People Will Talk (6 page)

"I probably shouldn't be seen with you on a
date anyway," Nora said. "Your reputation is far from spotless.
“

"That's why I’m the perfect guy for the job,"
he claimed. "Going out with some goody-two-shoes guy would just
look like you're desperate to reclaim your reputation. We've got to
go show them that you don't care about what they're
saying."

A small smile tugged at the corner of her
mouth.

Nora looked in the mirror and swallowed hard.
She had to be out of her mind. Why did insanity surface at the
worst moments?

She'd been unbalanced three months before when
she'd bought the dress on a rash impulse, and she was just as crazy
this afternoon when she agreed to go out with Bret. She couldn't
believe that she was actually wearing the thin red slip of a dress
tonight. The woman in the mirror even had a bit of a wild-eyed
look.

The soft silk slid over her body with loving
faithfulness, snug around her breasts, smooth over her hips,
stopping daringly at mid-thigh.

She drew in a rough breath. Whatever was she
thinking? And what's more, how on earth did she propose to get out
of the house wearing this? Her mother would have a heart
attack.

The thought stiffened her backbone. She'd
promised to go out with Bret tonight and she was determined to see
it through.

She couldn't wimp out. There were too many
things to prove...to the town scandalmongers...to Principal
Stewart...and to herself.

Tired of getting pushed around, Nora felt
decidedly defiant.

What was more, she had something to prove to
Bret. It was his fault she was wearing the red dress for the first
time. She couldn't let him think he effected her so strongly that
she was afraid to be in his company.

And it wasn't as if they'd be alone for the
whole evening, she reminded herself. How far could things go in a
crowded bar?

Nora ran a nervous hand down the skirt of the
dress. Bret Maddock was too darn sure of himself.

He was right about one thing, though. She had
been holding back, waiting for the storm to blow over. Darn it, she
hadn't done anything wrong. Why shouldn't she go out with an
attractive guy?

She turned away from the mirror, her stomach
quivering.

Because this particular man seemed to tap into
something inside of her that she knew better than to give into.
Bret made her want to be held, made her want to lean on
him.

Even when she knew she shouldn't. Self-reliance
kept a woman from finding herself at the mercy of a man's
deceit.

But she'd committed herself to going out
tonight. With Bret, of all people. The one man who awakened desires
she'd never felt before.

She could control herself, and him, tonight,
surely. Would she be able to resist if Bret stormed her fortress?
She had to be sure, had to reassure herself of her own strength,
and so she'd accepted his challenge and upped the ante with the
weight of one flimsy red silk dress.

The jangle of the doorbell jolted Nora from her
thoughts. Snatching up her coat, she pulled it on and left the
room.

Bret stood in the tiny front foyer, his tall,
lean frame delectably encased in snug jeans with a starched shirt
just visible inside his jacket.

Exchanging pleasantries with Bret, Sharon
Hampton wore an uneasy smile on her face. Nora walked forward,
eager to get beyond the house, outside the range of her mother's
nervous disapproval and into the danger of the evening.

"Hi." Bret's smile sent shivers down her
body.

"Hi," she returned, bolstering her guard
against his charm.

"I hope you won't be out too late, Nora," her
mother said doubtfully. "You know you need your rest.”

"I'll be fine," Nora responded, moving toward
the door.

"Good night, Sharon." Bret waved as he followed
her out.

The cold night air engulfed them as they went
down the sidewalk to a luxury sedan that waited at the
curb.

"Whew! That woman's downright worrisome," he
declared as he opened the car door for Nora. "Was she so concerned
when Richard came to pick you up?"

Nora slid into the car with surprise. She'd
just assumed that Bret always drove a truck. This vehicle's dash
gleamed with all the latest electronic wizardry, almost looking
like a cockpit of an airplane.

"Mother thought she knew Richard. You, she's
less sure of"

Bret got into the driver's seat and started the
car. "Mother doesn't approve of me?"

Nora looked down at her hands in her lap, "She
would if she thought you were looking for a wife. Mother has her
own ideas about redeeming my reputation."

"I see." He backed out of the drive. "Marriage
isn't a bad idea, but it's a big step to take just to save your
good name."

"I agree," Nora told him. "That's part of the
reason I've been hiding in my room. To avoid her
matchmaking."

"Well, you don't have to worry about that
tonight." Bret flashed her a grin. "We're just gonna have
fun."

They drove through the dark streets in silence.
His words tumbling around in her head. He couldn't have said
anything to better verify her opinion of him. Nothing serious,
nothing long term. Bret was more honest than Richard.

Sitting there next to Bret, she felt acutely
aware of him, his powerful body, the potent way he'd kissed
her.

What a lover he'd make, if a woman was
interested in a fling.

As he turned onto the highway that led to the
Roadhouse, pictures flashed in Nora's mind. Bret making love to her
till she gasped out his name. The thought left her with a trembling
sensation in her midsection.

"Well, here we are." He pulled into the gravel
parking lot that surrounded a huddle of shabby buildings. A garish
neon sign flashed on a pole overhead.

Nora gripped her small purse, suddenly
wondering why she trusted Bret enough to come tonight.

"Ready, honey?"

She jerked back to consciousness, realizing
that Bret was holding her door open.

"This is it. Your declaration of
independence."

Nora climbed out of the car and turned toward
the building with a sense of defiance. Bret was right about one
thing-she was darned tired of sitting at home.

The smell of cigarette smoke engulfed them when
Bret opened the door, his hand at the small of Nora's
back.

She took a few steps forward, waiting as Bret
took her hand. The noise and smoke of the place pounded against
Nora's senses. Everywhere she looked, people in western wear
crowded at tables that surrounded a scarred dance floor.

Bret threaded his way through the crowd to an
empty table. A band was playing country music with a sexy, swaying
beat and the twang of a guitar. She sat in a chair Bret held out
for her.

Inside, the dilapidated building wore shadows.
Men in cowboy hats and women in tight jeans moved on the dance
floor. Light sparkled off the raised platform on which the band
played.

On one side, an open arch revealed a pool room.
A woman leaned over the first table, a pool cue in her hand, her
breasts threatened to spill out of her tight sweater. Glancing
around surreptitiously, Nora’s fears were confirmed.

The place was a meat market. In the dead of
winter, at least three nymphets on the dance floor were wearing
cutoff shorts brief enough to threaten imminent exposure. Another
woman sported a western shirt with deep fringe and strategic
cut-outs.

“
Let me take your coat,
Nora.”

Startled she glanced up to see Bret standing by
her chair.

The moment of truth.

Slowly, she stood, her fingers struggling with
the belt on her coat. What had she been thinking when she wore this
dress?

Knowing she didn’t have a choice, Nora opened
her coat and let it fall off her shoulders. As she did another
thought hit her. What if Bret didn’t even notice the
dress?

Glancing over her shoulder at him, that fear
evaporated.

Bret stood looking at her, a stunned expression
on his face.

“
You…ah…really got into the spirit
of this.” He seemed to tear his eyes from her silk-clad body,
fastening them on her face. “If anything will show the gossips that
you aren’t afraid of them, it’s that dress.”

Nora abruptly sat down again, resisting the
urge to huddle in her chair. Bret tossed her coat into a chair
along with his and sat next to her.

“
Can I take your order?” A
denim-clad and booted waitress appeared beside them.

Bret looked at Nora, his eyebrows
raised.

“
Anything.” It didn’t matter since
she couldn’t swallow.

“
Two beers,” he told the girl with
a smile.

When she’d disappeared through the crowd, Bret
leaned forward and picked up Nora’s hand from the table. His
fingers felt strong and calloused against hers.

“
So tell me again why this is a
good idea,” she challenged, her stress bypassing years of ingrained
politeness.

His thumb caressed the back of her hand,
sending warmth over her skin with the speed of light. He leaned
closer, pitching his voice so she could just hear it over the
music. “You’re here to show them you’re not letting them run your
life.”

A shiver of awareness rippled through her at
his closeness. “Right. Like I’ve done such a good job of it so
far.”

Bret laughed, throwing back his head. “Honey
you won’t get any complaints from me.”

“
It’s just the dress,” she said
dismissively, beginning to enjoy the conversation. Sitting here at
the table with Bret so close, it seemed as if they were alone
together in the crowd.

“
Nope.” He shook his head, a gleam
in his eyes. “A dress only showcases the woman, and I’ve never seen
one do it so well.”

“
Thank you,” she murmured, wishing
her drink had arrived. Even the nasty taste of beer would be better
than this dryness in her mouth.

This was why she'd worn the dress. She wanted
Bret to look at her like that, had wanted him to for weeks. It was
amazing how having her wish come true could be both exhilarating
and frightening at the same time.

Bret stood up. "Let's dance."

Never had the red dress seemed so brief. Nora
felt like she was wearing neon. They reached the edge of the dance
floor too soon. Unfortunately, it was not crowded enough for them
to lose themselves there.

"I haven't done much country and western
dancing," she confessed as he pulled her to him.

"No problem," Bret said, taking her into his
arms. For some reason, being wrapped in his embrace felt different,
more intimate than when she'd danced with all those businessmen
Richard had entertained.

Nora inhaled his scent and told herself to
relax.

The steps seemed simple enough. She'd always
been a good dancer, but she just couldn't lose herself to the music
as they circled the dance floor. With Bret's hand warm on her back,
the print of his palm seemed to burn through the thin material, hot
against her skin.

Staring over his shoulder in a daze, she felt
his every movement, the rub of his fingers against the silk of her
dress, and wondered if she'd ever feel Bret's hands on her bare
body.

Bret wondered if he'd lost his mind. Never had
red silk packed such a punch. When he'd suggested this date to
Nora, he'd anticipated enjoying her company, even harbored a faint,
dishonorable hope that she'd fall into his arms, maybe his bed. But
he'd never expected her to show up looking this
fabulous.

He could feel the tension in her body, even
though she moved in spontaneous response to the music.

She'd surprised him when she'd agreed to go out
with him tonight, but despite her reservations about this course of
action, the woman had taken him at his word and thrown herself into
the endeavor. He just hoped he didn't end up drooling all over
her.

Of course, it would help if he could lower his
body temperature seven or eight degrees. Asking her to dance hadn't
been the brightest move.

When the song was over, they ended up on the
far side of the dance floor. Bret had half turned to head back to
their table when the band broke into a bunny hop.

All around them couples were hooking up in
choo-choo style, their feet keeping rhythm with the steps. On
impulse, Bret caught Nora's hand and pulled her into the line. Not
wanting anyone else's hands on her waist, he got behind her
himself.

With each kick-step, kick-step, hop-hop-hop,
her fanny wiggled to the music. Bret could barely keep from
stumbling over his own feet. As they bunny-hopped their way across
the dance floor, Nora threw back her head to look at him, laughter
breaking over her beautiful face. He found himself laughing with
her.

Kick-step, kick-step, hop, hop, hop. He heard
her giggling as they went, her tension dissolving in the foolish
dance.