“Mayor Trent?” he asked, aghast. How could she be dressed like that? he marveled. She’d run on the Family Values platform.
She blushed at Rory’s unmistakable astonishment—at least he thought she was blushing; it was hard to tell for sure under all those cosmetics—but said nothing to comment. Instead, she turned her attention to Miriam.
“I’ve been looking for you all night,” she said in a clipped tone. “I wanted to apologize for the dress.”
“Oh, but it looks lovely on you, Ms. Trent,” Miriam assured the other woman, sounding utterly sincere.
And although Rory was inclined to agree that Isabel Trent did indeed look more fetching than usual, lovely wasn’t the adjective that came to mind when he considered the mayor’s red, revealing dress again. No, in keeping with the rock ’n’ roll metaphors—which Rory normally wouldn’t do, except that Miriam was such a devil with a blue dress on—Isabel Trent, he supposed, rather resembled a hunka hunka burnin’ love. Yes, that analogy, he thought, would be very appropriate.
“No, I’m apologizing for your dress,” Mayor Trent said, her voice a fair hiss, even with the music blaring. “There can be no apologizing for mine,” she added, clearly distressed.
Why on earth she would be apologizing for Miriam’s dress, though, Rory couldn’t imagine. There was absolutely no need to apologize for something so goddess-like, after all. Well, goddess-like save the glittering sapphire sequins and the sweep of marabou that trimmed the bottom.
Miriam, however, seemed to share the Mayor’s anguish, however, because she, too, glanced down at her garment rather apologetically. “Yes, well, Miss Chacha’s idea of a ball gown and my own idea of a ball gown were a tad at odds, but…” She shrugged philosophically, a gesture, Rory couldn’t help noting, that did wonderful things to her dress. “She insisted this was the best she could do.”
Mayor Trent nodded. “Yes, well, her idea of appropriate attire and my idea of appropriate attire were likewise at odds. But it’s too late to do anything about it now. I just wish I hadn’t taken her up on her offer to do my makeup, as well.” She sighed heavily as she considered Miriam’s face. “I see she did yours, too.”
“I’m afraid so, yes,” said Miriam.
Honestly, Rory thought, he couldn’t imagine what the two women were objecting to. Although he’d never really been the kind of man who liked heavily made-up women, he had to admit that there was something rather, oh…appealing…about how Miriam and the mayor looked. Why, they rather resembled the models on that popular women’s magazine, he thought further. What was the name of it again? Something about city living, wasn’t it? Urbanite? Metropolis? Municipality? Something like that. It would come to him eventually.
“At any rate, when I saw you out there dancing and realized what you had on, I felt I should apologize to you,” the mayor was telling Miriam again, “since this was my idea in the first place. If I’d had any idea Miss Chacha would be dressing us up as…as…as…” She made a sour face. “Well, I’d rather not say what I feel as if I’m dressed as right now,” she finally concluded. “But had I known I’d end up this way…”
“Just remember that it’s for the scholarship fund,” Miriam told her. “It’s for the children, Ms. Trent.”
The mayor didn’t look much appeased by the reminder, Rory noted. But she did still look rather fetching.
Suddenly, however, when something over Rory’s shoulder caught her attention, her expression changed to one of utter panic. “Omigosh,” Ms. Trent said, ducking quickly behind him. “No one told me Cullen Monahan was going to be here tonight.”
“Cullen?” Rory echoed.
He glanced at the entrance and, sure enough, saw that his younger brother, Connor’s twin, had indeed arrived. But why that should make Isabel Trent panic, Rory had no idea. After all, Cullen worked for the mayor. He was, in essence, her right-hand man. Why would she be concerned to find him here at the fund-raiser? Especially since, in his capacity as a public servant, Cullen always attended functions such as these.
“I thought he was going to be out of town,” the mayor said, still hiding behind Rory. “If Cullen asks, tell him you haven’t seen me.”
Rory gaped in disbelief. A woman who’d been voted into office on the Family Values platform, encouraging her constituents to tell a falsehood? Dishonesty in a politician? Now that was a shocking development.
“Ms. Trent, I’m afraid I can’t do—” Rory began.
But before he could say another word, Isabel Trent spun on her heels and fled, disappearing onto the crowded dance floor like so much stray marabou. And all Rory could do was shake his head in wonder at what could possibly be going on with the mayor and his brother.
The music kicked up again, another lively tune, just as Cullen joined them and might potentially offer an explanation. He, too, was wearing his best suit, Rory noted. Plus, his black hair was combed expertly—perhaps even recently cut—and his blue eyes reflected something akin to…anticipation? How interesting.
Really, Rory thought, Cullen looked much better than he usually did. As if he were trying to impress someone. In a word: Hmmm…
Naturally, after greeting them with “Hey, Rory. Hi, Miss Thornbury,” the first question out of Cullen’s mouth was, “Have either of you seen the mayor? I overheard her saying she was going to be here tonight. And I really need to talk to her about something.”
Rory opened his mouth to respond, even got so far as to say, “Actually, she just…” when Miriam circled firm fingers around his wrist and began to tug him away.
“Hello, Mr. Monahan,” she said to Cullen as she dragged Rory off. “I’m sorry, but we can’t chat right now. Rory promised me this dance, and I intend to collect.”
Dance? Rory repeated to himself. Dance? With her? In that dress? She must be out of her mind.
“But…” he began.
And again, he was forced to halt midsentence, because Miriam began to jerk on his arm more forcefully, propelling him out toward the dance floor, whether he liked it or not. And Rory couldn’t say another word, because he had to pay very close attention to where he was going, otherwise he would have gone barreling right into her, sending them both toppling to the floor. Which, upon further reflection, he decided, might not be such a bad thing.
Then again, he asked himself, why topple to the floor in a place where the two of them would be surrounded by onlookers, not to mention an entire swing band on the stage? No, no, no, he told himself. Much better to topple later, when the two of them were alone, and the swing band was on the stereo.
Fortunately for Rory—where the dancing part was concerned, at any rate—there were far too many people on the floor for him and Miriam to have any room to move about, so his horrific lack of knowledge, dancewise, would no doubt be left undiscovered. Unfortunately for Rory, however—where other parts were concerned, at any rate—there were far too many people on the floor for him and Miriam to have any room to move about, so the moment they came to a stop near the center of the crowd, their two bodies were immediately squashed together. Close together. And as the squashing occurred, inevitably he recalled how the two of them had been squashed the last time they’d been together.
Oh, yes. It was all coming back to him now.
And suddenly the last thing Rory wanted to do was dance. So he told his partner, a little breathlessly, he couldn’t help noting, “Really, Miriam, I’m not much of a dancer.”
To his surprise she replied, just as breathlessly, he couldn’t help noting, “Oh. Good.”
He arched his eyebrows in surprise. “Why is that good? I thought you wanted to dance.”
She shook her head. “Oh, no,” she told him. “In fact, dancing is the last thing I want to do with you.”
Ten
Oh, dear, Miriam thought as soon as she uttered the statement. She probably should have phrased her last remark a little differently. Because, judging by the expression of utter shock etched on Rory’s face, there was a good chance he might ha
ve mistaken her intent.
Oh, she knew she should have just stayed away from him tonight, she told herself. But when she’d left the dance floor after ending her wrestling match with ninety-five-year-old Leonard Federman, whose hands, at least, hadn’t quite made it out of puberty, and had seen Rory standing at the edge of the crowd, she hadn’t been able to resist him. She’d felt as if someone had pulled taut an invisible thread that was attached to her, winding it tighter and tighter, pulling her closer and closer, until she stood within a few feet of Rory. And once she was that close to him, well…She could no more have pulled herself away than she could have pushed the moon out of the Earth’s orbit.
She should have known it would be futile to try to keep avoiding him. Marigold was a small town. They were bound to run into each other sooner or later. Especially since her place of employment was, in effect, his home away from home. Still, she hadn’t known what to say or how to act around him. The notes he’d left her had been so casual, so impersonal. And he hadn’t once tried to call her on the phone. Although he’d made clear his desire to talk to her, to see her, she had feared he would only tell her that what had happened between the two of them had been a mistake, one he couldn’t risk repeating.
He had, after all, regretted making love to her immediately after it had happened. Why would he want to repeat it?
She wished she hadn’t pulled him onto the dance floor, because being this close to him again was a such a sweet torture. But she’d felt it was essential to get him away from Cullen, because Rory had been about to tell his brother exactly where Isabel Trent was.
And there was no way Miriam was going to let him do that, because Isabel Trent had obviously been uncomfortable with the idea of Cullen seeing her dressed the way she was—not that Miriam could blame the other woman for a moment, because Miriam wasn’t any too comfortable herself being dressed like a…like a…Well. Like a devil with a blue dress on. Even if Metropolitan magazine assured her that men went for such a thing, because Miriam had vowed days ago that she would never, ever, be a temptress—inner or outer—again. The sooner she could remove this ridiculous get-up, the better.
At any rate, in spite of her frequent disagreements with the mayor, Miriam didn’t want to see Isabel Trent put on the spot with Cullen Monahan the way Rory had been about to put her on the spot. Not when Isabel was a kindred spirit. Not when Isabel was clearly suffering from the same affliction Miriam herself was suffering from these days.
Because Miriam had seen the look on the mayor’s face when Cullen Monahan had entered the Stardust Ballroom. And it had been a look with which Miriam was very well acquainted—after all, it was the same look she saw on her own face every time she glanced in the mirror. Because Isabel’s expression had been the expression of a woman who wanted a man—a special man. A special man who didn’t want her in return.
Oh, my, Miriam thought. Mayor Trent had a major thing for the man who was her former campaign manager and current assistant—Cullen Monahan. And Cullen Monahan evidently didn’t have a clue.
Goodness, she thought further. What was wrong with the Monahan men, that they couldn’t see the most obvious things in the world? Really, for being so popular and so prominent in the community, the Monahan boys had a lot to learn about life. And love. And women.
In spite of having just told Rory that she didn’t want to dance with him, Miriam did nothing to stop the swaying of their bodies. Not just because she was too preoccupied by thoughts of other things, but because, thanks to the overpopulation of the dance floor, she had no choice but to keep moving. People were crowded around them, and everyone seemed to be moving in perfect time with the music.
Well, most of the people were moving in perfect time, she thought when someone bumped into her from behind, thrusting her forward, more resolutely into Rory’s embrace. She tried her best to extricate herself from the awkward situation, then realized that Rory was doing absolutely nothing to help her disengage. For a man who had so recently made clear his reluctance to embrace any woman—in more than a physical sense, anyway—it was an interesting response. Then again, she thought, the embrace was awfully physical…
Then again…again she thought further, perhaps Rory hadn’t pushed her away simply because there was no place to push her. Because in spite of the physicality of their current clinch, she still remembered, too well, how utterly he had assured the police officer the other night that Miriam was neither his wife nor his girlfriend, thereby ensuring that he didn’t entertain any thoughts—or any enthusiasm—of having her assume either role.
This in spite of the fact that Miriam had assigned the role of boyfriend—and even husband—a time or two to Rory, if only in her dreams. This in spite of the fact that, despite his assurances to the police officer, Rory had done nothing that night to halt the passion that had erupted suddenly between the two of them. This in spite of the fact that he had, on the contrary, pulled Miriam closer and kissed her just as deeply as she had kissed him, something that rather negated the whole premise of wanting neither a girlfriend nor a wife, she thought.
Or maybe it didn’t negate that, she further pondered. Maybe it only served to illustrate what Rory did want in his life—a sex partner.
Men had physical needs, after all, Miriam reminded herself. Then again, women had physical needs, too, something to which she herself could attest. Oh, my, could she attest to that. And maybe that was all that had been on Rory’s mind that night when he had denounced the girlfriend/wife idea—his physical needs and perhaps even her own. That was why he had so eagerly embraced her physically while mentally and emotionally repelling the idea of her involvement with him in any other capacity. He had wanted to assuage a physical need. And he may have thought that was all she wanted, too.
And perhaps that was exactly what was on his mind tonight, as well—their physical needs. Perhaps that was why he was embracing her physically again right now. After all, she was dressed as such a temptress. And if he was only thinking about their physical needs at the moment, then there was a very good chance he would once again repel her mentally and emotionally later.
Then again, Miriam’s physical needs had been on her mind that night, too. And they were on her mind tonight, as well. Oh, my, were they on her mind tonight, she thought as she splayed her hands open over Rory’s chest and felt the firm expanse of muscle beneath. And now that she thought more about it, seeing to one’s physical needs, even if it meant neglecting one’s emotional needs, might not necessarily be such a terrible thing….
She sighed heavily her frustration, and she reminded herself of what she had been telling herself for the past few days—that she should get over Rory Monahan and put him out of her mind and move on to live her life. Unfortunately for her, though, her mind—and, evidently, several other parts of her body—simply refused to give him up. Probably because the thought of living her life didn’t seem like much fun without Rory in it.
“Um, at the risk of pestering you, Miriam…” Rory began, his voice sounding soft in spite of the fact that he had raised it to compensate for the blaring music.
“Oh, by all means, feel free to pester me,” she told him. “In fact, pester away. Please.”
Good heavens, Miriam, she told herself, don’t beg.
She took a moment to berate herself for her weakness where Rory Monahan was concerned. Honestly, she thought. Had she no pride left at all?
Well, actually, Miriam, if you must know…
Then again, it did feel so good to be back in his arms, even if only temporarily. There was nothing wrong with enjoying this momentary reunion, was there? She wouldn’t let things go too far. Certainly not as far as they had gone the other night. No matter how badly she might want them to.
When she realized he still hadn’t pestered her, she said, “If there’s something you want to know, Rory, do please ask. At the risk of pestering me…?” she echoed, encouraging him to finish.
He hesitated a moment, gazing at her face as if he might gauge
the answer to his question there, without having to ask it aloud. Finally, though, “If you don’t want to dance with me,” he told her, “then…why are you dancing with me?”
“Oh, that,” she said.
“Yes, that,” he concurred.
“That’s not pestering,” she told him, hedging.
“No?”
“Of course not. It’s a perfectly good question.”
He waited for her to respond to it, and when she only remained silent—mainly because she couldn’t come up with a perfectly good answer to go along with his perfectly good question—he said, “Then why don’t you answer it?”
“Answer what?” she asked, still stalling. Stalling lamely, too, she couldn’t help thinking.
He inhaled a deep breath and released it slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “Why are we dancing?” he asked succinctly.
“Um, because the music is so nice?” she replied.
He nodded, but she didn’t think he bought her phony sincerity.
“Yes, well, just so you know,” he continued, “I can’t dance to save my life. You’re risking very serious injury to your feet if you continue.”
“I think you’re doing very well,” she told him. With real sincerity this time, too.
“Yes, well,” he said again, “when the people are packed together like sardines, it isn’t hard to keep time with the music. It’s when the music ends and the people begin to separate that things will become a bit troublesome.”
Oh, truer words were never spoken, Miriam thought.
But instead of ending, the music grew more raucous, even as Rory spoke his observation aloud. And when it did this time, someone bumped into him from behind, launching his body forward into Miriam’s with enough force to make her stumble backward. Where before Rory had settled his hands loosely on her hips, now he circled an arm around her waist and placed a hand at the small of her back to steady her. Normally this would have been a perfectly legitimate reaction, a perfectly innocent touch.
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