Zane: The Wild One. BRONWYN JAMESON
At my sister’s,” she replied with forced brightness. “You remember Claire Heaslip? Well, Chantal leased her grandfather’s block last year.”
Too much information. Too much thoughtless information. As if he would have forgotten Claire Heaslip. Even if the rumors weren’t altogether true.
“Do you usually go in bare feet?” he asked evenly, obviously choosing to ignore her comment.
“Hardly.”
Her laughter mixed amusement with discomfort—discomfort caused by both the Claire Heaslip gaffe and her heated response to his gaze on her legs, on skin laid bare by the dress’s abbreviated hemline.
“Chantal would have a stroke if I turned up barefoot. I took them off because I was contemplating walking.” She retreated to the far side of the car and retrieved the shoes from the passenger seat, grimacing as she slipped them on. “These are not your ideal walking shoes.”
No kidding, his silence seemed to say. To a man dressed functionally in jeans, T-shirt and boots, her cocktail ensemble probably looked way over the top. Which it suddenly felt. While she silently bemoaned her lack of judgement in trusting Kree’s fashion advice, Zane went into work mode, studying the lay of the car, fetching the truck. Before he hooked it up, he glanced her way. “You want me to drop you at your sister’s before I start here?”
“No. Chantal said she would send someone.”
Not just anyone, but Dan the Dentist, handpicked as suitable husband material. She pictured him in a sober suit and tie, brown hair neatly parted and combed into place, and she imagined the evening ahead, as flat and colourless as that image.
She looked at Zane O’Sullivan and one word came to mind. Technicolor. Before she could think of all the reasons why she shouldn’t, she took a deep breath and spoke quickly. “I’ve changed my mind. Could I hitch a ride back to town with you? Would you mind?”
He gave her a look, which, between those shades and the straight set of his mouth, she found impossible to read. “Doesn’t matter if I mind or not. I’m not leaving you out here.”
Ten minutes later Zane cursed his sense of chivalry. Enjoying the thought of what she could or could not possibly be wearing under that silky wisp of a dress was one thing. Thinking about taking it off her was another altogether. She was Principal Goodwin’s daughter, Mayor Goodwin’s daughter, for Pete’s sake. Definitely not the kind of woman you imagined naked.
Not in the way he was contemplating. With those fey hazel eyes warm with wanting, all that dark glossy hair cloaking his pillow, and those generous curves covered only in smooth pale skin…and him.
Hoo, man.
Zane shook the heat from his vision, then attempted to apply all his attention to the road. But how could he concentrate with the hint of her perfume—something as softly fragrant as a spring dawn—drifting in and out of his senses? Not to mention how she kept peeping looks at him from behind her dark glasses. Another five minutes of this and he would likely break out in a sweat. Or do something dumb, like invite her for a drink. Or something truly moronic like skipping the drink and taking her straight to his room.
He almost snorted out loud. Julia Goodwin’s expensive finery decorating the floor of his cheap hotel room? Keep dreaming, bud!
“I’m sorry I dragged you out,” she said eventually in her softly voiced, carefully phrased way. “No doubt there are places you would rather be on a Friday night.”
She had that right, but the one uppermost in his mind—his room, his bed—he kept to himself. “Yeah, but I doubt the Lion’ll run dry before I get back.”
“You were having a drink?”
“I was about to. Bill had already had several when he got your sister’s message.”
“So that’s why you’re here.” He felt her studying him, more openly this time. “Thank you.”
Zane shrugged. “It’s my job.”
“No, it’s Bill’s job. I know you help him out whenever you’re in town….”
Her voice trailed off, inviting him to answer her unasked question about what brought him to town. Why not? Talking to her was safer than fantasising about her. “I’ve got a week or so to kill, so I thought I’d give Bill a break and see how Kree’s doing.”
“She didn’t mention you were coming.”
“Last-minute decision.”
“Oh. Have you seen her yet?”
“I only got in this afternoon and figured she’d be busy. Besides, I’m never at my best in a hair shop.”
“Don’t let Kree catch you referring to her salon as a hair shop,” she said with a smile, which froze almost instantly. “Although I wish you had gone in, because now you’ve missed her. She’s gone away for the weekend with Tagg. Her boyfriend. He lives over in Cliffton.”
“Then I’ll see her when she gets back. How is she?”
“She’s Kree.” The smile returned. “Busy, full-on, happy.”
“You mean, manic?”
Her smile grew to a soft appreciative chuckle, and Zane found himself turning to catch the laughter on her face. It transformed her from pretty to stunning, and he found himself staring—again—and wondering how he never noticed that before, back when he lived in Plenty.
Probably because he’d never been close enough to see her laughing. Hell, he remembered times when she had crossed the street to avoid him, and if she ever had looked his way, it was with the kind of curious, wide-eyed fascination usually reserved for viewing aliens. Which pretty much summed up how this town had always made him feel.
Right now he felt her watching him with a different kind of fascination. She had gone very still, the laughter fading from her lips. Her focus seemed to shift to his mouth. His lips tingled with heat. Uh-uh, no way. She was the dinner-and-dating-and-home-to-meet-Daddy type, not the straight-into-bed type. And absolutely not the front-seat-of-the-truck type.
He dragged his eyes back to the road and his mind back from the gutter, pressed a touch harder on the accelerator and searched for a diversionary topic of conversation.
“You’re all dressed up to party.” He waved a hand in the general direction of her itty-bitty dress. “So why did you decide to go home, instead?”
“I didn’t really want to go in the first place.” She shifted her shoulders uneasily. “Do you think running my car off the road is a good enough excuse to cancel? I mean, it’s not as if I crashed, or hurt myself….”
“Why do you need an excuse? If you didn’t want to go, you should’ve said no.”
“Chantal doesn’t recognize the word.”
“Maybe she needs to hear it more often.”
A small frown puckered her brow, and Zane wondered how right he’d got that. Then he told himself it wasn’t his problem. That wasn’t why he had asked her about the party. He was making small talk, that was all. He absolutely did not want to know if, for example, she was letting down some suit-and-tie type by not turning up.
“Back when you were hooking up to the car, I rang Chantal to say I’d decided to go home. She didn’t sound happy. I suspect she might send someone to fetch me.”
“If you weren’t at home, that someone wouldn’t be able to fetch you.”
“Not home?” Her softly incredulous laugh brought his gaze back to her mouth, made him think of intimacies he had no business with. “In case it escaped your attention, there are not a lot of hidey-holes open on a Friday night in Plenty.”
“There’s the Lion. You could come down for a drink, shoot some pool,” Zane suggested casually, not because he expected her to accept.