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She’d taken off her jacket inside and the breeze fluttered through the claret silk tank she wore beneath. It felt good to move. It would have felt good to dance, if she’d only known how. She felt a sudden, restless urge for something new.
Her meter, she could see from a few cars away, was firmly over into redline territory. But she was less interested in that than the guy a bit beyond, walking down the sidewalk toward her. Tall, dark, moving with an easy assurance, he wore a jacket and tie and sunglasses. The breeze blew his dark hair onto his forehead; he raised an impatient hand to rake it back.
This was it, Jillian thought. She wanted to make a change? Now was her chance. Just a small change. All she had to do was glance at him and smile. Simple enough. Something millions of women did every day. Once she got used to that behavior, she’d move on. For now, just a smile. That wasn’t much, was it?
So why was her heart hammering?
Jillian stood at her meter, fumbling with her coins. He was closer now. Almost time. It wasn’t as if it was a military operation, she thought impatiently. She just needed to look at him and do it, as if it was natural. Natural.
Hah.
She glanced up, preparing to smile. And froze.
Handsome was the wrong word. Handsome was too tepid, a description for men with perfect Ken-doll looks. His was a face that was more about purpose and intent, pure force of personality. Strong bones, straight nose, a chin that looked as though it knew how to take a punch. His eyes were hidden by his sunglasses. His mouth was straight and wide and far too intriguing.
And then he smiled and the coins slipped through her suddenly nerveless fingers.
With a noise of frustration, Jillian bent to grab for them, trying fruitlessly to capture the rolling disks before they went over the curb and through the grate beyond.
“Need some help?”
Adrenaline vaulted through her system. He’d stopped. The guy had stopped and now he was bent down by her meter, trying to retrieve the coins. “I think they’re all on their way to the Columbia River by now,” she said.
“Slippery devils,” he said, pushing up his glasses and grinning.
She could hear her pulse thudding in her ears. His eyes were black, she saw, his dark brows quirked now with just a hint of humor.
He handed her a quarter. “There’s one, anyway.”
Her hand was shaking as she took the coin from him. Okay, this was more than she’d planned. It was supposed to be a smile and glance, not a whole discussion. She wasn’t sure she was up for a full discussion, especially after all the champagne.
She rose.
“What about your other quarter?” He nodded at the meter as he stood. “One won’t take you through the witching hour.”
“I guess I’ll just have to take my chances.”
“Feeling lucky, huh?” He grinned, and she felt something in her stomach flip. Lethal smile, absolutely lethal. And without warning she found herself staring at his upper lip and wondering just what it would be like to kiss him.
Lucky? “I guess I am,” she said. It was the champagne, she told herself. Starting up her own personal perestroika campaign was one thing, picking up men on the street was another.
But he was already rummaging in his pocket to pull out a handful of coins.
“You can’t pay my meter,” she objected.
“Sure I can,” he said as he picked through the change for a quarter and put it in. “It’s good karma. After a day like I’ve had, I could use it.”
“Uh-oh,” she said. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“Uh-oh, is right. If you see a lynch mob coming out of the Odeon, they’ll be looking for me.”
“Is that where you’re going?” she asked, falling in step beside him as they walked the dozen yards to where the light from the theater’s marquee spilled over the sidewalk.
“Yep. How about you?”
She nodded.
“I’d offer to buy you a drink but I’m here for a party. Actually, I’m late for a party,” he corrected. “Really late.”
“That’s okay, I’m here with—” She broke off and gave him a suspicious stare. “What kind of a party?”
“Me?” He held the door for her. “A rehearsal dinner, for a wedding. Why?”
She walked through, the little buzz of excitement fading. “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Gil, would it?”
“Guilty as charged. And you are?”
“Jillian Logan, the bridesmaid you left at the altar. Nice of you to finally join us.”
Gil’s lips twitched as he followed her into the lobby. “Left you at the altar, huh? Did I have a brain fade? Were we getting married?”
“I’m not likely to marry the kind of guy who’d show up—” she checked her watch “—over an hour late to his best friend’s wedding rehearsal.”
“I guess it’s a good thing I never proposed, then. It was touch-and-go out there.”
She gave him a look from under her brows. “You know, you had the bride wearing a groove in the carpet pacing over you? Lisa’s got enough going on right now without one more thing to stress about.”
His amusement dipped a bit. “I know, trust me.”
She folded her arms, a bit like a teacher scolding a wayward student. “Not to mention the fact that we were all standing around waiting.”
“Not to mention,” he agreed. And she was ticked. Protective of Lisa and just a little ticked about waiting around. Or maybe the altar thing. He wasn’t sure just why he found that appealing. Maybe it was because he found her appealing. Her mouth for a start, full and tempting, the lower lip just a bit sulky now. It had been the first thing he’d noticed when he first saw her. When she’d smiled at him by the meter, he’d felt the hit down deep.
And those eyes of hers, the color of good whiskey. They looked enormous and he didn’t think it was just tricky makeup. They were turbulent now with challenge, enough to promise she’d give him a run for his money. And she had that thick, dark hair with the red undertones of good mahogany. The kind of hair a man could bury his hands in.
Her chin came up a bit as she noticed him staring. He didn’t bother to fight the smile. She was tall for a woman, slender enough that at a glance a person would judge her fragile. It was an impression he was betting drove her nuts. She didn’t look like the type who wanted to be taken care of. She looked like the type who liked being in control.
Funny, so was he.
“I guess I started off on the wrong foot with you here. Except for the quarter at the meter,” he added. “I should get some points for that.”
“It’s going to take more than a quarter to make up for missing the wedding rehearsal,” she told him.
“And leaving you at the altar. I could escort you up the stairs,” he offered as they skirted the velvet rope that blocked off the balcony. “That’s a start.”
She glanced at his arm. “I can make it up the stairs on my own.”
“I bet you can,” he said, resisting the urge to linger a bit behind her and admire the view. “It would be more fun with me, though.”
She rolled her eyes. “Are you always like this?”
“You’re going to break down and laugh sooner or later. You may as well give in to the inevitable.”
She turned to him at the top of the stairs. “And that is?”
He gazed down into those whiskey-gold eyes. “I’ll let you know.”
And suddenly, as she stared back at him, the joking slipped away and something else flashed in its place, a hard, deep pulse of wanting that momentarily banished everything else. Something hummed between them, like a subsonic vibration that he could neither hear nor see, but only feel.
And the flicker in her eyes told him she felt it, too.
“About time you showed,” a voice drawled from behind him and Alan walked up.
Gil blinked and the moment was gone. He turned to the tall Texan. “Hey, sorry I’m late,” he said as they shook.
“And here I thought you were a pretty sorry specimen already,” Alan said. “Glad to see you finally found the place.”
“You made it,” Lisa said, stepping up alongside Alan.
“I did,” Gil said. Instead of shaking her hand, he bowed down to kiss it. “I really apologize for missing the rehearsal. Major screwup. You’ve got a lot to worry about right now and the last thing you need is more grief from me.”
“Hey, no putting the moves on my fiancée,” Alan protested.
“Especially,” Gil went on, ignoring Alan, “since you’re going to have plenty of grief, already, with marrying this guy off.”
Lisa laughed delightedly and pressed a kiss to Gil’s cheek. “Oh, don’t worry about it. Alan can tell you where you’re supposed to stand tomorrow and I’m sure you can figure out the rest. Why don’t you come meet everybody and have some champagne? Dinner’s just starting.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Gil noticed Jillian drift off to her seat.
Probably just as well, he thought. As an editor at the Gazette, the last thing he needed was to get anything going with Jillian Logan. He’d already been warned.
So he met the rest of the party, laughing, joking, shaking hands. And did his best to forget that strange snap of connection at the top of the stairs.
“This is Ariel, Lisa’s good friend,” Alan said, bringing him to the last table.
“And best chick,” Ariel added.
“Maid of honor,” Alan translated. “And you already know Jillian, here.”
“Informally,” Gil said. He extended his hand. “Gil Reynolds, meter caddy.”
“Jillian Logan, usher wrangler.” She reached out.
Her hand was soft and cool in his. It felt fragile but he’d been right about the strength that underlaid it. He’d expected that.
He hadn’t expected it to be trembling.
In surprise, his gaze shot to hers and he saw her eyes widen before she glanced away. She tugged her hand to free it from his. Some perverseness made him hold on a moment longer than necessary, though, until she looked at him.
And he saw the gold of her eyes had darkened to deep amber.
Then he released her to nod down at the empty place setting at her side, the last one left. “Well, how about that? Looks like this is my seat.”
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, Jillian thought with a mixture of giddiness and alarm as she concentrated on taking slow breaths to try to quiet her system. It was supposed to have been a smile on the street, a quick experiment, a little change—emphasis on little. It wasn’t supposed to turn into anything. It definitely wasn’t supposed to last the entire evening. And it certainly wasn’t supposed to make her world feel as though it had tilted on its axis.
Surreptitiously, she rubbed at her right hand where it was hidden in her lap.
Forget about the quick, impersonal eye contact she’d perfected to keep people at a distance. Gil Reynolds’s gaze had drilled right through her, right into her. And now he was sitting just inches away and she was supposed to be able to hold a conversation as if nothing had happened?
Nothing had, she reminded herself. He’d only been playing games.
Gil picked up the beer that the waiter brought him with the salad course and grinned. “To the happy couple,” he said to Jillian.
She tapped his glass with her champagne flute. “To the happy couple,” she said coolly.
“Come on, I apologized. See? I’m not a complete creep.”
“I never said you were.”
“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”
Jillian eyed him over the top of her glass. “I don’t know. Should you be?”
Gil broke out laughing. “You’re a tough case,” he said. “Lisa forgave me.”
“That’s because you went all Continental and started kissing her hand.”
“I’d be happy to kiss yours, too,” he offered, a gleam in his eyes.
“No fair using the same trick twice,” she objected, moving her hand hastily away. “Think up something else. Come on, you’re a smart guy.”
He eyed her. “This isn’t going to be one of those quest things where I’ve got to go bring back a hair from the beard of the Great Chan, is it? Or find the Golden Fleece?”
“How about cleaning the stables of all the Budweiser Clydesdales in a single day? Of course, then you’d mess up that nice suit.”
“Come on, cut me some slack. I’m a working schlemiel. Why do you think I was late?”
“What do you do?”
His mouth curved. “Make trouble.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Her voice was dry. “And where do you make trouble?”
His grin widened. “Anywhere I can. No throwing things,” he added quickly, as she reached for the basket of bread.
“That wasn’t my intention,” she said with dignity. “Although, now that you mention it…”
“Okay, okay. Blazon Media,” he said, relenting.
