Emilie Rose - A Passionate Proposal

Libby gaped. “Why not?”

Tracy pinned him with a look that made him feel as if he’d forgotten his homework. “My training comes first and I still have five years to go.”

Libby shimmied. “But aren’t you already a doctor?”

“Yes, but I’m not a surgeon.”

“Oh, please, a doctor’s a doctor. I want my dance.” Libby grabbed his elbow and dragged him toward the dance floor.

Tracy released her breath and touched her fingertips to her lips. Running into Cort Lander was not the highlight of her evening.

She’d been over her crush on him for years. Hadn’t she? So why had her body flushed the minute she’d heard Libby say his name? And why did her thoughts scatter like dandelion seeds on the wind each time he touched her? And that kiss! She’d nearly collapsed at his feet. Her knees might never recover.

She tried to look away from the couple on the dance floor, but couldn’t. Cort had changed. He’d left home as a rough-and-ready cowboy, but he’d returned with an urban polish. His thick, dark hair smoothly cupped his head without a single glossy curl out of place. Time had chiseled away the youthful softness of his jaw, deepened his voice and erased every hint of the slow Texas drawl that used to make her melt like ice cream in July. Unfortunately, the changes had only improved on an already potent product.

She couldn’t remember ever seeing him in anything other than jeans or a basketball uniform. Tonight he seemed taller in his pressed khakis, and his shoulders looked broader beneath a pale yellow oxford cloth shirt. The man oozed confidence, and darned if she didn’t find that incredibly sexy.

Good Lord, would she never learn?

She shook her head and sipped her cola. Remember what had happened the last time you gave your heart to Cort Lander? When he’d asked her to the senior prom, she’d thought he returned her feelings. Instead, he’d asked her because her brother had told him that no one else had. A pity date.

She had his basketball buddies—her brother among them—to thank for clearing up that little misconception.

Her only consolation was that Cort apparently never had a clue about the colossal crush she’d had on him in high school.

On the positive side, if bad things came in threes, then between her tenant bailing, her summer job fizzling and the man of her adolescent dreams reappearing she’d met her quota this week. Her luck should now take a turn for the better.

Cort looked up and his gaze met hers across the crowded gym floor. The corner of his mouth tilted in a sympathetic smile, and something inside her twisted. What was Libby telling him now? She cringed. Her best friend was well acquainted with every dirty secret Tracy owned, and bless Libby’s heart, if she knew something, then everyone else soon would. She hadn’t earned the nickname of Loose Lips Libby for nothing.

She could imagine the words “Tracy must be the oldest virgin in McMullen County. Can you believe it? And since she hasn’t had a date in the last five years her status isn’t likely to change.”

Libby told her often enough to get out there and play ball so that she’d be familiar with the rules of the game. Unfortunately, Tracy had known the entire male population of the area since kindergarten and didn’t have the slightest urge to become intimate with any of them. Her lack of interest probably had something to do with the knowledge that most of them were proud of their ability to burp the alphabet.

Swallowing hard, she smoothed her hands over her new linen dress. She’d have to cut in before Libby blabbed more secrets, and that held about as much appeal as a root canal.

Calm. In control. Professional. Silently reciting her mantra, she inhaled and exhaled. She could do this, but it would have been easier if Cort had widened around the middle and thinned on the top like most of their classmates.

It would be easier if she didn’t still feel the imprint of his hand on her butt.

At that moment Cort yawned and stumbled again. The man must be exhausted. Honestly, some people had no sense of when to quit partying and go home to bed.

Tsking, Tracy marched across the floor and tapped her friend’s shoulder. After a sly look, Libby surprisingly relinquished her prize without argument.

This time Tracy ignored her embarrassment and looked at Cort—really looked at him—noting the purple smudges beneath his brown eyes and the tired slump of his wide shoulders. She fought the urge to smooth his dark hair and pull his tired head to her shoulder. Her heart quickened just thinking about such a bold move, but of course she’d never do such a thing—especially with so many people watching.

“You’re dead on your feet. Why are you here when you should be in bed?” She hoped he didn’t notice the catch in her voice when his fingers curled around hers or the fact that she had never learned to dance worth beans.

Cort’s brows rose, and a teasing sparkle lit his eyes. His amazingly sensual mouth curved in a smile. “Is that an invitation?”

Her cheeks flamed and her stomach dropped to her shoes. She glanced over her shoulders to make sure no one had overheard. “It most certainly is not. With the way you’re stumbling around, you’re an accident waiting to happen.”

“And I thought you liked my style.” He tried and failed to smother another yawn as he two-stepped her around the floor.

She didn’t take it personally—even though one of her dates in college had informed her that she could bore a man to death. “Your style is absent tonight…along with your coordination. Would you like for me to drive you home?”

“I can make it under my own steam.”

He looked as if he’d doze off standing up if he stopped moving. “Twenty miles down a straight, dark stretch of road? I’m afraid you’ll fall asleep at the wheel.”

“Are you trying to mother me, Trace?” A gentle smile touched his lips.

She winced. According to her siblings, she mothered everyone. “No. Yes. Probably.”

“Thanks. I’ll accept your offer.” He yawned again. “Guess I’m not much of a party animal tonight, but I sure am glad I came. Wouldn’t have wanted to miss seeing you.”

Warmth swept through her, but she stopped it. Cort was just being polite. He’d always been polite. Too polite. Back in high school she’d wished just once he would grab her and kiss her senseless. She’d have willingly done whatever he wanted in the back of his pickup, but he’d saved that treat for the more popular girls. That was then, and now she had better sense. Thanks to her youngest sister, she’d learned exactly what folks around here called gals who did such a thing.

“My car is the dark-blue sedan parked near the flagpole. I’ll meet you there in five minutes.”

His brows dipped. “We can’t leave together?”

“People will talk.”

“If you don’t want to be seen leaving with me, then I’ll get myself home.”

God save her from the male ego. Oh, bother. “Let me tell Libby where I’m going and why.”

Five minutes later Cort crammed his long-legged frame into the passenger seat beside her. The car seemed darker, smaller and more intimate than when she’d parked it two hours ago. Lord, the man smelled good—like one of those expensive samples that came in her magazines. She tried not to be obvious when she drew in another whiff and then exhaled shakily.

“In a few minutes you’ll be home and tucked in.”

He slanted a sexy, sleepy look in her direction, and she nearly backed into the flagpole. Her mouth dried and her heart hammered. She double-checked to make sure her fingers hadn’t turned into thumbs on the steering wheel, because it certainly felt that way.

A mile down the road the tightness in her throat subsided enough for her to ask, “Are you and your brothers keeping late hours catching up?”