Humor tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Nice try,” he drawled, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his legs. “But I think I’ll take my chances and stay put. Besides, the place appears to be filling up pretty fast.”
A quick glance around the room showed Solange there were still several empty seats left. She considered pointing this out to him, but before she could open her mouth, a man approached the podium at the front to introduce the guest speaker.
Over the next two hours, Senator Richard Allen Vance eloquently discussed his views on the state of the black community in San Antonio and shared his vision for urban revitalization, education reform and economic development in low-income areas of his district. Although Solange diligently took notes, she found it difficult to concentrate on anything beyond Dane’s nearness. His clean-scented male warmth surrounded her, teasing and tantalizing her senses. His long, muscular legs were stretched out before him, and every so often he’d shift in his chair, adjusting his position. Once, when his knee accidentally brushed hers, Solange stiffened as her nipples hardened and liquid heat erupted in her belly, trailing a searing path through her veins.
Dane’s eyes met hers. Sorry, he mouthed.
Solange nodded wordlessly, not trusting her voice. Their eyes held for a prolonged moment before she forced herself to return her attention to the podium.
After the senator finished speaking, he fielded questions from members of the audience, many of whom were downright confrontational.
“When you first ran for the Texas Senate seven years ago, you made some of the same promises we just heard,” said one middle-aged black woman. “Why should we believe you’ll keep any of those promises once reelected, when you’ve failed to do so for the past seven years?”
Over half of the room began clapping and murmuring in hearty agreement.
Dane leaned close to Solange and whispered, “Tough crowd.”
She grinned at him, though she couldn’t help feeling a twinge of sympathy for the senator, who wore a brave smile on his face as he waited for the noise to die down.
Clearing his throat, he said quietly but firmly, “Thank you for your honesty, ma’am. As you might imagine, it distresses me to hear that so many of you believe I haven’t fulfilled my duties to the constituents of my district. If you look at my legislative record, however, you will see that many of the issues I have voted in favor of have greatly benefited the small-business community, Texas schoolchildren, senior citizens, those in the health-care industry and many others. Let me assure you that my work in the Senate isn’t finished. There’s still much work to be done, and with your continued patience and support, I truly believe we can make our district one of the best in the state.”
This time it was Solange who leaned over to whisper in Dane’s ear. “Spoken like a true politician.”
He chuckled softly and winked at her, and they shared a conspiratorial smile.
Senator Vance announced that he had another speaking engagement, for which he apologized profusely, and encouraged everyone to contact his office with additional questions or concerns. A few attendees weren’t to be put off so easily, detaining him even as he tried to edge out the door with his staffers in tow.
Solange, who’d returned to the refreshment table to snag another raspberry Danish, watched in amusement as the senator tried, as discreetly as possible, to extricate himself from the growing crowd without offending anyone. His senior aide, whoever he or she was, deserved to be fired, Solange mused.
A moment later, the smile froze on her lips when she glanced across the room and saw Dane talking to a beautiful brown-skinned woman in a tailored forest-green skirt suit that accentuated her curvy build and long, shapely legs.
Solange frowned. One minute Dane had been laughing and conversing with a group of older businessmen—not that she’d been tracking his movements or anything—and the next minute he was flirting shamelessly with a woman who would, in all likelihood, become his newest conquest.
Not that the so-called victim seemed to mind.
As Solange watched, the woman laid a familiar hand upon his arm and smiled up at him as if he were the last man on earth. Solange supposed she couldn’t really blame her. Dane cut quite a dashing figure in his double-breasted Italian suit. Who was she kidding? He was wearing the hell out of that suit. But then again, Dane Roarke could wear the hell out of a burlap sack.
As Solange stood there watching him and the woman engage in their little mating dance, the Danish and a half she’d eaten turned to a wad of dough in her stomach. She carefully wrapped the remainder in a napkin, tossed it in the trash along with her empty cup and started quickly from the room. Several men gave her interested smiles as she passed, but all she cared about was making her escape.
As she neared the exit, she heard Dane call out, “Solange, wait up!”
She kept walking, pretending not to hear him above the noisy drone of conversations. She hurried through the door and down the long, carpeted corridor toward the escalator, but it was no use. In no time at all he’d caught up to her with those determined, ground-eating strides of his.
“I didn’t hear a fire alarm go off,” he said, sounding vaguely amused and not in the least out of breath, which only increased her annoyance. He could at least have the courtesy to sound winded after chasing her down the hallway.
She shot him an impatient look. “I’m kind of in a hur—”
Dane reached out, gently grasping her elbow and halting her steps. A pair of dark, penetrating eyes searched hers. “So you were going to leave without saying goodbye?” he asked softly.
Solange bristled, her chin lifting in haughty defiance. “What difference does it make? You seemed to have your hands full.” The moment the caustic words left her mouth, she knew she’d made a big mistake. She’d come off sounding like a scorned lover, jealous because he’d been paying more attention to another woman. Which was ridiculous. She had no right to be jealous when she’d made it perfectly clear to him yesterday that she had no interest in dating him.
Judging by the knowing gleam that filled Dane’s eyes, he thought the same thing. Solange waited in silent dread for him to point out her own hypocrisy, but to her immense relief, he merely smiled—a soft, relaxed smile that hinted at something wicked.
“Have lunch with me,” he murmured.
Her traitorous heart gave an involuntary leap. Swallowing hard, she shook her head quickly. “I—I can’t. I need to get back to the ranch before noon.” Not that she’d been given such a directive, but surely Crandall would expect her back from the meeting within a reasonable time frame.
“And besides,” she added for good measure, “it’s too early for lunch. It’s barely eleven o’clock.”
Dane chuckled softly. “By the time we settle on a place to eat and get a table, it’ll be eleven-thirty. Does that work better for you?”
Again she shook her head, though not as quickly as before. “I really can’t, Dane.”
“Why not? Not even Thorne is tyrannical enough to prevent his employees from taking a lunch break. And don’t tell me you’re not hungry,” he added, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “I saw you go back for a second Danish back there.”
Solange couldn’t help but chuckle self-consciously. “I didn’t have much of an appetite at dinner last night. And didn’t your mother ever teach you that it’s impolite to make fun of a woman pigging out on pastries?”
Dane grinned. “Let me take you to lunch. I bet you haven’t even had a chance to visit the Riverwalk yet.”
“Well, no—” she hedged.
“Good. No better time than the present.”
Without giving her another chance to refuse, Dane took her hand and led her down the escalator. Solange was so busy trying not to think about how perfectly their palms fit together, or how good his warm, calloused skin felt against hers, that it didn’t occur to her to pull away.
They left the building through a side door that led them directly to the Riverwalk, a
beautifully landscaped waterside promenade that ran below street level.
Lapsing into companionable silence, they joined a flow of tourists and locals as they strolled past lush vegetation and towering palms that lined the banks, along with sidewalk cafés, galleries, clubs, luxury high-rise hotels, restaurants, shops and boutiques that featured a colorful array of Mexican-made imports, art and clothing. Holiday lights dangled from building rooftops and a canopy of cypress, oak and willow trees.
As they followed the meandering path along the river, the sounds of an acoustic guitar and companion cello could be heard from the open doorway of a restaurant. And then, just a few steps later, the dueling guitars of native mariachis filled the warm afternoon air with the festive culture for which the city was celebrated.
Dane glanced over at her. “What do you think?”
“It’s beautiful,” Solange breathed, taking in her surroundings with a rapt expression. None of the glossy travel brochures she’d been given when she checked into the Alamo City Inn did the place justice. Standing there, soaking up its lush, scenic beauty, she could see why the Riverwalk was the number one tourist destination in the state of Texas.
Solange slowed to watch as a brightly colored water taxi filled with tourists drifted lazily down the canal of the San Antonio River. Several people waved and called friendly greetings; smiling, she lifted her hand and waved back.
That was when she realized Dane had never released her other hand.
Oddly enough, she was in no hurry to get it back.
“You ready to eat?” he asked, looking at her.
She nodded, still smiling. “Lead the way.”
He took her to an upscale restaurant named Boudro’s. At his request, they were seated outdoors at a cozy table nestled along the river. As Solange picked up a menu, she tried not to think about how incredibly romantic the setting was, how perfect for a first date.
We are not on a date, she told herself emphatically. We’re just two casual acquaintances having lunch on a nice winter afternoon.
“What do you recommend?” she asked Dane when the waiter materialized to take their orders.
“Everything’s good,” he said. “But since this is your first visit, I highly recommend the empanada langosta. You won’t be disappointed.”
Solange had to admit that the pan-seared lobster tail on a spinach and pepper jack cheese empanada did sound delicious. “Then that’s what I’ll have,” she said decisively, closing her menu and passing it to the smiling waiter.
“Make that two,” Dane told him, adding a guacamole appetizer and two prickly-pear margaritas to the order.
When the waiter left, Dane grinned across the table at her. “So you do trust me. I’m touched.”
She smiled. “Don’t get carried away. Only when it comes to recommending good food.” But certainly not when it comes to my heart. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you trying to get me drunk already?”
“Maybe,” he said with a teasing wink. “Seriously though, you can’t eat at Boudro’s without having one of their margaritas, or the guacamole appetizer. Wait till you try it.”
Solange’s stomach rumbled in anticipation. Digging her cell phone out of her purse, she said, “I think I’ll call Mr. Thorne just to let him know I’m having lunch before heading back to the ranch.”
A sardonic smile tilted the corners of Dane’s mouth. “Isn’t he lucky to have such a conscientious employee,” he drawled, leaning back in his chair.
Solange poked her tongue out at him, to which he responded by throwing back his head and laughing.
At that moment, the phone was answered on the other end. “Hi, Ms. Rita,” Solange said quickly. “I’m sorry—I thought I was calling Mr. Thorne’s business line.”
“You did, baby, but most of his calls are automatically routed to the main line. Did you need something?”
“No, not really. I just wanted to let him know that I decided to have lunch after the meeting, and I should be back by one-thirty.”
“Oh, baby, you didn’t have to check in!” Rita said with a laugh. “You take as much time as you need. Shoot, Crandall’s not even home. He said he had several appointments in town and wouldn’t be back until late afternoon.”
“Really?” Solange couldn’t help feeling a twinge of relief. She’d definitely make it back to the ranch long before he returned. “Did he leave any special instructions for me?”
“Not that I know of. He did tell me that the meeting you attended this morning was at the convention center. Are you having lunch on the Riverwalk?”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s absolutely gorgeous here.”
“It sure is. I’m glad you had a chance to see it for yourself.”
“Me, too.”
“Well, don’t let me keep you from your lunch, baby. See you in a little while.”
“Thank you, Ms. Rita.”
“Of course. Oh, and before I forget.” There was an amused, knowing smile in Rita’s voice. “Tell Dane I said hello.”
Heat suffused Solange’s cheeks. Her eyes flew to Dane, who was already watching her—specifically her mouth—with a hot, heavy-lidded gaze that made her loins ache. Good Lord. There should be laws prohibiting a man from looking at a woman like that, she thought, especially when the man in question was as fine as Dane Roarke.
“Uh, y-yes, ma’am, I’ll tell him,” Solange stammered into the phone before flipping it shut and stuffing it back inside her purse.
“Ms. Rita says hello,” she mumbled, crossing her legs tightly under the table.
Slowly those long-lashed eyes lifted to hers. “She must have heard me laughing. Hope I didn’t get you in trouble.”
“Not at all.” The only kind of trouble Solange was in had nothing whatsoever to do with Rita Owens.
Fortunately, at that precise moment, the waiter returned with their drinks and guacamole appetizer, which he proceeded to prepare right at the table.
Welcoming the distraction, Solange watched in mild fascination as he deftly sliced and combined avocado, onions, cilantro, lime, tomatoes and seasonings in a large bowl. He’d barely left the table before she was reaching for a hot, crispy tortilla chip to sample the dip.
As the zesty, delicious flavor exploded in her mouth, she closed her eyes in languorous pleasure. “Mmmm,” she moaned. “Ohhh, that is good, Dane. You were so right.”
“Glad to hear it.” His deep voice sounded rough, tight.
Opening her eyes, Solange saw him staring at her with a look of such raw hunger her cheeks felt scalded. Averting her gaze, she reached for another chip, keeping her pleasure to herself the second time around.
Dane took a long sip of his margarita, then removed his suit jacket and draped it across the back of his chair before helping himself to the guacamole.
Solange watched him beneath her lashes, remembering how his magnificently sculpted bare chest looked underneath the white broadcloth shirt, reliving the feel of granite-smooth flesh beneath her exploring hands. Since yesterday, she’d been trying her damnedest to forget about the hot, mind-blowing kiss they’d shared on the mountain ridge, but it was no use. The kiss had remained lodged in her memory, haunting her throughout the evening so that she’d scarcely touched her dinner, and later, fueling the most vividly erotic dreams she’d ever had in her life.
Almost as shocking as the kiss itself was the realization that if Dane kissed her again, she wouldn’t be able to stop him.
Which was what made her decision to have lunch with him the epitome of insanity. The more time she spent with him, the harder it became to resist her attraction to him. She’d had enough trouble keeping her eyes and hands to herself during the meeting earlier. Every time his knee accidentally brushed hers, her body had reacted as if he’d reached beneath her skirt with one hand and sensuously stroked and caressed her inner thighs. Heaven knows she’d wanted him to touch her that way—and a whole lot of other ways.
“I wouldn’t recommend that.”
The low, dangerous t
imbre of Dane’s voice snapped her to attention. Confused, she blinked at him. “What?”
He sat forward slowly, his dark, piercing eyes intent upon her face. “I wouldn’t recommend that you continue staring at me the way you’ve been doing for the last three minutes,” he said huskily. “I’m a gentleman, Solange, but every gentleman has his breaking point. If you knew how close I am to reaching mine, you’d probably get up and run from this table.”
Oh, God. Beneath the table, Solange’s knees trembled hard. Ducking her head, she drew in a long, deep breath and willed her heart rate to slow down.
This is crazy. What on earth am I doing here?
Thankfully, the arrival of their meals spared her from answering her own question. As the waiter set their plates on the table with an elaborate flourish, she assiduously avoided eye contact with Dane, afraid he’d see not only desire reflected in her eyes, but honest-to-goodness fear. She was playing with fire, and if she didn’t tread cautiously, she was going to get seriously burned.
As they began eating, she cast about for safe conversational territory. “Do you come here often?”
“To Boudro’s or the Riverwalk?”
“Both.”
“I’ve only been to the restaurant a few times,” Dane replied, “but I can’t count the number of times I’ve been to the Riverwalk. Like I mentioned to you before, my family visited San Antonio every summer and every other Christmas when I was growing up.”
Solange nodded, swallowing a succulent bite of lobster tail. “Are either of your parents originally from San Antonio?”
“My dad. He moved to Houston to attend college and decided to stay after he met my mother. As much as she loved him, she couldn’t bear the thought of parting with her family, and he couldn’t bear the thought of parting with her.”
Solange smiled. “How romantic. And how did his family feel about his decision to stay in Houston?”
Dane chuckled softly. “They weren’t too thrilled about it, but they came around eventually. Guess they realized it wasn’t worth starting a family feud over, when he’d only be living two and a half hours away.”
A Risky Affair Page 13