A nervous flutter rose up from her stomach, like a thousand butterflies trying to escape through her throat. I can do this, she told herself. Besides, what were her choices? She could go into the restaurant and possibly make a fool of herself while trying to wake Brent up to a few basic facts of life. Or she could chicken out, go home, and spend the rest of her life as a respectable spinster.
She’d already decided that if she couldn’t have the man she deeply, passionately wanted, she didn’t want anyone. Brent was that man. And if it took playing a few games to get him, she’d put everything on the line, bend the rules, and even cheat if she had to. Whatever it took to win.
Clinging to her resolve, she opened her car door and swung her high-heeled, red leather sandaled feet to the pavement. As she stood and locked her car, the short skirt swished against her naked thighs. She still couldn’t believe she’d let Melody talk her into going out in public with nothing on beneath her dress. “Trust me, Laura. Going without panties will make you feel so wicked, you’ll positively exude pheromones.”
She didn’t know about her pheromones, but both sets of her cheeks were definitely blushing as she strolled across the parking lot.
Nervously, she smoothed the bodice of the dress that hugged her from breasts to hips. A cuff at the top formed off-the-shoulder sleeves. Hopefully, in a place like Chuy’s, which was known for its garish decor, no one but Brent would notice her bright red dress. That brief hope died when three college-age boys sitting on the patio turned to stare. One of them let out a long low whistle. She wasn’t sure if she should feel encouraged or offended.
Walk slow, she reminded herself as she strode through the bright purple door with the lemon-yellow molding, into a montage of noise, velvet Elvis paintings, and brightly painted wooden fish hanging from the ceiling. A mirrored ball spun in the middle of the bar area, reflecting light on the trunk of a 1950s pink Cadillac that served as a food buffet.
“How many?” the frazzled hostess asked over the clamor of noise bouncing off the orange concrete floors.
“Actually, I’m meeting a group of people,” Laura shouted back. So much for keeping her voice low and sultry. “From KSET?”
“Oh, yeah, they’re in the back-corner booth.”
Following the direction the hostess pointed, she spotted a half-dozen people crowded into a large semicircular booth that looked like it had come from a Las Vegas lounge. Brent sat in middle of the horseshoe bend, the obvious center of attention.
She stopped for a moment, caught by the sight of him as he enthralled his audience with some tale. Even in the tacky restaurant, she was struck by an image of King Arthur holding court at his fabled round table. He was so at ease, so obviously admired, her heart swelled with pride. This was what he’d been born for, to be a leader among his peers.
His gaze flickered past her toward the door, then shot back. An arrested look came over his face as he stared at her, his eyes drinking in every inch, first in disbelief, then with a flare of hunger that reached across the crowded restaurant to burn her skin. Never in her life had she felt so attractive, confident, and nervous all at the same time.
A fist of desire struck Brent right in the gut when Laura began walking toward him. Though the dress covered her discreetly, it hugged every curve, from her gently rounded breasts and the inward dip of her waist to the subtle flare of her hips. Below the midthigh hem, a pair of spike-heeled red leather sandals showcased her long shapely legs.
The room seemed to blur as she moved in the slow, purposeful strides of a woman who knew she could have any man she wanted. Only, her eyes stayed focused on him, as if she’d singled him out among all the other males who were no doubt drooling in her wake. He’d never seen that devious I-want-you look smolder so strongly in Laura’s eyes. What game was she up to tonight?
And what had she done to her hair? It floated about her face like a fluffy golden-white cloud that somehow made her lips look fuller and her eyes bluer. He wanted to drag her into the nearest bathroom and wash that kiss-me-red lipstick off her mouth. Either that or lick it off with his tongue.
Beside him, someone asked a question, but the words refused to register in his brain. As Laura came to stand directly before the table, a slight hush fell over the booth. Some of the boldness slipped from her expression, revealing the uncertainty beneath. In spite of the seductive dress, an innocence still surrounded her, a sweetness that always reached inside his chest and grabbed hold of his heart.
“Hey, Michaels.” Connie snapped her fingers before his face. “You in there?”
“Huh? What?” He blinked to find several pairs of amused eyes glancing between him and Laura.
“Are you going to introduce us?” Connie asked. “Or are you planning to gawk at the woman all night?”
“Oh. Yes.” He shook his head to clear his senses, then struggled to get out of the booth, which forced half the occupants to stand and move out of his way. Thankfully, he managed to keep his napkin discreetly held before him as he made the introductions. “Everyone, this is Laura Morgan. Laura, this is Keshia Jackson, my co-anchor, and her fiancé, Franklin.”
Keshia flashed one of her winning smiles that always made her teeth appear startling white against her smooth mocha skin. Her stockbroker boyfriend gave Laura a friendly nod, then shot Brent an amused look, as if he knew exactly how Brent felt, which he probably did. Being engaged to a knockout like Keshia couldn’t be easy.
Brent scowled at the remaining males in the party as he finished the introductions. “This is Jorge, one of our cameramen, and his buddy Kevin, who works in one of the control rooms.”
“Hi.” Jorge waved at her. “We met, remember? Behind the clubhouse?”
Laura’s cheeks flushed at the reminder of when Jorge caught them kissing.
“And this,” Brent said hastily to smooth over the moment, “is my producer, Connie Rosenstein.”
“Sooo,” Connie grinned, “you’re Laura Beth, Brent’s high school sweetheart from Beason’s Ferry. Brent has told us absolutely nothing about you.”
“Actually, there’s nothing to tell.” Laura leaned forward to shake Connie’s hand a move that displayed a mouthwatering length of bare thigh. At least she wasn’t wearing stockings. He definitely would have had to drag her off then, to the nearest phone booth or dark corner. In a voice that carried a hint of mischief, Laura went on to explain, “Brent and I were just friends growing up. Still are. Isn’t that right, Brent?”
He snapped his gaze away from her legs to find her smiling at him over her shoulder. He narrowed his eyes in warning. “Yeah. Friends.”
“Come have a seat,” Connie ordered, waving at Laura with her cigarette. Jorge tried to slip in behind her, but Brent stepped in his path with a pointed look that even a hormone-crazed kid couldn’t miss. Sliding into the booth beside her, he found himself wedged into the back with Laura on one side, and Jorge and Kevin on the other.
“So, Michaels,” Franklin said from across the table, “you going to finish that story?”
He suddenly remembered the story he’d just started when Laura had come in. “Uh, no, I think I’ll save that one for another time.”
“Ah, come on!” Kevin, a pimple-faced college kid, whined. “You were just getting to the good part.”
He glanced about at the circle of expectant faces and tried to think of a less racy story to substitute.
“Yeah,” Connie gestured with her chin, “you were just about to tell these kids why Sandra Wilcox was traded to a sucky market in Idaho from a prime-time slot in Denver.”
“Sandra Wilcox?” Laura asked Connie.
“She used to be a hotshot newscaster at the last station where Brent worked,” Connie explained.
“Oh, what happened?” Laura asked in total innocence.
“Yeah, Michaels, what happened?” Connie asked in that teasing tone that alternately amused and aggravated Brent.
“You know perfectly well what happened, Connie,” Brent said with a smile as taunting
as hers.
“Of course I do. But these youngsters haven’t heard the story yet, which is why you were about to fill their impressionable little ears with a great piece of newsroom gossip.”
“Hey, we ain’t that impressionable!” Kevin complained. “’Sides, it ain’t like everyone and their dog don’t already know how she got that anchor job.”
“Well, it sure wasn’t for her talent,” Keshia put in with disgust.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Jorge snickered. “From what I hear, she has a very talented mouth.”
“Not for reading the news, though,” Keshia said.
“Well, if y’all are going to gossip, you might as well get the story straight,” Brent said.
“’Y’all,’” Connie mimicked as she leaned toward Laura. “I just love it when he talks like a Texan.”
Laura’s eyes shone with laughter as she turned toward him. Beneath the table, their bodies pressed together from hip to knee. He could feel her heat seeping through the thin bit of cloth separating them. Determined to ignore the effect that heat was having on his groin, he concentrated on his story. “As most of you obviously know, Sandra got the anchor job by, uhm—”
“Screwing,” Kevin supplied with a grin.
“Sleeping with the news director,” Brent corrected.
“The news director? As in Ed Kramer?” Keshia’s lip curled. “Lord, she must have really wanted the anchor job. That man is gross.”
“Maybe,” Connie said. “But we are talking evening anchor in a major market.”
“True,” Keshia allowed. “But still gross.”
“Well, apparently,” Brent said, “Sandra thought so too, because at the same time she was getting Kramer’s jollies off, she was having her own fun with one of the cameramen.”
“You camera guys have all the fun.” Keshia blew Jorge a kiss that made him blush.
“So what happened?” Kevin asked eagerly. “They get caught with their pants down?”
“Actually…” Brent felt the heat of embarrassment creep up his neck. Why had he thought an evening out with Laura and his coworkers was a good idea? She’d probably want nothing to do with him after meeting these bozos. He should have kept the group down to just Keshia, Franklin, Laura and himself. But that would have been too much like a double date. And this was not a date. It was definitely not a date.
Brent forced his mind back to a story he wished he’d never started. “They didn’t exactly get caught in person. You see, Sandra and the cameraman were into some pretty kinky stuff, including him filming her playing with an interesting selection of, uhm, toys.”
“Filming?” Jorge sat up straight. “As in, up close and personal?”
Brent shook his head, laughing in spite of his embarrassment. “We are talking major up close and personal.”
“Cool!” Kevin nodded.
“And how would you know?” Keshia demanded of Brent. “A little backroom bragging among the boys?”
“No.” Brent drew the word out to build suspense. “I know because the idiot cameraman used station equipment and forgot to take the tape out after one of their sexathon weekends.”
“No way!” Keshia screamed.
“Score two points for the cameraman!” Jorge shouted.
Brent glanced at Laura and found her hand clamped over her mouth, her eyes dancing with laughter. She really was an intriguing contrast in her sexy red dress with that becoming shade of pink on her cheeks.
“Tell them the rest,” Connie said over the excited chatter.
“There’s more?” Kevin leaned forward.
“Yeah,” Brent chuckled. “The guys in the control room found the tape and made copies, which they sent to friends in stations all over the country.”
“No way, dude!” Kevin nodded his head to some tune only he could hear. “Too cool!”
“Jeez,” Keshia snorted. “No wonder they got fired.”
“Actually, I think the cameraman still works there.”
“What!” Keshia’s tone turned militant. “They trade Sandra to some Podunkville station in Outer Mongolia but keep on the cameraman? That’s the most blatantly sexist thing I ever heard.”
“True, but then, we live in a sexist world, Keshia,” Brent pointed out. “Get used to it.”
“Brent Michaels, if I thought for one moment you actually felt that way, I’d kick you under the table.”
“Sorry, sweetheart.” Brent grinned. “I’m not into kinky stuff.”
“Yeah, right, and I bet you didn’t stand around the control room with the rest of the men drooling over Sandra’s homemade porno flick either.”
“Hey—” he held up his hands “—I’m innocent!”
“Like hell you are. Bunch of sexist pigs,” she mumbled, than turned on her fiancé. “And just what are you grinning at?”
“Nothing, baby,” Franklin held his hands out much in the manner Brent had. “I’m not saying a word.”
“You better not be saying anything, if you know what’s good for you.”
Franklin leaned over to nuzzle Keshia’s neck. “I guess this means we won’t be borrowing Jorge’s camera tonight.”
“Not on your life,” Keshia snapped. “And don’t you be sneaking that hand toward me under the table, Franklin Prescott. Frank-lin!”
Keshia screeched and squirmed as Franklin tickled her without mercy.
Chuckling, Brent glanced at Laura. She too was laughing at the couple’s antics, but when her eyes met his, her laughter stilled. Too clearly he could feel her thigh pressing against his as his gaze ran over her slender neck, the curve of her bare shoulders. At the base of her throat, her pulse throbbed. He longed to lean forward and kiss her there, to feel her heart beat against his lips. As if reading his mind, her skin flushed. He watched her throat move as she swallowed.
Dragging his eyes upward, he saw the hunger burning in her gaze. He didn’t want her to look at him with such naked desire, as if remembering all the ways they’d touched each other’s bodies. As if she wanted them to touch that way again.
No, he didn’t want her to look at him that way, but nothing in his life had ever aroused him more. Only, if he gave in to the hunger that burned between them, would she still look at him like that a month from now? A year? Or would she turn away in anger when she realized he could satisfy her body but not her heart?
Women like Laura deserved the best a man could give. His best would never be good enough, no matter how much he wanted it to be. He knew his limitations accepted his flaws.
Unfortunately, that didn’t stop his body from craving hers.
Chapter 19
After one long, heated look, Brent turned back to his friends and proceeded to ignore Laura for the rest of the evening. She sat beside him, sipping her margarita, wondering what to do next. Her plan had been to flirt with him, not outrageously, but enough for him to admit that the sparks that flew between them went beyond mere friendship. But how could she flirt with a man who spent the entire evening swapping news stories with his coworkers?
She glanced at Franklin, the only other no-news person in the group. Unfortunately, Franklin was seated at the far side of the booth with a satisfied expression on his face. From the subtle way Keshia kept shifting in her seat, Laura imagined the interchange going on beneath the table was as lively as the conversation above.
If only she had the courage to “talk” to Brent that way, to tell him she wanted him with the caress of her hand along his thigh; to ask him if he wanted her too by nudging his knee with her own. Would he answer yes by increasing the pressure of his leg against hers? Or would he shift his body to break contact?
With a sigh, she took another sip of the frothy lime and tequila drink. She’d had such high hopes for this evening, but nothing was going as she’d planned. Staring into her nearly empty glass, she could see her whole life stretching out before her, with her sitting quietly in the midst of a party while everybody around her had fun. Oh, but let those same people need a hard worker to organiz
e a charity bazaar, and Little Laura Beth was the first one they’d turn to.
It wasn’t until her second margarita came that she started to ask herself why she put up with being so blithely dismissed. And why on earth was she sitting there letting her well-laid plans crumble to pieces? She’d had Brent’s attention when she first walked through the door. Was she willing to call it quits at the first obstacle he presented? She’d never caved in at the first sign of rejection when she’d done fund-raising. She’d learned, when going for donations, never to accept the first no because sometimes yes was just a word away. If she could forge ahead through uncomfortable situations for other people’s benefit, why couldn’t she do the same for herself?
She glanced at Brent’s profile as he and Keshia debated the wisdom of some reporter who’d broken a story without confirming his facts with a second source. She loved this man. And if she didn’t do something, she’d spend the rest of her life wondering if there could have been something more between them than one brief, wondrous night of passion if she’d only pushed him a little more.
Now was her chance. Maybe her only chance. Just do it, she told herself.
Even though she took a deep breath to strengthen her resolve, moving her hand from her own lap to his was the hardest thing she’d ever done. She hesitated midair, her fingers trembling. She felt as if her whole life hinged on this one action, or rather his response to it. If he shifted away from her, she’d never have the courage to try again. She’d likely never have the courage even to face him again, but if she didn’t try, she’d never know.
Before she could change her mind, she lowered her hand to his thigh. His muscles tensed beneath her palm as his lower body went perfectly still. Though his conversation with Keshia barely faltered, she felt his attention shift toward her. An eternity passed as she waited for him to glance her way. She’d have her answer then, whether it be an encouraging smile or an angry frown.
Only he didn’t turn. He didn’t even glance at her.
Mortified, she started to snatch her hand away, but his leg shifted and nudged against hers. She held her breath, wondering if she’d mistaken the move. When she remained frozen, his leg moved again, in a slow, hard rub against hers. She wanted to sag in relief and shout for joy. Instead, she sat very still, pretending to listen demurely as she had for the past half hour, while under the table she curled her fingers to squeeze his thigh.
Drive Me Wild Page 19