Why, she might not even see him at all. There would undoubtedly be a lot of people there. The entire town, most likely. Odds were that she could sit there an entire evening and not even catch a glimpse of him.
At least that’s what Laney told herself. Now if she only believed it.
“FORGET THE AQUA-BLUE ceramic tile. Katherine wants pink and citrus now.”
Dallas pulled the now tattered sheet of paper from his shirt pocket, X-ed off the shipment of aqua, penciled in the new colors, and ignored the urge to tell Claude Dixon what he could do with his new tile and his new house and his indecisive wife.
“Oh, and Katherine said to be absolutely sure that it’s a light citrus, not the deep citrus. And the pink should be soft, more like shell rather than salmon. Salmon would clash terribly with the light citrus, and Genevive Worthington already has her cookhouse done in salmon.”
Dallas didn’t even want to imagine a salmon-colored cookhouse. Giddyup! Here come the yuppie cowboys.
“The cookhouse matches the barn,” Claude continued. “They’re both the same shade as the carpet in the tack room.”
“Carpet in the tack room?”
“One hundred percent Berber. Nothing but the best for Genevive’s prized Arabians, Coco and Chanelle.”
Dallas swallowed the dozen or so sarcastic comments that rushed to the tip of his tongue and murmured, “No problem.”
“Good.” Claude rubbed his hands together. “I’ll talk to you when the project is closer to completion. I’m off to Tahiti for the next few weeks, so it will have to be after that. Oh—” he glanced at his pocket planner “—then we’re going to Italy with Katherine’s family, so make that four weeks.”
Four entire weeks with no changes?
A guy could only hope.
Speaking of hope…
Dallas glanced around the crowded VFW hall. The place was still brightly lit, the dance floor filled with clusters of people who stood around talking, waiting for the music to start. The band unloaded in the far corner, getting ready to play once everyone had finished eating.
Everyone, except a certain sexy blonde.
He glanced down at the paper where he’d scribbled the new tile colors, turned the sheet over and read the words again, the way he’d done each and every time he started to think that maybe he’d imagined the vivid description, the desperate longing, the need.
Then again, maybe he wasn’t the man in the fantasy. Maybe Laney hadn’t even written the damned thing. Maybe she wasn’t even remotely attracted to him. Maybe he’d made a Grade A ass of himself by inviting her here.
That’s what he was inclined to think. But he couldn’t forget the dark, passionate look in her eyes when he’d cornered her at the courthouse. The way she’d licked her lips and flushed a bright red and trembled when he’d touched her just so…
So where the hell was she?
He wadded up the paper, shoved it into his jeans pocket and was about to turn when he heard her voice.
“My, but this is a phenomenal turnout.”
A burst of warmth went through him and curved his lips into a smile before Dallas managed to tamp down the strange feeling. Hell’s bells. He didn’t want to feel warm when it came to Laney Merriweather. Just hot. Hard. Hungry. End of discussion. He’d worn his heart on his sleeve once before where Laney was concerned, and she’d stomped all over it. That was one mistake he was never making again. He might still have feelings for her after all this time—the first love sort of feelings, not the forever kind—but he had no intention of giving in to any of them save one. Lust. Pure, uncomplicated, tangle-the-sheets-and-burn-up-a-little-energy lust.
He summoned his best frown. “It’s about time you showed up,” he said as he turned and deposited a box of cups into her arms. “We’ve got work to do.”
SHE’D MEANT TO BE POLITE. That was it. A simple thank you that he’d given her the ticket and then her duty would be done. She couldn’t exactly be rude, even if it was Dallas Jericho. Not in front of the entire town. But she never thought she’d get suckered into standing behind a counter, serving up Texas Twisters to a line of hungry townsfolk.
Not that she minded the work. The work she could handle. It was the working conditions that had her itching to jump the counter and run for cover.
Dallas Jericho was too handsome, too warm, too…close. Worse, he smelled even better than the warm, sweet funnel cake she was busy retrieving from the commercial deep fryer.
Cooking. She still couldn’t believe it. Sure, she would be the first to lay money that Dallas Jericho had done more than his fair amount of cooking, but none in an actual kitchen.
A sudden vision of herself sitting up on the counter, Dallas in front of her, rushed at her. Heat flared in her cheeks.
“What color is it?”
His deep voice startled her, drawing her attention away from the strong grip of his hands to his smiling face. Her heart paused.
“What color is what?”
“My third eye. The way you’re staring at me, I must have one right in the middle of my forehead.”
She shrugged and forced the sensual image to the farthest corner of her mind. “You just don’t strike me as the funnel cake type.”
“Are you kidding? I can eat at least a dozen. Just ask Eula, over there. Hey, Eula,” he called out. “Need some help?”
Laney turned to see the old woman who hobbled toward a nearby table, a plate of barbecue in her twisted hands. She shook her head, but Dallas wasn’t put off. He rounded the counter and reached her in a few swift strides. Taking the plate, he guided her into a chair, reminding Laney of a young boy with tattered clothes who’d rushed to help pick up a sack of groceries her mother had dropped on her way out of the Piggly Wiggly.
Her new mother had tried to give him a dollar, and while he’d wanted to take it—Laney had seen the desperation in his eyes—he’d simply shaken his head and settled for a heartfelt thank you from both Laney and her mother.
“You’re welcome.” That’s all he’d said, yet Laney had sensed a wealth of meaning in the phrase. Appreciation. Gratitude. Kinship.
She dismissed the last thought. While she’d been born to a less than savory family, things had changed. She’d grown up a Merriweather. As far removed from someone like Dallas as a person could get. She hadn’t had to worry about food to eat or clothes to wear. She’d had everything. Thanks to her parents.
No, the last thing she felt for Dallas was kinship. Now admiration…She couldn’t help the smile that creased her lips as she watched him retrieve a glass of iced tea from the beverage table and take it to Eula.
“Isn’t that the lady who lives next door to the church?” she asked when he walked back to her.
“Nope. That’s the lady who lives with me. She’s my housekeeper.”
“Housekeeper?” Her gaze shifted back to Eula who sat next to her walking cane, her hand trembling as she retrieved a bite of potato salad. “She actually keeps house for you?”
“She tries and that’s good enough for me.”
The admiration she felt for him blossomed even more, along with something else. Something softer. A connection.
She shook away the notion and focused on the funnel cakes.
“So how long have you been cooking Texas Twisters?”
“Since about six.”
Her gaze shifted to him. “You’ve been cooking funnel cakes since you were six years old?”
His grin was slow and heart-stopping. “Since about six o’clock, darlin’. Janice May Alcott always runs this booth, but she has a stomach virus. Doc sent her home, so I stepped in to help out.”
“You mean you’ve never done this before tonight?”
“I used to hang out and watch her when I was a kid.” He pressed the button and batter poured into the sizzling grease. “And I’d eat all her leftovers. I also fixed this thing a couple of times whenever it got too temperamental. Janice isn’t very mechanical.” His gaze snagged on something just beyond her should
er. “Neither is Mary Louise. She might make the meanest apple pie to ever arrive at a Sunday picnic, but when it comes to snow cones, she’s plumb clueless.”
They both glanced toward the woman across the aisle from them who stood beneath a sign advertising twenty cent snow blizzards. She stared quizzically at an ice machine before smacking her fist against the side.
“Trouble, Mary?” Dallas called out.
“Darned thing quit on me. One second it was grinding out ice and the next, nothing.”
“Hold on and I’ll take a look for you.” He flipped off the switch on the funnel machine and wiped his hands. “I’ll be right back.”
Dallas Jericho to the rescue again.
Laney had just turned to dust sugar off the countertop when she heard a voice behind her.
“Two funnel cakes with extra cinna—Ohmigod! Laney. Laney Merriweather! Is that really you?”
Laney turned and came face-to-face with Cosmopolitan Barbie. Long, gleaming blond hair had been pulled back from a heart-shaped face. A generous helping of eye shadow and mascara accented wide, cornflower-blue eyes. A creamy silk blouse, no doubt Gucci, covered petite shoulders and an ample bosom. Tailored silk slacks molded to perfectly shaped hips and thighs.
Perfect.
That summed up Caroline Peterson in one word. From her walk to her talk to her clothing. She was the product of good Texas breeding and old money, and Laney had idolized her back in high school.
“It is you,” the woman declared. “It’s me,” the woman tapped her chest. “Caroline Peterson. Well, make that Caroline Peterson Montgomery now.”
“You and Walter finally tied the knot?”
“What can I say? I’m hyphenated and loving every moment. We have two precious children. My, my—” she touched a perfectly manicured hand to her chest as if she couldn’t quite believe her eyes “—you look exactly the way you did back in high school. Your hair is even the same.”
Laney touched her conservative bun. “Old habits die hard.” Especially when the habit had become a way of life. Her mother had worn the exact same style, just like every Merriweather woman for the past one hundred years.
Caroline peered closer. “You know, you still have the most incredible blue eyes. You really should liven them up. Maybe add some eyeliner. And those lips. I think a makeover is definitely in order. I’d be happy—”
“I’ll pass. It’s taken the last twelve years for my eyebrows to grow back after the last one.”
The last one referred to the most memorable sleepover Laney had attended. It had been Senior Girls’ Night after a huge rival football game and a select few lucky enough to call themselves Caroline’s friends had gathered at her house for an all-night gab session and pizza fest.
One minute Laney had been munching a slice of pizza and the next, she’d been Caroline’s makeover model. With so many eager eyes on her, she’d agreed. She’d wanted to agree. To fit in. To feel like all the other girls lucky enough to be invited to one of Caroline’s parties. To be like all the other girls.
Caroline smiled at the memory. “It wasn’t that bad. Besides, your hair looked great. Très chic.” She turned and waved to a tall, good-looking man. “Walter, come over here. Wait until you see who’s serving funnel cakes!”
Thirty seconds later, Laney was shaking hands with Walter Montgomery. Walter, once a spoiled eighteen-year-old, was now a stockbroker in Austin, still carrying on the family tradition as a financial wizard.
“Remember Laney? Why, she was the smartest girl in our entire class,” Caroline told her husband. “Smart and conscientious and dependable, isn’t that right, Laney? We were always goofing off, but Laney stayed on track. She didn’t waste her time on boys. She was always focused, always rushing home after school to finish her work and—”
“Two funnel cakes coming up!” Laney cut in. She had been focused. And dependable. And reliable. And she’d always been proud of herself because her father had been proud. But hearing Caroline recount her focused, dependable, reliable, boring past suddenly made her feel uncomfortable. Dissatisfied. Restless. Especially since she’d tried so hard for her friends to see her as an equal, as refined and proper as the rest of them. As if she’d been born to it like the rest of them.
She hadn’t. She’d been poor Laney Boggs who’d come from the wrong side of town and lucked into a fortune. They all knew it. They’d known it then and they knew it now.
The truth echoed through her head and she pushed it away. She was one of them. Just as good, as deserving.
She turned toward the funnel machine and concentrated her efforts on working rather than thinking. She’d watched Dallas all evening. Turn the nozzle. Press the button. Swirl the dough. She could do this.
That’s what she told herself, but ten heaving breaths later, after dumping several blobs of dough that resembled Jaba the Hut more than a Texas Twister into the fryer, she realized she was way out of her league. She would just wait for—
The thought stalled as she tried to shut off the flow of dough. The knob wouldn’t budge. If anything, the dough flowed faster, faster…
“Laney? Is everything okay?” Caroline asked.
“Everything’s fine,” she called out.
“Do you think it’s broken?”
“No,” she ground out as she struggled with the knob and her rising panic. “I think it’s alive.”
The deep chuckle stirred the hair on the back of her neck and sent tingles to her nipples. She realized in an instant that Dallas was right behind her.
“You’re too nervous,” his deep voice whispered into her ears. “You have to relax.” He stepped even closer, until she felt the warmth of his chest at her back. His arms came around her. One hand settled over hers while the other slid around her waist. And, as easily as that, Laney found herself wrapped in Dallas Jericho’s arms.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE FINGERTIPS THAT HELD Laney’s frantic grip on the fryer knob slid down until Dallas’s thumb massaged the inside of her wrist.
“Relax,” he murmured again, the word little more than a breathless whisper against the shell of her ear.
“But I’m making a mess,” she protested as the dough continued to funnel into the hot grease at a steady rate. Even so, she didn’t feel the same stir of anxiety she’d felt a moment ago. Now she felt the heat.
The heat from his body and the heat between them. The incredible, breath stealing, scramble-your-senses heat that she’d yet to feel with anyone except the man standing behind her, surrounding her.
“That’s it,” he murmured as her fingers loosened on the knob. His thumb slid from the inside of her wrist, up her palm, leaving a blazing trail that made her tingle from her head to her toes, and every point in between.
His fingers closed over hers and with an easy flick of his wrist, the knob turned and the dough stopped.
“That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”
The word hard echoed through her head and she became instantly aware of her bottom nestled against his groin, his erection bulging beneath the material separating them.
“Poor choice of words,” she murmured before she could stop herself.
His chuckle, raw and husky, did terrible things to her peace of mind.
Her mouth tingled and she had the insane urge to turn into the warm lips nuzzling her ear.
Nuzzling? Yes, he was definitely nuzzling. Licking. Making her tingle.
“Is everything okay now?”
Caroline’s voice pulled Laney back to reality, to her scandalous position and the fact that Dallas Jericho was nuzzling her in full view of God and the good folks of Cadillac who might be of a mind to look.
“It’s stuck,” Dallas called over his shoulder.
“But we turned it off,” she reminded him, her voice breathless and soft and excited…Oh God, she was excited.
“We turned the knob off, but we’re still turning you on, hot stuff.” The hand around her waist crept an inch higher, his thumb rubbing a lazy circle agai
nst her naval. “Aren’t we?”
Heat spiraled through her, making her lips part and her breath rush out.
When he touched the underside of her breast, she started. “Careful,” he warned, “or someone’s liable to know. Then again, maybe that’s what you want. Maybe you want everyone to see what I’m doing to you. Is that it, Laney? Does it turn you on to think that somebody might see the effect I have on you? That everyone would know you aren’t the prim and proper judge’s daughter you’re trying so hard to be?”
“You should stop.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
Yes. No. Maybe. The answers rolled through her brain, mixing with the multitude of other things and making her even more confused. If only she could think. Focus. She couldn’t, not with his thumb massaging her in such an intimate spot, his fingers burning into her rib cage.
“I…you need to.”
“There are a lot of things I need, Laney. A lot of things I want. I can tell you right now that stopping doesn’t qualify as either.” He trailed his tongue along the shell of her ear. “You aren’t, you know.”
“What?” The word came out little more than a breathless whisper. Breathless? Oh, no, she was breathless, and she was definitely in trouble.
“So prim and proper. I knew it way back when and I know it now. You put up a good front, mind you, but it’s not who you really are. You were made for kissing and touching and warming a man all night long. You were made for me. Me.”
His words echoed through her head, along with the sounds around them. The play of the band. The whir of the nearby snow cone machine. The crunch and slide of boots. The murmur of voices and the rise of laughter. It should have been enough to shatter the seductive web and pull her back to reality. But this was reality. Not a fantasy, but real.
The noises made her heart pound faster, along with the seductive words he whispered in her ear and the bold way he massaged the underside of her breast. It was luscious and decadent and downright shameful and for the space of a few heartbeats, she’d never felt quite so alive in her entire life. “Tell me you like this, baby.”
Midnight Fantasies Page 19