"Landi." He searched for the right words. "I—I want to get to know you better." He spilled the last part as if it were a substitution for what he really wanted to say but didn't dare. "Is that all right with you?" he added.
"Yes."
Jim chuckled. "You're not one for extra speech, are you? If Katrina finds us out here, don't let her turn me over to Sue."
She burst out laughing, a real belly laugh that he'd never heard from her before.
"Promise me," he demanded.
She nodded between guffaws.
"Can I ask you a question, James?" she said after her laughter subsided.
"Sure."
"Are you a playboy like everyone says?"
Landi watched as James's facial expression exploded from confidence to surprise. She couldn't help feeling self-satisfied that she'd stunned the older, more experienced man, however briefly. It didn't take long for him to regain his composure and his practiced, devastating grin. He coughed.
"No. I—I . . ." Jim stumbled over his words.
Ireland's gaze was unlike any other. He felt as if he'd been given a truth serum. Not wanting to lie to the girl, he swallowed hard and continued, "I used to be a bit of a playboy—a long time ago, according to others. I left that behavior behind me."
Landi continued to scrutinize his face, searching for sincerity. James tugged on his collar, his grin collapsing into a worried look as his brows furrowed. He didn't like the feeling of being read. He'd been trained to read others—to interpret their level of truthfulness. Now that the tables were turned, he grew uncomfortable.
"Would you two like anything from the bar?" A pretty waitress asked.
Relieved that something, anything, broke the spell Ireland had cast over him, Jim jumped at the distraction, a fluid smile spreading across his face.
"Yes, a daiquiri for the lady and a martini, dry," he answered immediately.
The waitress retreated inside before the girl could protest.
"I don't really drink, Jim," she said.
"Well, this is a special occasion. Don't worry. We'll dance it off."
Jim filled the ten minutes it took for their drinks to arrive with small talk. They discussed the wedding, her courses at the Gemology Institute, his new job, and their upcoming trip to the Mojave desert.
When the waitress deposited the glasses on their small table, he took the opportunity to scoot his chair closer to hers.
"To getting to know each other," he said, clinking his martini against her drink.
"To new friendships," she added.
He watched as she sipped slowly, puckering her lips after the first taste.
"That's the house specialty, a Clementine daiquiri. They grow those oranges in Morocco," he explained. "Do you like it?" he asked.
She took another sip.
"Yes, very tasty. Have you been to Morocco?"
Ireland fluttered her long lashes and smiled as she enjoyed her beverage. Her curiosity piqued, she now felt hungry for information about the far off places James had probably experienced. She'd never been out of California.
"Uh huh," he responded, taking a drink of his martini. "It's mainly desert, but they do have agriculture and some forests. They export cork from their cork trees and use their eucalyptus trees to make charcoal, which in turn, they use for cooking fuel. Oh, and they grow grapes for wine."
"Where else have you been?"
The eager expression on the girl's face melted James. He proceeded to share about many of the countries he'd visited as she finished her cocktail. Landi asked about the culture, food, and what stood out to him about these exotic locales.
"What impressed me most about Egypt was—"
James stopped mid-sentence, noticing that the girl had closed her eyes. Each blink of her lids had lasted longer and longer while he expounded on the middle east. Sure she'd fallen asleep, he leaned back in his chair and examined the girl's profile at his leisure. A cascade of bright red, natural curls framed her face and trailed across her small shoulders. Slight in stature, she seemed light as a feather the other day when he lifted her from Kate's apartment floor. Her skin appeared a translucent, milky white except for the faded orange freckles on the bridge of her small, tip-tilted nose. Fine, reddish-brown brows framed long, dark lashes, which hung from lids that now hid her large, emerald green eyes. He wanted to kiss her soft, pink lips and delicate chin.
"You're the loveliest thing I've seen in all my travels," he whispered, not wishing to disturb her.
He allowed his gaze to wander down her slim neck and across her chest. He watched as her breasts raised and lowered with each steady breath, and he again remembered how she felt under him at his sister's apartment. His eyes roamed to her waist and hips. Lithe arms attached to fragile wrists and the tiny hands that rested on her lap. He took the blanket offered by a passing waitress and tucked the throw under the girl's chin, draping it over her body.
James caught himself breathing in rhythm to the waves crashing on the beach across the street. He grasped the metal arms of the bistro chair to keep from touching Ireland. He longed to stroke her neck, kiss her lips, embrace her—protect her. Yet, she wasn't like the other women he'd known. She seemed oblivious to his charms and able to see through him, look right into his soul with those deep green orbs of hers. A chill ran up his spine in spite of the space heater near his table. Her indifference would be a challenge. This girl, this innocent otherworldly creature, had the power to change him, hurt him, alter his life. He didn't enjoy that knowledge. The foreign feeling that he didn't have the upper hand with her disturbed him. He wouldn't allow her that kind of power. He'd get what he wanted and get out, as fast as possible.
Ireland awoke with a start. It took her a second to realize where she was. James smiled at her from across the table, where he'd repositioned himself. Moist, cool night air that one could almost see circled them. She pulled the blanket higher.
"What time is it?" she asked.
"One forty-five," he said after checking his watch.
"Where is everyone?"
"They're still in there," he said, jerking his thumb towards the club, "dancing away. I'm sorry you only got one lesson."
His grin made Landi melt. She pulled the blanket from her upper body and shoved her chair back.
"Where'd this come from?" she asked, pointing to the cozy throw.
"Oh, the club provides those for people daring enough to stay out in the night air. I wanted to make sure you didn't catch a chill, so I tucked you in."
"Th-thank you," she stammered. "I need to get home. I have to get up for class in the morning."
James rose and took the blanket from her, offering his elbow. He escorted her back inside, where they said their goodbyes to the rest of the wedding party. Katrina raised an eyebrow, but he gave his sister the thumbs up, hoping to assuage her worry. Once out of sight, he draped his jacket and arm around Ireland, trying to keep her warm. A chill had definitely rolled in off the ocean along with the fog.
"Did you have fun tonight?" he asked on the drive back to her car. It had become very important to him that she enjoyed the evening.
"I did," she said, and turning her head, gave him a sweet smile. "I'm sorry I fell asleep on you. Did you miss out on everything babysitting me on the patio?" she added.
"I didn’t miss out on a thing, Landi." His voice was low and sensual, causing sparks of electricity to run up and down her body and her breathing to become ragged. She felt uncomfortable with the reaction his words created.
"I guess the alcohol got to me," she confessed. "Although, I usually get to bed pretty early. This is a late night for me," she said in a rush, adding, "I appreciate your sitting with me. You could have just left me out there or awoken me."
She felt genuinely touched that he stuck with her all night. She was sure he would have enjoyed himself more on the dance floor. Instead, he babysat a boring girl with two left feet.
"Not a chance," he said in what sounded like a low growl.
"Here I am," she said as they turned onto the lane by the church.
He pulled up behind her old compact car. Even at this time of night, countless vehicles lined the crowded west LA street, so James just blocked the road. He put his auto in park, jumped out, and ran around the vehicle to open Landi's door. Nervous, she had trouble unfastening her seat belt, so he reached across her lap and did it for her, allowing his fingers to caress her supple arm as he did so. Her skin burned at his touch, but she focused on maintaining her composure. In another moment, she'd be in her own car and wouldn't have to fight for control of her own body.
James took her hand and helped her from the vehicle, guiding her to her compact with his hand on her lower back. He took her keys from her hand and opened the door.
"I'm going to follow you to your place, to make sure you arrive safely," he said, shutting her car before she could respond and jogging back to his own.
Darn!
Landi didn't know if she'd cry or laugh all the way home, but she didn't want an audience. Now, she had to maintain the strict control she'd needed earlier. At least he wasn't seated right beside her anymore.
She parked in front of her apartment building. The side street in Venice still had room for a few cars. For the second time with Jim, she felt ashamed of her run down dwelling in a shabby part of town. She told herself that she could afford the rent, so she had no reason to be embarrassed.
She'd just stopped when James tapped on her window. She unlocked the car and turned off the ignition as he opened her door. He helped her from the vehicle and escorted her around the building to her apartment. Without her realizing, he'd somehow procured her keys from her clenched hand.
"I want to come up and make sure everything's safe," he said in a voice that sounded like a military command. Bending the wills of others to his own seemed his specialty.
"All right." The words slipped from Ireland's lips without any thought. She'd never had a man in her apartment, and she regretted her answer almost immediately.
James slipped the key in the lock, pushed the door open, and fumbled for the light switch before climbing the private stairwell to her unit. She followed, worrying what he might think of her tiny place. By the time she reached the top of the steps, he'd already turned on the lights and had his head in her closet.
"What's this?" he asked, pointing to the door at the back of the wardrobe.
How embarrassing.
"That's the bathroom."
James pushed through the racks that lined each side of the closet and opened the bathroom door. Her apartment had a strange layout. She heard the shower curtain rings slide along their metal rod as he checked to make sure no intruder hid there. Then, he returned to the living area and headed for her small bedroom, popping his head inside.
"All clear," he announced with a smile, back in the main room.
"Thank you," she said, moving towards the stairs.
In an instant, James joined her, catching her wrist and pulling her back towards him. He took both her hands in his but kept a safe distance between them, holding her startled gaze for several seconds.
"I had a great time tonight, Ireland. Lock up after I leave and be sure to get some rest tomorrow. Saturday's going to be a big day," he said, giving her fingers a squeeze before trotting down the steps.
As soon as she heard the door close, Landi rushed down and bolted the entrance to her apartment. Then, she ran up the stairs and to the window that looked onto the street. She watched as James started his car and drove off.
As tired as she was, Ireland had a difficult time falling asleep. She felt a strong attraction to James and couldn't believe the care he'd taken with her. After Saturday, she'd probably never see him again. The thought troubled her.
Jim drove the hour to Palmdale and collapsed in his old bed at his father's house. Thoughts of the sleeping girl on the Sinclair's patio kept him awake until dawn.
Chapter 4
-A Wedding to Remember-
Jim slept till noon when a call from Katrina hauled him from his bed. She wanted to know if Ireland made it home all right. She'd given her assistant the afternoon off and wouldn't see her until the wedding.
"Yes, I even followed her to her apartment to make sure she got in okay," he answered, barely awake.
"Did you try to kiss her good night?"
"Honestly, Kate, what kind of brother do you think I am? No, I did not kiss your assistant."
"All right. I had to ask. Be on time tomorrow, okay? Now put Dad back on the phone."
His sister was getting down right bossy. By the looks his father made while giving monosyllabic answers to Kate, James assumed they were discussing him. He shook his head and went back to bed.
Ireland spent the day in a fog. She wasn't used to so little sleep. After her morning classes, she returned home and prepared for the following day. She set out all she would need for the wedding, ensuring nothing would be forgotten. The idea of the upcoming nuptials made her nervous. She'd never been in a wedding or even attended one. She put some food in the alley for the stray cat she'd befriended and went to bed early.
By Saturday morning, she'd convinced herself of the foolishness of any attachment to James Crimshaw. She believed him when he said he was no longer a playboy, but she sensed more to his story than he let on. Besides, someone like him would never be truly interested in her. She convinced herself he was just being nice to his sister's employee. She'd probably never see him again after the wedding.
At twelve thirty, she packed up her car with her bridesmaid dress, shoes, belt, and other sundry items. A makeup artist and hairdresser would help the girls get ready at the church. She looked forward to the pampering, which seemed an incredible luxury to a girl who grew up in a trailer in Cadiz.
"Whoa, what have we here?" the hairdresser said upon taking a look at Ireland. "These natural curls?" she asked.
Landi blushed a deep crimson. Teased for her unruly carrot top as a child, she'd learned that letting her hair grow long, combined with lots of conditioner, eased the frizzy texture of her locks into soft ringlets.
The hairdresser noticed the girl's embarrassment and quickly added, "I know women who would kill for your hair. It's hard to reproduce this color, and you have so much body—what a blessing!"
Ireland's skin tone faded to pink.
"It's a bit much to handle when it rains," she said, eyes downcast.
"I can imagine. If you ever want to straighten it, a Brazilian blow out is the way to go. I'd be happy to give you a complimentary treatment if you'd let me take pictures to show my clients."
"Really?" she asked, incredulous.
"Of course. You're so pretty, you'd make a great model. It takes several hours, so you'd need to make an appointment in advance, of course. Here, tuck my card away in your things and call me if you ever feel adventurous," the beautician said with a wink.
"Thank you," she replied, still stunned at the offer.
After piling her hair in an updo to match the other bridesmaids and leaving plenty of ringlets to frame Landi's angelic face, the beautician passed the girl off to the makeup artist. Ireland caught a glimpse of Kiki, who'd already been through the process.
"Can you make me look like her?" she whispered, gesturing with a head nod towards the maid of honor.
"Your coloring is all wrong. Don't worry. I'll fix you up," the expert replied.
The woman's words did nothing to reassure her. She took another sidelong glance at her boss's best friend. Kiki looked so beautiful, exotic, and glamorous. Katrina had mentioned that her brother once dated the Hawaiian.
So, that's his type.
Ireland felt like crying, even though she'd convinced herself there was no point in hoping something would come of her friendship with James. He dated natural beauties, while she needed to be fixed. A flood of negative feelings promised to overwhelm he
r as she glimpsed her surroundings and the other bridesmaids. She felt inferior in every way. Struggling with insecurities a lifetime in the making, Landi determined to make the best of the day. She owed Katrina that much.
Someone helped her into her gown as she fought to maintain control of her emotions. She slipped on her bejeweled shoes and fled the makeshift dressing room for a bench in a deserted reception area. She played with the bobbinet fabric of her formal garb, trying to catch her breath. Its light hue, a mix of blue, grey, and purple, reminded her of the surf. Her costume, and that's what it seemed, fit like a glove. Rouched and crisscrossed from the sweetheart neckline to just below her bum, the material clung like a second skin. A fancy rhinestone and seed pearl belt cinched her tiny waist, while the lower portion of the garment fanned out in the mermaid style. Cool oxygen from an air conditioning vent sent a chill across her bare back. The gown dipped low to just above the waist in the rear, where the sash's bow completed the feminine look.
"Here, have something to keep your strength up."
Ireland peered behind her long, wet lashes at a small plate of fruit and cheese. Kiki sat down next to the girl, all smiles, and encouraged her to eat.
"Have you ever been in a wedding before, Ireland?"
"No, I haven't, and I'm a bit nervous," she replied, feeling somewhat ashamed of her lack of experience.
"Don't worry," Kiki said, giving the girl's hand a squeeze. "I've been in at least a dozen since high school, and they usually run like clockwork. If you forget anything from the rehearsal, there's always someone nearby to give you a shove!" she joked.
Landi giggled, releasing some of the tension she felt.
"Wow, you've got a lot of experience with these things, then," the girl stated.
"Yes, but they are usually more informal in Hawaii. We do a lot of outdoor weddings there. The guys wear Hawaiian shirts and the girls short dresses. The bride and groom each don a large lei, usually made of big, green leaves. A minister conducts a short service, and boom, it's all over."
"That sounds very nice, actually."
"Well, there's something to be said for dressing up too. Landi, I've been meaning to tell you how lovely you look in that gown."
A Calculated Romance Page 3