Читать книгу About That Night... - Jeanie London - Страница 11

NICK WAITED for Jules’s reaction. Then there it was, a slight melting of those clear gray eyes, a sudden softening of her mouth. When she slipped cool fingers into his, he breathed again.

“I’d be delighted,” she said in a sultry voice that made his nerve endings rise to attention, along with other parts of his anatomy that had no business behaving as though they’d been ignored of late.

Tucking her hand securely in the crook of his arm, Nick led her through the lobby down to the basement and dressing rooms where the Arts Council currently hosted a closing night party for the actors, musicians, theater patrons and other attendees from the arts, cultural and historical societies.

What was it about this woman that made him feel as if every nerve in his body was live with max voltage? Was he simply reacting to a very beautiful woman?

From her shimmery hair, the color of claret from the vineyards around his home in Northern California, to her intriguing combination of bold words and shy blushes, he noticed everything about her, wanted to know even more. He planned to spend his night discovering exactly who this beauty was.

He couldn’t believe his good fortune earlier when he’d recognized her heading onto the stage. His good fortune hadn’t been hers, though, because from his seat he could see her face and recognized that she hadn’t been thrilled to be onstage.

But she’d handled her exit very well, gifting him with an incredible show of swaying curves and wild hair as she danced her way off the stage again, inspiring all sorts of fantasies about her dancing across that stage just for him.

Nick hadn’t been the only one affected. Dale had hung out of their box, vowing to give up beer and joyrides for good. Nick had told him not to bother. He’d had his chance for a shot at this red devil. He wouldn’t get another.

The closing night party hosted an eclectic mix of actors in outrageous costumes—or barely any costumes at all—and the more conservative members of the city’s various boards. He and Dale were the only ADF staff currently in Savannah as his design team wrapped up various tasks from their last project and would arrive throughout the next week.

Seizing two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter, he cornered Jules across the room from Dale, who schmoozed with several matrons from the Arts Council near the buffet, earning his high-figure salary by representing ADF when its principal was otherwise engaged.

“So tell me, beautiful.” He let his fingers linger on hers when he handed her the glass. “What brings such a lovely lady to an erotic theater alone?”

She shrugged, just a slight lifting of her shoulders that seemed at once both feminine and noncommittal. “There aren’t too many men who appreciate the historic significance of this theater and I wanted to see it one last time so I can marvel at your skill when the renovation’s done.”

Nick couldn’t decide what turned him on more, her interest in his architectural abilities or her confidence in them. “So the history of the place appeals to you. What about the architecture and the performance?”

“If I were to put them in order of importance, I’d actually have to say the renovation would be first on my list, then the history and finally the theater. What’s onstage doesn’t seem to matter much. The real magic is being here.”

Nick eyed her over the rim of his glass, could detect nothing but genuine interest in her rapt expression. Was she just flirting with him? He’d known more than his share of women who’d professed an interest in architecture, only to be bored stupid whenever he’d mixed business with pleasure and combined a weekend away with a site analysis.

He was a man of limited interests and architecture topped his list and encompassed his life, which probably explained why dating best suited his life in the field.

“So the architecture brought you here tonight. That’s my good fortune.” Clinking the rim of his glass to hers, he ignored the imploring look Dale shot him from across the room. “But the performance didn’t excite you at all?”

“Excite.” The word formed on her lips in a breathy whisper. “What an interesting choice of words, Nick. Yes, the architecture brought me here, but I’d have to be dead not to have been…excited by that performance. I’m alive.”

“I noticed.”

“And what about you? Did the performance excite you?”

There it was again, that breathy puff of sound that glided over those champagne-moistened lips and turned his thoughts to kissing. Stolen teasing kisses. Deep-throated hungry kisses. Wet demanding kisses.

“No reflection on the actors or the play, but the show didn’t do half of what you’re doing for me right now.”

He expected some reaction to his admission, surprise or pleasure, but quickly realized Jules intended to play this game her way. Arching an auburn brow, she touched the rim of her glass to her mouth, sipped, then darted her pink tongue out to wipe away the remnants from her lower lip.

He followed the movement with his gaze, imagining how that sweet liquid would taste warmed by those luscious lips. This woman was playing with fire and she knew it. Nick knew it, too. He enjoyed the chase as much as the next man…okay, probably more than most. But he prided himself on his control. So why was Jules having this damned intense effect on him? He’d blown off his schmoozing duties, which constituted work in his mind, to keep her all to himself.

Unfortunately, remaining isolated wasn’t possible and before long the Arts Council president corralled them.

“There you are, Dr. Fairfax. I’m interested in hearing what you think of the Risqué Theatre now that you’ve seen it firsthand. I can’t tell you how thrilled the board members are that you’re supervising the project personally.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Turner, I’d supervise all my senior teams if I could, but unfortunately I can only be in one place at a time. Your theater presented a challenge I couldn’t resist.”

He glanced down at the beautiful woman by his side, surprised at the frisson of excitement that coursed through his blood when she lifted her smoky gaze to his. “Mrs. Turner, this is my friend Jules,” he said, never turning back to the matron as he completed the introduction, because Jules’s beautiful face transformed into a polite social mask before his very eyes.

She extended her hand. “It’s a pleasure. I greatly admire the work the council does. Your grant program has an impressive track record of benefiting artists and cultural renovation sites in the area.”

“How delightful of you to notice.” The president positively beamed and Nick drank his champagne, content to listen for whatever clues Jules’s conversation might reveal.

She hadn’t offered her full name or mentioned why the cultural affairs of Savannah interested her. Nick found himself strangely disappointed. And challenged to find out all he could about her.

“Tonight’s performance was actually part of the grant program,” Mrs. Turner said. “Local writers submitted proposals for closing night scripts. The variety show tribute to the theater’s long and illustrious history overwhelmingly won the council’s approval and the grant.”

Jules looked thoughtful. “I thought the format was particularly appropriate, given that the sets for each vignette mirrored a historical transition in the theater’s architectural evolution. Didn’t you think so, Nick?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, but the truth was he’d been so busy admiring Jules from the balcony that he hadn’t noticed that the vignettes had reflected anything about the theater’s architecture, except as a tribute to the different eras.

This was his first clue that Jules’s interest in architecture was an honest one and since he wanted to know just how honest, he steered the conversation around to the detailed work needed to replace broken nosing and the crumbling cusps around the room.

Sure enough, Jules’s gaze traveled straight to the molding on the stairs, then up to the nearby doorway, with a certainty only a familiarity with architecture would bring. Nick decided right then to get her away from this party to find out more about this exotically beautiful woman who shared a common interest.

But he’d no sooner shaken off the Arts Council president when Dale arrived. He planted himself squarely between them for an introduction, and Nick knew at once Dale intended to bust his chops by making a play for Jules.

This wouldn’t be the first time Dale had challenged him. What Nick couldn’t figure out is why he even bothered, since he usually came off worse for the effort.

“Jules, this is my senior project manager Dale Emerson.”

“Well, hello, gorgeous.” Dale sandwiched her hand between his big paws and held on for dear life.

“Nice to meet you,” Jules replied and something about the surprise in her eyes made Nick suspect she wasn’t as used to flirting as she pretended to be. A niggling suspicion, but one he made a mental note to look at more closely. His gut feelings usually served him well with the opposite sex, because he made a point of paying attention.

Retrieving more champagne from a passing waiter, he offered the flute to Dale, forcing him to relinquish his death grip on Jules’s hand. Dale shot him a grimace that revealed he knew exactly what Nick was doing. But he forged ahead anyway.

“What did you think of the performance tonight, gorgeous?”

“I was just telling Nick I found it rather exciting.”

Ah, that breathy little sound again. It set his blood on fire, and when she cast her sparkling gaze his way, reserving the sound just for him, he experienced a surge of pure male satisfaction.

“Jules was also telling me how clever she thought the different sets were tonight, because each mirrored the architectural evolution of the theater’s renovations.”

If Nick hadn’t noticed the sets’ unique designs, he knew Dale hadn’t. Not that he’d have admitted the oversight. Dale didn’t, either. Instead, he segued neatly right back to the only topic that seemed to interest him at the moment—the beautiful woman standing between them.

“Really? You’re stunningly gorgeous and interested in architecture. What a perfect combination.”

Jules only shrugged, another slight lifting of her shoulders that did amazing things to those creamy breasts swelling above red leather. “I’ve got an uncle in the business. He has shared his work with me most of my life.”

Well, that explained her interest. An honest interest. An intelligent one, too.

“What’s your uncle’s specialty?” Nick asked.

“Materials conservation. He retired last year.”

Dale shook his head. “Whew, wish we’d have known him before he retired. Right about the time we were doing the flood restoration on the Mark Twain Museum.”

“What happened at the museum?” Jules asked.

“The project was such a beast that our material conservationist had a heart attack.” Dale shook his head at the memory. “We had to finish up with a staff member we stole from a junior team.”

“Fortunately he’s okay and back to work now,” Nick said.

“Only after we talked him out of retiring early and relocating to a beach in Florida.”

Nick set his empty glass down on a nearby table. “Our good luck. Finding someone who knows his, or her, way around the chemical and physical complexities of building materials is always a challenge.”

“Finding anyone to hire onto Nick’s team is a challenge.” Dale gave a low whistle. “This man’s such a tyrant in the field no one wants to work for him.”

Amusement sparkled in Jules’s eyes. Though Nick knew Dale only ribbed him, he wasn’t above defending himself in front of this lovely lady. “I’m not a tyrant, evidenced by the fact Frank came back to work.”

“Trust me, I’ll keep your uncle in mind,” Dale said. “We stand a better chance of luring him out of retirement than of keeping Frank from the beach for long.”

Jules laughed brightly. “Does Dale have hiring privileges? Shall I give my uncle a call? I’m not sure how he’d feel about working for a tyrant.”

Nick scowled, a scowl that faded quickly beneath her high-beam smile. He liked the way she reserved her smiles for him, dodging Dale’s flirting without being cold, yet expressing she’d already decided who had her attention tonight.

Jules was a class act and he’d just hit his limit of listening to his integrity impugned while his friend tried to steal his girl. Plucking the flute from Jules’s hand, he passed it to Dale.

“We’re touring the theater. Jules would like to see the place before we work our magic. You schmooze.”

“Tyrant.” Dale spun on his heel and plunged back into the crowd leaving Nick staring after him and Jules giggling.

“I take it Dale’s more than your employee,” she said.

“A friend. A good one most of the time.”

Taking her hand, he led her toward a waiter, where they picked up fresh champagne before heading through the doorway with the crumbling cusps. Resting his hand lightly on her hip, he directed her to precede him up the stairs.

As he watched the gentle sway of her leather-clad behind, Nick knew exactly where he would take her. The memory of her dancing across the stage still played vivid in his memory, and being alone there together would go a long way toward fueling his fantasies.

Jules followed willingly where he led and during their roundabout tour toward the dark stage, they discussed where he’d be staying during his visit in Savannah—ADF had rented his design crew townhouses in a fashionable community. He quizzed her for the details of the citywide debate about whether to gut-rehab the Risqué or renovate it. She regaled him with questions about how he planned to handle accessibility for the disabled, what historic materials he intended to retain and if he would attempt to qualify for tax-credit benefits.

While they talked one thing became very evident to Nick, Jules knew her stuff. She also knew how to keep him talking about everything but her. A phenomenon he intended to end now.

Leading her onto the dark stage, he drew her down beside him on the rolling spiral staircase where an actress portraying Gypsy Rose Lee had descended during her striptease. She sat on the step above him, her incredible body contracting in a fluid fold of leather-clad curves, clearly not bothered about the effects of the stairs on her dress. He liked that she wasn’t uptight or prissy.

“You’ve picked my brain about this theater for the past two hours and I’ve answered all your questions. Now I want you to tell me about you. What you do for a living. Where you live. Tell me all about the woman who asks such intelligent questions and comes to an erotic theater by herself.”

Jules swirled warm champagne in her glass, considering. Then she lifted her gaze and gifted him with a smile. “Okay, my life in a nutshell. I’m in education and I’ve lived in Savannah since I started college. I already told you why I came to the Risqué tonight, but I came alone because I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Are you dating?”

She shook her head, sending shiny auburn waves dancing along her shoulders. “I haven’t been. I was engaged, but my fiancé and I ended our engagement about six months ago.”

He wondered why but wouldn’t ask such a personal question. He asked how long she’d been engaged instead.

“Five years.”

“Well, beautiful, are you over him?” When she nodded, he saluted her with his glass. “Your ex’s loss is my gain. So where did you live before college?”

“All over. We traveled a lot.”

Probably military, he decided, which could account for her nonchalance at attending the theater alone and her ease in impromptu social situations. He’d known his fair share of women who wouldn’t have been comfortable attending any formal event without at least bringing a friend. Speaking of… “What about your friends, Ramón and his…girlfriend?”

Jules laughed, a throaty sound that arrowed through his senses at close range. Her thigh was mere inches away, and he couldn’t help but wonder how she’d react if he ran his hand along its sleek length, though he hadn’t been invited yet.

“Katriona’s not his girlfriend,” Jules said. “She’s his head manicurist at the salon. Technically, she’s not even a she.”

He winced. That much had been obvious. Nick hadn’t missed the gigantic bustline, either, and the mechanics of her appearance were more than he wanted to know.

Jules laughed again, another burst of sultry sound that—gratefully—shattered the image of the manicurist and kicked in his pulse like a jackhammer.

“She does a lovely manicure, though.” She held up a hand to emphasize her point and that was exactly the in he needed.

Taking her hand under the pretense of examining her manicure, Nick brushed a kiss across her knuckles. He heard her quick intake of breath and the moment became charged with the promise of sex.

“So what else do I need to know about you before we can explore this intense physical attraction between us?”

“I can’t think of a thing.” She sounded excited, exactly the reaction he’d hoped for. “Nothing interesting about my life, I’m afraid. I work a lot.”

She was kidding, right? Jules knew the difference between a cornice and a corbel-table and she didn’t think she was interesting? He’d lay odds he could disabuse her of that notion before they parted ways tonight. “I work a lot, too. Plays hell with my social life. Have to make time when I can.”

“A good thing you seem to make new friends easily.”

New friends? Given the way she’d just fielded his questions, he didn’t know enough to call her a friend, but she obviously didn’t want to share her personal life. Keeping it simple. He understood and respected that.

“I’d like to become better acquainted tonight.”

Her clear gaze never left his as she set her glass on a step above her. The shadows played across her features, a striking study of dark and dusk that bleached all color into soft shades of muted grays.

She seemed almost tentative as she stretched her hand toward his face, and he had the impression again that Jules wasn’t nearly so experienced at seducing strangers as she’d have him believe. Her fingers trembled as they brushed his skin, just a light caress of warm fingertips against his temple, a touch that was less sexy than…reverent.

Nick wasn’t exactly sure what to make of the tender expression softening her beautiful face, but any thought he might have given the subject vanished beneath a savage backlash of reaction to her combination of tentative and tender.

“Kiss me, Jules, or let me kiss you,” he ground out in a voice that held nothing back, though common sense urged him to take it slow.

But to his profound pleasure, her long hair suddenly swung forward, surrounding his face and shoulders in a thick curtain of cool silk that blocked all the shadows from the stage, cocooned them together, parted lips, hot breaths and an incredible attraction for two people who’d just met.

Keeping his hands where they were, one holding hers, thumb stroking the smooth skin of her palm, the other clutching the stem of the flute, he resisted dragging her mouth against his.

He hungered with an intensity he’d never known before, that combination of bold temptress with hints of shy innocent captivated him. Nick usually relied on his control, but it failed him big-time tonight. His breath came raw in his chest, the first taste of her wet velvet mouth shooting his blood south in a painful rush. Her hands held his face lightly, not really to hold him—she must know he wasn’t going anywhere—but more to reassure herself that he was here, waiting, eager to be touched.

Her kiss was inquisitive at first, a cautious exploration of a man she didn’t know. He let her take the lead, though he ached to deepen their kiss, to drive his tongue into her mouth and test the limits of her passion.

She rewarded his restraint as though she knew he held back and darted her tongue across his bottom lip. A light touch, a taste really, but an intimacy that opened the floodgates.

Suddenly her grip tightened and her tongue plunged into his mouth with a demand that stole his breath. Sliding one hand around her neck, he anchored her mouth against his and obliged her. Using his tongue to make her acquaintance, he discovered what made her issue those soft sighs that made him ache to drag her into his lap and grind his erection against her bottom.

Man, could she kiss and Nick was a man who appreciated kissing. He enjoyed making out, building the anticipation, tantalizing and torturing himself with each forward step, with each triumph that wore down a woman’s defenses and made her ache for his touch as he ached for hers.

Jules tested his control, lit fires inside him that Nick knew wouldn’t be doused until he experienced this woman naked with her hair tumbling all around them.

And still he held back, instinctively knowing she needed the control right now, their acquaintance was too new, too intense and he wouldn’t risk frightening her off. With one hand hanging onto hers and the other absurdly clutching his champagne glass, he tangled tongues with this beauty, caught her sighs on his lips and marveled at the effect she had on him.

When she finally drew away and inhaled deeply, Nick’s instinct kicked in, warning that this was his chance to move them to the next step.

“Dance with me.” Setting his glass aside, he got to his feet, not giving her a chance to think, let alone refuse him. “Watching you dance tonight turned me on. I want to feel you in my arms.”

“The orchestra is downstairs partying,” she said breathlessly. “Or maybe not. It’s gotten late.”

The instant her foot touched the stage, he swung her into his arms. “I’ll provide the music. I can’t really sing, but I’m a helluva hummer.”

Jules giggled, and his last glimpse as he bent his head low to her ear was of her eyes alight with laughter. Then he began humming some show tune that had stuck in his head from tonight’s performance and she melted against him.

The dark auditorium faded away and Nick knew only the sound of his voice and Jules—her scent, her graceful movements and the way her body molded his. She fitted against all his pressure points as if her incredible body had been designed for his pleasure. He could rest his chin right on the top of her head. Her shoulder fit snugly beneath his arm. Her breasts pressed against his chest, full and perfect in their red leather prison, taunting him to offer escape. And by flexing his arm around her waist, he held her close, imprisoning his erection against her warm stomach.

He sighed. She sighed.

Two bodies in perfect accord, the fact they’d just met of little concern. This woman was meant to be in his arms at this moment. Nick knew on a primitive level, knew with every inhalation of her subtly spicy scent and the way that scent filtered through his senses, priming his libido, making him forget everything but how much he wanted her.

Eventually his humming gave way to the sounds of their breathing and the soft shuffle of their feet across the wood-beam stage floor. Any sense of time vanished beneath an insistent need to stroke his arousal against her, take advantage of the way she parted her thighs and gently rode his thigh as they danced.

Nick even forgot they were in a theater, a public theater where a hundred people partied in the basement directly below. Apparently Jules was also so caught up that she forgot, too, because when Dale’s voice echoed through the empty auditorium, “Hey, buddy, are you in here?” she appeared as surprised as he.

Fortunately they were close enough to the wings to disappear offstage before Dale caught them. Drawing her behind the main curtain, he held her close, his pulse quickening with adrenaline matched by the sudden hammering of Jules’s heartbeat—hard, even beats he felt right through his tux jacket.

“I think you lost track of time because the party’s over.” Dale’s voice rang out, louder as he approached the stage. “Time to go home. The caterers are done cleaning and they’re locking up. Madam President thinks you took off without saying goodbye, and she’s miffed. Better have Betty send her some flowers tomorrow.”

Silence. Nick wasn’t leaving, not when he had Jules in his arms and this theater to himself.

“If you’re still in here, I hope you can get back out again,” Dale tried again. “If you don’t show your face for coffee in the morning, I’ll send out the posse.”

The footsteps receded, then finally faded into silence.

“Can we get back out again?” Jules whispered.

Nick seized the opportunity to reassure her with a kiss. “I’ve got a key, beautiful. But I won’t use it until I’m done making you sigh with pleasure.”