Ooh La La

by Doreen Alsen

  Simon smiled from across the table. “Thanks for coming with me.”

  She smiled back while her heart jackhammered in her chest. “A girl’s got to eat.”

  He laughed. “Thanks for eating with me.”

  “Thanks for asking.” She took a sip from the glass of Riesling the waitress brought for her.

  “So, what’s this Ballet Gala all about?”

  Lord, his eyes were so blue. “It’s an annual fundraiser for the Addington Ballet. We usually have a theme or some kind of twist.”

  “Oh, yeah? What kinds of twists?” Simon took a sip of his beer.

  “Well, one year local artisans made mirrors and we had a silent auction. It had a fairy tale theme and everyone had to come in costume.” She grinned. “We called it the Mirror, Mirror on the Wall Ball. Last year we connected the Gala with a cooking competition called Addington’s Tables. Again artists donated tables for a silent auction.”

  “Now, that one I’ve heard of. Everyone at The End Zone was really upset when Bobby didn’t win.”

  “I can imagine. Hope Monahan is a good friend so I was glad when she did.”

  “I’ve never eaten at Hope’s.”

  “Lucky for you, she caters the food for the Gala. I tasted some sample pastries the other night at a Gala committee meeting. They were awesome.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “First year on the committee?”

  “Yes.”

  “You must be connected.”

  Veronica sighed. “I’m not. I won’t lie. My family is, but I’m just an accountant.”

  “Just an accountant? No such thing, especially when it comes to you.”

  Oh, dear. The look in his eyes. She hadn’t seen that hot a look since…well, since forever. She should say something, she knew she should, but…

  “Veronica? You didn’t tell me you’d be here tonight.”

  She closed her eyes and prayed for death. Here she was, having dinner with a fascinating man who might or might not be a stripper, and who should come along to kill the buzz? As Humphrey Bogart said, “In all the gin joints, in all the town, in all the world, she walks into mine.”

  She stood. “Mother. Hello.”

  Simon slipped his napkin off his lap, laid it on the table, and stood. “Mrs. Cooke.”

  Veronica’s mother sniffed. “Please, Veronica, introduce me to your friend.”

  Veronica resisted the impulse to turn and run. “Mother, this is Simon West, a dance instructor at Barrett. Simon, please meet my mother, Mrs. Priscilla Cooke.”

  Simon extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Cooke.”

  Veronica half expected her mother to extend her hand so Simon could kiss her ring and say “charmed, I’m sure”.

  And in the worst of all possible worlds, her mother refused to take Simon’s hand.

  Simon pretended not to notice. “Won’t you join us?” he asked.

  The corners of Veronica’s mother turned down even more. “I’ve already eaten, thank you.” Even though she spoke to him, she didn’t look at him. “Give me a call tomorrow, won’t you?” she told Veronica.

  Veronica’s palms itched to slap her mother across her judgmental face. She picked her words carefully. “I can’t promise that, Mother. I have a very busy day tomorrow.”

  Priscilla sniffed like she was about to cry. “Too busy to call your mother.”

  Veronica bit back a sigh. “Maybe I can find some time later in the afternoon.”

  “Only if it’s not too much trouble.”

  Just like that the threat of tears went away. “It’s not too much trouble.” She was already reshuffling her student appointments during her office hours.

  “I’ll leave you to your evening, then.” Priscilla lifted her cheek for Veronica to kiss.

  “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Cooke,” Simon said.

  Priscilla narrowed her eyes. “Yes, it was, Mr. West. Simon is it?”

  He nodded. “Simon West.”

  “Hmmmm. Good night, then. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Veronica.” She left.

  Veronica dropped back into her seat. “That was festive. I’m sorry.”

  “Why?” Simon also sat back down.

  “Mother is usually not that rude. And the tears were a nice touch.”

  “I didn’t take any offense.”

  She reached across the table and put her hand over his. “Thank you. That’s very generous of you.”

  “No worries. Now, what were we talking about?” He flipped his hand over so it covered hers. “Ah, yes. How amazing you are.”

  She could sit forever and listen to him say those kinds of things about her in that oh-so-masculine, sex on a stick cowboy accent of his. Two devils came and each one sat on a different shoulder. “I am pretty perfect.”

  She didn’t think it possible for his amazing smile to get more out of this world, but it did. He threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, baby! The word perfect is inadequate to describe you. You are so far beyond perfect.”

  “Now you’re going overboard. Please don’t play with me.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I’m not playing. That’s not the way I’m hard wired. I say what I mean, Veronica.”

  She swallowed and the ball of embarrassment went down hard and painfully. He had to be playing with her. She was nowhere near perfect in any way, shape, or form, and it was not nice for him to play with her that way. “Please stop.”

  “Stop what?”

  “You don’t need to flatter me to make me like you. I like you already.”

  “That’s good news. I like to be liked.” He leaned across the table. “I’m only stating the truth the way I see it. You, Ms. Veronica Cooke, are a goddess.”

  “I’m anything but.”

  “I’m coming to think that you’re everything good and right in this world.”

  “Please stop. You’re going overboard and it’s embarrassing.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “You’re blushing. It’s cute.”

  “And you’re incorrigible.” She smiled; she couldn’t help it. Something about him just pulled at her. Maybe it was the blond curls, the sky blue eyes, the crazy sexy smile.

  Maybe it was all of that, along with a body that would make the Virgin Mary weep in appreciation.

  “I do my best.” He flashed that devilish smile again.

  “Here we go.” The waitress arrived with their food. “French onion soup and a wood-fired pizza margarita. May I get you something else—refills on your drinks?”

  “Do you want another Riesling?” Simon asked.

  “Oh, no thank you. I’ve hit my limit. More water would be wonderful, please.”

  “Make that two.” He held up two fingers of his right hand.

  “Sure thing. Enjoy!” She left.

  Veronica caught Simon’s warm gaze and bad boy smile. Her stomach fluttered with nerves. How could she possibly eat when he looked at her like that?

  The answer? She couldn’t.

  ****

  “You didn’t eat much. Was something wrong with the soup?” Simon steered his car out of Esmeralda’s parking lot and headed back to Barrett so Veronica could pick up her car.

  “Guess I wasn’t very hungry after all.”

  “Oh.” He slid her a glance. “How about next Thursday for another dance lesson?”

  “Another lesson? Didn’t I step on your toes enough tonight?”

  “You did great. My feet are fine.” That was his story and he was sticking to it. “So what do you say?” He pulled his car up next to hers in the parking lot.

  She smiled, the tug of her lips sweet and shy. “I’d like that, thanks.” She reached for the door handle.

  He put his hand over hers. “Not yet.” Then he cupped her chin and with a gentle tug brought her face in for a kiss. Her soft lips parted under his and he could feel her pulse flutter against his fingertips. He cursed the gearshift between them as it prevented him from pulling her close against him.

  Granted t
he heavy coats they both wore would have gotten in the way.

  Their kiss spun around them on gossamer wings and he couldn’t bear the thought of letting Veronica go.

  She pulled away first. “I need to get home. Thank you for dinner.”

  He nodded. He sure as hell didn’t want her to leave, but he knew enough to not hold on too tight so early in their relationship. “Give me your keys.”

  She blinked. “My keys?”

  “Yeah. I’m opening your car door for you.”

  “You don’t have to do that. There’s no—”

  “I know I don’t have to. I want to.” That way he could get one full-body kiss before he let her get away.

  He literally ached to hold her.

  He got out of the car before she could protest any more and opened her door. “Keys, please.”

  Angling out of the car, she dropped keys into his waiting hand. “Thank you.”

  He winked and opened her car. After sliding the seat back, he got in and started the engine then stood in front of her. “It’s been out here in the cold all night. We need to let it warm up.” Reaching over, he arranged her scarf, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her.

  It was a short meeting of lips, a mere brush of time. Once over, he held her tighter and she rested her head against his shoulder. He laid his cheek on the top of her head. A simple touch, a poignant connection between two people who could grow to cherish each other.

  She stepped away first and smiled. “I should get going. I’ve got an early class tomorrow morning.”

  His first thought was to tell her to come home with him, and he’d make her breakfast before class. “I’ll dream of you,” is what he said.

  Which was true. Absolutely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, true. His extremely hard erection told him so.

  She shivered and her teeth chattered.

  “Go on, get in the car. I’ll follow you home to make sure you get there okay.”

  She stepped away from him then laid her gloved hand on his cheek. “Thank you.” After sliding behind the wheel, she shut the door.

  Simon did the same and followed her to a small Cape Cod style house in an exclusive neighborhood near Quahog Point on Nahant Bay. As he suspected, she came from money.

  He waited until she made it inside and turned on some lights. As he drove away he worried about the differences between him and Veronica. It didn’t take a Ph.D. to figure out her mother didn’t like him. Hell, she didn’t even like the idea of him.

  But he couldn’t let it matter. Veronica Cooke was in his blood now and he wanted her like he’d never, ever, wanted a woman before

  He’d make it work if it killed him.

  Chapter Eight

  Veronica stretched luxuriously in her whirlpool bathtub, the water scalding hot. Just the way she liked it. She rested her head against the bath pillow while she lifted her leg out of the churning water to lather it with a loofa sponge.

  Her beloved recording of Renaissance motets filled the steamy room, and fat apple-and-cinnamon-scented candles flickered in the low key light.

  She was in love. In. Love. As much as she didn’t believe in love at first sight, she was utterly besotted by Simon West.

  How had that happened? She was practical. Predictable. Boring and ordinary. People like her didn’t fall head over heels because of a pretty face, smokin’ hot body, and a please-take-me-to-bed Texas accent.

  Yet here she was, the Queen of Besottment. Was that even a word? She didn’t care.

  Veronica sighed, put down the loofa, and touched her lips with her fingers. Closing her eyes, she relived every single second of Simon West’s kisses.

  She’d never thought she had a dream man but apparently she did. Since she’d always believed she’d marry someone who was just as conventional and safe as she was, this turn of events really threw her for a loop.

  A small laugh bubbled out of her. Giddy, totally giddy, at the thought of seeing him again Thursday, she only hoped Simon’s toes were up to the occasion.

  Lord knew her body was. It was screaming at her with each thought of Simon West touching her. The man could kiss, that was for damn sure.

  Things like these crazy, love at first sight things didn’t happen to boring accountants like her and that had been A-okay. She enjoyed her uneventful, safe life.

  What if he was her cowboy?

  Jeez, you went to a strip club just one time and your whole life got turned around. What was a girl supposed to do? Especially the brand new Veronica who took chances and asked out men she barely knew.

  For one thing, find out if Simon was her cowboy. However, even if he wasn’t, he was still made of gorgeous with a side dish of yummy.

  Maybe that’s all she needed to know.

  For now.

  ****

  “Hey, I heard you were working on a new routine.”

  Simon stopped mid-way from bump into grind and looked into the wall-size mirror to see Trevor, the dancer who did a construction worker routine at Hardbody, grinning at him via said mirror. “Trev. What’s up?”

  “Rumor has it you were out and about with the lady from table 18 the other night.” He shook his head. “Dude. Dating a patron? You might want to keep that on the down low.”

  “A patron?” The only person he’d dated lately was Veronica. But didn’t he suspect she’d been the beautiful woman at the club?

  “Yeah, classy lady, there with some equally classy friends. I heard it the two of you were at Esmeralda’s the other night. You know the brass doesn’t like it. The sleaze factor and all that.”

  Yeah, God forbid a strip club be seen as sleazy. Still, a rule was a rule and he couldn’t lose this job until he got a real one. The money was just too good to pass up. “I didn’t meet her here. She teaches at Barrett. I met her there.”

  Trevor grunted and pulled his right leg up into a quad stretch. “She’s a pretty lady.”

  Simon’s smile was gentle. “She is.”

  Trevor switched legs. “Uh-oh. I know that look, man.”

  “What look?”

  “The look of,” he lowered his voice, “loooovvvve. You know.” He broke into song. “The look, your heart, can’t disguise,” he crooned.

  “Asshole.” Meanwhile, uh-oh was right. He couldn’t possibly be in love with Veronica. It was way too soon. All his nerve endings prickled and his stomach clenched. He might need to hurl.

  If he felt this bad, it had to be love.

  Yay.

  ****

  “Mother. You called, I’m here. What do you want?” Veronica had gotten her mother’s summons to have lunch with her and her father at the family manse.

  Her father cleared his throat. “Your mother was concerned when she met you and your companion at Esmeralda’s the other night and she shared her fears with me.”

  Fears? “Is this about Simon?”

  “Simon West? Yes.”

  A ball of nervous, maniacal laughter lodged in Veronica’s throat. “Simon’s a dancer. He teaches at the university. What’s there to be concerned about?”

  He sat at his place behind the table and drummed his fingers on the top. “When your mother told me about your little liaison, I had my staff check him out.”

  Okay, dear old Dad was pulling out all the I-am-the-great-state-senator Cecil Cooke stops. “I can’t imagine you found anything dangerous.”

  “No. Not dangerous. But embarrassing to the family, and it could hurt my chances to be elected governor next year.”

  “Veronica,” her mother said, “your Simon West is a stripper.” She looked and sounded like she was a heartbeat away from having the vapors, like some old-fashioned too stupid to live heroine in a bad novel. “He takes his clothes off for a living. We can’t have you involved with someone like that.”

  Her ears started to buzz like there was a mosquito the size of a jumbo jet flying around her head. “Simon’s not…” she coughed like she was hacking up a lung then took a deep cleansing breath to regain her equilibrium, �
�a stripper.”

  But of course he could be. She’d wanted him to be her cowboy, and had given a lot of thought as to how to find out if he was.

  “You’re to stop seeing him immediately before the media gets hold of this.”

  She stood and lifted her chin. “I won’t. I’m a grown woman and I’ll see whomever I want.”

  Her father stared at her, his eyes devoid of any sympathy or understanding. “You will stop seeing him. Stop right now or I’ll make sure he loses his position at Barrett, as well as black list him to every dance company in New England. All I have to do is make one phone call and he’ll be back in The-Back-of-Beyond, Texas, where he came from.”

  Veronica sat, tears prickling at her eyes, but she would not cry. She wouldn’t give him the advantage of seeing or thinking her weak. “I don’t see how my dating Simon will cost you the election.”

  “Because you don’t understand politics. You sit around all day crunching numbers and have no idea how the real world works.” He checked his watch. “I have a meeting with my press secretary in ten minutes. This conversation is over.” He turned his back and strode out of the room.

  “You have to break it off, Veronica.” Her mother said. “Do it now before more damage is done.”

  Her face warmed as her pulse thumped like a jackhammer. “No damage has been done.”

  “Nevertheless, if you want your friend to keep his job, such as it is, you’ll break it off. You know your father doesn’t make empty threats.”

  Yes. Cecil Cooke did not make idle threats. Veronica no longer felt like crying. She wanted to smack a bitch. “I hate him. I hate you, too.”

  “Now Veronica, we only have your best—”

  “Good bye, Mother.” Veronica walked right out the same door her father had used.

  Chapter Nine

  Simon whistled Three Times a Lady, as he now considered it his and Veronica’s song. Yeah, it was a trip in time back to junior high, but sue him. He planned to take tonight’s dance lesson just a little further, beyond kisses from a distance or with layers of heavy clothing between them.

  “Simon.”

  He turned to see her standing just inside the studio and felt a huge smile bloom across his face. “Veronica.”