Open Invitation? (15 page)

“I
CAN EXPLAIN
that,” said Lil, who wished that the floor would open up and swallow her for brunch. She didn't even care if it burped afterward.

“You
can?
” Dan's voice exuded fascination. “Oh, I can't wait to hear this.”

Lil stared at the Day-Glo orange monstrosity and its happy attachments and wished a certain blonde a gruesome death. Perhaps clad in shiny pink polyester and blue gingham accessories. And definitely in cheap, nasty shoes. Flat ones.

I hate you, Shannon
. Lil closed her eyes and tried to relieve her feelings by adding a lousy haircut, a bad dye job and oversize, suntan-colored panty hose to Shan's burial outfit.

“Would you believe that a marketing company selected my name randomly as a single woman and asked me to test the product?”

Dan considered it and then shook his head. “No.”

“How about believing that it isn't mine?”

“Nope. It belongs to you, or you wouldn't be the color of a West Texas sunset.”

Lil cleared her throat. “Okay. Then would you be
lieve that Shannon put it on my desk as payback for the rice cakes I left in the Krispy Kreme box?”

He rubbed at his chin. “Maybe. That woman is evil.”

“Yes, she is. And I need your help to come up with something worse than this in order to pay her back.”

“Done,” he said. “I still owe her for giving away my suitcases. But in the meantime, would you have any interest in, uh, trying out Big O there with company?”

“No!”

He sighed. “You're no fun.”

“Just because I'm not perverted doesn't mean I'm no fun!”

Dan stared at her and laughed. “Lil, playing with your boyfriend and a couple of toys isn't perverted. It's pretty harmless, in fact.”

“You're not my boyfriend!”

His face shuttered. “Right.”

“You're my client.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And…and we're late. We have to go.”

“After you, your highness.”

“Don't call me that, please.”

“My apologies, milady.”

Lil badly wanted to stomp her foot, but she controlled herself. Ladies did not stamp their feet, nor did they scream, nor did they kill their clients or business partners even when sorely tempted.

They got into the Mustang and headed out toward the stables. Dan looked pensive as they drove, a half smile on his face. As they turned into the gates of Central
Pines Stables and progressed down the white-fenced driveway he tried one more time.

“That, um, bumpy attachment sure looked like fun. You sure you don't want to get together and—”

“I'm quite sure. Now stop it, Dan. This is starting to feel like harassment.”

“Sorry, darlin'. We professors emeritus of Uncivilization 101 can get too enthusiastic over our subject matter at times.”

Lil made no comment as he parked the car next to the large concrete pad with rails where the horses were bathed. A huge dun that Dan said was a Holsteiner cross gelding was tethered there while a stable hand rinsed soap off his massive back.

His eyes were sleepy and the only movement he made now and then was a casual lip-twitch or a swat with his tail.

They got out of the car as the stable hand ambled off for something.

“You gonna disappear into the office again, afraid of a little equine odor?”

“No. I like animals. I've just never been exposed to…” Lil searched for a proper word. “To…”

“Horseshit?”

“Dan! Language.”

“Yes, I used some.” He grinned unrepentantly and chucked her under the chin.

She wasn't used to chin-chucking, either. “I'd never been exposed to horse by-products before, so I'm afraid that I found it disgusting.”

Dan looked just beyond her, at the big dun animal, and hooted with laughter.

She turned. “What's so funny?”

“Big Boy, there—well, he likes you. And he's very relaxed.”

It took Lil a moment to register that the equine was dangling its quite enormous reproductive organ in the most complacent, unashamed way!

She couldn't help staring at the monstrous penis.

Dan hooted again and she closed her eyes. “That is…that is
repellent!
”

“Catherine the Great didn't think so. You are so damned cute when you're shocked, Lil.”

“Where did it come from? He didn't have that a moment ago—I would have noticed it when we drove in!”

“Horses have a sheath, Lil. He just happens to have dropped his Mr. Happy down because he's feeling relaxed.”

“I thought you said he was a gelding!”

“He is. But that just means they cut off the poor bastard's balls, not his tool.”

“Well, can't you persuade him to retract it again?”

Dan got a good laugh out of that.

“I'm so glad to be a source of amusement for you,” she said in acid tones.

“Chill, Lil.”

Dorothy spied them from the barn and came over to join them and show Dan where his assigned horse was.

“Tricks again?” he asked.

“No. This time you'll be on Sonata. She's a sweet
heart, very smooth gaits. She's the chestnut in stall number eighteen. You know where the tack room is?”

Dad nodded.

“Okay, then. I'll see you in the ring in just a few minutes.”

Lil dusted off a spot on the bleachers and prepared to watch the lesson. Dan took off his cowboy boots and slid his feet into the polished black English riding boots, which looked wrong on him in so many ways. He still refused to wear the breeches, and she was oddly, secretly relieved. She didn't know if she'd laugh or cry to see him in full chase regalia. Again, she wondered why Dan cared about impressing his mother, father and sister. He was so irrepressibly Texas alpha male that it just didn't fit his character.

And he had such a chip on his shoulder about the English that it would be borderline comical—if the chip weren't rooted in a soul-deep pain. He'd been a kid abandoned by his mother, who'd taken off for greener English pastures. Was he here with Lil to prove that his mother had made a mistake? That he was every bit as good as this man Nigel, her husband?

Lil was afraid so. And that realization made her heart twist and turn over. Under all that cocky Western bravado and sexual aggression beat the heart of a boy who'd been rejected, found wanting.

Despite the incongruity of the English riding boots on Dan, and the smaller European saddle, even Lil could tell that he was a damn good rider. Yesterday's fall had been an aberration. For today, once he got his heels
down and his hands into position, he moved as one with the horse. At a canter, which was what Dorothy called the gait midway between a trot and a gallop, Dan's seat didn't come out of the saddle an inch and his lower back seemed fluid, supple, absorbing all the shock of Sonata's hooves hitting the ground.

Sitting on the bleachers and watching him ride, Lil began to get aroused despite her best efforts not to. His long legs astride the horse, the power of his hands, the way the bulge at his groin sat the saddle.

What was wrong with her? And why did she picture him astride
her,
in her soft bed at home?

She truly had to get beyond this. She'd walked a few steps on the wild side, at least her pretty tame version of it. She'd finally had some incredible sex. So she needed to move on. Because getting attached to some cowpoke who lived on a Texas ranch was just…silly. Immature.

She was a modern woman, not the heroine of a fairytale romance. A pity, but there were realities to be faced, and her happily-ever-after did not include this cowboy client with the magic mouth and hands.

She watched Dan take several fences on Sonata, murmuring to her and patting her for a job well done. He'd even brought a couple of apples for her, which still resided on the dashboard of the Mustang. He was a good man. He was an incredibly sexy man. He just couldn't be
her
man. After all, he was leaving for his sister's wedding at the end of a week. And then she'd never see him again.

Would you have any interest in trying out Big O with company?

Not really. Because it would be such a poor, plastic substitute for you.

She shamelessly ogled his butt as he posted past her side of the ring, and felt heat bloom between her thighs.
Great, Lil. You're jealous of a horse, now? Oh, Nana would be so proud.

Nana would never know. Lil massaged her temples. And thank God for that. She did miss her so very much…but there was an utterly awful kernel of relief within her, relief at finally, after so many years of being the model granddaughter and not wanting to cause Nana any trouble— Oh, God. Could she even
think
this without being struck down by lightning?

Lil gulped. She tried to shove away that horrible tremor of relief that she now finally had the freedom to be her own person. To not have to express gratitude and obedience every day to the woman who had raised her since she'd been a colicky infant.

No matter how sweet and loving Nana Lisbeth had been, she'd never let Lil forget that she'd been an unexpected burden to an old woman. That Lil owed her pretty behavior and respect. Nana, in her gentle way, had been an exacting task-mistress and a benign dictator.

 

D
AN LOUNGED
on his hotel bed, watching ESPN and trying not to think about Lilia and the hot-orange vibrator. He wasn't under any illusion that she'd touch it, much less use it, but a man could sure fantasize.

A man could also get blue balls by doing that, and he was damned if he'd jack off like some horny teenager. However, he had an irritating, persistent erection and he needed to make it go away before it deranged him.

What was the best way to deflate a real bastard of a hard-on? Dan sighed. He reached for his cell phone and called his mother.

Sure enough, before he'd even gotten past the country code, his fat lead pipe had wilted into overcooked linguine.

“Hallooo?” she answered herself on the third ring.

Great Scot—wherever were the servants when ya needed 'em?
“Haaa, Mama. How you doin'?”

“Daniel! What a lovely surprise.”

I'll bet. Did I catch you painting your nails? Oh, no—your manicurist would do that for you.
Dan quickly bypassed the sordid memory that he'd had a manicure recently, too. He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. Listen, I was wondering what to get Claire for a weddin' gift.”

“She's registered at Harrod's, darling. Get her, oh, I don't know—the silver punch bowl, perhaps?”

“Does anybody still use those things?”

“Yes, of course, Daniel. In finer homes.”

Homes unlike the one I live in, eh?
“Well, all right, then. I'll do that.”

“Are you working with Miss London, Daniel?”

Not, are you happy? Are you healthy? What's new in your life? But “are you going to embarrass us?”
“Yes, I am, Mama. And she's doing wonders with even such raw, rude material as me.”

“There's no need for your sarcasm, Daniel.”

“How's Claire?” he asked, changing the subject. “She gettin' any preweddin' jitters?”

“Claire is fine. Are you going to work on your accent?”

His blood started to simmer. “Mama, I was born in West Texas, same as you. And I don't know how much time it took you to speak like the queen, but I'll bet it was more than two weeks.”

A long pause ensued. “Well, it's of no consequence. You just take after your father's side of the family.”

Dan's blood came to a full boil and he gritted his teeth, clenching the tiny phone so hard that if it had been alive, it surely would have squeaked. “Is that what you're gonna tell people? That my unfortunate speech patterns come from Dad, who was just a passing weakness in your life? The trailer trash you left behind? That's beautiful, Mama.”

“Daniel, I don't like the tone you're taking with me. Now, I've got to toddle on, my dear. I'll tell Claire you sent your love.
Ciao
.”

And just like that, the line went dead. Dan resisted the urge to stomp on his cell phone and smash it into a couple hundred little pieces.

“The friggin' rain in friggin' Spain fell gently on the friggin' plains.” Dan got off the bed and headed for the shower, his third that day after the stables and then the dancing lesson with the French-fried Fruitcake.

Jolly friggin' good, then. He was going to another uptight white tablecloth place with Miz Lilia. Maybe he'd toss the dinner rolls at unsuspecting patrons, and suck
the wine right out of the bottle. Maybe he'd tie his napkin around his neck like a handkerchief on a dog.

Muttering, Dan stripped off his clothes and got into the shower. There was no way he was gonna remember all Lil's BS rules. What he needed was for her to come with him and keep him out of trouble.

He froze, the soap clamped under his left armpit. Of course. According to the fussy formal invite, he was welcome to bring a date to this blasted wedding. Who better to bring than Lilia London? Now, all he had to do was convince her that she wanted to take a short holiday to Britain.

D
AN MADE SURE
to be on his very best behavior that evening. He did not bring up the orange dildo. He did not tease Lil about anything. He told her how beautiful she looked.

He carefully placed his napkin on his lap, ordered from the wine list with aplomb and even ate the nasty peppery weed things in his salad without complaining.

He did not drink from the bottle or throw the dinner rolls. He even tried to speak more like Lilia and less like himself.

At last cappuccino and dessert arrived. He stirred the weird little crystallized sugar stick around in the coffee and pretended that he wasn't impatient as hell for the damn thing to go ahead and melt before next year. He lifted the cup with his pinky curved out, and watched her watch him with silent approval—but also puzzlement.

Finally she asked, “Dan, you're doing such a lovely job tonight that I have to wonder one of two things. First, are you feeling all right? And second, is there something you want from me…besides sex?”

Well, there goes my smooth segue. Damn it
.

Dan eyed the slice of chocolate torte in front of him
for a moment before meeting her gaze. It tapered into a point as sharp as her question. The thin wafer on top of it was as dark as her eyes. He found her more tempting.

Step carefully and don't make a hash out of this, man.

He quirked his mouth and leaned back slightly in his chair. “As a matter of fact, I have a proposal for you.”

Her eyes radiated wariness.

“A decent one.” He smiled.

She didn't.

“You've taught me a lot, Lil. You have given this diamond-in-the-rough a lot of polish. But there's only so much you can do with a cowboy in a couple of weeks. I can dress better and stop saying ‘ain't,' but I'm still no Cary Grant. And my mo—uh, my family—they tend to get my goat without half-trying. Which can be socially dangerous. So I'm wondering if you'd like to take an all-expenses-paid trip to England…as my date for the wedding.”

She opened her mouth, but he held up a hand. “I promise you that if you come, I'll be a perfect gentleman. You can have your own hotel room, no strings attached. Believe it or not, I am capable of taking ‘no' for an answer. Even if I don't like it.”

She put down her fork, lifted her cappuccino cup to her lips and eyed him over the rim. “I don't know, Dan.”

“I'll make it worth your while. I'll pay you. We'll fly first-class. Shoot, I'll even throw in some shopping on Bond Street and a Big Ben shot glass.” He grinned.

“Dan, you know I could never go shopping on your tab. That's out of the question.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm not your wife or your daughter!”

“So?”

“Dan. It would be…behaving like your mistress. There's an element of sleaziness to it. Do you see?”

“No. It's a gift.”

“It's not a gift. A gift is something you choose, wrap and present for a special occasion.”

“But I'd screw that up, I know it. Better for you to choose.”

“Maybe I'm just hopelessly old-fashioned, but I can't accept a shopping spree from you.”

“Unless I marry you first.”

Her eyes flew to his, startled, and he laughed. “You're just so damned cute with all your strange little rules. Most women would jump at the chance to grab my credit cards for the afternoon.”

She sipped her cappuccino. “I do thank you for the offer. It's very kind of you.”

He sighed. “But socially unacceptable. See, that's what I'm talking about. I had no idea! That's why I need you to come with me to the wedding. You can stomp on my toe or jab me in the butt with your pocketbook when I screw up.”

Lil came close to spitting her coffee onto her dessert, but she managed to swallow it, her shoulders shaking. “Dan, you're doing very well, really. And I could never do physical violence to you in the name of etiquette—”

“It sorta defeats the purpose, don't it?”

“In a word, yes. There are more subtle signals.”

“Lilia, you know by now that I can't even spell the word subtle.”

Her eyes twinkled.

“So you'll come?”

She sighed. “Dan, I've already put off my vacation once. And given the, um, physical tension between us, my traveling to England with you is simply not a good idea.”

“But I need you. And I'll pay for that vacation of yours later. And I promise to be a gentleman.”

“Mmm.” She toyed with her own slice of chocolate torte, taking a bit onto her fork but then laying it down on the dessert plate again. He knew she wanted it—he'd learned by now that she loved chocolate—so why wouldn't she allow herself the pleasure? She wasn't in any danger at all of getting fat.

“The problem inherent in your request, Dan, and indeed, in our working relationship, is that…oh, dear. Should I really say this? You've hired me to transform you into a gentleman. But I like you so much more as a rude, sexually-charged, tasty cowboy.”

Lilia took her napkin and put it casually, correctly to the left of her plate while he stared at her.

Seeming surprised at her own words, she reached for her tiny handbag, her elegant, shiny hair swinging as she bent to retrieve it. “Will you excuse me while I find the ladies' room?”

And he gazed after her as the confounded woman walked away from the table, her rear view something to be framed for
Vogue
or
Harper's Bazaar. Tasty?

 

L
IL WALKED
like a lady all the way to the ladies' room, but once inside she collapsed on the velvet fainting couch, since she felt like, well, fainting.

Had she really just said that to Dan Granger? But it was true. There was something about the man that held enormous appeal for her. He was larger than life, crude, rude and…unbelievably sweet. Sexy as
hell
. She might not be able to
do
it, but it made her hot and breathless that he'd asked her to sit on his beautifully shaped, reckless, hedonistic mouth.

Lil squirmed and pressed her thighs together, just as the door opened and another woman came in.

She glanced at Lil and enquired, “Are you all right?”

Lil nodded. “Yes, thank you for asking.”
I just have a terminal case of cowboy. It's most improper, and being proper just happens to be my job.

She pulled a compact and some lipstick from her bag while the woman went on to one of the stalls. She stared at her tiny, circular reflection and the features that had always marked her as different from the Anglo-Saxon girls at school, kept a lot of the Anglo-Saxon boys from asking her out. She had tiny, precise lips, almond-shaped eyes, blue-black hair. She looked like her mother, with her father's more Anglo nose.

There was nothing so remarkable about her face that Dan Granger should think it wildly beautiful. And nothing about her thin, virtually hairless body that should make him crave her. It was far easier for her to pinpoint what it was about
him
that drew her.

For if one were to burn the dreadful belt with his name on it, he could appear as a particularly tanned Olympian on a white, marble, Greek pediment…though he'd be the only one wearing ropers and a big, dashing hat.

Lil blinked and realized that by now, she'd put on an awful lot of lipstick. In fact, she looked like a small, half-Vietnamese Bozo. She reached for a tissue and wiped it off.

She'd really gotten herself into a pickle, now. Because she'd told Dan straight out that she liked him in the raw, so to speak. But her job was to turn him into filet mignon with a stylish garnish.

And she'd also basically admitted to him that she liked his sexual pursuit of her, embarrassing as it was at times. So if she were to go on this trip to England, things were bound to be…complicated.

Mortifying, but it had taken someone with his unbelievable brashness to get through her nice-girl defenses. And get through them he had.

Lil washed her hands, straightened her skirt and smoothed her hair, having come to no useful conclusions at all. Bottom line: she shouldn't have said what she'd said to him. What was wrong with her?

It was as if some long-buried, renegade voice was bubbling up inside of her and making itself heard at the least opportune moments. It was most unwelcome…and worse, the voice wasn't always polite.

She made her way back to the table, where Dan sat fielding glances from women all over the restaurant. The sixty-year-old in the back corner with the diamonds, the
woman in her mid-forties with the cleavage and even a woman in her twenties who was there with a good-looking date.

While she was partly proud, an unfamiliar territorial feeling swept through Lil. She wanted to taser each of the women, sending the sixty-year-old nosefirst into her lamb entrée, Ms. Cleavage into her salad and the cute young thing into her grilled portobello.

Lil pasted a serene, genteel smile on her face to disguise her malicious thoughts. Dan got up and pulled out her chair for her—very nice. She sat down at the table and he eased the chair in a couple of inches as she'd taught him.

“Would you like a cognac?” he asked.

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

Dan signaled the waiter just by raising a brow. “Yes, the lady would like a cognac, Courvoisier VSOP, please.”

“And for you, sir?”

“No, thank you. The lady herself goes to my head.”

Oh, my
. Her lips twitched. “Aren't you smooth tonight?”

He simply smiled at her. The Dan she was used to would have turned her words against her and into some sexual invitation. Where was he? He'd turned his inner wolf into a lapdog.

Lil realized suddenly that he was still on his best behavior so that she'd agree to go to the wedding with him. How could she explain to him that while she hadn't approved of his raunchy pursuit of her, she'd liked it because it made her feel desired for the first time in her life?

Her cognac arrived and she took a sip of it. Wait, what was she thinking? She wasn't about to explain
anything
to Dan, except for why she was most certainly
not
accompanying him to England. Because she didn't do casual sex, there was no future in this relationship, and he stole from her the very thing she needed to make her living: her status and identity as a lady.

“So.” Dan interrupted her musings. “I just want to say that I'm flattered—no, touched—that you like me the way that I am. But you don't
approve
of me the way I am, do you, Lil?”

She opened her mouth and closed it again. How was she supposed to answer that, for Heaven's sake?

“Approval is a whole different ball game, isn't it? And approval connotes respect. Well, I want your respect, Lil, about as bad as I want…other things. So I'm asking you to keep working with me. To come to England not only as my date, as my guest, but as my coach.”

Still she said nothing. She picked up her fork again and pushed at the chocolate torte. It looked delicious. But it was empty calories, and she'd had doughnuts this week.

“Would you just go ahead and
eat
some of that? It's not a capital offense, for crying out loud.”

Her eyes flew to his, which were half amused, half annoyed. “I—”

“You deny yourself pleasure. Why?”

“I do not. I slept with you. I just ate a wonderful meal and I'm sipping cognac.”

“Let me rephrase that. You skimp on pleasure. You
tantalize yourself with it, and then you put it just out of reach, like you don't deserve it or something. What is up with that?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Okay, whatever you say. But eat your damn cake. It's delicious and you'll insult me if you let it go to waste. You'll insult the chef, too.”

Lil had forgotten to put her napkin back in her lap. She did so and looked again at the slice of cake, which winked at her like a wedge of sin. She
didn't
want to insult anyone. She put a bite of it into her mouth and the rich flavor seduced her immediately.

“Atta girl.” He grinned.

She could feel the cake landing with an evil splat right on her hips, but told herself that men didn't like swizzle-stick women whose ribs and elbows poked them in bed. Right?

“Now, back to the topic of England. When was the last time you left the country, Lil?”

“High school,” she admitted. She'd gone with a study-abroad class to Paris, but they'd been heavily organized, scheduled and chaperoned. Since then she'd been afraid to go too far because of Nana Lisbeth's age and health.

“High school. So it's been years. I tell you what. You come with me to England, and we'll have a good time. A good platonic time. Then I'll send you on a trip for a couple of weeks to anywhere you want to go. What do you want to see most in the world, Lil?”

“Vietnam,” she said. “My mother's birthplace. I've
been brought up utterly American—the other side of my heritage has always been…swept under the rug. My grandmother never, ever said so, but I think she was shocked when her son married outside of his culture, outside of his country. I have relatives in Vietnam who I've never even met. I don't speak the language. I regret that.”

She ate another bite of chocolate cake. And another. “I think that's why I'm so interested in the customs and etiquette of other countries. I have always felt somewhat
other
. Outside of the mainstream. Not white, like all the kids I went to school with. Not white like my grandmother.”

“Who cares what color you are? You're beautiful.” Dan reached across the table and took her free hand, looking like the embodiment of all her youthful, girlish dreams.

Her pulse kicked up, and she ate more of the chocolate torte so she wouldn't eat him. So he was rude, crude and socially unacceptable. So what? She was acceptable, even desired, by him.