Karen Kendall - Open Invitation?

“All I said was—”

“It can be construed as fishing for information.”

“Well, don’t construe it that way, because I didn’t mean—and why can’t you say ‘take’? Nice, plain English.” He shook his head.

Lilia tightened her lips. “One, when words have left your mouth, you have no control over how they are taken. Two, what isn’t plain English about the word ‘construe’? And three, Sir Henry didn’t file a patent in time, so he never made much off his preservative, sad to say. Which is why I have a job.”

He folded his arms across his broad chest and uncrossed his long legs. His boot began to tap on the floor. “You’re very formal, Miz London.”

“I’m an etiquette consultant, Mr. Granger. And I’m sorry if I’m annoying you, but you did come to me for guidance.” She gazed at him steadily.

He didn’t growl, but he looked as if he wanted to. “Tell me about the younger couple in the other frame. The Asian lady and the officer.”

She nodded. “My parents, Lieutenant Bryce and Su Yi London. They met while my father was stationed in Vietnam. He finished his first tour, then brought her home as his bride. They had six months together before he was called for a second tour. He didn’t return.”

“I’m real sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you.”

“And your mother? Does she still live in the States?”

“No. She died of a rare blood disorder when I was small. My grandmother raised me.” This conversation is getting too personal. “More coffee, Mr. Granger?”

“Again, I’m sorry—uh, no thank you.”

“A cookie? A strawberry?” She held out the tray to him. He selected a butter cookie and two large strawberries, putting them on his plate.

He picked up a strawberry, cast a sidelong glance at her, and asked, “I don’t have to eat this with a fark or somethin’, do I?”

He looked so boyish and uncertain that she chuckled. “No. You may grasp it by the stem and eat it—preferably in more than one bite.” She demonstrated by taking a small bite of her own strawberry.

He brought the fruit to his lips and touched his tongue to it, rubbing the tip over the strawberry’s texture. Then his even, white teeth sank into it, slicing through the delicate flesh and taking it for his own.

Lilia clamped her knees together yet again as a hot, unwelcome twinge occurred between her thighs.

Granger licked juice from his bottom lip and devoured the rest of the strawberry while she secretly envied it and squirmed discreetly in her chair. Heaven help her if she sprouted a little green stem and matching jester’s collar.

He tilted his head. “Are you feeling all right, Miz London?”

“Why, I’m just fine, thank you.”

“You sure? You look kinda like you have gas. Did you have a lot of these strawberries for breakfast or something?”

Lilia didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Mr. Granger! That isn’t a socially acceptable thing to say, either. You must never, ever tell a lady that she looks as if she has indigestion.”

“Why not just plain gas?”

“It’s not at all polite! Never, ever mention bodily functions or discomforts of that nature—that’s simply appalling manners.”

“You think I’m appalling?” asked her horrifying new client, holding out an open package of Rolaids.

She shook her head. “No, thank you, Mr. Granger. I don’t require one of those—”

“Well, I always take two. Used to have the constitution of a goat until I hit my thirties, but now…not that I was implying that you’re, uh, aging or anything.” He stopped, seeming to realize that he was only digging himself in deeper. Then he began to laugh.

She stared at him in disbelief, fighting the urge to bang her forehead against the polished surface of the eighteenth-century card table.

“I guess that wasn’t too smooth, was it?”

“Correct.”

“So you do think I’m appalling. That’s okay, my mother does, too. That’s why I’m here. Do I have to go sit in the corner, wearing the social dunce cap, now?”

Lil took a deep breath. “Of course I don’t find you appalling. Your manners do, ah, need some work. But instead of sitting here and correcting you all day, I think it might be beneficial for you to watch some Cary Grant films. That is the general demeanor we’re aiming for, with you. We’ll take you from crude cowboy to gentleman rancher. His civilized persona is perfect.”

“So right now I’m uncivilized.” He winked at her.

“I didn’t say that. You’re a bit of a rogue, that’s all.”

“Oh, I like that. Rogue is real nice and old-fashioned. Makes me want to grow a handlebar mustache and, you know, swashbuckle a little. Is swashbuckle a verb, Miz London? And if so, how do ya do it?”

“I don’t have the faintest idea,” Lil said, a laugh escaping her at the ridiculous concept.

“To swashbuckle, or not to swashbuckle, that is the question…” Granger threw his arms wide and leaned back dramatically in her visitor’s chair.

The ominous creak of before became a loud crack, and the Queen Anne disintegrated under his weight.

Speechless, Lilia jumped up, her hand over her mouth.

On his back, her client peered at her from between his airborn western boots. “You know,” he said, “I do believe it might be bad manners to seat your guests on ancient, decrepit furniture.”

“Are you all right?” she asked. She extended her hand to help him up.

“Well, I still don’t have a clue what to ‘swash’ means, but I seem to have buckled the chair.”

“Perhaps it’s the masculine of ‘swish’? Lil suggested.

Granger laughed. Then he took her hand and got up. He continued to hold it as they both surveyed the remnants of the chair in silence.

“I’m real sorry,” he said.

“I do apologize,” she said at the same time.

A long, pregnant pause followed.

“That’s all right. I’m sure it would be impolite for me to sue you for damages.” He grinned to soften his words.

Lil drew her eyebrows together and tried to tug her hand from his, but he held on. Very unladylike and disconcerting sexual charges zipped from her hand to other parts of her body. Unmentionable ones.

“Tell you what,” he said, bending his head close to hers.

She swallowed, feeling dwarfed by his big body and mesmerized by his eyes. “What?”

“I won’t sue you if you’ll give me a kiss.”

REAL SMOOTH, DAN. You smash the woman’s chair, make an ass out of yourself, mock her and threaten her. Now you’re trying to blackmail her and kiss her, too? What in the hell is wrong with you, man?

But he still held her tiny, fine-boned hand captive in his, while she stared at him with those unbelievably hot, smoldering black eyes of hers. They were exotic, beautifully shaped and slanted down at the outside corners. They were framed by long, sooty lashes that, at the moment, stabbed upward like tiny black daggers toward his face.

“You’ve got a nerve, Mr. Granger,” she said. But her hand trembled in his and her lips—pale, perfect, prim—parted ever so slightly.

It was all the opening Dan needed. He angled his face over hers, inhaled her fragrance of jasmine and sweet floral soap, and ever-so-gently touched the tip of his tongue to her pale lips.

Hers parted even more, surprised. He continued to taste her in tiny degrees, taking in the fresh strawberry essence on those lips, the faint traces of Ceylon tea, the sweetness of butter-cookies.

Since she made no move of protest, he settled his lips on hers and kissed her hungrily, dominating her mouth with his own. She opened at his insistence and he explored her, feeling the smooth surfaces of her teeth, nipping at the plumpness of her bottom lip, and rubbing languorously against the tip of her tongue with his own.