path—his destiny.
“I’m sorry I’m late, babe!” Nick came in the front door of his condo.
He dropped his keys in a glass bowl along with his mail. “Dallas?”
“I’m almost ready!” Dallas’s voice appeared to be coming from the master bedroom.
Normally, Nick would loosen his tie, get out of his suit coat and consider whether or not he would raid the fridge or order room service. Tonight, he didn’t have time. He needed to make a quick pit stop and then hustle to the symphony. He had developed a love for the symphony when he was a kid; he hoped that Dallas would love it, as well. He appreciated that, even though Dallas hadn’t been introduced to cultural events, she was open to the experience.
Nick passed up the fridge and headed to the master bedroom to find Dallas. He had missed her; knowing that his love was close made it difficult to concentrate on work. If he hadn’t been booked with a working lunch, he would have come back to the condo. Nick checked his watch on his way down the hall; they had about five minutes to get out the door.
“Dallas?”
“Howdy, Mr. Brand.”
Nick stopped in his tracks. The woman standing before him had his woman’s voice, but that was where the resemblance ended. Dallas was wearing an above-the-knee, formfitting black dress with a crisscross halter neckline and a small, tasteful offset slit. Her hair—her hair—was straight and sleek and pinned back from her face. That face. He had always thought she was cute on the outside and beautiful on the inside. This woman—this version of Dallas—was a knockout with makeup on. He’d never seen her wear more than lip gloss and mascara.
Dallas pirouetted for him, showing off the back of the dress.
“What do you think?”
Nick shook his head in amazement at the cowgirl’s transformation. She looked every bit a chic Chicago woman.
“Incredible.” He walked to her. “You look incredible.”
Nick leaned in to kiss her, but Dallas playfully dodged him. “Don’t mess up my lipstick!”
“Your hair. It’s...”
“I know,” Dallas agreed. “You don’t have to say it. It’s tame, for once. But don’t go gettin’ used to it. It’s temporary.”
“Well.” Nick reached out to touch the silky straight locks. “You should consider seeing if they can do this permanently. It suits you.”
Dallas swatted his hand away from her hair. “Do you have any idea how long it took two women to get my hair like this? Lord help me, if it’s even a touch humid out there, I’m gonna wind up looking like a cotton ball.”
They caught a cab to the Chicago Symphony Center. Nick intertwined his fingers with Dallas’s, noting how soft her hands were. Her nails were painted with a classy French manicure; the perfume she was wearing was new.
“I’m glad Jordan was in town to keep you company while I’m working.”
“You and me both. She’s been a godsend.” Dallas rested her shoulder against his. “This was her doin’, you realize.”
“I figured. I owe her one.”
He really did owe his cousin a debt of gratitude. The Chicago Symphony Center was the first place that Nick was taking his cowgirl where it was likely that they were going t
o run into friends of his parents. It was inevitable at a venue like this one. Now that Dallas was dressed to the nines, he wasn’t as worried about the negative rumor mill reaching his mother’s ears. She would have her say soon enough.
“Are you excited about the symphony?” He kissed her hand instead of trying to kiss her on her perfectly outlined and painted lips.
“You have no idea.”
Dallas wanted to know about his day—and she seemed genuinely interested in his profession. The rest of the taxi ride to the venue, Nick told her as much as he could about his work without divulging privileged client information. The fact that Dallas would sit and listen so intently to him, really listening, was a rare and beautiful trait to find in a partner.
“I’m worried I’m gonna fall flat on my face in these shoes,” Dallas worried to him aloud. “I miss my boots.”
“Hold on to my arm.” Nick offered his arm. “You can lean on me.”
* * *
Nick had secured seats in the Chicago Symphony Center for balcony seats. Their seats overlooked the symphony, which gave Dallas a wonderful bird’s-eye view of the entire first floor. The room was grand, towering four stories high with curved ceilings and row after row of chairs covered in red velvet.
Nick’s chair was facing the orchestra, set on a slight diagonal, so that his ear was close enough for her to lean in and whisper, “This is a dream.”
The lights dimmed and the orchestra began to play Beethoven’s Seventh. Dallas forgot about the shoes that were pinching her feet or the body-shaper undergarments that were making her feel like an overstuffed sausage beneath her dress; she forgot all about her discomfort and focused on the music. The horns and the strings and the piano—all the notes of the instruments swirled together into one unbelievable sound. Nick glanced back at her on several occasions, she assumed to make certain that she was having a good time—but she didn’t take her focus off the orchestra. She leaned against the balcony railing and let the music envelop her. Dallas could feel the music in her body; it felt as if the music spoke to her soul in a way that nothing had before. Not even working with her horses.
“Do you want to get something to drink?” Nick asked her when intermission began and the lights in the gallery brightened.
“Wine?”
“Of course.”
They moved with the crowd, slowly making their way out to the lobby. This was the part she hated about big cities—crowds. Even in a classy place like the Chicago Symphony Center, people were just too close for her comfort. She was so close to the person in front of her that she could read the tag on the back of her dress that needed to be tucked in—and she had someone so close behind her that she could feel their breath on her perfectly straightened hair.
Once out in the lobby, where she felt like she could breathe a little, she had to wait in a line for the ladies’ room that had to be forty women deep. The symphony—yes; people at the symphony—no.
“I guessed a sweet red.” Nick had a glass of wine ready for her.
“I need it after all that,” Dallas complained. “I should’ve just hopped the men’s line—I could’a shaved ten minutes off my time at least!”
* * *
“Nicholas! I thought that was you. Is your mom here tonight?”
Abigail Crane was the wife of a senior partner at the firm and his mother’s longtime golf partner. Of course, Abigail would be the person he would run into. Anything that Abigail detected as “not appropriate for our set” in Dallas would be immediately reported to his mother. He’d known it was a risk to put the symphony ahead of dinner.
“No. Mom didn’t come tonight.”
“Oh.” Abigail glanced at Dallas with keen eyes. “That’s too bad.”
The socialite extended her hand to Dallas. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Forgive my manners, Mrs. Crane. This is Dallas Dalton. Dallas, this is Mrs. Abigail Crane—she’s married to one of the senior partners at my firm.”
“Howdy.” Dallas pumped Abigail’s hand a couple of times.
Abigail reclaimed her heavily bejeweled fingers from Dallas; her lips pursed slightly before they smiled the slightest of smiles.
“Howdy?” Abigail had a raised eyebrow for him before she turned her attention to Dallas. “That’s so quaint. Where are you from, dear?”
Nick stepped in and answered for Dallas. “She’s from Montana—like my father.”
The dress and the shoes, the hair and makeup, all made Dallas look the part, but the minute she opened her mouth, that high-country twang came out and ruined everything. He hadn’t really noticed her country accent when they were in Texas and Montana—maybe it was because just about everyone else had a country accent too. But here in his city, her country twang stood out. And not in a way that he liked. God—he hated to admit it—but it embarrassed him.
Nick was grateful when their conversation was cut short; the lights flashed, signaling the end of intermission. Abigail waved her long, thin fingers weighted down by a collection of large solitaire diamonds.
“It was lovely meeting you,” the socialite said to Dallas. To him, she said, “Be sure to tell your mom that I do hope she can make it to brunch at the club this Sunday. We have so much to talk about.”
“I’ll tell her.” Nick smiled a warm smile that he didn’t mean at all. He’d never liked Abigail, but she was the only woman catty enough to be friends with his mother. They were, and always had been, two peas in a very judgmental, snobbish pod.
“She seemed nice,” Dallas said.
Nick stared at his companion—could she really be that naive about women?
“Except for that giant stick she had stuck up her hind parts.”
As she usually did, Dallas made him laugh. Definitely not naive about women.
“Let’s head back to our seats. Intermission is about over.”
Dallas gulped down the rest of her wine and tossed the plastic cup into the trash. She took his arm so they could walk together back to their seats. The lights dimmed and once again the symphony began to play one of his favorite concertos. Now that Abigail had met Dallas, that pesky Band-Aid was ripped off—Abigail would be on the phone to his mother first thing in the morning, and his mother would have a preconceived notion of Dallas before he brought her home for dinner. Did he like the fact that there was a social hierarchy? Not really—not anymore. He used to thrive on elitism—but his time traveling to the Middle East and Europe had changed him. Yes, he was a part of the Chicago “upper crust”—he was also a man who had a heart. His heart wanted Dallas.
Throughout the second part of the evening, Nick tried to focus on the music and Dallas—she was fun to watch. Her face was priceless—so absorbed and enchanted with the music. But part of the time, he was thinking about what Abagail was going to say to his mother about Dallas. He already knew it would be negative—there was no doubt about that. Despite her obvious flaws, he loved his mother. It would have been nice to have his eventual marriage and children be a unifying force for his fractured family. That was not going to be the case if he married Dallas.
“You seemed to enjoy that.” Nick put his arm around Dallas’s back to guide her up the stairs and out to the lobby.
Dallas shook her head several times—when he got a chance to come up beside her and look at her face, he was completely surprised to see that her eyes were glassy with emotion.
It seemed to take Dallas a moment to find the words she wanted to say to respond. When they pulled away from the throng of people leaving the balcony seating, Dallas stopped and put her hand on his arm and looked up into his face. “That filled my soul.”
Floored by her comment, Nick stared into Dallas’s eyes. When he saw his favorite things through the cowgirl’s eyes, he discovered new things to love, as well.
“You are lovely.” Nick kissed h
er lightly on the lips—she had chewed most of her lipstick off her lips from biting them in excitement during the concert.
“Let’s go home.” Nick took her hand in his.
The minute he said those words, he knew what this trip was really about for him: finding a way to make a home with Dallas Dalton.
* * *
It had been a pleasure for him to undress Dallas after the symphony. She had kicked her shoes off with a vow never to wear them again, and he had unzipped the dress for her and kissed her bare shoulders as the dress slipped over her hips and onto the floor. He had picked her up, carried her to his bed and laid her down, with the downtown Chicago lights sending fingers of gold across her naked skin.
Dallas had watched him take off his suit jacket, her hair strewn across the bedspread. How pretty she had looked in that light. And how desirable. Tonight, he was going to try to love her in a new way—to kneel between her thighs and kiss her—taste her. He wanted to bring her to climax with his mouth. Perhaps tonight was the night that she would trust him enough to open herself up, physically and mentally—perhaps tonight she would trust him enough to be truly vulnerable.
After he stripped his clothes off, Nick had walked over to where Dallas was lying naked on the bed. Instead of getting on the bed with her, he did just as he had planned in his mind—he knelt down on the edge of the bed and ran his hands over her powerful thighs up to her curved belly.
“Come here.” Dallas beckoned to him.
“No.” Nick slid his hands beneath her legs to put her in the position he wanted. “You come here.”
“Nick...”
“Dallas—if it doesn’t feel right, I’ll stop.”
Nick moved her body so that her legs were dangling off the side of the bed. He gently pushed her legs apart. “Try to relax.”
He massaged her legs, working his way to her inner thighs. He dropped a trail of small kisses from her knee all the way to that light pink flower between her legs. The moment he kissed her, the moment he put his mouth on her, Dallas grabbed the bedspread with her fists and her thighs clamped his shoulders.