A Man of her Own

by Jan Scarbrough

  “It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?” Carol came up beside her.

  “Yes it is.” Sarah glanced her way.

  “You can see the Falls of the Ohio from here and just down there you can see the locks.” Carol pointed to the west. “Have you ever been to the museum on the Indiana side?”

  “No, I didn’t know there was one.”

  “Annie’s kindergarten class took a field trip there last fall. I went along as a chaperone.”

  Carol chatted about her daughter, telling Sarah about the child’s exploits in pre-school and bouts with illnesses. As much as Sarah wanted children, she didn’t even have a man to call her own. Carol’s innocent chatter drove the point home all too well.

  “Mommy, Uncle Lane made me a balloon!”

  Sarah turned away from the window to see Anne Louise carefully carrying a small, colorful cake shaped like a hot-air balloon. Lane walked behind, supervising. When he caught Sarah’s gaze on him, he smiled.

  “Lane, you spoil that child too much! He always bakes the cake himself,” Carol said to Sarah before hurrying to help Anne Louise set the cake on the table.

  “When did you have time to do this?” Sarah asked as Lane joined her.

  He shrugged. “It didn’t take much time.” Then he added softly, “If Carol drives you crazy talking about Anne Louise, just signal. I’ll to come to your rescue.”

  “Thanks.”

  How did he know? Sarah looked up at him. Even now Lane carried himself like an aristocrat. Even in this relaxed family setting, he had a presence about him and a bearing that stopped most people from probing deeper. But she’d gone deeper. She’d kissed him—once. She’d unveiled that hidden passion of his. And it intrigued her. She wanted more of it and of him.

  He gazed at her, his eyes cool, his expression remote. That same strong attraction tugged at her. It was becoming all too familiar. She felt her face grow hot.

  And then Aaron and Ray came down the stairs arguing about the merits of the local basketball teams. Anne Louise forgot her cake and plopped on the sofa, turning on the television set. Blaring cartoon music filled the room.

  “Are you sure I can’t help you do something?” Sarah wanted to be near him. Assist him. Be part of his life.

  “I have everything pretty much under control, but thanks.”

  He turned away again. He always had everything under control. Rejection sickened her stomach like too much cotton candy. But she had no time to feel sorry for herself.

  The alarm buzzed once more. Lane punched the security code, and soon the elevator door opened to another couple.

  “The newlyweds!” Aaron gave the woman a peck on the cheek and pumped the hand of the blond-haired man by her side. “So how’d the honeymoon go, man?”

  The woman elbowed him. “Cut it out, you jerk. I’m a married woman and deserve your respect.”

  “Never,” Aaron declared with a grin.

  Sarah suffered through introductions again—Beth, Lane’s youngest sister and her new husband Carl.

  Everyone treated her well, but she felt strained. Out of place. During the afternoon, she tolerated Aaron’s joking and off-color innuendo, and Carol’s non-stop prattle about Anne Louise. She really made an effort to be polite. To be a team player. It didn’t help that in front of his family Lane was behaving with his characteristic frostiness, letting her sink or swim on her own.

  What should she expect? As far as she knew, she didn’t mean anything to him. And he seemed to be making sure his family got the message.

  Or was he trying to deny it to himself? Beneath the surface, there was something simmering between them. She felt it deep down, where it mattered—in her heart.

  And the fact she was here counted for something.

  During the long day while they watched the military planes whoosh along the Ohio River and aerial acrobats perform their stunts, they “grazed” at Lane’s buffet table, which was complete with hot dogs, hamburgers, baked beans and potato salad. There were plenty of chips and dips and soft drinks.

  Late in the afternoon, Sarah found herself alone on the sofa flipping through a magazine. Carol had carried a screaming Anne Louise upstairs for a nap. Some of the men had walked to the Belvedere several blocks away. Lane had his back to the living room while he worked in the kitchen.

  “My brother can be a jerk sometimes.”

  Sarah looked up as Beth joined her on the sofa. “Which one?”

  Beth laughed. “Both of them, of course.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  Beth was silent a minute. “You don’t look very old. I mean, not as old as Lane.”

  “I’m twenty-four.”

  “So am I.”

  Sarah favored Lane’s sister with a grin. “I knew we had something in common.”

  “Has Lane called you a ‘baby’ yet?”

  “Strange you mention it, but yes.”

  “Figures.” Beth shook her head. “I told you, my brother can be a jerk.”

  Sarah bit her lip. She didn’t know what to say.

  “We’re all surprised Lane brought a date.”

  “So I understand.”

  Beth frowned. “How much do you know about his background?”

  Sarah smiled, remembering. “I know my Aunt Amelia gave him a scathing review in New York that cost him his job at a prestigious restaurant. And he came to Kentucky, started The Racetrack, made a success of that and then started his restaurant chain.”

  Beth wrinkled her nose. “No, what I’m talking about is what Lane did for his family all that time.”

  Sarah sighed. “He’s not the most open person.”

  “Typical,” Beth agreed. “If you’re going to date my brother, you need to know that from the time he was fifteen, he cared for us—our mother and us three kids. That’s when our father deserted the family and my mother was overcome by grief and depression. She couldn’t cope. So, Lane grew up fast and took my father’s place as man of the house.”

  Beth’s affection for her brother was obvious.

  She continued, “Lane started out working in the kitchen of a local restaurant. By the time he left for New York, he was a sous chef. He worked twelve-hour days, always sending back most of his paycheck to my mother. Times were tough for a long time until his restaurant business took off. He managed to put all three of us kids through college and paid all my mother’s medical bills.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “And Lane never took time for himself. His family always came first.” Beth placed a warm hand over Sarah’s. “That’s why I’m glad he’s found you.”

  “I’m afraid you’re jumping to conclusions.”

  Beth shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  Lane’s sister had given Sarah much to digest. Lane was no mere Prince Charming. He was a saint—a generous and loving man, who sacrificed his life to care for his family. Now Beth and Carol were married. She’d learned Aaron was going to graduate from college in a few weeks. For the first time since he was fifteen, Lane was finally free of family.

  That explained many things. Things she’d wondered about. Things that made her goal even more difficult to achieve, almost as if she’d decided to climb Mount Everest.

  ***

  “This is broadcast operations, you have five seconds to a live shot,” the television blared.

  Everyone gathered at the bank of windows facing the river. Nine-thirty. Night had fallen. The loft was dark except for the glow from the television set where an announcer counted down, “Five, four, three, two, one!”

  A kaleidoscope of color suddenly erupted over the Second Street Bridge timed to the sounds of “Stars and Stripes Forever.” The windows vibrated as the first of fifty-one thousand shells exploded in the air.

  Lane stepped behind Sarah and put his hands on her shoulders. She tensed, and then he felt her relax against him accepting his nearness.

  He hadn’t been much of a host today. Too busy acting as if she didn’t matter to him. Too busy den
ying it to himself as much as to his family.

  Lane swallowed hard. This woman-child had befuddled him. Messed up his mind. He didn’t want what she wanted, but some compulsion made him seek her out. Made him long to touch her, as he was doing now.

  As much as his invitation had been spur of the moment, he’d come to realize there’d been more to it. In all honesty, he enjoyed being with Sarah. Having her in the room. Seeing her smile. And it was more than just the way she revved up his male hormones. She made him happy inside.

  Yet, he hadn’t been fair to Sarah today. Still, she’d passed whatever unconscious test he’d given her with flying colors. She’d politely talked with Carol, put up with Aaron, and cajoled the temperamental Anne Louise. She hadn’t embarrassed him at all. She’d been magnificent.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  She turned her head to gaze up at him. “What for?”

  “For being such a sport.”

  He wanted to kiss her again. Right then, in front of everyone, with the brilliant fireworks exploding in the background and booming in their ears.

  But he didn’t. He just smiled halfheartedly, and Sarah turned around to watch the show.

  He’d missed another opportunity, but it was just as well. In less than two weeks, his duty to Amelia would be done. The party over. His life would once more return to normal. And he liked it that way.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Kentucky Derby minus one day. Amelia’s charity party had already started and Sarah had rushed upstairs just thirty minutes earlier to get ready.

  Now co-sponsored by one of the wealthiest and best known restaurateurs in the area, the party promised to be a resounding success. Response had been terrific. Donations pushed the sixty thousand dollar mark.

  Thanks to Lane’s supervision, all was in readiness. On the front lawn, a giant white tent covered pink, cloth-covered tables and a parquet dance floor. Playing on the familiar Derby theme of the “Run for the Roses,” elegant vases containing arrangements of red roses, pink lilies and purple asters decorated the tables.

  A beehive of white-coated staff would circulate throughout the area, serving drinks and loading the buffet table with typical Kentucky cuisine. From the mint juleps and Old Fashioned cocktails to appetizers made from Benedictine, a cucumber-and-cream-cheese sandwich spread, everything was a Kentucky original. The buffet dinner, planned for three hundred guests, consisted of more traditional treats: Kentucky burgoo, a stew heavy on meat; salty country ham and corn pudding; Bibb lettuce salad; beef tenderloin doused with Henry Bain sauce; and for desert, a sinfully rich chocolate and walnut pie.

  Sarah thought she’d put on extra pounds these last two weeks just by thinking about the menu.

  But Lane’s behavior remained problematic. After the party with his family, his visits to the Carlisle estate had almost stopped. He’d sent another chef in his place to help with the actual preparation of the food, preferring to supervise from afar.

  She hadn’t seen him for almost a week.

  Twice Sarah had accused Lane of being a chicken—once at the bar and a second time when she’d given him a riding lesson. Now she was convinced of it. The man wanted her, but he was too doggoned afraid to act.

  Standing in front of her dresser mirror, Sarah turned this way and that to capture the full view of herself. The black, silk dress she’d worn at the bar clung to her curves, emphasizing her breasts and hips. She wore nothing beneath it except for scanty lace panties. Her three-inch heels, along with the short dress, exposed the curvature of her bare legs.

  With her reddish-brown hair once more unbound, Sarah felt free, alive and very wanton.

  And very much like a sensual woman.

  A languid shudder ran through her body. Woman, maybe, but why did she behave like a sex-crazed teen?

  For some strange reason, Sarah knew her relationship with Lane would change tonight. She’d make it change. Time was running out. It was now or never.

  ***

  Sarah saw Lane the moment she entered the big white tent. How could she miss him? Standing guard next to one of the long tables, he cast a watchful eye on the many servers. Occasionally he turned to greet a guest.

  Sarah walked toward him, fighting the jitters in her stomach. She reveled in the way he looked. Upright. Commanding. The regal lift of his chin and the noble line of his brow gave him an imposing appearance. As if he were an aristocrat born, he fit perfectly in the stiff black tuxedo and starched white shirt and bow tie. This was the Lane she’d come to know—decorous and correct, prim and proper, so very in control.

  Could she crack his reserved demeanor? Shove past the unassailable big brother and into the heart of the man beneath?

  Her mouth dry, she gently touched his sleeve. “How’s it going?”

  He turned slowly toward her. As his eyes darkened, Sarah felt a blush suffuse her cheeks. She removed her hand.

  Why had she dared question Lane’s interest? She read it in his eyes—from the way his gaze traveled the length of her body in an almost tangible caress, to the way his lips slightly parted as if drawing a difficult breath.

  Sarah’s own breath caught in her throat. Stunned by the rampant desire displayed in his eyes, she fought her own deep longing. She’d wanted this moment—to capture Lane’s full attention. Now she had it, for better or worse.

  “Things seem to be going well,” he said with casual indifference.

  In fact, Lane fought for control and his instant arousal. He wanted Sarah as much as ever. So much for his plan to avoid her.

  Even though he’d tried to ignore it, Sarah Colby was one stunning, sexy woman. Petite. Elegant. With a ton of class. He touched her with his gaze, aching to do so with his hands. She stood in front of him, chin tilted high, eyes wide with anticipation.

  Oh, what he yearned to do to those full red lips that so innocently invited him. That slip of a dress she wore was as revealing as he remembered it from the bar. Sarah’s womanly endowment still tumbled from its scant bodice.

  His blood boiled. Cursing silently, Lane turned away from her, knowing if he continued to stare, he might jerk her into his arms and humiliate them both.

  She stepped nearer. He could smell the faint floral scent clinging to her so seductively. When she lightly placed her hand on his sleeve one more time, Lane groaned to himself.

  “The serving line is moving well,” she said.

  He found himself unable to say anything but a forced, “Yes.”

  Glancing down at that riot of curls begging to be touched, he found it hard to restrain himself. Why didn’t she confine those curls?

  “Do you want to join them?” Sarah inclined her head toward the guests at the buffet table. “We’ve done our jobs. Now it’s time to enjoy ourselves.”

  “Certainly.” Lane snatched up a china plate and handed it to Sarah, much preferring to enjoy Sarah. “You first.”

  “Thanks.”

  As she accepted the plate, she slanted him a look from under fringed lashes. His heart turned over. Yes, it was much easier to deal with her when she was wearing business casual. Half-naked in that slinky dress shot his good intentions all to hell.

  Civility. Ha! Her demure gaze, like a shy virgin, caused his brain to teeter on the verge of hysteria.

  A seductress one moment, an innocent child the next, Sarah Colby played a dangerous game. What did she want from him? He was sure only of his own burning desire—something he’d controlled with effort, thank you, for the past hectic weeks.

  Now as she stepped toward the buffet line, Lane could keep his hands to himself no longer. So he seized an empty plate instead and followed her through the line.

  Lane hardly knew what he put on his plate, but he knew everything Sarah selected—a bit of salad, beef tenderloin and corn pudding. His whole body was attuned to hers. He was vividly aware of the way she cocked her head as if considering her next choice, the movement of her luscious mane of hair that exposed the creamy flesh of her throat. He was alert to the small
sigh of regret that escaped her lips when she passed up the chocolate and walnut pie.

  Nothing else in his whole life compared to the craving he felt as he watched this special woman glide toward a vacant table. Lane sat down next to her. He wasn’t hungry. Not for food anyway. A waiter served him a mint julep. He gulped the sweet drink down in several swallows.

  What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he drag his mind out of the gutter? He wanted to make love to her.

  He lifted a hand to order another drink. “Bourbon and water this time.”

  Sarah raised a questioning eyebrow but said nothing. Lane frowned and bent over his plate of food. A bite of salty country ham stuck in his throat. The drink came and he washed down the ham with a quick gulp. When the orchestra started to play something slow, he looked up and caught Sarah’s gaze resting upon him.

  His breath came unevenly. If he didn’t get his hands on her soon, he’d explode.

  “Dance with me.”

  Standing, he pulled her to her feet and angled her toward the dance floor. Her napkin fell from her lap as she stumbled after him.

  “Aren’t you going to finish your dinner?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Lane twirled her into his arms. She felt so good there—as if she belonged. Drawing her nearer, he splayed his right hand across her bare back. He captured her other hand, and determined to mesh their bodies together, Lane folded her small hand to his chest. His gut tightened in response to the pressure of her breasts against the fabric of his tuxedo coat.

  How he wanted her! His body sizzled. The heavy waves of her mahogany hair cascaded over his right hand, and he ran his thumb across the ridge of her spine, slowly stroking her soft flesh. Over the dreamy sound of the music, Lane heard her breath quicken.

  Then rubbing his fingers smoothly down her spine to the small of her back, he pressed her nearer still until the crest of her pelvis rubbed his leg. He nudged her sideways, bringing his leg between hers, allowing her to feel the hard heat of his arousal.

  In that instant, her head snapped up. Sarah’s wide-eyed, questioning gaze settled on him like a butterfly. It fluttered away, and then came back and locked with his.