Drive Me Wild

by Julie Ortolon

  Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t you practice your wiles on me, young man. These lips are sealed tight.”

  Cocking his head, he gave her his sexiest grin. “I don’t suppose I could just pick you for my dream date and save us all a lot of trouble?”

  She stared at him a moment, looking inside him in that uncanny way she had. “Why, Brent Zartlich, I do believe you’re nervous.”

  He snorted and hoped that covered up what she had seen too clearly.

  “You just remember one thing when they get you on that stage,” she said. “A sense of humor goes a long way in life.”

  This from a woman whose face would crack if she ever gave in to a full-fledged grin, he thought.

  “Now don’t you do that.” She wagged her finger at him. “Don’t you turn all sulky and sullen.”

  “I’ve never sulked a day in my life,” he insisted.

  She shook her head. “Like I said, some things never change.” She started to move past him through the door but stopped. “I will tell you one thing, Brent Zartlich. A few speech lessons and fancy clothes don’t change who you are. If the people of this town were too blind to see what a bright, sensitive boy you were back then, then you shouldn’t fret over their opinion now. You just go in there, give the audience their money’s worth, and be done with it. You got that?”

  He stifled a grin. “You don’t have to make it sound like I’m about to do a striptease.”

  Her narrowed gaze bored into his. “By the time this nonsense is over, you may feel as if you’ve done exactly that.”

  Chapter 3

  A sense of humor goes a long way in life. Brent repeated the words in his head as he stood waiting backstage. From an opening in the backdrop, he had a partial view of the set. Huge psychedelic flowers in orange, yellow, and lime green contrasted sharply with the rococo trim and frescoes of the opera house’s decor.

  Two bar stools sat on the half of the set he could see, one for him and the other for Mayor Davis, who was already greeting the audience. Brent assumed similar bar stools awaited the three bachelorettes on the other side of the partition that divided the stage.

  Laura would be sitting on one of those stools. He wondered again what she looked like now, what she’d been doing with her life, if she was nervous about getting onstage. Surprisingly, knowing she’d be going through the next few minutes with him settled his own case of stage jitters, something he hadn’t experienced in years.

  Mayor Davis’s voice rose in volume. “So, y’all help me greet our celebrity bachelor, Brent Michaels.”

  This was it. Brent took a deep breath, pasted a smile on his face, and walked onto the set with a casual wave to the crowd. If he knew one thing, it was how to play his self-made role: Brent Michaels, the charming, confident all-American male.

  Mayor Davis greeted him with a handshake and a hearty thump on his back. Microphone in hand, the mayor turned back to the audience. “Of course, most of y’all recognize this handsome face from the evening news, but those of us here in Beason’s Ferry knew this boy long before he was anything special.”

  Brent’s smile never wavered, even as he wondered if the insult was Freudian or intentional.

  “Now, Brent,” the balding mayor said as he turned to him with mock sternness. “As you know, we’ve gone to great lengths to keep the identities of the three young ladies confidential. But why don’t you assure the folks here that you’ve had no contact with any possible contestants since you agreed to be with us here today.”

  “None whatsoever,” Brent said. “Except for Miss Miller. Unfortunately, she turned me down for a date, so I guess I’ll have to pick someone else.”

  A chuckle rippled through the audience.

  “And we do have three lovely candidates for you to choose from,” the mayor said. “So, Brent, before we introduce ‘em, why don’t you tell everyone what it is you look for in a woman?”

  “Well, I’ll tell you, Mayor Davis,” Brent said, playing along with the sexy tone of the game show. “I’d have to say my taste in women runs about the same as my taste in cars: I like them sleek and sophisticated.”

  “Fast, eh?” The mayor wiggled his brows.

  A laugh from the crowd saved Brent from having to respond. Not that he would have bothered to explain what he really longed for in a female companion. Over the years, he’d developed a vague image of a self-assured woman with refined manners and taste, a woman who embodied all the things he only pretended to be.

  “Well, Brent, I doubt any of these young ladies are fast, mind you. But what do you say we introduce ‘em one at a time, so you can hear their voices?” The mayor referred to his cue cards as the first of three spotlights popped on to light the other half of the stage. “Our first lovely contestant has always loved watching sports—when she isn’t watching you report the news, of course.”

  “Of course,” Brent said agreeably.

  “She says,” the mayor tilted his head to read the cue-card through his bifocals, “if you pick her, she’ll do whatever it takes to cheeeer you up.”

  From that not-so-subtle hint, Brent knew contestant number one was Janet Kleberg, former cheerleader for the Beason’s Ferry Bulldogs.

  “Hello, Brent,” Janet shouted through the loudspeakers. She sounded so chipper, he pictured her holding her pompoms.

  “Now, contestant number two,” the mayor glanced at the next card in his hand, “claims to be a homebody but says she wouldn’t mind going out with you because your smile reminds her of Donny Osmond, on whom she’s always had a crush.”

  Brent bit back a laugh as the audience let out a collective oooh. Contestant number two had to be Laura. She knew he’d cringed in disgust whenever the girls had compared him to the squeaky-clean Donny Osmond. So she was trying to keep him from picking her, was she?

  An awkward silence fell.

  “Uh, contestant number two,” the mayor called. “Honey, do you think you could manage to say hi to Brent, here?”

  “Hello, Brent,” someone said through the speakers. Did that soft, low voice belong to Little Laura Beth? He didn’t remember her sounding quite that grown-up on the phone.

  “Now, contestant number three,” the mayor continued, “is a horseback riding enthusiast who competes annually for the barrel-racing championship at the county livestock show and rodeo.”

  “Howdy, Brent,” came a booming voice Brent didn’t recognize. So they’d managed to get at least one contestant he hadn’t grown up with.

  “Okay,” the mayor said as he motioned Brent to a bar stool. “You ladies take your seats, and let’s get started.”

  On the other side of the partition, Laura fought off a fresh wave of nerves as she took the middle stool. She never should have agreed to this. She felt like a drab mouse caught in the headlights. Of course, seated between Janet, in her figure-hugging floral sundress, and Stacey, in her brightly colored western shirt and denim skirt, maybe no one would notice her.

  Over the sound system, she heard Mayor Davis explaining how they’d asked Brent to come up with questions that wouldn’t give the identity of the contestants away. “So, Brent, you got those questions ready?”

  “I sure do,” Brent answered in his clear, deep voice. She could hardly believe that after all these years of thinking about him, he was seated mere feet away with nothing but a thin partition blocking him from her view. The thought of stepping around that partition in a few minutes and seeing him face to face made her pulse flutter. “Bachelorettes, now that you’ve heard what I look for in a woman, I’d like to start by asking each of you what you look for in a man. Contestant number one?”

  Janet gave a little squeal of delight at being the first one asked. “Well, Brent, I like men who are into sports, especially running.” She emphasized the last word since Brent had been the star sprinter on the track team, a sport that required little interaction with team members. He’d once confided to Laura that he liked sprinting better than the longer races because it absorbed the runner’s mind com
pletely, blocking out everything but straining muscles, breathing deep, and getting to the finish line.

  Janet leaned forward as she added, “I think a sweaty man in running shorts is just about the sexiest thing there is.”

  Laura blushed as an image from the past came to mind, of Brent wearing thin nylon shorts and no shirt as he’d practiced on the track every day after school.

  “Oookaaay,” Brent said, and she braced herself, fearing she’d be next. “Contestant number … three.”

  She slumped in relief as Stacey, a teller from the First Texas Bank, sat up a bit straighter.

  “I like a man who enjoys the great outdoors,” Stacey answered. “One who’s open and honest but isn’t afraid to get a little wild.”

  Laura laughed, since Stacey’s voice had dropped to a suggestive whisper at the end. The other women on the fund-raising committee had encouraged them to get into the spirit of the game, to be fun and provocative. Janet and Stacey definitely were that.

  “Contestant number two,” Brent said, and she jumped, realizing he was talking to her. “What do you look for in a man?”

  She tried to think of something provocative to say, but her mind went blank. “I, uhm, like a man who’s … there?”

  Someone in the audience boomed with laughter, making Laura cringe.

  “’There’?” Brent repeated. “You mean as in constantly near you—or there as in somewhere else?”

  “Yeah,” a heckler called out. “That’s what my wife likes me to be: somewhere else.”

  “No,” Laura explained, “as in around, reliable. Someone who doesn’t grumble about doing a few household chores.”

  “Dream on, honey!” A woman called out this time.

  The mayor cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should move on to the next question.”

  “Certainly.” With the ease of a man accustomed to public speaking, Brent segued smoothly into his next question. “As we all know, the fastest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. So, contestant number three, if we were dating, what tantalizing entrée would you fix to show me how much you care?”

  “Let’s see.” Stacey thought for a moment, then smiled. “I’d pack a picnic lunch and spread a blanket in the shade. Then we could hand-feed each other pieces of my home-fried chicken … and lick the juice off each other’s fingers.”

  Brent laughed, sounding more amused than embarrassed, which helped Laura relax. Maybe he’d pick Stacey, which would solve everything. She’d still get to see him but wouldn’t have to suffer Greg’s hurt, Janet’s anger, or any teasing from the people in town. “Contestant number one,” Brent said, “what main course would you serve?”

  Janet flipped her hair behind one shoulder. “I’d fix you a nice juicy steak and serve it by candlelight … in the nude.”

  Half the audience gasped while the other half roared with laughter.

  “Well, that would certainly get a man’s attention.” Brent chuckled. “Which brings us to contestant two.” His voice warmed, letting her know he’d guessed which one was her. “What tempting delicacy will you offer me to show you really care?”

  Anything you want, she nearly said, then scowled at herself. “If I really wanted to show I cared, I sure wouldn’t clog your arteries with a lot of cholesterol. I’d serve you baked fish and steamed vegetables.”

  The audience gave a good-natured groan that brightened her mood considerably. As long as he didn’t pick her, she’d be saved from mortification.

  “Last question,” Brent announced. “Contestant number one, as a man with a definite sweet tooth, I’d like to know what dessert you’ll offer to top off our steak dinner?”

  “Cheesecake,” Janet responded seductively. “With my special cherry topping. It’s so tart and creamy, it’ll just melt right in your mouth.”

  Laura closed her eyes and prayed the floor would open beneath her. Even for Janet, that answer was way over the top.

  “Contestant number three?” Brent asked.

  Not to be outdone, Stacey lowered her voice to a husky purr. “I’d feed you a nice rich slice of chocolate cake, so I could lick the icing off your lips.”

  “Well, that certainly sounds … interesting.” Brent’s suggestive tone made the audience laugh. “All right, number two, you’re on. What sweet thing are you going to tempt me with?”

  “Wholesome oatmeal cookies.” Laura smiled broadly when the audience moaned. Even if Brent recognized her voice, no man in his right mind would pick a woman who sounded this boring.

  “All right, contestant two, I’ll bite. Why oatmeal cookies?”

  “Because even if they’re loaded down with all that butter and sugar, at least the oatmeal has some nutritional value.”

  “Wholesome and nutritious, eh?” The deep sound of his chuckle warmed her inside.

  From backstage, a bell clanged. “Time’s up,” Mayor Davis announced, as the Dating Game theme began to play. “And now it’s time for us to learn which contestant our bachelor will pick for the romantic dream date we’ve arranged at the Riverwood Golf Course and Country Club.” The music died as a hush fell over the room. “Which will it be, Brent—Tart and Creamy, Wholesome and Nutritious, or Chocolate-Covered Lips?”

  “Well, Mayor, I’ll tell you, when it comes to sweets, a man just couldn’t ask for more than warm cookies straight from the oven. I have to go with contestant number two.”

  Laura’s mouth dropped open as the audience applauded. No. He couldn’t have picked her. He just couldn’t have!

  Stacey at least was honest enough to look disappointed, and a good enough sport to give Laura a hug. Janet, on the other hand, tried to act as if she didn’t care one way or the other. All Laura could think was: There’s been a mistake. He promised not to pick me out of hand.

  On the other side of the partition, Brent managed to keep his smile intact as Mayor Davis draped an arm about his shoulder. Now that the show was over, he looked forward to being alone with Laura. At least with her, he could relax and be himself.

  “You made a fine choice there, son. A mighty fine choice. Now what do you say we introduce you to the ladies you didn’t pick?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Brent said.

  “Contestant number three, come on out here and meet Brent Michaels.”

  A tall, lanky woman with straight brown hair and western garb stepped around the partition. “Stacey here is a right fine little barrel racer when she isn’t working as a teller at the bank.”

  Brent gave the woman a dutiful kiss on the cheek as the mayor thanked her for being such a good sport.

  “Now,” the mayor said, “while you may not have recognized the voice, I’m sure the face will bring back some fond memories. Contestant number one was head cheerleader for the Beason’s Ferry Bulldogs. Janet, come on out here and welcome Brent home.”

  Janet appeared, looking every bit as built as she had in high school, if not a bit more so with the extra curves she’d acquired. Tossing back her hair, she crossed to Brent, her gait lacking its usual bounce. Her normally bright eyes narrowed to dagger-thin slits as Brent kissed her cheek.

  “So are you ready to meet your dream date?” the mayor asked as Janet left the stage.

  Brent nodded and took his first real breath since the show had begun.

  “This next little gal is someone you’re sure to remember. She was three years behind you in school, but as I remember, you used to mow her daddy’s lawn. Your dream date is everyone’s favorite little darling: Miss Laura Beth Morgan. Come on out here, Laura Beth, and let this fella get a look at you.”

  A woman appeared around the screen, slender and graceful in beige slacks and a cream blouse. Brent glanced past her, looking for Laura. Then his eyes shot back and widened. “Laura?”

  A smile softened her face, a face that was both familiar and new. Gone were the glasses and the ponytail. In their place, blond hair waved softly to her shoulders, framing the delicate features of a woman. Not a stunning woman, but one who possessed a poise he�
�d never suspected.

  Her conservative attire lent her an air of elegance as she came to him. When he enfolded her in his arms for the obligatory hug, his senses filled with the homey scent of honeysuckle and baby powder. The innocent fragrance sent an unexpected rush of arousal shooting through his system.

  When she stepped back, she smiled up at him. He held their joined hands out to the side and stared in disbelief. “Good Lord, Squirt. You grew up.”

  Her response was the same unpretentious laughter he remembered from their youth. Only now it had a throaty quality that could sink into a man’s blood and drown him in desire. But this was Laura. Little Laura. The kid who inspired brotherly affection.

  Rising on her toes, she kissed his cheek. “Welcome home Brent.”

  Chapter 4

  “You were supposed to at least consider the other contestants.” Laura cast Brent a sideways glance as they left the opera house and crossed the street. She hoped if he noticed the heightened color in her cheeks, he attributed it to the afternoon heat rather than his nearness.

  “I did consider them,” he insisted. She shook her head, laughing. “What?” he asked, the picture of innocence. “You think I only picked you because I recognized your voice?”

  “Uh-huh.” Reaching the grassy square, she stopped beneath a magnolia tree to escape the sun. The crowd had thinned, and a blessed breeze ruffled her shirt. “It certainly wasn’t because of the provocative answers I gave.”

  “Actually, it was because of the provocative answers you didn’t give.” He looked thoroughly disgusted, and so wonderfully male, she felt light-headed standing next to him. “Do women really think all they have to do to get a man is offer him their body?”

  “Some women, I suppose.” She frowned, hoping he couldn’t see the pulse beating in her throat.

  “Well, they’re wrong. Mostly. I mean— Never mind.” He shook his head, seeming more amused than irritated. She marveled at his light mood, realizing he’d shed some of the brooding darkness she’d found so heart-wrenching when he was a teenager. Not that she found this mature Brent any less intriguing.