Anything You Can Do (15 page)

But the smile he turned on her when he saw her approaching went a long way toward restoring it. Now that was a smile, not the imitation he'd given the waitress.

"Hi," he said, standing up and pulling out a chair for her. "I ordered you a glass of white wine. Didn’t mean to make decisions for you, but I was afraid we might not see another waitress for a while. We can send it back if you'd rather have something else. "

She could use something a little stronger
—say, a dozen tequila shooters. "Thank you," she said. "White wine will be fine."
Great
, she thought.
You've sunk to lousy poetry. A surefire way to impress the man.

The waitress returned, set a beer in front of Austin and a glass of pale liquid in front of Bailey. She immediately took a shaky gulp then set the glass down so abruptly, the wine sloshed onto her hand.
Smooth move, klutz,
she berated herself. Maybe if she sort of waved her hand around unobtrusively while she talked, it would dry and Austin wouldn't notice.

"Well," she said, flinging her hand out, "what's new with our little insurance case?"

Austin's expression was confused for a moment, and an absurd happiness sang through her veins. Paula had been right. He hadn't called her to talk about the case. She battled with her lips to keep them from bursting into a sappy grin.

"Nothing significant," he finally answered.

What should she say to that? It was her turn, and her mind was a blank. Nervousness had stolen her happiness. "Done any more running lately?"
Way to go! Now he'll think you're being suggestive.
"Alone, I mean."
No, that was worse!
"In the daylight."
Oh, jeez!
"Hot weather for running."

She grabbed her wine and
took a huge drink, filling her mouth. Anything to stop it from talking. She was making a total fool of herself. The man would never want to see her again.

"No, I haven't done any more running, not since we
—not in the last couple of days," he answered. "Been really busy at the office. How about you?"

"Yes. Me, too. Really busy." Such eloquence. She badly needed a new mouth or
at least a new brain to control the old one.

"Why don't we have some dinner?" Austin su
ggested. "You haven't eaten yet, have you?"

Sure, they always serve
seven course dinners at law offices,
Bailey started to say, but remembered Paula's advice and managed to stop the sarcastic words before they escaped. "No," she replied, smiling and reaching for her wine.

A large gentleman staggered backward from the burgeoning crowd, into their table, splashing more wine on her hand. As she and Austin grabbed the table to steady it, the man grunted and disappeared back into his group.

The incident caused them to shift just enough so Bailey's knee was pressing against Austin's. Her heart began to hammer. Even through the layers of clothes, she could feel excruciatingly wonderful tingles.

Nevertheless, she started to move away from the a
ccidental touch then stopped. Maybe it wasn't an accident on his part. He'd think she was rejecting him if she pulled away. But if it was an accident and she didn't move, then what would he think of her? On the other hand, he certainly wasn't moving.

With a forced laugh, she waved her dripping hand in the air. "Some people are such knees
—such heedless people!"

Oh, jeez! She hadn't really said that. Please, God, she hadn't really said that.

"No harm done," Austin replied.

Just how did he mean that? Harm done to, and by, whom? Her leg froze. She couldn't have budged it if someone had yelled,
Fire
.

Austin half turned in his chair to signal the waitress, but his knee didn't move.

Bailey had never before realized there were so many nerve endings in her knee, and that they led upward into so many other, seemingly unconnected, parts of her body. She was suddenly very aware of the tips of her breasts pushing against the soft fabric of her bra. Her breathing came rapid and shallow, a far cry from her normal slow, deep, athletic respiration.

Finally
the menus arrived, she opened hers and pretended to study it intently though the print refused to focus.

"What are you having?" Austin asked, closing his menu.

She always got the same thing, but at the moment, she couldn't remember what it was. "Oh, anything. Whatever you're having. I'm easy." She flinched inwardly as she heard the last words escape from her treacherous mouth.

But Austin didn't seem to notice. He appeared relaxed and in control as he lifted his glass of beer to his lips. Was it possible he hadn't noticed the contact? His leg seemed to move slightly, press closer to hers. Or maybe it was only her imagination conjuring up what she wanted
to happen.

"Excuse me, I have to find the ladies' room," she blurted out, leaping up from the table.

"More wine?" he asked, indicating her almost empty glass.

"No. Iced tea." If she couldn't control herself on one glass of wine, she'd better not have any more.

In the ladies' room she closeted herself in a cubicle and leaned against the wall. Maybe she could just stay there forever. This was worse than high school, more humiliating. Because, she realized, it was more important. Being popular in school mattered, but not as much as impressing someone special, making that person like you. And, heaven help her, she wanted Austin to like her. She wanted him to look at her again the way he had that night in the park.

She drew in a deep breath and thrust her chin
forward. She'd never reach the finish line with an attitude like that. She would go back out there and be so sweet and so clever, he'd forget the first part of the evening. She could do it. Her motto had always been: If someone else can do it, so can I, and do it just a little bit better.

Shoulders back, she pushed open the door, stepped out, saw herself in the mirror above the sink, and groaned. Makeup certainly had a short half-life.

Waiting for Bailey to return, Austin leaned back in his chair, his heart racing. Damn the woman! She had him incredibly aroused just by touching his leg. It was a good thing there weren't any bushes around to throw her behind or he'd probably lose control again.

Though he wasn't sure she would be so receptive this time. She seemed bored with the whole evening, didn't even want another drink.

He still didn't understand her recent actions—running away from him, physically and emotionally, after making love on Sunday night; appearing totally confused but no longer angry at lunch on Monday; and now, seemingly eager to meet him here, allowing his leg to touch hers, then bolting from the room. She was a very frustrating woman, weaving—no, make that crashing—her way into the core of his being then retreating frostily.

Lifting his glass, he drained the last few sips of his beer, his mind registering peripherally that it had gone flat and stale. He usually left that last half inch, but Bailey had driven him to unusual behavior.

Across the room he saw her coming back to the table, elegant litheness moving through the chaos.

His fist clenched tightly. He would take charge of the situation, force sense from this chaos. With a macho gesture, he raised his beer glass to his lips and tossed his head back. As Bailey reached the table, he set it back down, hoping in the dim light she hadn't noticed he'd tried to drink from an empty glass.

After an hour of excruciatingly painful mundane conversation, Austin had to admit he was floundering. Bailey totally unnerved him, sitting there all prim and proper in her navy blue pinstripe suit when he knew what was under it. He'd seen her cool eyes become slits of passion, had kissed her full lips and held her firm, sweaty body against his. However hard she tried to pretend it hadn't happened, he knew it had.

He
shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Would you like to go somewhere else?" he asked. "Maybe we could find someplace to dance." He could hold her body next to his again, and who knew what might happen then?

"Dance?" She looked confused, almost frightened.

Her eyes darted across the room, then back to him and down to her empty tea glass. "I don't dance," she finally said, her tone cold.

Right, he thought. She could run like a gazelle, swim like a mermaid, mak
e love like—there was no metaphor for that, for the way her body moved so smoothly with his. No woman that coordinated, that graceful, would be unable to dance.

"Religious preference?" he asked sarcastically.

"No. Lack of training and talent." Her eyes met his, defiant, challenging. She sat upright in her chair and crossed her arms.

He knew that body language. She was shutting him out and
, as usual, he had no idea why, but he wasn't about to let her know that. He emulated her posture. "How amazing that a beautiful woman like you can't dance."

He almost got her that time. She blinked twice, rapidly, then regained her composure. Austin waited, a strange intoxication pervading his being. He could almost predict what she would say now, and that was exciting, to think he knew her so well. She'd make some snide remark such as how they ought to report that amazing fact to Ripley's Believe It or Not.

"Not all of us are skilled in all things," she said. Austin dropped his gaze to the table and took a deep breath, trying to regroup. He'd been wrong. He didn't know her after all.

"I'm sure you have a busy schedule tomorrow," she continued in that same distant tone, "and I ne
ed to get home and feed Samantha."

She opened her bag and pulled out her wallet. With another jolt, Austin realized she intended to pay for her own
drink.

"No!" He grabbed her hand, and for an exhilarating instant he could see green sparks shooting from her eyes. "My treat," he insisted. "You can have me over for dinner next time."

Blast! Of all things to say to a woman who couldn't cook!

She shrugged and withdrew her hand from his grasp.

"Then thank you." Her eyes dripped green icicles.

*~*~*

"He hates me," Bailey informed Paula an hour later as the two of them perched cross-legged on Paula's bed, sipping hot chocolate. The scene, reminiscent of so many in high school, was vaguely comforting in spite of the chunk of granite that had settled in her abdominal region after the disastrous evening with Austin. "Even though I was so nice to him, it would have turned your stomach. It did mine. He hates me."

"You haven't told me one thing that would substant
iate that theory," Paula replied.

"You weren't there to hear the intonations, see the gestures. Anyway it doesn't matter. I don't care." Even with
Paula she should salvage some of her damaged pride.

Paula
raised an eyebrow in disbelief, and Bailey averted her gaze. "So why did he ask you to meet him if he doesn't like you?" she asked, ignoring Bailey's last comment.

"I don't know." Bailey leaned over the edge of the bed to catch Samantha in mid
-leap. The little dog wriggled from her grasp and nestled into the pillows between the two women. Bailey tangled her fingers in the soft fur, soaking up the undemanding love. "I don't pretend to understand the man's motives," she said. "Maybe he's up to something underhanded."

Paula
sighed exaggeratedly. "If you'd only apply the same principles to having a relationship that you apply to everything else, you'd have Austin or any other man you choose eating out of your hand. Pull out all the stops, don't quit until the race is over, give it the Bailey Russell effort."

"The race is over, and I could care less. The subject of Austin is closed." She would put him out of her head as well as out of the conversation. She'd had enough of making a fool of herself over a man. Okay, so this particular man made her feel all tingly inside when he touched her, and being with him, competing with him, even when she lost, made her feel as if she were bursting with sunshine and fire. So what? She'd been doing just fine before she met him, and she'd do just fine without him. His only position in her life would be opposing counsel. "It's your turn," she told
Paula. "Tell me what's going on with Prince Charming."

"Ah, Prince Charming."
Paula leaned back against the headboard. "Prince Charming has been far too busy with duties of his kingdom to pay attention to an ordinary commoner."

Bailey sipped her chocolate, but it had gone cold. "Are you saying he's working too much and ignoring you?"

"Except that we know Gordon never works too much. Gordon does the minimum and smiles a lot."

Bailey set her cup on
Paula's nightstand and leaned back against the pillow. "Not true," she said, delighted to be able to disagree after having her earlier comments debunked. "I have personally observed the man at work as well as the ill effects of this hard work. I told you how tired he was last night."

"Bailey, dear friend, you never have lived in the same world as the rest of us. Did you know I had an affair with Ron Sims?"