A Calculated Romance (3 page)

  Once inside, a maître d' escorted them to a large, private room.  The first to arrive, they had the place to themselves.  James pulled out a chair for Ireland and sat right next to her.  His presence unnerved the girl, so she trained her energy on taking in the details of the space.  Low floral arrangements in whisper-soft pink and cream blooms added an elegant touch to the candle-lit tables.  Monogrammed silver chargers lent formality to the setting.  Each place had multiple forks, which could have sent Ireland into a panic had she not studied up on the subject once she knew she'd be a participant in the wedding instead of just a guest.

She placed her hand on the table and soon felt James's envelope hers.  Her breath caught in her throat, and she closed her eyes for a moment.  When her lashes fluttered open, she examined the top of his hand.  Several veins bulged from his tan skin while darker freckles, a sign he'd spent much time outdoors, splattered across his knuckles.  She could see calluses on the sides of his fingers.  She tried to withdraw, but he gave her a squeeze, trapping her hand beneath his. 

"What do you like to do for fun, Ireland?" he asked.

"I don't have much time. I keep busy with school," she replied without meeting his gaze.

The candlelight enhanced the girl's delicate features and skin tone.  James thought she resembled a fairy or sprite.

"If you tell me what you enjoy doing in your spare time, I'll tell you what I like to do," he bargained.

She sighed.  The man didn't give up easily.

"Whenever I get the chance, I drive out to the desert and search for rocks.  Not too exciting, is it?"

She chanced a glimpse in his direction and saw his face light up with enthusiasm.

"You mean you're a rock hound?  I've got a collection of geodes I found in Cadiz when I was a kid.  But I don't get out very often anymore.  I really miss it," he said, his voice trailing away.

Ireland pulled back and stared him in the eye.

"
You're
a rock hound?" she asked, incredulous.  He didn't resemble any enthusiast she'd ever come across.

"Oh, yeah.  I've been meaning to get back into it and—say, I've got an idea!  Why don't you take me out to the Mojave the next time you go?  How about Sunday after the wedding?"

"I-I'm not sure I can, and—"

"James!  Are you bothering Landi?"  Katrina bent at the waist and placed her head between the couple.  "Because I can always have Sue escort you down the aisle on Saturday," she threatened, lowering her voice.

Jim raised his palms, releasing Ireland's hand, and feigned a look of innocence.  Katrina moved on, distracted by the arrival of Robert's mother.

"Sue is
scary
with a capital
S
.  Promise you won't ever give me up, Landi," he whispered, leaning next to her. 

His face was positioned dizzyingly near her own, and she got an up close look at his thick, blond hair, masculine jaw, and neck.  She couldn't help laughing at his mock fear of Sue even as she drew in his scent.  When he turned to smile at her, she noticed his eyes had returned to a bright shade of blue.

He sat back up in his seat and draped his arm over her shoulders, pulling her closer to him.  She could feel his breath on her neck as his masculine fragrance of spice and leather surrounded her.  His lips were at her ear, asking her something.  She could no longer think straight.  She nodded, feeling at that moment as if she couldn't deny him anything. 

Ireland felt relief when Donald Crimshaw took the seat to her left, commanding her attention with friendly conversation.  Katrina's dad managed to monopolize the girl during dinner, and she enjoyed his fatherly interest.  She could see the resemblance between him and James.  They shared laugh lines around the eyes and mouth and had the same nose and coloring, although his father's hair had faded to silver around his face.

After dinner, some members of the wedding party gave speeches or toasts.  Sue rambled enthusiastically about the bride and groom.  Her voice boomed through the banquet room, and Jim managed to shoot Landi an
I told you so
look, making the girl giggle.  Eventually, things at the restaurant wound down as relatives and close friends of the couple retired for the evening. 

"Where should we go?" Douglas, a cousin of the groom, asked as the wedding party huddled on the sidewalk while waiting for valet parking to return their cars.

Robert LaSalla suggested Sinclair's, an exclusive dance club in Santa Monica.  The owner had been a friend for years and his father's client.  He gave hasty directions to the out-of-towners, and everyone began to split up.

Ireland thought she'd call it a night, but when she tried to move closer to deliver the news to Katrina, she realized Jim had her by the elbow.

"You're coming with me," he said.

Her expression must have given away her intent, because he added, "You already promised."

Landi was about to protest, but she realized she'd probably agreed to his request by nodding at the dinner table when she'd found his presence so overwhelming.

"All right," she said, her voice cracking.

During the ride to the club, James carried the conversation, chatting about music, dancing, and the wedding.  Ireland remained quiet, smiling and nodding at the appropriate times, although her nerves got the better of her.

"Now it's my turn to ask what's wrong," he said, reaching across the center console to give her hand a gentle squeeze.

She turned to see if his concern was real.  She thought she observed genuine worry and empathy in his expression.  She checked his eyes, just to be sure.

"I don't know how to dance," she confessed, fearing he'd think her a complete rube.

She watched as his jaw dropped, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward almost immediately.  He turned his head forward to keep his eyes on the road, a slight smile playing across his face.

"I can't wait to teach you," he said in a low voice, still holding her hand.

Chapter 3
-Learning Something New-

Sinclair's took up an entire floor in a boutique hotel just across the Pacific Coast Highway from the ocean.  A private elevator whisked guests to a Moroccan-themed bar, which gave way to the dance club.  A large balcony allowed for a space to escape the loud music and flashing lights and enjoy the relaxing sound of waves crashing against the shore.  Spotlights trained at the beach provided a limited view of sand and the Pacific.

"Do you want something to drink?" James asked above the din, leading Landi to a booth in the corner.

He'd left his tie in the car, and now he removed his jacket, loosening his collar.  She caught a glimpse of his throat and Adam's apple and wondered what it would feel like to stroke his neck.   

"Maybe later," she said, her voice raised.

"What did you think of Robert getting us past that velvet rope?" he asked, his lips grazing her earlobe and shooting sparks through her.

"It was amazing.  I felt like I was walking a red carpet," she replied, trying to hide her reaction to him as other members of their group filled in the empty spots around their table.

James made sure that he stayed next to Ireland.  As soon as the DJ played a slow song, he tugged on her wrist.

"Come on. Time for your lesson," he whispered against her ear.

Ireland felt a shot of electricity run from her earlobe to her toes as her heart began to race.  He pulled her from the booth, then guided her onto the dance floor with his hand at the small of her back. 

"This is the easy part," he coaxed, leading her to the far side of the floor.  "Your hands go here," he said, gliding his own slowly up her arms until he'd lifted them to his shoulders.

The sheer netting of her sleeves scrunched and rumpled beneath his touch, causing the most delicious sensations along her skin.  Contact with him brought a fire to her cheeks, and she hoped he didn't notice.  His fingers played with hers before he placed them at the nape of his neck.  Then, he ran his hands back down her arms and sides, finally stopping at her waist. 

"So far, so good, right?" he said in a serious tone, stepping back to look her in the eye.

It was a loaded question.  Landi bit her lip.  He took his job as dance instructor seriously.

"Uh huh," she murmured, barely keeping her wits.

He tugged her closer, pulling her against his chest.  She felt his muscles ripple beneath his shirt, then go taut.  Without any space between them, Ireland allowed herself to melt against him.  She'd never experienced this kind of closeness with a man, not even Rick.  She shut her eyes and immersed herself in his scent.  What harm could one dance do?

"Now, just move to the music, and you're dancing," he whispered, allowing his lips to graze her ear and linger close to her neck. 

He tightened his grasp on her waist, then slid his hands to the girl's hips.  She didn't notice when the music ended, segueing into a more upbeat song.  James lifted her chin and gave her the warmest smile, his mouth matching his eyes this time.  He held her gaze for several seconds before placing his lips on her forehead.  He let his kiss linger a moment before he snatched her hand and pulled her off the dance floor and towards the balcony.

"It was getting a little warm in there, don't you think?" he said once they were seated outside.

They had the area to themselves, except for two smokers at the far end of the patio.  The rhythm of the pounding surf and fresh sea air—or maybe the fact that he no longer held her—broke the spell of the dance floor.

"No," she answered before she could stop herself, realizing he might have meant something other than room temperature.  She'd always been a truthful person.

He shot her a quizzical look, then laughed.

"Landi." He searched for the right words.  "I—I want to get to know you better." He spilled the last part as if it were a substitution for what he really wanted to say but didn't dare.  "Is that all right with you?" he added.

"Yes."

Jim chuckled.  "You're not one for extra speech, are you?  If Katrina finds us out here, don't let her turn me over to Sue."

She burst out laughing, a real belly laugh that he'd never heard from her before.

"Promise me," he demanded.

She nodded between guffaws.

"Can I ask you a question, James?" she said after her laughter subsided.

"Sure."

"Are you a playboy like everyone says?"

Landi watched as James's facial expression exploded from confidence to surprise.  She couldn't help feeling self-satisfied that she'd stunned the older, more experienced man, however briefly.  It didn't take long for him to regain his composure and his practiced, devastating grin.  He coughed.

"No.  I—I . . ." Jim stumbled over his words.

Ireland's gaze was unlike any other.  He felt as if he'd been given a truth serum.  Not wanting to lie to the girl, he swallowed hard and continued, "I used to be a bit of a playboy—a long time ago, according to others.  I left that behavior behind me."

Landi continued to scrutinize his face, searching for sincerity.  James tugged on his collar, his grin collapsing into a worried look as his brows furrowed.  He didn't like the feeling of being read.  He'd been trained to read others—to interpret their level of truthfulness.  Now that the tables were turned, he grew uncomfortable. 

"Would you two like anything from the bar?" A pretty waitress asked.

Relieved that something, anything, broke the spell Ireland had cast over him, Jim jumped at the distraction, a fluid smile spreading across his face.

"Yes, a daiquiri for the lady and a martini, dry," he answered immediately.

The waitress retreated inside before the girl could protest.

"I don't really drink, Jim," she said.

"Well, this is a special occasion.  Don't worry. We'll dance it off."

Jim filled the ten minutes it took for their drinks to arrive with small talk.  They discussed the wedding, her courses at the Gemology Institute, his new job, and their upcoming trip to the Mojave desert.

When the waitress deposited the glasses on their small table, he took the opportunity to scoot his chair closer to hers.

"To getting to know each other," he said, clinking his martini against her drink.

"To new friendships," she added.

He watched as she sipped slowly, puckering her lips after the first taste.

"That's the house specialty, a Clementine daiquiri.  They grow those oranges in Morocco," he explained.  "Do you like it?" he asked.

She took another sip.

"Yes, very tasty.  Have you been to Morocco?"

Ireland fluttered her long lashes and smiled as she enjoyed her beverage.  Her curiosity piqued, she now felt hungry for information about the far off places James had probably experienced.  She'd never been out of California.

"Uh huh," he responded, taking a drink of his martini.  "It's mainly desert, but they do have agriculture and some forests.  They export cork from their cork trees and use their eucalyptus trees to make charcoal, which in turn, they use for cooking fuel.  Oh, and they grow grapes for wine."

"Where else have you been?"

The eager expression on the girl's face melted James.  He proceeded to share about many of the countries he'd visited as she finished her cocktail.  Landi asked about the culture, food, and what stood out to him about these exotic locales.

"What impressed me most about Egypt was—"

James stopped mid-sentence, noticing that the girl had closed her eyes.  Each blink of her lids had lasted longer and longer while he expounded on the middle east.  Sure she'd fallen asleep, he leaned back in his chair and examined the girl's profile at his leisure.  A cascade of bright red, natural curls framed her face and trailed across her small shoulders.  Slight in stature, she seemed light as a feather the other day when he lifted her from Kate's apartment floor.  Her skin appeared a translucent, milky white except for the faded orange freckles on the bridge of her small, tip-tilted nose.  Fine, reddish-brown brows framed long, dark lashes, which hung from lids that now hid her large, emerald green eyes.  He wanted to kiss her soft, pink lips and delicate chin.

"You're the loveliest thing I've seen in all my travels," he whispered, not wishing to disturb her.

  He allowed his gaze to wander down her slim neck and across her chest.  He watched as her breasts raised and lowered with each steady breath, and he again remembered how she felt under him at his sister's apartment.  His eyes roamed to her waist and hips.  Lithe arms attached to fragile wrists and the tiny hands that rested on her lap.  He took the blanket offered by a passing waitress and tucked the throw under the girl's chin, draping it over her body.

James caught himself breathing in rhythm to the waves crashing on the beach across the street.  He grasped the metal arms of the bistro chair to keep from touching Ireland.  He longed to stroke her neck, kiss her lips, embrace her—protect her.  Yet, she wasn't like the other women he'd known.  She seemed oblivious to his charms and able to see through him, look right into his soul with those deep green orbs of hers.  A chill ran up his spine in spite of the space heater near his table.  Her indifference would be a challenge.  This girl, this innocent otherworldly creature, had the power to change him, hurt him, alter his life.  He didn't enjoy that knowledge.  The foreign feeling that he didn't have the upper hand with her disturbed him.  He wouldn't allow her that kind of power.  He'd get what he wanted and get out, as fast as possible.

Ireland awoke with a start.  It took her a second to realize where she was.  James smiled at her from across the table, where he'd repositioned himself.  Moist, cool night air that one could almost see circled them.  She pulled the blanket higher.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"One forty-five," he said after checking his watch.

"Where is everyone?"

"They're still in there," he said, jerking his thumb towards the club, "dancing away.   I'm sorry you only got one lesson."

His grin made Landi melt.  She pulled the blanket from her upper body and shoved her chair back.

"Where'd this come from?" she asked, pointing to the cozy throw.

"Oh, the club provides those for people daring enough to stay out in the night air.  I wanted to make sure you didn't catch a chill, so I tucked you in."

"Th-thank you," she stammered.  "I need to get home.  I have to get up for class in the morning."

James rose and took the blanket from her, offering his elbow.  He escorted her back inside, where they said their goodbyes to the rest of the wedding party.  Katrina raised an eyebrow, but he gave his sister the
thumbs up,
hoping to assuage her worry.  Once out of sight, he draped his jacket and arm around Ireland, trying to keep her warm.  A chill had definitely rolled in off the ocean along with the fog.

"Did you have fun tonight?" he asked on the drive back to her car.  It had become very important to him that she enjoyed the evening.

"I did," she said, and turning her head, gave him a sweet smile.  "I'm sorry I fell asleep on you.  Did you miss out on everything babysitting me on the patio?" she added.

"I didn’t miss out on a thing, Landi."  His voice was low and sensual, causing sparks of electricity to run up and down her body and her breathing to become ragged.  She felt uncomfortable with the reaction his words created.

"I guess the alcohol got to me," she confessed.  "Although, I usually get to bed pretty early.  This is a late night for me," she said in a rush, adding, "I appreciate your sitting with me.  You could have just left me out there or awoken me."

She felt genuinely touched that he stuck with her all night.  She was sure he would have enjoyed himself more on the dance floor.  Instead, he babysat a boring girl with two left feet.

"Not a chance," he said in what sounded like a low growl.

Ireland had no idea what he meant, so she said nothing, riding in silence the rest of the way to her parked car.

"Here I am," she said as they turned onto the lane by the church.

He pulled up behind her old compact car.  Even at this time of night, countless vehicles lined the crowded west LA street, so James just blocked the road.  He put his auto in park, jumped out, and ran around the vehicle to open Landi's door.  Nervous, she had trouble unfastening her seat belt, so he reached across her lap and did it for her, allowing his fingers to caress her supple arm as he did so.  Her skin burned at his touch, but she focused on maintaining her composure.  In another moment, she'd be in her own car and wouldn't have to fight for control of her own body.

James took her hand and helped her from the vehicle, guiding her to her compact with his hand on her lower back.  He took her keys from her hand and opened the door.

"I'm going to follow you to your place, to make sure you arrive safely," he said, shutting her car before she could respond and jogging back to his own.

  
Darn!

Landi didn't know if she'd cry or laugh all the way home, but she didn't want an audience.  Now, she had to maintain the strict control she'd needed earlier.  At least he wasn't seated right beside her anymore.