by Peggy Webb
Grinning, he rolled his window down a notch. “Just practicing, boys.”
They giggled and waved and gave chase to their dog again.
Dan put his truck into gear and headed home. He had a lot to do before evening. If Doc thought she’d proved herself to be his type, just wait till he got through proving himself to be her type.
o0o
By the time Janet got back to her condo she had rationalized the encounter on the soccer field to put herself in the best possible light. The kiss had definitely been her trump card, she thought as she pushed open her door. She’d noticed Dan’s heavy, erratic heartbeat, his ragged, uneven breathing. Yes, she’d definitely disturbed the coach. That meant her plan was working.
She stripped off her parka and saw Dan’s sweatshirt. Good heavens. She’d walked off the soccer field in such a haze of passion that she’d forgotten to give him back his shirt. Some victory. He must be laughing his head off.
She certainly wasn’t going to take the sweatshirt back now. That would only prove to him that she’d carried it off by mistake in the first place. Her best plan would be to return it and act as if she’d meant to keep it all along.
Taking a hanger from her closet, she carefully hung up her parka; then she started to strip Dan’s shirt over her head. The minute her fingers sank into the soft material, she thought of the remarkable contradictions in him. How could man with that hard, muscular body be so gentle with his hands?
She’d wear the shirt a while longer. After all, it was an extraordinarily chilly day. Humming an aria from Puccini’s Madame Butterfly, she got her bottle of lemon wax and began to polish the scruffs on her second hand furniture.
o0o
By evening Dan had worked himself into a sweat trying to match his paltry collection of shirts and ties to his one good wool suit. His Sunday suit, he called it. It was seldom worn and hopelessly out of style and certainly not his style, but he kept it around for funerals and weddings and graduations. A man in his position couldn’t afford to be entirely suitless.
He finally settled on a pale pink oxford shirt and a classic red-striped silk tie. It took him ten minutes to get the tie right, and then the knot was a little lopsided. The clock in the hallway struck seven. The tie would have to do. He wanted to be at the ballet early enough to watch for Janet.
The thought of her made him whistle. Taking his brush and whistling a good Hank Williams tune, he tried to tame his hair into submission. It was hopeless. His hair always looked as if he’d just stepped off a Ferris wheel at the amusement park. Maybe it would be too dark for Doc to notice.
Still whistling, he got into his pickup truck and drove across town to the Civic Auditorium. He parked between a silver Cadillac and a black Mercedes, then strode down the sidewalk to the gaily lit auditorium.
Crowds of people milled around the foyer, some on the staircase, some just inside the glass double doors, chatting and laughing, their voices as discreet as the clothes they wore. Black satin, burgundy velvet and ivory silk. The women rustled when they moved. Charcoal gray and black pinstripes and pristine white. The men fairly squeaked when they moved, as if they had been too long in their three-piece business suits and needed oiling.
Smiling, Dan leaned against the stair railing and watched the front doors. “Nothing like being a canary at a convention of sparrows.”
“I beg your pardon.” A bejeweled matron passing by stopped to arch her painted-on eyebrows at him.
He smiled at her. “Lovely evening for the ballet, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Sleeping Beauty is my favorite. Such drama, such magnificence, such...”
He didn’t hear the rest of what she was saying, for at that moment Dr. Janet Hall walked through the front door. She was wearing a green velvet evening suit, stunning in its simplicity. Her rich hair was caught high on her head with a single diamond clasp. The real thing from the sparkle of it.
Never taking his gaze from Janet’s face, he murmured an apology to the matron. “Excuse me, please. There’s someone I have to see.”
He started toward her, moving slowly down the stairs as if he were suddenly caught in a delicious wave of hot honey.
She became still, every muscle in her body tense and alert as she sensed herself being watched. When she spotted Dan Albany, she had the sensation of suddenly sucked into the eye of a hurricane.
He was moving toward her with determination, his wild dark hair curling around his head, his old-fashioned suit somehow looking elegant and just right on his big frame. Even his pink shirt and red striped tie were exactly right for him. There was nothing conservative and go-by-the-book about Dan Albany. He was as bold and brash and virile as a Thoroughbred at stud.
“Hello, Doc. Fancy meeting you here. Are you meeting someone?”
“No.”
“Good.” Dan reached up and touched the soft curl on her cheek. “Do you always look so delicious at the ballet?”
“Probably. Are you hungry?”
“Always.”
“Too bad, Coach. I’m not in the mood to be anybody’s appetizer.” She smiled at him in a way she hoped was dismissive. “You can let go of my arm, now. What are you doing here?”
Keeping a hold on her with one hand and taking a couple of programs with the other, he led her into the auditorium. “Which do you want me to do first? Let go, or tell you why I’m here.”
She didn’t want him to let go at all, in spite of the face that she knew what his game was. He was as transparent as plastic sandwich bags. Love of music hadn’t brought him out this evening. He was out to prove his suitability.
Suddenly she smiled. Maybe she could turn the evening to her advantage.
She squeezed the hand that was holding her arm and gave him a coy smile. “I don’t know why I’m being so testy. All that fresh air this afternoon must have gone to my brain.”
He could barely keep from laughing. Doc was flirting again. She’d affected such a syrupy drawl he’d half expected her to say “mah little ole brain.” She even batted her eyelashes a time or two.
“I found the fresh air invigorating, myself. We’ll have to do it again sometime.’’
Her cheeks got a shade pinker. He chuckled. “Play soccer, I mean.”
“Of course. I knew what you meant.” She detached herself from him and nodded toward the center section. “Are these seats all right with you?”
“They are perfect for what I have in mind.”
Her pulse kicked up a notch as she took her seat. By now she didn’t try to rationalize that phenomenon. Dan Albany was the cause, plain and simple. Fortunately, she knew an overactive pulse wasn’t fatal.
“Mind your manners, Coach. You’re at the ballet.”
He slid into the seat beside her, stretching his long legs so that his right one was leaning against her thigh.
He winked at her. “I know. And I can’t wait until they dim the lights.”
“You’re looking forward to the music, are you?”
“No. I’m looking forward to the dark. I have a few ideas about what a man and a woman should be doing when the lights go down and the music starts up.”
“Like what, Coach? Eat hot dogs and raise their cholesterol levels?”
“A few delicacies, savored slowly, go well with a little night music.”
“It’s all a matter of taste, I suppose.”
The house lights dimmed, and he reached for her hand. “Taste. .and touch,” he whispered.
Janet was glad for the darkness. She was in such a turmoil she was sure it showed on her face. He was wicked and arrogant and unsuitable and charming.
She settled back in her comfortable chair and prepared to enjoy the ballet. Sleeping Beauty would be a feast for the senses, with magnificent backdrops, sparkling costumes, graceful dancing and fabulous music. Tchaikovsky had always been a favorite composer of hers, one who could transport her to another world.
But tonight he had some fierce competition. Dan was working a magic all his own, his strong
fingers massaging her palm, making quick feather-light circles that were faintly erotic and highly disturbing.
He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “I never did trust a man who wore pink silk britches.”
She stifled a giggle. It was amazing, this ability of his to make her forget decorum. Meaning to tell him off, she turned and found herself a whisper away from his mouth.
“Yes?” His breath fanned warmly across her cheeks.
“The music has started.”
“So it has.” In the dark his vivid blue eyes absorbed the light from the stage and mesmerized her. She could have looked into them the rest of the evening, letting Sleeping Beauty fend for herself. When he finally turned away, Janet felt as if she’d been released from a steam bath.
The music swept around her and through her. Tchaikovsky and Dan. It was a heady combination.
She sneaked a glance at him. He seemed as relaxed and comfortable as if he were enjoying a Southeastern Conference play-off baseball game on TV. His ability to adapt himself to any circumstance was uncanny. She’d wager her bank account that he had never been to the ballet, but she couldn’t tell it by looking at him now.
Suddenly he turned and caught her watching him. He winked and whispered to her behind his program, “It’s amazing what a mighty sword can do for a man. I think she’s going to go for that fop.”
Trust him to find the humor in Sleeping Beauty’s dramatic rescue.
“He’s a prince.”
“If I had a mighty sword would I be a prince?”
Her gaze raked across his broad chest and downward to his muscular legs. Even the suit couldn’t disguise his obvious physical charms.
“You don’t need a sword.” The words were out before she realized what she was saying. To make matters worse, she was leaning so close in order not to disturb the people around her that her mouth was practically on Dan’s ear. A slight movement of his head, and she found herself nose-to-nose with him.
“Thanks, Doc.”
Before she could take back the compliment, he kissed her. The touch was feather-light and so brief it probably went unnoticed by the ballet fans, but it was a kiss nonetheless. She hastily sat back in her seat and fanned herself with her program. She had never carried on so at the ballet. And she’d never had as much fun.
Dan smiled to himself. He had expected to suffer through the ballet for the sake of proving his point, but instead he was actually enjoying himself. The music wasn’t half bad, though he did prefer songs with words. He liked to hum along, and he liked to know what a man had on his mind when he wrote a particular piece of music. Still, there was something grand about Tchaikovsky’s music. He even admired the dancers. It took superb physical fitness and not a little athletic prowess to do all that leaping and spinning. He could have done without the tight silk britches, though. He thought the male dancers looked silly.
Of course, being with Doc made all the difference in the world. He could have enjoyed a tooth-pulling exhibition with her. He guessed it was all that fire and passion she tried to keep under wraps that intrigued him.
He looked at her as the curtain rang down for intermission. She was still facing the stage, appearing as cool and unapproachable as ever.
He took up the challenge.
“Tell me, Doc. Are you wearing black lace under that elegant suit?”
Her eyes widened, and it took her a minute to recover. Then, smiling, she leaned intimately close to him and murmured, “Is that a pass, Coach?”
It was his turn to be taken aback. He’d come to the ballet to take charge, not to be taken charge of. If she kept saying things like that he’d have her in his brass bed before the evening was over, and the devil take old-fashioned dream women.
Under the guise of relaxing, he leaned back in his chair far enough so that he wasn’t completely intoxicated by the sight of her and the scent of jasmine in her hair.
“No. It was just curiosity.”
“Professional or personal?”
“Merely professional. You see, I’m doing this study of doctors with burgundy-wine hair and copper-penny eyes and rose-kissed skin.”
“Any results, yet?”
“So far I’ve learned that they can’t play soccer worth a hoot... but they’re sexy as all get-out on a soccer field.”
“Why, thank you, Coach.”
“Nothing personal, you understand.”
“Naturally. Anything else?”
“They claim to enjoy men cavorting in silk britches, but that doesn’t keep them from lusting after coaches in out-of-style suits.”
“Lusting!”
Three people standing in the aisle chatting turned their heads to grin at Dan and Janet. Her cheeks got hot, and she felt the urge to crown him with her program. Such undisciplined urges were entirely new to her. Dan was more dangerous than she had first thought. She’d have to tread carefully.
His eyes twinkling, he leaned over and whispered. “Do you think they’ll spread the word?”
“It’s hardly likely. I can’t imagine who in Tupelo would be interested in our private affairs.”
“Affair? I like your choice of words, Doc.”
“Do you always do this?”
“What?”
“Put one and one together and get six?”
“I’d rather get eight.”
“Eight?”
“Two parents, six kids. I plan to have a large family.”
“So you’ve said,” Janet reminded him. “But the size of your family is hardly any concern of mine.”
“Since I’m so unsuitable?”
“Precisely.”
“Ahh, Doc.” He surprised her by leaning back in his seat and chuckling. Then he quirked one eyebrow at her and drawled, “How can you resist all this class and culture? Tchaikovsky, striped tie and red socks. What more can a woman want?”
“Red socks?”
“I thought they matched rather well.” He lifted one pant leg to reveal the bright red socks.
She had to laugh. Not at him, but with him. As the house lights were dimming, they sat back in their seats and chuckled.
Dan Albany had his moments. She’d have to keep her guard up.
Janet Hall kept surprising him. He’d have to plan a tight defense.
As the prima ballerina came onto the stage, Janet sat back to enjoy the ballet. Thank goodness, Dan was behaving himself. He was leaning back in his own seat, watching the stage as if he really planned to pay attention to the dancers for a change.
Her relief was short-lived. Five minutes into the program she felt something fuzzy gliding up her leg. Not just fuzzy, hard and fuzzy. Electric currents pulsed through her as she realized what it was. She glanced down to confirm what she instinctively knew. In the semidarkness Dan’s sock-clad foot was inching its way over her calves.
The foot moved slowly, dragging back and forth, up and down until she felt her legs turn to butter. She stared straight ahead, pretending not to notice. Then the heat started. It crept its way up her legs, climbing higher and higher until it was almost to Virginia.
Passion had no common sense, at all, she decided. Nor was it subject to scientific analysis. It just seemed to happen, and no amount of rationale would make it go away.
Dan’s toes were now drawing erotic circles behind her left knee. Except for the wicked smile on his face, he appeared to be watching the ballet with a single-minded fascination.
She leaned over and whispered, “Move your foot.”
“Higher or lower?”
“Off.”
“Ahh, Doc.” He closed his eyes at the end of a long sigh. “There’s no fun at all in that.” His foot kept up its delicious massage.
Sleeping Beauty did a stunning jete that wrung a collective gasp from the audience. Janet gasped, too. Not at the dancer, but at the lazy intimacy of Dan’s massage. The devilish gleam in his eyes was the only indication that he knew. He slid his arm nonchalantly across the back of her seat, letting it fall onto her shoulders. H
is index finger started a small, probing massage on her upper arm. Her velvet sleeve was no protection at all. Tongues of flame went licking across her chest.
Letting her neck go limp, she leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.
Dan bent close and whispered, “Tired? I’ll take you home to bed.”
“Bed?” Her eyes flew open as she mouthed the word. Seeing his wicked grin, she closed them again and added, “The entertainment’s not over yet.”
“It certainly isn’t.” His fingers slid to the underside of her arm and began to caress the side of her breast.
She didn’t know what Sleeping Beauty was doing now, nor did she care. She kept her eyes closed and her head back as if she’d been overcome by the music or was resting from a long and exhausting day at the hospital.
And Dan kept up his secret massages. By the time the ballet was over she was in such a heated, languorous state that she didn’t want to move.
The house lights came up, and she heard Dan shuffling his feet around, trying to find his shoes.
“Lose something?” She opened her eyes and grinned at him.
“On the contrary. I think I found something.”
“Dare I ask what?”
Under the guise of reaching into her lap for her program, he put his hand on her thigh and said softly, “I found one warm and willing lady doctor.”
She had to take a deep breath before she could reply. “I’m amazed that a man accustomed to game tactics doesn’t know one when he sees it.”
“All that response was game tactics?”
“Of course.” It was only the second inning and he was already winning the game. She had to do something to wipe that triumphant, knowing grin off his face. She put her hand on his upper arm in feigned sympathy. “Oh, Dan. My dear. Did you think I found you irresistible?”
His amused chuckle told her that never was a man in less need of sympathy than Dan Albany. He winked at her. “Most women do, Doc.”
“As you’ve already discovered, I’m not most women.”
“No. Just all woman.” He stood up and smoothly took her elbow. “Allow me.”
‘‘ I brought my own car.”