Leanne Banks - More Than a Mistress

He stood and walked closer to her, setting off all her warning bells and whistles.

“Does that mean you don’t want to?” he asked.

Sara swallowed. “I—” She searched for an honest but polite response and came up empty.

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as if he truly wanted to understand. “You don’t like the way I look?”

She shook her head, wishing desperately that she wasn’t having this conversation. “No. That’s not—”

His gaze swept her from head to toe. “You’re not attracted to me?”

She felt her cheeks heat. “I didn’t say that.”

“You’re still missing your husband?” His voice held sympathy, but no pity.

He gave her the perfect excuse, and Sara almost took the easy way out. “I miss him.” She felt dishonest letting the statement sit between them. Sighing, she lifted her hand and briefly touched his arm. “But that’s not why I don’t go out.”

Daniel’s hand slid out and captured hers. “Then I don’t understand.”

Sara’s pulse jumped. A strong, solid male hand held hers, and the simple act short-circuited her brain. How could she explain that she had a unique ability to ruin good men? His thumb caressed her knuckles, and the gesture seemed more intimate than it should have. Was it the late hour or the man?

She took a deep breath. “I’m not very good at male-female relationships,” she admitted.

“Maybe you’re just out of practice,” he said, twining their fingers together one by one. His gaze hovered on her mouth, and Sara had the oddest sensation of being thoroughly kissed. She could almost feel his mouth, soft and mobile, on hers. He would slowly slide his tongue past her teeth and explore her vulnerable softness, then tease her into giving him what he wanted. Oh, yes, she’d bet Daniel Pendleton would know how to tease a woman.

She shook her head at the sudden heat rising in her body. She licked her burning lips and heard his quick intake of breath.

He squeezed her fingers, a silent reprimand for her involuntarily provocative gesture. His gaze rose to meet hers. “Practice makes perfect, Sara, and I think,” he said in a low, rough voice, looking at her through hooded violet eyes, “you should practice on me.”

A flicker of awareness darkened Sara’s eyes, then her eyelashes lowered as if they were a silk curtain. Daniel felt her withdrawal before she moved away.

She whispered something under her breath. He couldn’t make out the words, but her tone was that of a chiding reminder. Clutching the front of her robe, she shook her head. “It’s so late. I appreciate—” she hesitated, leading him to believe she did not appreciate it “—your checking on me. It was kind of you. I’m getting up early tomorrow morning.” She moved toward the door. “I bet you are too.”

She put her hand on the doorknob, and Daniel experienced the urge to goad her into dropping the polite shield. She exhibited the dignity of a queen, and her will was far stronger than he’d anticipated.

He reluctantly admired her at the same time that he was stymied by her.

Shoving his hand into his pocket in frustration, he felt something sharp jab his finger. He jerked, grimacing. A thorn from that damn rose, he realized belatedly.

Most of his calculations about Sara had been off tonight. Cranky enough to use Sara’s politeness against her, he walked toward her.

“I guess we’ll have to figure out those dinner arrangements another time,” he said, getting closer and closer, betting the clutching and unclutching of her hand meant that his nearness made her nervous. That was okay. Nervous was better than nothing.

She opened her mouth to refuse, he was certain, and Daniel covered her hand on the doorknob, stopping her cold.

Feeling both predatory and frustrated, he smiled. “You’re going to Erin and Garth’s wedding, aren’t you?”

She hesitated. “Yes.”

“Carly said your car’s been a little temperamental, so I’ll take you.”

He bent his head toward her and watched another protest die on her lips. “See you next Saturday,” he said, pushing the door open. He took one last glance at her before he left, and what he saw sent his blood pressure into the ozone. Her robe gaped slightly, and underneath that long robe sweet Sara Kingston was wearing the wicked red slip from his dream.

“Is Sara off today?” Daniel asked his sister with forced nonchalance.

Carly shook her head. “No. She’s gone to the post office. She’ll probably be back in a few minutes.” Carly riffled through the papers on the top of her desk, obviously looking for something. “Why do you want to know?”

Daniel shrugged. “No reason. When I made sure she got home from the party the other night, she seemed a little edgy.”

Carly frowned. “Edgy? I wondered about that. She’s been dropping things lately.”

His interest perked up. “Dropping things?”

“Yeah. Like on the floor.” She pulled a letter from the pile and smiled. “There it is.” She turned her attention toward Daniel. “I noticed you danced with her at the party.”

Baby sister didn’t miss a thing. “You said you wished I would act nicer to her.”

Suspicion glinted in her eyes. “You didn’t make any lewd propositions, did you?”

Daniel didn’t consider them lewd. He lifted his hands in innocence. “Me?”

Carly wasn’t totally convinced. “I’d like you to bear in mind that I couldn’t replace her if she quit. She’s competent enough to run this business without me. I told you about how her husband died, and since you know what a good friend she’s been to me,” she said meaningfully, “I hope you will be careful with her. She’s more tender-hearted than she appears.”

“I’m always careful,” Daniel muttered, feeling a sharp jab of irritation. Since he was the oldest, he’d always had to be careful. Every once in a while he’d like to indulge himself and do something irresponsible, disreputable and enjoyable, but he always managed to restrain himself. Lately that restraint was wearing thin.

As for Sara’s heart, he had no desire to claim it. He wanted her body. And he just wanted to borrow it until he got her out of his system. It had become a matter of survival, and it would be his greatest pleasure to make sure Sara got as much out of their affair as he did. “There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

A knock sounded at the door. “Carly?”

“Come in,” Carly called.

Sara pushed open the door, holding a stack of papers. “I need to clarify something on this contract with—” She saw Daniel and promptly dropped the papers.

“Oh my.” Distressed, Sara dropped to her knees. She wasn’t a fumbler. She made it a point not to fumble, trip or fidget. It was all part of the cool, competent image she worked hard to project. That cool, competent image covered a boatload of vulnerability and self-doubt. The senator had helped her acquire a poise that lifted her beyond her seedy background. But the last few days, to her chagrin, she’d been a total klutz, all because of Daniel Pendleton.

Suddenly Daniel was beside her on the floor, collecting the papers. “Here, let me help you.”

“No. That’s okay.” Past caring that the papers were out of order, she gathered them together in her hands as quickly as possible. “I think I’ve got them now.”

She stood; Daniel followed. She could feel his gaze on her, and an awkward silence hummed between them.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him shove his hands into his pockets. She wondered what that gesture meant. She’d once read an article about how body language often told the truth more than a person’s words did.

“Since I was in town today,” Daniel ventured, “I was wondering if either of you ladies would like to have lunch with me. I thought I’d try one of those places on the wharf.”