Barbara Dunlop - An After-Hours Affair

She was gone.

He straightened in his chair, gaze darting from table to table. Had she gone to the ladies’ room?

He stood.

“What?” Emily asked.

“Where’s Jenny?”

Emily and Cole peered around the busy deck.

Mitch’s gaze snagged on her boots, discarded beneath her chair at the table. He instantly shifted his attention to the lighted gardens. There she was, halfway down the stone path, meandering her way toward the ocean.

“Got her.” He pointed, tossing his napkin onto the table. “I’ll be right back.”

He trotted down the stairs and strode his way through the quiet gardens toward the beach. The salt tang grew stronger, and the roar of the waves filled his ears as he caught up to Jenny.

“Going somewhere?” he asked as her feet hit the sand.

“Just breathing the night air,” she responded, and turned in a circle.

“Only two drinks?” he confirmed.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes.

“I was afraid you’d decided to take a swim,” he admitted.

“It’ll take more than a few sips of a martini to get me into the ocean in September.” She plunked down on the soft sand.

Once again, he was struck by how different she seemed from the regular Jenny who masterminded his financial spreadsheets, deftly handled demanding club members and wrote concise, informative month-end reports. The transformation was more than a little disconcerting.

He eased down beside her, taking in her little skirt spread out in the sand. The shimmering top left most of her tanned back bare, while her breasts pressed teasingly against the thin fabric, nipples pebbled in the cool air.

“Interesting outfits you’ve been choosing lately,” he heard himself observe, dragging his gaze away from her sexiness.

“I needed a new look,” she told him, nodding out to sea. “If I want to snag a man.”

Something hitched in Mitch’s stomach. “You want to find a man?”

“Of course I want to find a man. All women want to find a man.” She turned back to him and pointed her index finger for emphasis. “And if they tell you they don’t, well… Well, maybe they don’t. But most of them do. And I do.”

Her eyes were round and soft in the glow from the gardens. Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips were pursed in a determined little moue that he wanted so badly to kiss. He gritted his teeth against the unruly urge, his stomach tightening.

“You had them lining up at the Moberly Club,” he pointed out. “You must have danced with Jeffrey five times.”

“Jeffrey’s nice,” she sighed.

Mitch felt his gut clench tighter. He needed to nip this Jeffrey fixation in the bud. “Jeffrey’s not a good guy for you.”

“I’m not that crazy about his ponytail.”

“Well. Good.” Not that the ponytail was the biggest worry by any stretch of the imagination.

“Jeffrey likes you a lot.” She smoothed out a patch of sand with her palm, then traced her fingertips in a pattern through it.

At the moment, Mitch couldn’t say he was exactly returning the favor. What if Jeffrey decided to cut his ponytail? Mitch would cut off a ponytail. For the right woman.

Wait a minute. What was he saying? There was no right woman. There were only women. Plural. Sophisticated and uncomplicated, and in keeping with his pro-football lifestyle.

Jenny smoothed out the sandy patch again, then drew a big heart with her index finger.

Mitch found himself waiting for her to draw initials.

“Jeffrey says you’re psychic,” she put in instead.

Mitch glanced up. “He what?”

“He told me you were psychic.” She pushed the sand off her hand and held it out to him, palm up. “Go ahead. Read my future.” She came to her knees looking decidedly earnest. “Tell me about the tall, dark, handsome dream man I’m going to marry. I’d like two kids, a white picket fence. And throw in a dog, will you?”

He took her hand, realizing it was just an excuse to touch her, but not particularly caring.

She looked so sweet in the dappled light.

“What kind of dog?” he asked, pretending to take her seriously.

“A Dalmatian.”

“Isn’t that a little big?”

She gazed up at him. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to work. You tell me what kind of dog.”

“Oh. All right.” He obediently looked down at her outspread hand.

He gave in to the temptation to run the pad of his thumb over her palm, tracing the faint lines on her soft skin. “I predict a long and happy life.”

“That’s lame.”

“I thought everybody wanted a long and happy life.”

“You need to be more specific.”

“Okay.” He squinted. “Here we go. Next Tuesday.” He paused. “You’re going to buy a purple dress.”

She tipped her head, peering closer. “Will it help me snag a man?”

“Tall, dark and handsome,” he put in, ignoring the jolt of emotion at the thought of her on a honeymoon with some random stranger. It was bad enough watching her dance with Jeffrey.

A serene smile grew on her face. “That sounds nice.”

Mitch found he didn’t like her reaction, not one little bit. “Wait a minute,” he elaborated. “He cheats on you and you kick him to the curb.”

“What? No. No way.”

Mitch shrugged. “Afraid so.”

“You’re lying.”

“I calls ’em as I sees ’em.”

She tugged her hand away and gazed out across the bay. “You’re a terrible fortune-teller.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at her outrage. To make amends, he held out his own hand. “Here, you predict mine.”

She didn’t even bother to look at it. “You’re going to die alone and lonely.”

“What did I do to deserve that?” Not that he was denying it. It was most likely true.

“You’re a heartbreaker, Mitch.”

“Not on purpose.” There had been a few women who’d expressed disappointment that he didn’t want to get into a serious relationship. He’d always chalked it up to the fame and money factors. He knew he wasn’t enough of a prize that a woman might actually miss him for himself.

“Result’s the same,” she told him. And she looked so dejected, that he found himself desperate to put the smile back on her face.

“How ’bout I make up for being such a cad,” he teased. “I could get you a Dalmatian puppy. Or a kitten. Kittens are a lot less work.”

She gave him a look of exasperation. “I don’t want a pet.”

She wanted a man. He got it. He hated it, but he got it. She wanted the kind of man Mitch would never be. He knew what he should say, knew what he had to say and what he had to do.

His tone was decisive. “I’ll help you find one.”

“A pet?”

“A man.”

Jenny’s eyes went wide. “What?”

“If you’re sure that’s what you want.” His voice grew stronger. “I’m here for you, Jenny. I know a lot of men. Jeffrey’s a bad choice, but-”

She jumped to her feet, swiping the sand off the back of her denim skirt. “Have you lost your mind?”

He watched the strokes of her palms for a moment, but then quickly checked his wandering imagination. “I’m happy to help out,” he lied, rising with her.

“You are not going to fix me up with your friends.”

It certainly wasn’t his first choice, but it was a perfectly practical approach to her problem. And to his. Since mooning after her like a lovesick adolescent wasn’t getting him anywhere. “I don’t see why not.”

“Because it’s insulting, for one.”

“How is that insulting? I have nice friends. Most of them are physically fit. Most have money. Many of them are considered handsome.”

“Read my lips.” She stared up at him in the dim light.

His gaze went obediently to her mouth.