by Gina Wilkins
“What’s so funny?” Geoff asked, looking up from his nearly finished steak.
She hadn’t realized she had laughed out loud. “Nothing. I’m just enjoying the meal.”
He glanced at her plate and then at his own. “Maybe I should have ordered the trout. My steak’s good, but it doesn’t make me laugh.”
“Let’s just say it’s been too long since I’ve been out for a nice meal with a charming companion,” she said, reaching for her wineglass. “I’ve been eating alone entirely too much lately.”
Geoff’s expression turned wry. “I almost wish I could say the same. I have very few opportunities to spend any time alone. Seems like I rush constantly from one meeting or reception or dinner party to the next. I can’t even tell you the last time I had a chance to crash in front of the TV with a pizza for an entire evening.”
“You don’t enjoy your work?”
“Actually, I do, for the most part. But I think I’m going to start scheduling a bit more free time in the future.”
She nodded. “Good plan. Spend too many hours working and too few relaxing and you’ll end up burned out and suffering from stress-related health problems. I’ve seen it entirely too many times.”
“Maybe you should take your own advice. From what I hear, you’re one of the hardest workers in the clinic.”
She wondered who had been talking about her to Geoff. His sister, perhaps? While it sounded as though the conversation had been complimentary, it still made her uncomfortable to think about being discussed in her absence. “Yes, well, like you, I’ve been giving some thought to my personal life lately.”
As much as she loved her work, it was no substitute for a family or for the child she wanted so badly.
“You’re not planning on leaving the clinic, are you? Mari would have a cow if you even suggested it.”
She laughed at his wording, then shook her head. “I’m not leaving the clinic. I love my job. I just need more.”
She changed the subject before he could ask what that “more” entailed. “Tell me about your latest trip. I heard you were in Italy.” She wondered how he felt knowing he had been the subject of a few discussions, too.
If it bothered him, he didn’t let it show. He merely nodded to confirm the rumor. “Milan. I met with some scientists and international venture capitalists about investing funds and expertise into our biomedical research center.”
“Did the meetings go well—or can you say?”
“I can’t really give any details at the moment, but I can say the family was satisfied with my progress.”
Cecilia toyed with a fork-size piece of tender salmon. “Your family seems to be more than satisfied with your work. They always sound so proud when they speak of you.”
She noted that his smile was just a bit crooked. “That’s what I’ve been trained for all my life—to make my family proud.”
Was that a trace of restlessness she heard in his voice? She doubted that Geoff had been given much choice about joining his family’s business. Were there times when he wished he could have pursued his own path?
Cecilia knew all about family obligations. After all, she had pretty much put her own life on hold for several years to care for her mother. She had set aside dating and traveling and experimenting because she felt she owed it to her mother, and because she had wanted to give her much younger brother a chance to finish his education and get started in his own career.
But now their mother was gone. At twenty-six, Eric was successfully established with Bingham Enterprises, blissfully engaged to the woman he adored, and expecting a child he would love with all his heart. Cecilia was thirty-seven and still recovering financially from the daunting medical bills she had hidden from her brother. Her social life was pretty much nonexistent, and having her own child was a dream that seemed farther out of reach with each passing month.
“What’s wrong?”
She glanced up from the food she had suddenly lost interest in to find Geoff watching her from across the table, his clear hazel eyes entirely too perceptive. She felt as if he could read her thoughts in her own brown eyes, and even though she knew that was foolish, she glanced quickly away, pretending to concentrate on her meal again. “Nothing’s wrong. Why?”
“You stopped smiling.”
She smiled again and tried to make it look completely natural. “No serious talk tonight. I won’t allow it. Tell me about Milan—and make me see it in my mind.”
Proving himself to be as skilled with words as he was with a smile, he entertained her for the next twenty minutes with stories of his travels. His descriptions were so clever it was almost as if she could see the classic architecture, almost smell the spices and flowers, almost hear the music and voices, almost taste the exotic air. Maybe she would never have a chance to visit Milan for herself, but she would leave this restaurant feeling as if she had been treated to a brief glimpse of the faraway city.
Within minutes her smile was entirely genuine again. And all because of Geoff.
Funny how Geoff had fantasized earlier about spending the evening alone with his guitar. Instead, he found himself doing everything he could think of to delay his return to his empty rooms.
“Are you sure you don’t want dessert?” he asked when they could spend no more time toying with their empty plates.
Still wearing the soft smile his word-pictures had evoked, Cecilia shook her head. “I couldn’t eat another bite. But feel free to order something for yourself.”
He had no interest in dessert, either. As delectable as the pies here were, they couldn’t draw his interest away from the woman across the table from him.
It seemed he was in the mood for spicy rather than sweet this evening.
Somewhat reluctantly he paid the tab and escorted her out of the dining room. The strains of music drifting from the downstairs lounge gave him an idea for prolonging the evening. “The band sounds good tonight. Unless you’re in a hurry to get home, why don’t we have a drink and listen for a little while?”
She barely hesitated before agreeing. “That sounds like fun.”
Immensely pleased with himself, he led her in. Melinda’s lounge was a popular weekend date destination, and both the dance floor and the numerous cozy tables were almost full. Geoff thought it was another example of how magical this evening had been so far that a particularly nice table opened up just as they entered.
An efficient waitress took their orders almost as soon as they sat down. Cecilia asked for white wine, and Geoff requested the same.
The band—a group of talented local thirtysomethings—played a mix of adult contemporary and country pop numbers, the most popular genres for the usual crowd here. Geoff tapped his foot in time with a lively rendition of “Boot Scoot Boogie.” Energetic dancers two-stepped and line danced on the polished wood floor.
Geoff could two-step with the best of them, but he was rather hoping a nice, slow number would be next. The thought of holding Cecilia Mendoza in his arms was enough to make his foot tap faster.
She seemed to be enjoying watching the dancers. An amused smile flitted across her lips as she focused on one rhythmically challenged couple in matching turquoise western shirts and ill-fitting jeans.
Taking advantage of the opportunity to watch her without her noticing, he admired the way the flickering candlelight and colored dance floor lights gleamed in her dark hair. Wispy tendrils had escaped her upsweep to sway against her cheeks and flirt with the tops of her shoulders. He would like to see her hair down. Even more, he would like to see it spread across his pillow.
She chose that moment, of course, to glance his way, making him hope his thoughts were well concealed. “The band is good, aren’t they?”
“Very good,” he agreed, though he hadn’t heard a note since he’d started gazing at her.
She leaned a bit closer to him so he could hear her over the music and surrounding conversations. Though he could hear her perfectly well when she made another comment about
the music, he scooted his own chair a bit closer to hers when he replied.
She lifted an eyebrow when his knee brushed hers. “You aren’t getting fresh, are you, Mr. Bingham?”
He grinned and ran a fingertip slowly down her smooth bare arm. “I was sort of thinking about it.”
“Well, let me know when you decide.”
“Are you telling me it’s okay if I do get fresh?”
She gave him a smile that heated his blood to a low simmer. “I suppose you’ll just have to try it and see.”
Obligingly enough, the band slipped into a slow number, the country arrangement of “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing.” As of that moment, it was Geoff’s new favorite song.
He stood and held out his hand. “Dance with me?”
Though she placed her hand in his and rose obligingly enough, she murmured, “I’m not much of a dancer, I’m afraid.”
Somehow he doubted that, considering the graceful way she moved, the gentle sway of her hips. But he couldn’t care less about fancy steps or choreographed moves—he just wanted to get his arms around her.
It felt as good to have them there as he had predicted.
Funny that he hadn’t realized until now how small she was. He would guess her to be a good seven inches shorter than his own six feet, so that even the strappy, heeled sandals she wore brought the top of her head just to his chin. Her figure was slender but nicely curved, making his hands itch to wander and explore. He kept them discreetly placed for public dancing, but he couldn’t help fantasizing a bit….
“It’s been forever since I’ve danced,” Cecilia murmured.
“It’s been a while for me, too.” The double entendre was unintentional—but accurate, nonetheless. When another couple crowded them, bringing Cecilia more closely against him, he was forcefully reminded of just how long it had been since he’d spent any quality one-on-one time with an attractive woman. It took some effort for him to keep his body from embarrassing him like a randy teenager’s.
They spent the next hour dancing and talking. Flirting. Having fun. Geoff could almost feel the last traces of work-induced tension seeping from his muscles. He sensed the same thing in Cecilia as her smiles warmed and softened.
It was inevitable that other people there recognized them with apparent surprise and curiosity, but other than acknowledging greetings, Geoff ignored everyone but his companion. Cecilia did the same, exchanging the occasional smile or wave, but subtly discouraging further approaches.
She was good at that, Geoff decided. Politely reserved. It was a skill his late mother had perfected and that Geoff had worked to develop to preserve some semblance of privacy in his hectic and very public life.
Though he paid little attention to gossip, his prominent family having been the subject of all too much of it during the years, he wondered if it bothered Cecilia that they were attracting so much notice. Tongues would probably wag tomorrow about Geoff making time with one of the midwives from the clinic. He was cynical enough to know that a few would turn the question around. “Didja’ hear that Cecilia Mendoza was making a play to snag the Bingham’s bachelor son?”
Such idle talk didn’t concern him, but maybe Cecilia took it more seriously. Then again, maybe not. After all, she must have known when they agreed to dine here that plenty of people would recognize them and speculate.
He had the feeling that Cecilia was self-confident enough not to be overly concerned at what other people said about her. He admired that about her. It was only one of the things he admired about her, he mused, his gaze lingering on her lush mouth.
Cecilia was reluctant for the evening to end, and it was clear that Geoff felt the same way. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such a pleasant outing. She certainly couldn’t recall the last time she had danced this much. Even if her feet were throbbing in the heeled sandals she hadn’t expected to wear this long, it was well worth the discomfort.
It was a heady feeling knowing that Geoff found her attractive. Too often lately she had felt routine-bound and uninteresting, her days consumed with work, her home life unfulfilling. She was so often surrounded by young nurses and young mothers, who often treated Cecilia with a deference usually reserved for much older women. It was a sign of their respect for her and her career, of course, and she acknowledged that. But their attitudes sometimes made her feel older than thirty-seven.
Now a man at least five years her junior was looking at her with desire and admiration in his eyes. A very attractive, successful, interesting and respected man, who must meet dozens of beautiful and fascinating women in his travels.
She didn’t expect this to go anywhere, of course. Nor did she particularly want it to. After all, Geoff was a Bingham—and she certainly didn’t want to be involved in their lives. It concerned her enough that her brother was marrying one of the notorious Binghams—even though Hannah was only loosely connected to the clan.
Still, Cecilia thought, as Geoff’s strong arms went around her for their final dance, it had been nice to enjoy his company for a few stolen hours.
He held her more closely this time. His cheek rested against her hair. The band played Lonestar’s “Amazed,” the lead singer crooning the words into the mike. Whenever she heard the song in the future, she would remember this dance and the deliciously shivery sensations running through her.
Geoff was a skilled dancer who made it very easy for her to follow his lead. A smooth turn brought them even closer together, her breasts brushing against his chest, their thighs touching as their feet moved in unison. She felt a tug of response deep inside her, a dull ache that she acknowledged as pure physical desire. It had been much too long since she had indulged that side of herself.
The song ended eventually. Inevitably. Geoff held her for just a moment after the last note faded away, and then he stepped back. “I suppose we should go,” he said as he escorted her back to their table. “It’s getting late, and I know you must be tired.”
She was a bit tired, actually, and her feet were killing her, but she was tempted to ask him to stay a little while longer. Instead, she merely nodded. “It is getting late.”
He stayed close by her side as he walked her out. Cecilia could almost feel eyes watching them leave, and she knew there would be talk tomorrow. She didn’t particularly care.
From her early childhood as one of the town’s few residents of Hispanic descent at that time, she had accepted that people thought of her as different. People had talked when her father died in a senseless whitewater-rafting accident when Cecilia was still in elementary school. They had whispered when her mother bore an out-of-wedlock son when Cecilia was eleven. Maria had raised both children on her own because Eric’s no-good father hadn’t stayed around to help.
Maria had lived quietly, but somewhat defiantly, working as many as three jobs and asking for no help from anyone except Cecilia, who had served almost as surrogate mother to her baby brother. Though she’d had little spare time to devote to her children, Maria’s strength and self-sufficiency had set an example for both Cecilia and Eric to pursue their own goals without being overly influenced by anyone else.
The gossip had started again when Cecilia had impulsively married at nineteen, a marriage that had lasted barely two years. Six years her senior, Gary McGhee had swept her off her feet and into his arms, promising her everything she had ever dreamed of—a loving partner, an encouraging supporter, a caring father for the children she had wanted even then. Someone to take care of her, for a change.
She had discovered quickly enough that what he had really wanted was someone strong to take care of him. An adoring young wife who wouldn’t mind putting her own dreams aside so she could serve as his personal cheerleader while he drifted from one get-rich scheme to another.
She had finally accepted that Gary was all talk and that she had made a mistake to believe any of it. She had come to the decision that she would rather pursue her own goals by herself—like her mother—than to give them up for s
omeone who would never appreciate the sacrifice.
And now people were talking about her family again as her brother prepared to marry a woman who carried another man’s baby. A woman who had, herself, been an illegitimate child of notorious bad-boy Billy Bingham.
Knowing how deeply Eric loved Hannah, and what a good father he would make for her child, Cecilia didn’t care if the gossips talked until their tongues deflated. It was no one’s business but Eric’s who he married or why. Just as it was no one else’s business if Cecilia wanted to enjoy Geoff Bingham’s company for a few delightful hours.
Let them gossip, she thought with a private smile. These memories would be hers to savor for quite some time.
“You’re smiling again,” Geoff observed, turning at her car door to study her in the yellow glow of the parking lot lights.
“I had a lovely time,” she told him, tilting her smile up for him.
“So did I.” Ignoring anyone who might see them, he lowered his head and brushed a quick kiss against her cheek. As relatively innocent as the gesture was, it still made her knees go weak to feel his lips against her skin.
Geoff lifted his head, and though he was still smiling, there was a new heat in his eyes. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist.”
“Did you hear me protest?”
“No.” He bent toward her again. “So maybe you wouldn’t mind if I—”
She moved quickly out of his reach. A disregard for gossip was one thing, but her deeply entrenched sense of privacy prevented her from making a complete spectacle of herself. “This is a little too public for my taste.”
He pushed his hands into his pockets as if to demonstrate that he wouldn’t touch her again without permission. “Would you allow me to see you home? Just to make sure you get there safely?”
Though she wasn’t sure her safety had much to do with the offer, she took a moment to think about it. She supposed there was no harm in allowing him to follow her home. The fifteen-minute drive would give him the satisfaction of making a chivalrous gesture—and her the chance to think about whether she wanted to invite him inside when they got there.