Body Language

by Suzanne Brockmann

  “Cassandra.” He said her name softly. “You know, there’s not a single man in this room who isn’t watching us dance.”

  She felt his hand move up her back, underneath her hair. His touch felt sinfully good. His fingers sent both chills and heat racing through her until she was nearly dizzy.

  “They’re all thinking, ‘What a lucky guy.’” McCade smiled lazily. “And you know, they’re right.”

  The song ended, but he didn’t let her go.

  “Vandenberg’s watching us too.” His eyes were glued to her mouth.

  “Who?” Sandy said faintly.

  “Vandenberg,” he repeated. “James?”

  James. “Oh.”

  “What do you say we really give him something to look at?” he murmured. It was as good an excuse as any, and right now he desperately needed an excuse. He couldn’t bring himself to kiss her without one, and mercy, he wanted to kiss her. “Maybe this will give him the right idea,” he added, even though the only idea he wanted to give James Vandenberg was that this woman in his arms belonged to McCade, heart, body, and soul.

  Sandy nervously moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, and it was all the invitation McCade needed.

  He used his left hand to push her curls gently back from her face as he bent down and brushed her soft lips with his own. It was torture, sweet, delicious torture. One taste, one tiny, little, almost nonexistent kiss simply wasn’t enough. He could feel his heart pounding, and he struggled to keep his breathing steady.

  But when he looked into Sandy’s eyes, he couldn’t stop himself. “I don’t know,” he said, ignoring the fact that the band had started another slow song and people were dancing around them. “Do you think he noticed? We better do that again, just to make sure.”

  He kissed her again, longer this time, letting his mouth linger. It was still as sweet, though, still as gentle.

  “Come on. I promised I’d take you home.” Almost desperately, he led her off of the dance floor. If they stayed much longer, he wouldn’t be able to keep from kissing her again, and if he kissed her again, he’d give himself away. He wasn’t ready for that yet. It was too soon.

  “Cassandra Kirk.”

  He looked up to see James Vandenberg and another man on a direct intercept path with them. He swore silently as he put a pleasant smile on his face.

  “James. Hi.” Instantly self-conscious, Sandy dropped McCade’s hand and started to cross her arms. She caught herself and stopped, nervously pushing her hair back, then standing with her hands loosely clasped in front of her.

  “I’m glad you could make it,” James said warmly. He glanced at McCade. “Clint McCade, right?”

  “Good memory.” McCade smiled as they shook hands.

  “Politician in training,” James explained with an easy smile. “Cassandra, do you know Aaron Fields? He’s with Channel Five News. He’s agreed to supply us with additional footage of Simon Harcourt from their video archives.”

  As McCade watched Sandy all uncertainty seemed to drop from her and she became the president of Video Enterprises. She stood slightly taller, and was instantly confident, cool, and reserved. “Mr. Fields and I are acquainted, yes.” She fixed Fields with a rather icy smile. She didn’t offer him her hand, and McCade realized that she did not like this man.

  Impressed, he studied Aaron Fields. Out of all the billions and billions of people in the world, there were just a very small handful that Sandy actively disliked. And because she was full of second chances and forgiveness for bad behavior, it was not easy to fall into that tiny subset of humanity. But somehow Aaron Fields had managed to do so.

  He wasn’t short, not exactly, but with Sandy in her heels, he was a good four inches shorter than she. The man looked to be in his early thirties, and his widening girth put a definite strain on the seams of his tuxedo. He was obviously falling prey to a changing metabolism. His hair was blond, and his face nearly florid from a recent sunburn. Despite the red glow, he was still handsome, but unless he started to detour around the cheeseburger stand and take a few more trips to the salad bar instead, he was going to lose his good looks. His face was starting to get fleshy, making his small, gray eyes seem even smaller. He was a former prom king, McCade decided, maybe even a former high-school football star.

  There was a story here, and knowing Sandy, it was bound to be a good one.

  Unaware of the undercurrent of animosity, James was talking about setting up a meeting where Fields and Sandy could sort through the vast footage that the television station had taken of Simon Harcourt over the course of the years.

  “Call my secretary,” Fields said. “Although, my schedule’s heavy for the next few weeks. Of course, we could always do it in the evening.”

  “We should have an intern catalog the videotapes first.” Sandy was obviously not thrilled with the thought of spending an evening with Fields. “That will take a few weeks and—”

  “It’s already cataloged,” Fields said with a smug smile.

  Sandy hesitated, and McCade understood instantly. She didn’t want to be alone with this man. “I’ll have my secretary call yours,” she told Fields coolly. “Maybe there’s some time during the day you can fit me in.”

  “James, you’ll want to review this footage.” McCade spoke up. “Why don’t you try to be there too?”

  Sandy glanced at McCade, uncertain whether he was trying to throw her together with James, or if somehow he had figured out what a sleaze bucket Aaron Fields was. He smiled calmly back at her, and her heart sank. McCade had to be playing matchmaker. How could he know about Fields? She hadn’t known the kind of man Fields was when she first met him.

  Of course McCade was trying to get James to spend time with her. That was the goal here. She felt a little foolish for hoping that those kisses had actually meant something. Had she really thought McCade had kissed her for any reason other than catching James’s attention?

  “Actually, evenings are better for me,” James was saying. He looked at Sandy. “But I can try to rearrange my schedule if days are better for you.”

  Sandy shook her head. “You’re the client. You should pick the time most convenient for you.”

  James glanced at Fields. “Aaron’s doing us a great favor. Let’s conform to his schedule.”

  “How about early next week?” Fields said. “Say, seven-thirty? And I happen to disagree with Cassandra. Viewing these tapes is going to be tedious. You might want to wait till we’ve had the opportunity to weed out the unnecessary garbage and—”

  “I think he should be there,” Sandy interrupted.

  “It’s a waste of his time,” Fields countered.

  She turned to Vandenberg. “James, may I have this dance?”

  It was a non sequitur, but James didn’t do more than blink in surprise. He glanced at McCade, who shrugged slightly. “Excuse us,” James said to Fields, then followed Sandy onto the dance floor.

  McCade couldn’t watch. He didn’t want to watch. But he had to watch. He couldn’t take his eyes off of them.

  “You know her well?” Fields asked.

  McCade gave a noncommittal smile, watching James take Sandy into his arms. Damn, they looked good together. Sandy was elegantly blonde and James was darkly handsome. McCade’s stomach hurt.

  “She’s gorgeous,” Fields commented. “Got a body of a dumb blonde but the brain of a computer. Terrible combination. Women are like children, better seen but not heard, especially when all they can say is no, know what I mean? If Vandenberg needs me, tell him I’m at the bar.”

  McCade tried not to laugh. He could picture Aaron Fields expressing similar sentiments to Sandy—who would no doubt cut him down into little tiny pieces, wham, wham, wham, like the chef in one of those Japanese steakhouses. But McCade’s smile disappeared as he looked back at James and Sandy.

  James held her too close, and she had her head tilted back as she spoke to him earnestly. McCade had to turn away.

  “And after the last time Fields
was so…rude, I swore I’d never do business with him again,” Sandy was telling James. “He’s a creep. But obviously, he’s got something you need, so—”

  “We can approach the other network affiliates,” he suggested. His chiseled features were rendered somehow more handsome by the sternness of his expression.

  “But Five’s the best.” Sandy shook her head. “They’ve won the award for best local news seven years in a row. We have a better shot at finding good footage with Channel Five.”

  “I don’t want to put you in an awkward position.” James’s face was serious, concerned. His brown eyes were so dark, in this light it was nearly impossible to discern the pupil from the iris. The effect was disarming.

  “If you’re going to attend this meeting, I’ll be fine. It’s when I’m alone with Fields that he acts like a jerk.”

  “I’ll be there,” James said quickly, his arms tightening slightly around her. His body was firm and muscular, but somehow not as powerful as McCade’s. “You can count on me.”

  Sandy grinned. “I’ll wear my steel-toed boots, and pack a can of Mace and a derringer in my handbag, just in case.”

  “Steel-toed boots?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

  “You bet.”

  “Ouch.”

  “You bet.”

  There was a sparkle of amusement in James’s dark eyes as he smiled at her. He was holding her the way McCade had, with his hand against her bare back. Inwardly, she frowned. James was holding her the same way, yet something was different.

  “How long have you been seeing Clint McCade?”

  She glanced up at him. “I’m not.”

  He looked confused, and she tried again. “Clint and I are just friends.”

  James nodded slowly. “Does he know that?”

  She laughed. “Of course.”

  He nodded again, obviously not convinced.

  “I have to admit,” James broke the silence that they’d slipped into, “I was surprised when you asked me to dance. At the time it seemed a little inappropriate.”

  “Sorry,” she said with a laugh. “I suppose I should have waited and told you about my problem with Fields over the phone tomorrow. It’s just that dancing seemed like a good way to have a private meeting.”

  His hand moved down her back, his fingers trailing lightly along her smooth skin. “This is the best private meeting I’ve ever been to. Any chance we can schedule another?”

  Sandy stared up at him. James Vandenberg wanted to see her again. He was touching her, caressing her much the way McCade had. So why the heck wasn’t she melting on the floor in a puddle of desire?

  The song ended, and she gently pulled free from his arms.

  “How about dinner?” James asked.

  “Call me,” she said as he led her back to McCade.

  “I will,” he answered. “Definitely.”

  He smiled warmly into her eyes, nodded politely to McCade, and walked away.

  McCade was silent as the valet went to get the car, thinking about the way James had held Sandy when they’d danced.

  Now what? He couldn’t just sit and watch while Vandenberg waltzed away with her. Except James Vandenberg was what Sandy had always wanted in a man. McCade was…just McCade.

  Sandy shivered in the cool night air, and he realized she had no jacket. Without thinking, he put his arms around her, and she burrowed against his chest, slipping her arms around his waist, underneath his tuxedo jacket.

  Sandy’s Geo appeared from the darkness of the parking lot, standing out among all of the Cadillacs and Town Cars.

  McCade shrugged out of his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. With his hand on the door handle, about to open the passenger’s-side door, he saw James Vandenberg talking to one of the young parking attendants.

  He knew from the way that Vandenberg was glancing in their direction that the man had noticed Sandy quite sufficiently already. There was no doubt in McCade’s mind that this guy was going to be dreaming about her tonight.

  And that thought made him crazy.

  Instead of opening the door for her, he nearly yanked Sandy into his arms. He caught a flash of surprise in her eyes before his mouth found hers. And then, Lord have mercy, he was kissing her again.

  But this was nothing like the kisses he’d given her on the dance floor. This time he kissed her fiercely, his tongue pushing past her lips to explore her mouth. Her tongue met his, and the world exploded in a blistering wave of heat and passion. He pulled her closer, even closer, his fingers lost in the thick swirl of her long, golden hair. Her slender body felt firm and tight against him. He heard himself groan, a low sound of want and need that astonished him with its intensity. Dazed and breathing hard, he pulled back.

  There was shock in Sandy’s eyes. “McCade, what…”

  If she had called him Clint, he might’ve told her that he loved her. “Vandenberg’s watching,” he said instead, his voice raspy and harsh. He opened the car door and helped her inside, closing the door tightly behind her.

  As McCade walked around the car he looked toward James. The dark-haired man was watching, and McCade met his gaze without smiling, giving him a look meant to warn him off. Except James Vandenberg didn’t seem the type to quiver with fear from a dark look.

  The valet had left the engine running, and McCade carefully pulled his legs into the tiny car. He could feel Sandy watching him, her eyes still wide. He drove away from the curb without looking at her.

  Sandy sat in silence, remembering the feeling of that intensely powerful kiss. God, how she’d longed for McCade to kiss her that way. And even though she’d imagined what it would be like so many different times, her fantasies hadn’t even come close. It had totally blown her away. Her knees still felt weak, and adrenaline still surged through her system. She still felt flashes of fire and ice and—

  This was what had been missing when she’d danced with James. It was this tingle, this thrill that had been absent. James’s touch hadn’t sent shivers up and down her spine. She hadn’t felt any dizzying waves of heat and cold when he smiled into her eyes. Her insides hadn’t turned to molten lava, her heart didn’t beat harder—

  The way it had when McCade touched her.

  She was in trouble here. Deep trouble.

  She wasn’t in love with James. She was in love with Clint McCade.

  SIX

  AS MCCADE DROVE, the silence in the car seemed to get thicker and longer. Sandy was staring out the front windshield. Her eyes were unfocused and her expression was somber. One glance in her direction told him she was deep in thought.

  He shouldn’t have kissed her like that.

  No doubt she’d realized he was in love with her, and was trying to figure out how to let him down as gently as possible.

  Maybe he should apologize. No, he was damned if he was going to apologize for doing something that he desperately wanted to do again—something he fully intended to do again the next time he got the chance. Except there probably wasn’t going to be another chance. Unless he apologized…

  “Sandy.” McCade cleared his throat. With his eyes firmly on the road, he could feel the steadiness of her gaze as she turned to look at him. “Did I…” he said, then started again. “I guess I went a little overboard back there.”

  “It was, um, very realistic.”

  “I’m sorry,” McCade said, then mentally kicked himself for lying. He wasn’t sorry, not one little bit.

  “McCade,” Sandy started, and he braced himself. Here it comes, he thought, the “I just wanna be friends” speech. “Can we stop and get a pizza? I’m starving.”

  Her words didn’t make any sense at first, they were so different from the words he’d been expecting. She wanted a pizza. She was hungry, not angry at him. He’d apologized and she was obviously giving the matter no more thought.

  McCade didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

  Chicken, Sandy thought, looking at her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she brushe
d her teeth.

  McCade was out in the living room, lying on the couch, watching Jon Stewart on TV. He’d changed out of his tuxedo and now wore just a very brief pair of gray running shorts.

  Even though he’d apologized for kissing her, there was still some kind of electricity—a new, extremely sexual awareness—that filled the air every time their eyes met.

  But it was nothing, Sandy tried to tell herself as she washed the makeup off her face and put on some moisturizing lotion. McCade wasn’t going to risk their friendship by having a fling with her. And that was all she could hope for from him—a brief affair, a fling. He didn’t do love and marriage. He’d told her that himself more times than she could count.

  Sandy sighed. She didn’t want to have an affair with McCade, she tried to tell herself. She wanted a long, lasting relationship. And if the only way she could have long and lasting was if they stayed friends, then, by God, they’d stay friends. Only friends.

  So why was she wearing nothing but a nearly nonexistent pair of black silk-and-lace panties underneath her bathrobe? Why did she have the urge to go into the living room, turn off the television, and let her robe drop to the floor? Why was she considering throwing herself at McCade, regardless of the consequences?

  Sandy closed her eyes, remembering the way McCade had kissed her. God, she wanted more.

  Would a night with McCade be worth the price? But life without McCade would be unbearable. If they made love, he would probably leave and never come back.

  But, Lord, she wanted him. And she loved him.

  She opened the bathroom door and slowly walked to the living room.

  McCade looked up and pressed the mute button on the television’s remote control. “You going to bed?”

  “Yeah,” she said, turning away. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t try to seduce him. “’Night, McCade.”

  “Good night, Kirk.” His soft voice followed her down the hall to her bedroom.

  She was chicken. But it wasn’t the potential loss of their friendship that she was afraid of. No, she was afraid if she made a pass at McCade, he’d turn her down.