The Mountain Between Us (5 page)

“You look beautiful tonight,” he said, once they were seated and had placed their orders. He lifted a glass of the French wine he'd chosen. “Not that you aren't always lovely, but it's such a pleasure to see you dressed up.”

She resisted the urge to put a hand to the collar of the silk blouse she'd pulled from the back of her closet. “Thank you. I don't have much occasion in Eureka to wear fancier clothes.” And she never thought of herself as a fancy clothes type of person. Jeans and prairie skirts, flannel shirts and sweaters were both comfortable and practical, and good enough for her.

“Not even in your duties as Madam Mayor?” His eyes twinkled in amusement. Tonight he wore a western-cut suit of gray wool with black felt lapels and collar, and a cream silk shirt and string tie with a silver and turquoise slide. His black felt hat had a matching silver and turquoise band. He left the hat on while they ate—a habit Lucille had noted in Texans.

“The mayor's job in Eureka consists mainly of presiding over the town council meetings, juggling paperwork, and wrangling with the state over money.”

“Ah, money.” He nodded sagely. “A concern for everyone these days.”

“Let's not talk about that right now,” she said. She wanted to believe Gerald was interested in her for herself, that this was a real date, not a business meeting.

“Of course. We're here to enjoy each other's company.” He reached across the table and took her hand. His palm was smooth and cool against her flesh. He trailed his thumb across her wrist, a feathery, tingling touch that left her breathless.

“How much longer do you plan to be here?” She wished she could take the words back as soon as they were out of her mouth. At her age, why couldn't she keep her anxieties to herself? What did it matter if he didn't plan to stick around? Couldn't she enjoy being with him right now, without worrying about what might happen later?

But the question didn't faze him. He continued to stroke his thumb back and forth across her wrist in the hypnotic way. “I'm self-employed,” he said. “I make my own schedule. I can stay as long as I like. As long as there's something here that interests me. Or someone.”

Surely he could feel the way her pulse raced at his words. And he definitely could see the hot blush she knew stained her cheeks. She tried desperately to think of some casual, even coy reply. Some flirtatious remark to show she played these kinds of games all the time. But words failed her. She had zero experience playing fast and loose with emotions, or pretending her attraction to him was of no consequence. She didn't do romance anymore and had no idea what was expected of her.

He released her hand and sat back, his expression impassive. She thought at first her silence had offended him, then realized the waiter had arrived with their food. She looked down at what might be the smallest chicken breast she'd ever seen, garnished with a single boiled potato, three spears of asparagus, and an artful swirl of sauce. Her stomach growled and she thought longingly of Janelle and Danielle's overflowing platters of southern fried chicken or pot roast and gravy.

Gerald's
biftek
looked only slightly more substantial, but he sliced into it with gusto. “I'm seriously thinking about relocating to the area,” he said as he dabbed delicately at his lower lip between bites. “Not to Eureka, necessarily, but perhaps to Telluride. The demographics there seem favorable for the investment services I offer.”

In other words, he was looking for rich people with lots of money to invest. Telluride had plenty of those, and she could easily picture Gerald, in his ostrich boots and tailored suits, mingling with the rich and famous who filled what had once been a humble village favored by hippies, but was now a posh ski town and summer retreat for the elite.

So what was he doing having dinner with her? She pushed the thought aside. She wasn't rich, or one of the beautiful people, but why shouldn't Gerald be interested in her? She was smart, reasonably attractive, and there was definitely a certain . . . chemistry between them.

She smiled in what she hoped was an alluring fashion. “I hope you do stay around. I'd like to see more of you.”

His expanded grin sent another surge of heat through her. “Do you know what I like about you, Lucille? What attracted me to you from the very first?”

“What is that?” Who wouldn't want to know the answer to such a question?

“You're a woman who knows what she wants. You're strong and independent, and you're not afraid to take what you need from life. You live on your own terms.”

“How else would I live?” Everything he said about her was true, but it wasn't as if she'd had a choice to live any other way. Mitch had left her when she was twenty-two, with a daughter to raise and no money or education. She'd had to push forward and make her way the best she could, with no one to depend on but herself.

“In my business I meet plenty of women who are little more than beautiful ornaments. They're rich men's trophies who have put aside their own careers and ambitions for the promise of wealth and a secure future.”

“Surely not all rich women are like that.” She felt the need to defend her own sex. “Many of them have successful careers, and their own money.”

“Some, yes, but not the ones I most often deal with.”

“That says more about your clients than the women,” she said.

He inclined his head in agreement and refilled their wineglasses. “Still, it's not often that I meet a female of your caliber. There's a definite sex appeal in an independent woman.”

Well, he certainly believed in bringing things out in the open, didn't he, mentioning sex this early in the evening. She thought ruefully of Olivia's advice, said only half in jest:
Don't sleep with him on the first date, but if you do, make him wear a condom.
She gulped her wine, determined to drive out the images the words brought to mind. She most definitely was not going to sleep with Gerald tonight.

Not yet.

“This chicken is very good,” she said, slicing what was left of the bird into ever-tinier pieces.

“Don't worry, Lucille. I won't try to rush you into anything.” Gerald's voice was a velvety caress. “I merely wanted to make clear my interest in you.”

He was a man. Of course he was interested in sex, she told herself. Still, he had his choice in women and he was telling her he'd chosen her. The knowledge made her feel shaky, as if she'd ventured out onto a thin shelf of rock on the side of a mountain. It had been a very long time since she'd been so daring.

“I'm very flattered,” she managed to say after another sip of wine. “Why don't we get to know each other a little better first?”

Over the remainder of the meal she learned he was divorced, with one grown son in Dallas and a grandchild on the way. He'd been in business for himself for twenty years, having worked for a large investment firm for fifteen years before that. He liked to sail, and had made several trips to Europe and Japan. He had a house in Dallas and another in Tucson, and made frequent trips to Vegas, where he did well at the poker tables.

“I think I owe my success with investments in my ability to assess risk and my willingness to take chances,” he said as they sipped coffee over dessert. Well, Lucille had a child-sized serving of chocolate mousse while he sipped brandy with his coffee. “It's why I've succeeded—and helped my clients succeed—in spite of the current economic downturn.”

“You mentioned you might be able to help Eureka?” Despite her earlier reluctance to talk business, it seemed a safer subject than the more dangerous—dangerous to her equilibrium, at least—topic that still lurked beneath all their small talk. “Do you work with city governments often?”

“I handle investments for more than a dozen small- to medium-sized communities in Texas and Arizona,” he said. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, expression earnest. “I look at the funds you have available and your financial goals, and match that with investments that will give you a better return than any bank.”

“How do you find such investments? I mean, if they're out there, why isn't everyone taking advantage of them?”

“I use my contacts in Europe and Asia. I find emerging industries, as well as successful established firms that are in need of investment capital and are willing to sell stocks with a very favorable rate of return. And there can be tax advantages as well.”

He sat back. “I won't bore you with the details, but if you're interested, I'd be happy to make a presentation to your town council. I think you'll be impressed with what I have to offer.”

Did she imagine the double entendre in his words? She almost laughed but managed to rein in what he might mistake for hysteria. “Why don't you work up a presentation for our board meeting next week? I'll put you on the agenda.”

“Wonderful. In the meantime”—he stood and offered her his hand—“let's go for a drive.”

The night was chilly, so he put the top up on the car. She sat primly on her side of the vehicle, belted in. But he drove with one hand, the other firmly clasping hers. On the outskirts of Eureka, he turned onto the road up Black Mountain Pass and pulled in at the overlook. The valley spread out before them, the lights of Eureka a scattering of glitter amidst the shadows of rocks and trees.

Lucille stared out at the scene, her breathing shallow, anticipation filling her as if she'd swallowed a helium balloon. The tension between what her mind wanted and what her body demanded pulled her taut.

“Look at me, darling.” Gerald spoke in a whisper and caressed her cheek with one finger.

She turned toward him and his lips covered hers, gentle yet firm, leaving no doubt that he wanted her. She gasped with surprise and pleasure at the intense rush of feeling. Oh, God, had anything ever felt this good?

He deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth with his tongue, and she responded in kind, pressing her body to his, blood humming in her ears.

He cupped her breast, massaging gently. She trembled, the intensity of her feelings frightening her a little. What was happening to her? She wasn't some virgin who didn't know her own body.

She shifted, trying to put a little distance between them, to clear her head a little. But he didn't take the hint. Instead, he deftly undid the top button of her blouse.

“Gerald, no.” She pushed him away.

He smiled down at her. “Not very gentlemanly of me, I suppose, bringing you here to neck like a teenager. But you make me feel that way, wanting you so much I can scarcely control myself.”

Though he'd probably intended the words as a compliment to fuel her passion, they reminded her of the boys of her youth, trying to convince her they'd die if she didn't give them what they wanted. Even then, she'd known there was no real emotion behind the words. The thought was enough to quell her passion. “It's getting late,” she said. “I think you should take me home.”

His smile didn't waver. He started the car. “Or we could go to my place instead. I have a very comfortable bed.”

She laughed. Give the man points for frankness. “We hardly know each other.”

“Never on a first date, is that it?” He winked at her. “The older I get, the more impatient I become, I suppose. But I won't rush you. I merely wanted to make my feelings clear.”

“You have.” She buckled her seat belt with a decisive
snap!
“I prefer to take things more slowly.” When she did decide to welcome a man into her bed again, it would be one she knew well enough to be comfortable showing off her less-than-perfect body and rusty technique.

Which didn't mean Gerald wasn't a strong candidate for the privilege. But if he intended to stay in town for a while, they had plenty of time. Time for her to lose a few pounds.

And to buy a box of condoms.

 

Of all the men in Maggie's life at the moment, the one who was at the same time the most aggravating and the easiest to deal with was her boss at the
Eureka Miner,
Rick Otis. Within two days of taking the job as the paper's only reporter, she'd sized him up as bombastic, antagonistic, sarcastic, chauvinistic, and completely harmless. A thin man with a tonsure of graying hair and a slight paunch, he nevertheless managed to fill a space with his presence. Several times a week he ranted around the office about one issue or another, running his fingers through his hair until he resembled a demented professor. He swore and fussed and demanded Maggie write this preposterous story or that. She'd learned to focus on her computer screen and ignore him. As soon as he calmed down he'd rescind all previous orders for inflammatory stories and accept whatever she had chosen to write about instead with surprising equanimity.

He was also a relentless tease who took an inordinate interest in Maggie's personal life—particularly her romance with Jameso Clark.

“I just saw Jameso headed out of town on that hog of his,” Rick announced the afternoon following Maggie's conversation with Jameso at the mine. Rick knew very well that Jameso's bike wasn't a Harley. It was a 1948 Indian Chief, a rare and prized model, at least according to Jameso. But since it annoyed him to hear Rick call his beloved vehicle a hog, Rick went out of his way to do so, even when Jameso wasn't around to hear him.

Maggie kept her gaze focused on her computer screen. She absolutely would not show she had any interest in what Jameso was up to. Rick would seize on the slightest show of concern on her part and nag her to distraction. He was very like a mad scientist in that respect, dissecting human emotion.

“Where's he headed?”