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“If you’d agree to come home with me, that would change.”
The deep cadence of his voice was as dusky as a whisper, as sensuous as a kiss placed ever so softly on her bare shoulder.
“Do you play chess, Hannah?”
Hmm. Her steps slowed and her breathing deepened. She was trying to follow the course the conversation was taking, really she was, but a young woman with dark hair and a skintight dress drew her attention. Why, it almost looked like Maria.
“Or are you more the arm-wrestling type?”
What would Maria be doing in San Antonio? She never came to the city anymore. Hannah’s heart beat a little harder. She loved her younger sister, and she ached for a glimpse of her. She wanted so much more.
“Hannah?”
“Hmm?”
“Is everything all right?”
She glanced up at Parker, and then back at the sidewalk across the street. She’d lost the young woman in the glare of headlights. Hannah surveyed the entire area. There were other dark-haired women out and about, but the woman in the brightly colored dress was nowhere to be seen.
“I’m fine,” she told Parker. “I thought I saw someone I knew.”
She told herself it couldn’t have been Maria. Surely there were a lot of women in San Antonio who bore the dark, exotic traits of their Apache and Mexican parentage. And Maria certainly wasn’t the only girl in Texas who had a walk she claimed measured seven point five on the Richter scale.
“An old flame?”
She tried to recall how the conversation had gone from bachelor parties to old flames. They’d reached an intersection a few blocks away from The Pink Flamingo. Waiting for the crossing signal, she studied Parker’s profile. His nose was straight, his chin was well defined and set at an angle that was the epitome of smugness. He glanced down, his gaze homing in on hers.
“Not an old flame. My sister. But it wasn’t. Either of those things. An old flame, I mean, or Maria.”
Hannah wondered when she’d become daft. While she was at it, she wondered when she’d been so drawn to a man she had no business being drawn to. She was so caught up in what was happening between her and Parker that she didn’t notice the voluptuous redhead until she’d sauntered up to Parker, ran a long, bloodred fingernail along his cheek, and slipped something into his pocket. She wiggled her hips, winked, puckered up her painted lips and kissed the air near Parker’s cheek.
With a quirk of her eyebrows, Hannah watched her saunter away. Oh, no, Maria most definitely did not have sole rights to provocative moves and gestures.
The Walk signal came on. Ignoring it, Hannah reached blithely into Parker’s pocket, pulling out a skimpy pair of panties. “How sweet.”
“That isn’t what it looks like.”
Hannah lifted her gaze to his. “This isn’t a pair of silk, thong bikini panties?”
“Silk? Really?”
She batted his hand away. “It’s white, but in this case I doubt it’s virginal.”
Parker regarded the item in Hannah’s hand. She was right. Paula was definitely no virgin. “All right. It’s what it looks like, but it isn’t what you’re thinking.”
“Then, she isn’t a friend of yours?”
“A client, actually. A former one. Paula’s just trying to show her appreciation.”
“For what, pray tell?”
The unusual combination of vitality and sarcasm in Hannah’s expression made it difficult for Parker not to smile. His heartbeat sounded in his own ears as they started across the street, hurrying at the prodding of a car horn.
Reluctant to release her elbow even though they’d reached the other side, he said, “I won her ten thousand dollars a month, the summer place, the winter condo in Florida, and if I remember correctly, the family poodle.”
“What did the husband get?”
“Let’s just say he’s never slipped a pair of his Jockey shorts into my pocket.”
“I’m relieved to hear it. Tell me, Parker…never mind.”
“What do you want to ask me?”
“It’s none of my business.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
They’d reached the sidewalk in front of The Perfect Occasion. She stared up at him, but she didn’t finish her question. He answered as if she had. “No, I don’t, Hannah.”
Her eyes must have shown her surprise, because he said, “That’s what you wanted to know, wasn’t it? If I sleep with my female clients?”
Some would call her a fool for believing him, but her instincts told her he was telling the truth. After all, he might have jumped to the wrong conclusion when they’d first met, but he hadn’t taken her up on what he’d thought she was proposing.
“Or were you wondering if I sleep with every woman who slips her underwear into my pocket? Why don’t you try it and find out?”
“That isn’t my style.”
He seemed to be assessing her statement. “Your style of panties? Or your style of invitations?”
She fought a valiant battle not to smile. And lost. “Neither.”
“Pity.”
The streetlight cast a white glow over Parker, deepening the blue of his eyes, making his smile appear stark and white and oh, so inviting.
“I like what you’re thinking.”
She closed her gaping mouth. Could the man read her mind?
“I want to see you again. Say you’ll have dinner with me tomorrow night.”
She shook her head, fitting her key into the lock. “We’re complete opposites.”
He took the key from her hand and opened the door. The man had smooth down to an art form. “Opposites attract.”
She chided herself for falling into that one. “This is a good place to end our walk, Parker.”
“I can think of a better place.”
She was on the first of two steps that led to another door, which ultimately led to her apartment above the boutique. “I’m not looking for a fling. I’m not into casual sex.”
“There would be nothing casual about the sex we’d have.”
Her breath came out in a rush. “You’re presumptuous.”
“I’m honest.”
“So you’ve said.”
“I honestly want you, Hannah. But I’ll settle for getting to know you better. For now. Invite me upstairs.”
He was standing so close she could feel his breath on her hair. Hannah loved summertime. She loved the heat, the intensity, the vibrancy of it; she didn’t even mind the humidity, but suddenly, she felt too warm. She couldn’t seem to come up with the word no, couldn’t seem to think, couldn’t seem to move.
Parker had no such problem. He tried another key, and opened the second door. “We can discuss the party, have a cup of—that’s right, you don’t drink coffee, it’s the caffeine—decaf. I can invite you to dinner, you can say yes, and then you can kiss me.”
Before she knew how it had happened, she was raising her face to his, and kissing him, exactly as he’d said. He hadn’t coached her about touching him, so that must have been her own idea. What an idea it was. He felt like a dream, but he was solid, hard, real. His shirt bunched in her fingers; heat radiated outward from his chest, his arms, his shoulders, warming her hands everywhere she touched.
One minute they were standing on the stairs behind a closed door; the next thing she knew she was sprawled on top of him on the stairs, a tangle of arms and legs, hearts racing, breathing erratic, mouths joined. His hand inched between their bodies, covering her breast. She arched toward him, passion rising up in her, clouding her brain.
She couldn’t control her gasp of pleasure at the feel of his mouth at her breast through the thin fabric of her shirt and the lace of her bra. She grasped his head, and whispered his name, only to groan slightly when the corner of the step jabbed into her back.
“Let’s go upstairs.” His voice was a husky murmur, at one with the tremor he’d started deep inside her. He rolled her on top of him, so that she straddled his legs. The level of intimacy in their positions was about to go through the roof.
She had to stop.
She wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted to feel his mouth on her naked skin.
“Hannah?”
Her head was spinning, but she heard herself say, “No, Parker.”
He went very still.
“We don’t even know each other,” she whispered. “And we just can’t do this. I just can’t do this.”
She felt the change that came over him. He stiffened. Not with anger, but with quiet acceptance. “I know I should apologize, but that felt too good, and I’m afraid I’m just not sorry.”
He’d said he was honest. Tugging at the hem of her shirt, she stood. He climbed to his feet much more slowly. She noticed he didn’t ask her to invite him upstairs again, but he wanted to. It was there in his eyes, in his deeply drawn breath and the grim set of his jaw.
“We never got around to discussing that party you mentioned this afternoon,” she said conversationally.
He quirked an eyebrow in her direction.
She shrugged. “I was trying to take your mind off it.”
To his credit, he didn’t say, “It?” But he might as well have. Hannah made a valiant effort not to smile.
Parker’s heart was still racing, his breathing was still deep. No wonder. He was still in the throes of a strong, swirling passion, and her “barely there” grin wasn’t helping. It wasn’t like him to lose control. Hell, he was thirty-one years old, not eighteen.
It was probably a good thing one of them had kept their wits about them. Probably. He bent one knee in an effort to ease the fit of his pants. It was going to take him a couple of minutes to get himself completely under control.
“I’ve always heard it’s helpful to think about negative things.”
Under other circumstances, there would have been something enchanting in her humor. “Unspent desire is negative,” he said.
She smoothed a hand down her skirt, and sat again, patting the space next to her. As he lowered to a sitting position on the steps, she said, “Perhaps it would be better to think more along the lines of a cash flow problem, or maybe the inflation rate, or world hunger, maybe, or family difficulties.”
He scowled.
Aha, she’d hit a nerve. “Tell me about your family.”
“There’s not a lot to tell.”
“There’s always a lot to tell when it comes to family. Everybody thinks their family is the only one with problems, but I think pretty much every family has its eccentricities.”
He cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“Come on, Parker, give it your best shot.”
His sigh was long and loud. “I grew up in your basic bitter, all-American dysfunctional family. One father, one mother, one sister. There was a lot of yelling, a lot of doors slamming, a lot of accusations and recriminations. My parents divorced when I was eight. I lived with my father, my sister lived with our mother. And everyone nurtured the bitterness for all it was worth.”
“Time hasn’t helped?” she asked.
“My sister hasn’t spoken to my father since my mother’s funeral, five years ago. Even then, it wasn’t pretty.”
“What about you?” she asked. “Do you ever talk to your sister?”
She felt his shrug near her own shoulder. “Not often. She’s stubborn. Won’t accept my help. I guess you could say Beth and I aren’t close.”
“My sister and I aren’t close, either.”
“Ah, yes, the ever-elusive Maria.”
Hannah’s strained relationship with her only sister was her greatest sadness, greater even than the loss of her big, burly, gentle father ten years ago. For a moment she’d let her guard down, forgetting that Parker put as much thought and effort into obtaining divorces for his clients as she put into planning weddings for hers. His description of Maria reminded Hannah that she and Parker weren’t on the same side when it came to her mother’s marriage to Ryan. Parker was Ryan’s divorce attorney. She was Lily’s wedding planner.
“My parents were happily married, Parker. They were living proof that marriages can survive obstacles, heartaches, hard times, and that the two people involved can grow more deeply in love over time.”
That’s what she wanted. To love, honor and cherish the man she eventually married. Until death. Apparently, Parker didn’t believe in love or in marriage. She remained pensive, deep in thought.
“Tell me,” she said quietly sometime later. “Have you always felt this way about marriage? Or has your profession tainted your view?”
He slid his palm over the fabric covering his knee. “It has nothing to do with being tainted. People are born. For the next twenty or thirty years, they’re single. They get married. Ultimately, they get divorced. Eventually, they die. Some people repeat a couple of those steps. Once was enough for me.”
She turned her head fast, but the implication rendered her speechless. He’d been married? Once? When? Was he still married?
He caught her looking at his left hand. “I’ve been divorced for almost four years. But you’re right,” he said, glancing into her eyes, and then at her lips. “Talking about the negative side of life has done the trick.”
He moved fast, but she still should have seen the kiss coming. His lips moved over hers swiftly, intensely, masterfully, but only briefly.
