Judy Duarte - Almost Perfect

She shook her head and laughed. “At first I’d just wanted an escort, a friend. Someone to lean on for my last hurrah.”

“And now?” he asked, blue eyes studying her intently. His musky scent closed in on her, sharpening her senses, making her keenly aware of his masculinity. A lot had happened to them in fifteen years. And at this very moment, she realized Jake had developed a sensuality he’d never had as a lanky teenager.

“You could act as though we’re dating, I suppose.”

“Have we made love?” His question startled her, excited her.

She gazed at him, unable to prevent her thoughts from drifting to Jake, lying in her bed, sheets draped low across his hips. Oh, for Pete’s sake. Her imagination had never taken sexual turns before tonight. “Of course not.”

“But we want to, right?”

Her heart zinged and pinged, and a heat settled low in her stomach. Make love to Jake? The vision of a naked cowboy in her bed hit her full force, and she struggled to regain control of her thoughts. He was role-playing and getting his act straight, and she was allowing her libido to interfere. “Well…”

“Okay,” he said. “I get it. We’ve kissed a time or two. And I want to kiss you again and see what flavor of breath mints you use. I want to hold you in my arms again, sway to a slow love song, feel your breasts against my chest. And I have a hankering to see how far things will go tonight. After the gala.”

For some reason, she felt as if she were in the midst of phone sex. His slow, Southern drawl poured over her, making her want to take an active role in his game. “I’d like people to think I’m happy and glad to be single.”

“We’ll make them wonder what we’ve got planned for later on.”

“I didn’t mean for this to be a chore,” she said, having second thoughts about role-playing with a man who made her mind drift to the bedroom. She’d been sleeping single in a king-size bed for too darn long, not that she had any inclination to change that. “If you just want to be my escort for the evening, it’s okay. In fact, that’s probably best.”

“Hey, I don’t mind helping out. That’s what friends are for.”

She clutched her purse against her heart and offered the handsome cowboy a shy smile. “I’ve never been too good at acting.”

He stepped behind her and placed a calloused hand on her lower back. The touch of his work-roughened palm and splayed fingers against her skin sent a jolt of heat to her core, and she had the strangest desire to feel those hands on her entire body.

“Let me do the acting,” he said. “Just follow my lead.”

“I’m not sure I can pull this off, Jake. Maybe we should just be friends.”

He opened the door for her. “Trust me, Magpie. It’ll be easy. You’ll see.”

She hoped his words rang true, but something told her this was going to be a wild, unpredictable evening.

And she didn’t know if that made her feel better or worse.

Crystal chandeliers cast an elegant glow inside the New England Garden Towers, as Jake ushered Maggie down the carpeted hallway to the Grand Ballroom. He would make it through the evening without a scratch, but he wasn’t so sure about Maggie.

“I’m nervous,” she whispered.

“I know.” He took her trembling hand and placed it in the crook of his arm, his fingers covering hers, offering his support, his strength.

He wanted to chase her fears away, be some kind of superhero who would make everything be all right. He’d tried to do the same thing when they were kids, but it had been easier when Maggie had been a shy, studious sixteen-year-old, and he’d been a surly teen who resented the life fate had dealt him.

During those three summers they’d spent together, he’d taken her hand more times than he could remember. And he’d taught her how to loosen up and have fun, at least for a few months out of the year.

One afternoon, he’d come across her reading, alone in her room, and dragged her out to the pond. She’d been afraid to take the rope and swing across the lake the first time, but he’d wrapped his arms around her and swung with her, coaxing her to let go, to trust him.

“It’s just like swinging over the swimming hole,” he told her. “It wasn’t nearly as scary as you thought.”

“Well, this feels like I’m dangling over an alligator-infested swamp, rather than a small, secluded lake.”

He didn’t understand her nervousness. Maggie was a hell of a woman, and a man would be proud to have her as a friend or a lover.

In fact, if she weren’t such a good friend and so vulnerable, he’d suggest that they continue the lover charade when he took her home, just for tonight. But Maggie deserved more than that. More than a one-night stand with a footloose cowboy who wasn’t what he seemed.

He squeezed her hand. “I’m with you, darlin’, and we’ll make it through the evening without a hitch.”

Just ahead, Jake spotted a table where a matronly woman wearing a black, beaded gown sat with gold lettered name tags and a guest list.

Maggie cleared her throat to speak. Jake sensed her nerves had settled in her voice, so he took the lead. “Dr. Margaret Templeton and Jake Meredith.”

She glanced up at him, appreciation peeking from those soulful, brown eyes.

Maggie might have become a respected physician, but on the inside, she was still the same shy girl. He tilted her chin and gazed into her eyes. “You look beautiful, honey.”

She whispered a “thank you,” but he figured her appreciation went far beyond his compliment.

After slapping on his name tag, Jake placed a hand on the sway of Maggie’s bare back and ushered her to the open doorway.

“I can hardly take my eyes off you,” he said, letting his hand slip low on her hip in an intimate, possessive gesture.

She tilted her head, and honey-brown eyes sought his, looking, it seemed, for an indication of honesty. She would find it. Maggie was the most beautiful woman he’d ever had on his arm and certainly the most elegant. He wanted her to know it. Feel it.

Before they could step away from the doorway, a heavyset gentleman with gray at the temples strode toward them and gave Maggie a kiss on the cheek. She introduced Jake to Dr. George Walters, and the men shared the customary handshakes and greetings.

The doctor scanned Jake’s formal Western wear. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Nope. Texas, born and bred.”

A waiter, balancing a full tray of flutes on his arm, cautiously approached. “Excuse me. Can I offer you some champagne?”

“Yes.” Jake took a glass from the waiter, handed it to Maggie and snagged one for himself. A drink would take the edge off her nervousness, even if she hadn’t changed her mind about the evils of alcohol. When they were teenagers, he’d been hell-bent to acquire a taste for whiskey, and she’d tried her best to reform him. To an extent, he supposed, she’d made her point.

He didn’t drink for the heck of it, like his old man had done, but that didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate the taste of good bourbon or an ice-cold beer. He just kept a close count of how many he enjoyed.

Rather than taking a sip, Maggie held on to the long-stemmed flute as though needing something to keep her hands busy.

He lifted his glass and clinked it against hers. “Drink up, Magpie.”

Dr. Walter lifted a gray peppery brow at either the suggestion or the nickname. “Have you two known each other long?”

“Fifteen years,” Jake said. “And now that’s she’s free of Tom Bradley, I’m staking my claim.”

His claim? Maggie nearly choked on the champagne, sending a shot of fizz up her nose.

Jake’s blue eyes caught hers, and he gently touched her shoulder like a concerned suitor. “Are you all right, honey?”