Читать книгу Open Invitation? - Karen Kendall - Страница 9

REAL SMOOTH, DAN. You smash the woman’s chair, make an ass out of yourself, mock her and threaten her. Now you’re trying to blackmail her and kiss her, too? What in the hell is wrong with you, man?

But he still held her tiny, fine-boned hand captive in his, while she stared at him with those unbelievably hot, smoldering black eyes of hers. They were exotic, beautifully shaped and slanted down at the outside corners. They were framed by long, sooty lashes that, at the moment, stabbed upward like tiny black daggers toward his face.

“You’ve got a nerve, Mr. Granger,” she said. But her hand trembled in his and her lips—pale, perfect, prim—parted ever so slightly.

It was all the opening Dan needed. He angled his face over hers, inhaled her fragrance of jasmine and sweet floral soap, and ever-so-gently touched the tip of his tongue to her pale lips.

Hers parted even more, surprised. He continued to taste her in tiny degrees, taking in the fresh strawberry essence on those lips, the faint traces of Ceylon tea, the sweetness of butter-cookies.

Since she made no move of protest, he settled his lips on hers and kissed her hungrily, dominating her mouth with his own. She opened at his insistence and he explored her, feeling the smooth surfaces of her teeth, nipping at the plumpness of her bottom lip, and rubbing languorously against the tip of her tongue with his own.

She made a faint, ladylike noise of either submission or approval, and it drove him wild.

He wanted to see her naked skin, feel the flesh of her thigh, lick the curve of her breast. Tongue her nipple, hear her moan into his ear, plunge a finger inside her.

Dan wanted to penetrate that Audrey Hepburn coolness and take her from the gates of proper to the open field of thrashingly, screamingly improper.

He was scant inches away from closing his hand over her breast when some internal monitor in his brain informed him that it would be a very, very bad idea.

Lilia wasn’t a woman he could push into sex. He had to make her want it as badly as he did. He had to tease her until she couldn’t help herself.

He didn’t know how he knew it, but he did. One wrong move, and he was toast. He pulled away from her and searched for her reaction.

She refused to look him in the eye, but her breathing was fast and uneven, just the way he’d hoped. After a moment she said, “I can’t believe you just did that, Mr. Granger.” And she smoothed an invisible wrinkle out of her immaculate skirt.

“Neither can I. But since I did, do you think you could call me Dan? And maybe, just maybe, I could call you Lilia?”

“I suppose that would be acceptable, now that you’re not going to sue me.”

“I was kidding about that.”

“I know.”

“But you kissed me anyway?”

She tucked her dark hair behind her ears and blushed. “Well, I felt guilty about the chair.”

Dan put his tongue into his cheek and shoved his hands into his pockets. “You sure know how to flatter a guy.”

She dimpled, flashed her gaze upward to his, and then bent to pick up the broken chair. He should have helped her, but he stood mesmerized by the way her skirt pulled across her sweet little hips and highlighted the curves of the most perfect derriere he’d ever seen. It was a shameful waste that she sat on that, and covered it with suits, because it rivaled any ass he’d ever seen twirling around a pole. But it was the untouchable quality of it that mesmerized him.

There wasn’t a panty line on it, either, and Dan’s mouth went dry wondering if that meant what he thought it did.

Miss Manners, commando? Bare to the air? Oh, get a grip, Granger.

Unfortunately that was precisely what he wanted to do: get a good grip. Each of her little cheeks would fit nicely in the palm of his hand. He’d squeeze. He’d stroke. He’d caress and then trail his fingertips inward to brush her intimate folds.

Granger. Do you need to buy the latest issue of Playboy and lock yourself in a bathroom? Christ!

“I, uh. I can try to fix that for you,” he said, gesturing at the chair.

“That’s all right. I’ll take it to a furniture-maker. Are you sure you didn’t hurt your back? Your tailbone?”

“I’m fine. I’ve fallen off a lot of horses, and they tend to be taller than your average dining room chair. Plus a chair don’t drag you by a stirrup or kick you in the head on its way back to the barn.”

“Very true,” agreed Lilia. “They smell better, too.”

“You don’t like the smell of a good, sweaty horse? Mmmm. I love it. Raw and salty and musky. Pungent. Laced with saddle-leather and liniment.” The only smell that comes close is…sex. But he didn’t say it aloud. That might send Miss Manners right over the edge.

She was already staring at him as if he had three heads. “Dan, if you think horses smell good, may I enquire as to what you think smells bad?”

He thought for a second. “Those candle shops, the ones where the fakey-fruit and sickly cinnamon and vomit-vanilla scents all combine to blow the hair right off your head when you walk in the door. Now those places stink to high heaven. I’d rather shovel out a horse stall any day than have to spend two minutes in a place like that.”

Lilia laughed.

He loved it when she laughed: the sound was simultaneously throaty and musical. Her pointed little chin rose, her sleek black hair a shiny curtain along her smooth, pale neck.

Then there were the eyebrows. Lilia London had the most flawlessly groomed, dark, winged eyebrows he’d ever seen. They added to her untouchable look, yet also projected exoticism and a challenging sexuality.

He was curious about her reaction to the kiss. He’d expected her to be flustered by it, shocked, uncomfortable in his presence afterward. Frankly he’d thought that it would put an end to their session today. But it had been a risk he took willingly, just for a taste of her.

“You’re an unusual man, Dan,” she said. “Now, we have a lot to do in two weeks, so let’s set up a schedule. We should start analyzing your wardrobe and replacing items today. My partner Shannon is an image consultant and she will help with that. She’ll take your measurements, get your shoe size and go off shopping on her own. We’ll get a tailor in here to fit everything perfectly. But I want to take you to be fitted for at least one custom suit and, of course, your evening wear. That cannot be off-the-rack for this particular wedding.

“I’m going to strongly suggest that you leave your boots, hat and belt…” her voice trailed off as she stared at it, “behind. Under no circumstances should they go to London with you.”

“Whoa. My boots are the most comfortable footwear I own. In Texas you wear ’em with a suit. I’ve even seen them worn with a tux.”

Lilia closed her eyes and visibly shuddered. “Never, ever wear boots with a suit of any kind. Please. Especially not outside of your home state. You will be the butt of jokes. You will most certainly embarrass your family at an English wedding if you do so.”

Dan sighed. “Well, what’s wrong with my belt? It’s custom-made.”

Her face became devoid of expression. “I strongly advise leaving that here. I’m sure the other guests will remember your name without having to read it over your backside.”

He didn’t particularly care for her dry tone. “It’s a Western tradition. In fact, I’m having two belts made for Claire and her new husband as sorta ‘stocking stuffer’ wedding gifts.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“One’s gonna say ‘bride’ and the other’ll say ‘groom.’ In script, which is real hard for the guy to do.”

Lilia opened her mouth but no sound came out. He guessed that meant she didn’t think the belts were a good idea.

“Of course, I’ll get them something silver as the real gift. I was hoping you’d help me choose.”

She nodded. “I’d be happy to do that. Anyhow, Shannon will help with wardrobe, as I mentioned, while you and I get down to work on polite conversation, correct table manners under all sorts of circumstances and ballroom dancing. You mentioned a steeplechase, I believe? I assume you know how to ride?”

“I was practically born in a saddle.”

“Yes, but have you ridden English style before?”

“Hell, no. Little velvet caps and silly britches aren’t my style. And I use a real man’s saddle.”

“Have you ever taken fences, Dan?”

“Taken ’em? I’ve mended fences.”

A frown marred her smooth forehead. “You do realize that during a steeplechase you’ll be expected to jump over obstacles? Very large obstacles?”

Dan scratched his head. “Yeah. I’ve never figured out that part. Seems dumb to me. Why not just go around ’em?”

“It takes a very good seat and firm hands and lots of practice…”

“I’m not too worried.”

“Riding lessons, English saddle,” Lilia said firmly, writing it down on a monogrammed notepad.

He curled his lip. “You’re not gettin’ me in those bun-hugger pansy pants or a velvet hat.”

She waved a dismissive hand at him and continued to write. “We’ll go see Jean Pierre for some dancing lessons, and then you and I can practice every day… Oh, and we’ll need to schedule a manicure for you.”

“Come again? Did you say ‘manicure’?”

“Yes, Dan, I did. Your nails are ragged and your hands are in bad shape. I’m even going to suggest a paraffin wax treatment.”

“Get outta here,” he exclaimed.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re yanking my chain, right? I’m not going to some salon for a—”

“Yes, you are. And we’re also going to schedule you a haircut with Enrique right away. Plus I’ll set you up with some light reading—etiquette books that you’ll need to read and study every night over the next two weeks.”

“I watch ESPN at night, and COPS, and the History channel. Bad movies. True crime shows.”

“Not for the next fourteen days, Dan. Remember Cary Grant. Otherwise you’ll be wasting your money.”

He groaned.

She eyed him sympathetically. “You’re very sweet to do this for your sister, you know. You must love her very much.”

He looked down at the scarred hands that had proudly wielded shovels, hammers and rifles. Hands that had delivered calves and foals, mended fences and steered two-ton trucks. Beer-drinking hands. For Claire, they were shortly to be defiled by a manicure. Ugh.

“My sister was about the one bright spot in my life, growing up. And you know what’s funny? I thought I’d hate her. But I fell in love with that little girl the minute I saw her.”

“You thought you’d hate her? May I ask why?”

Dan sighed. “It’s complicated.”

She nodded and he stood up. “Well, it’s been a long day, Miz Lilia. I think I’d like to go find my hotel room and take a hot shower. Enjoy my last night of television before being brainwashed by Emily Post.”

Her lips twitched. “No such luck. I have reading material to give you right away.” And his elegant little tormentor pulled a fat three-ring binder out of a filing drawer. She handed it to him with a wry smile. “Let the brainwashing begin.”

Dan accepted it with a scowl and picked up his duffel. “It’s been real nice meeting you. I can’t wait to be transformed into a gentleman with a capital G. And I am sorry about destroying your china and your chair.”

“That’s all right. I’ll survive.” She smiled at him. “This won’t be so bad, you know.”

He scrubbed a hand over his bristly jaw and moved toward the door of her office. Then he turned and winked. “If I come in here tomorrow claiming whiplash, will it get me another kiss?”

She stared at him, an odd expression on her face. “No, Mr. Granger, it will not.”

AFTER WALKING HIM out to the front door, Lil stared after the man, watched his jaunty, confident stride and the way he swung the duffel by a couple of fingers on the way out to his rental car. She shouldn’t be ogling him, but she enjoyed the view of his broad shoulders and the quite magnificent male bottom under that dreadful belt.

His stance was cocky and casual. Nothing elegant or cosmopolitan about him. He had two inch-wide strips of hair growing shaggily down his neck in the back, evidence of how long it had been since he’d had a haircut.

He didn’t have a clue how to conduct himself outside of a barn. And she loathed the instant presumption of familiarity that he’d assumed with her.

Yet she found his sheer unselfconsciousness sexy. He was more than comfortable in his own skin, unfettered by convention. A normal man, after wreaking havoc in his etiquette consultant’s office and springing an erection (she even whispered that word mentally) should have run from there, mortified.

This man just took it all in stride and capped it all off by kissing her! He simply refused to accept the fact that he was a…buffoon. An extraordinarily handsome one, but a buffoon nevertheless.

He couldn’t possibly be serious about the matching bride and groom belts, could he?

Granger tossed his carry-on into the passenger side of the rented red Mustang he was driving. His biceps bulged, straining against the short sleeves of his T-shirt. He got into the car himself.

Good Lord. She couldn’t deny that she wanted to see him without his shirt again. She touched her lips, which were still sensitive after being scrubbed by that golden bristle of his.

From behind the windshield, he followed the gesture with his eyes and grinned, his white teeth flashing in the fading sunlight.

Lil dropped her hand as if burned, swung around on one of her kitten-heels and walked back to her office.

Shannon was on the phone and Jane appeared to be gone for the day, so Lil had a few moments to get herself together and think about how to proceed.

Why on earth had she allowed the man to kiss her? She hadn’t kissed anyone since Li Wong, and he’d been out of her life for months now. Kissing Li had been unexciting. He had cold, squishy lips that were always too moist. She’d imagined, toward the end of things between them, that her damp kitchen sponge would provide more of a thrill.

She got more of a charge out of just looking at Dan’s mouth than she’d gotten from touching Li anywhere. Li was smooth, hairless…flaccid. The man did have perfect manners—when one wasn’t rejecting his munificent marriage proposals—and lovely suits, however. He even wrote thank-you notes.

Dan’s bottom lip had a tiny indentation in the middle, a cleft just like the one in his chin. It was wildly sensual-looking, that split. His mouth looked uninhibited, casually wicked, and not squeamish about its destinations. Dan was a man who knew the secret of how to have fun.

Lil was starved for fun. That’s why I let him kiss me.

She scolded herself for it. You are a thirty-year-old business owner who specializes in decorum, Lilia! The age to have had fun was in high school, college—when everyone else your age was having it. This is neither the time nor the place to discover your inner hedonist…

But in high school and college she’d been taking care of a frail, exceedingly proper grandmother in her seventies. Nana Lisbeth had raised Lil apart from her own generation; teaching her embroidery and watercoloring and French while most girls her age played school sports, went to rock concerts and snuck out to bars with fake ID’s.

Nana had been Lil’s entire world except for Jane and Shannon…but now Lisbeth London had been laid to rest beside Sir Henry. Even so, Lil went home to her empty house each night expecting to find her sipping lemon tea sweetened by a half-teaspoon of honey and letting a fresh crumpet go stale on a Royal Doulton plate.

She simply could not believe that she’d never see Nana Lisbeth again, never drop another kiss on her powdery cheek or smell rose-water mixed with the scent of old wool. How had a simple knee-replacement surgery led to a life-threatening infection?

With all that modern medicine could do, when it was someone’s time, it was her time.

Shannon said goodbye to whomever she’d been talking to and Lil heard the click as she replaced the cordless phone in its cradle. Her modern rolling chair squeaked as she stood up. Seconds later she popped her head into Lil’s office.

“So how did things go…” her voice trailed off as she saw the fragments of Lil’s visitor’s chair. “Oh. Not well, I see. My God, what else did he break?”

Lil brushed a bit of dark thread from the sleeve of her white suit jacket. “Just every conversational rule in the book, most of the boundaries of good taste and almost his neck.”

Shannon laughed. “Got your hands full, huh?”

“You might say so.”

“Juicy details?” Shan begged.

“If we can go for a drink and you’ll take off that obnoxious, electric-blue jacket before I go blind.”

“My goodness, Lil, but that was downright rude.” Shannon chuckled and twisted her long, curly hair up into a knot on her head. She snagged a pen from Lil’s desk to secure it.

Lil opened her drawer, pulled out a green plastic ballpoint and handed it to her friend. “Give the Waterman back, please.”

“Oh, all right.” Shan pulled the high-dollar pen out of her hair and shoved in the el cheapo. She dropped the expensive one back on Lilia’s desk.

Lil picked it up, pulled two long curly blond hairs out of the pocket clip and grimaced. “You and Jane are rude to me all the time, anyway. So I have to return the favor. It’s part of the beauty of our friendship.” She dropped the hair into her wastebasket.

“Come on, I’ll buy the cosmos,” Shannon said, tossing her car keys in the air and catching them again.

“Is your car clean?” Lil asked. “Or does it still smell worse than the canals in Venice?”

“Hal had it detailed from top to bottom and it’s daisy-fresh now.”

“That man is a saint.” Speaking of which, why were her thoughts turning back to the mouth of a sinner? Lil had a feeling she’d see that mouth swooping down on her all night, in her dreams.