Male Order Bride (14 page)

"Fine," she said, grateful he was stating why they were
going to his house. She would hold him to leaving again for the
dancing, just in case he decided to change her friend status to lover.

He lived on the outskirts of the city in a house that
couldn't be seen from the road. A long tree-lined drive led along a
wooden pasture fence for a distance, making Lacey wonder if this was a
road or his driveway.

It was his driveway, she soon realized as he made a sharp
left turn and drove the car into the garage next to the 1933 Chevy. The
Kincaids must have left their car here to pick his up, Lacey decided,
waiting for Rafe to walk around to her side to let her out.

He took her hand as he helped her out of the car, and kept
it in his as they approached the back porch. Lacey waited while he
found the correct key and opened the door, inviting her to precede him
inside.

He guided her through the utility room into a wide kitchen
and breakfast area with a recessed bay window. He flipped light
switches as he went, leading her through the modern kitchen into the
den, dominated by a complicated-looking stereo system. Rafe went over
to the unit and flipped another switch, filling the room with country
music. He smiled, returning to her and taking her in his arms again,
dancing around the room with her.

Lacey laughed, entranced with this person who integrated
music so thoroughly into his life. He was a good dancer, too, and it
was pleasant to feel his heart beating and feel his cheek against hers.
She thought again of his scar and wondered if he could feel the
softness of her cheek the way she could feel the subtle texture of his
skin.

"We could stay here," he whispered.

"Uh-oh," Lacey protested, liking it even better when he
kissed her on the cheek again and then on the lips. She laughed against
his mouth, loving the spontaneity of this man.

"I hope you don't think I'm too forward," he said another
time.

"No," she said, drawing a little away from him so that he
could see she wasn't offended. "Don't stop asking. It's just that
tonight isn't the night."

He nodded in acquiescence and let her slip out of his arms
as she turned to study the framed posters and art he had decorating his
walls. He told her his stories behind his photograph of himself with
his favorite horse, the sabers and stirrups mounted on plaques,
pictures of helicopters in the jungle, and a poster on the evolution of
the Air Cavalry.

"I like your furniture," she told him, looking around.
"You probably won't believe this, but we have the same taste."

"Do we?" he asked, looking for another station on the
radio.

"You have all dark wood bamboo. I have all the blond
bamboo."

He looked across the room at her, another mind-stabbing
glance that said he was overwhelmed by that simple coincidence. "Would
you like to see the rest of the house?"

She nodded eagerly. He took her into the living room,
where a papasan chair accented bamboo etageres. Fine crystal stemware
sat on the shelves. "I have a papasan chair too," she said, delighted
as she looked at the artwork on the walls. They were all original
rubbings from Eastern temples. That appealed to the artist in her. He
told her about the different pieces of furniture and turned and
directed her down the hallway, where she lagged behind him to admire
the other framed paintings along the walls.

He led her into his bedroom, decorated with more prints
and original drawings, a mother and child, scenes from some of the
places he had lived around the world. The room was spacious, furnished
simply with a bed, dresser and chair. The hide of a cow was spread
across the carpeted floor.

"I do like your taste in art," she said, trying not to
stand too close to the bed so that he wouldn't get the wrong idea. It
was difficult to be impersonal about a room when there was the
intimidation of a bed glaring at her right at knee level.

"Tell me what you think of this," he said, dragging a
large poster out from beneath the bed. "This is the explanation that
goes with it," he said, continuing to talk to her as she read about the
poster and how he had produced it, hiring an artist to create a scene
that commemorated the centennial of the U.S. Army C.G.S.C. school.

Lacey tried to concentrate on the words, comparing it to
the picture, trying to pay the least attention to Rafe, who was taking
off his jacket, pulling off his boots, unbuttoning his shirt-undressing
around her.

Read the poster
, she told herself.
Pay
attention to the words. Ignore the sounds of his pants coming off and
the implication of what could happen next
.

I can't believe he's doing this
, she
thought.
On a first date. Does he do this with every date he
has the first time
?

She blushed, burying her nose in the sheet in front of
her, trying to think of something "arty" to say.

He walked in front of her, jeans in place of the
yellow-striped blue pants from the uniform.

She sighed. At least he had gotten dressed again. Maybe
she should take that as a compliment that he had accepted her so
completely, so quickly, that he thought nothing of undressing with her
in the room—and then dressing again.

Almost. He had his shirt off.

Lacey smiled at him, her eyes mirroring her confusion.
What did he have on his mind?

"Well, what do you think?" he asked. It took a few seconds
for her to realize he was referring to the print now, not the fact that
he looked terrific in bare skin. "Notice anything?" he asked.

In the print, not the body
, she told
herself, training her eyes back on the drawing in front of her. She
stared at it, trying to forget the well-toned angles and lines of his
arms, shoulders, chest.

"Oh!" she squealed, suddenly seeing what she should have
seen when he handed the print to her. "That's you. I thought it looked
familiar—I'm impressed."

He pushed the print aside to sit on the edge of the bed,
pulling on his western boots to replace the cavalry dress boots he had
just shed. When he stood again, it was to lean forward and kiss her,
taking her very gently in his arms.

Lacey smiled, liking these sensations of gentle loving
sweeping through her veins from his touch. It was so easy to cling to
him, so easy to open her mouth wider for him, so easy to let him take
her down to the bed with him and lie in his arms.

He pushed the hair out of her eyes and smiled at her. He
brought his lips next to hers again, and tenderly kissed her. "Sure you
don't want to stay here tonight?" he whispered.

She smiled, lazily looking at him, kissing him this time
herself, and shaking her head. "You said dancing, and I'm going to hold
you to it."

"I thought you'd say that. But I had to ask. I hope you
don't feel like I'm too forward, ma'am."

"Not at all," she answered, knowing he was not going to
press her into anything she didn't want, warming even more toward him
because of it. "I'm glad you asked. I hope you ask again. Just not
tonight."

"I'll ask again," he said, "friend." He kissed her again,
and then he sat up, letting her get up on her own as he left the bed to
rummage in the closet for a western-style shirt to go with his jeans.

Lacey watched him openly now, admiring the way his body
moved, finding a new attractiveness in his slim physique. It pleased
her to be watching him dress, knowing that he was moving
unselfconsciously in front of her.

He finished dressing, tucked in his shirt and looked for a
belt to feed through the loops. Then he pulled a hat from the top shelf
of the closet, a different one from the hat he had worn on the plane in
Atlanta; this one was straw with a rattlesnake band.

"Where did you find that hat band?"

"I made it," he said, tossing her the hat and pointing out
the snake's rattler pointing up in the back of the hat.

Yes, she thought, that did fit her image of "mountain
man". She stood up, handing the hat back to him, and inched farther
from the bed. It was too inviting. He was doing too many things right.
He couldn't be totally real. She'd better move away from the bed before
she found her fingers turning down the covers.

"I'm ready," she announced.

He looked at her, at the bed, and smiled, then put his hat
on his head and took her hand as he turned off the light switch in the
bedroom and pushed her ahead of him down the hall to the den, through
the kitchen and out of the house.

The music was lively, blaring into the parking lot of the
lounge. She waited for Rafe to walk around to her side of the car to
let her out, then kept holding his hand as he locked the car. As they
stepped up to the entrance, he slipped a hand around her waist and she
slipped her arm around his, hugging next to him, loving the feel of the
man, matching her high-heeled stride to his loping, booted steps.

She needed to touch him to reassure herself it wasn't a
pumpkin coach they had just stepped out of and that this prince on the
white charger wasn't going to turn into a frog.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked, his mouth close to her
ear because of the loud music.

She shook her head. "Let's just dance."

He took her hand and led her through the crowded tables to
the dance floor. He was a good dancer, a man with rhythm. Whoever had
told her that about him had been correct. He knew how to lead her
through dances she had never tried before, making her feel as if she
had become an expert in less than one lesson. They danced fast songs,
disco and slow songs, hanging on to each other intimately.

Finally on a particularly fast number, Lacey pleaded for a
break. Rafe took her hand, leading her off the dance floor, and picked
out a table where they could still watch the other dancers while
sipping two beers.

Lacey drank half her beer as if it were water to quench
her thirst, and leaning forward, lifted her hair off her hot neck.
Rafe, fanning himself with a cocktail napkin, blew on the back of her
neck.

Lacey turned and smiled at him. She inched closer to him
and reached out and put a hand on his knee. She had never felt so at
ease and yet so excited by a man in such a short time.

Talking was impossible in the noisy room, but Lacey
managed to smile at Rafe and loved the feel of his hand on her back.
She couldn't remember the last time she had had such fun on a date, or
found so much to talk about and so many subjects she still wanted to
discuss.

It seemed they had just sat down when the lights started
coming on to announce that the place would be closing shortly. Lacey
excused herself to go to the ladies' room, wondering where they could
go next. She was wide-awake, drunk on the sight and feel and sound of
Rafe, not ready to go home or accompany him to his house.

"Lacey!" Jane said, bumping into her in the rest room. "I
wondered if you might end up here tonight. How's the date with the
mystery letter writer? You
are
here with him,
aren't you?"

Lacey laughed. "He's terrific! And he's both of them."

Jane looked puzzled, checking Lacey's hands to see if she
was drinking.

"Rafe Chancellor is the same R.C. I met on the plane.
Isn't that terrific!"

Jane laughed. "I don't believe it."

"What can we do now?" Lacey asked her manager. "I'm not
ready to go home and I don't think he wants to take me home, but I
don't want to go to his home with him. Is there any place left open
between here and New Orleans?"

"Outside of an all-night hamburger stand, I don't think
so," Jane answered. Lacey knew she would know, since she was frequently
seen at the dating hangouts around the coast. "I have an idea. My date
tonight wants me to go home with him, but I'm not too crazy about going
home with him myself. Why don't I invite the two of you to his house
with us? That way we can continue the party and safely leave whenever
we get ready. He keeps telling me he wants to show me his pool table."

"Would he mind?" Lacey asked, jumping at the chance to
have Rafe meet one of her friends.

"Sure, but I won't. It'll be perfect."

Lacey thought about it a moment. She liked Jane's company.
It wouldn't hurt for a little while at least. "I'll go tell Rafe. Come
out and meet us, will you?"

At three o'clock in the morning she and Rafe were shooting
pool in the living room against Jane and her date.

Lacey wasn't half as interested in the game as she was in
the affection she was receiving from Rafe. He put his arms around her chest, hugging her from behind
as they waited their turns with the cue sticks. When she managed by
chance to knock the right ball into the pocket, he rewarded her with a
quick kiss. Whenever they passed each other maneuvering around the
tight corners of the room, he reached out and touched her; Lacey could
live with that all night.

When Lacey felt as if she needed a couple of cue sticks to
prop her up to keep her awake, she suggested they leave. Jane and her
date were still going strong, ready to challenge each other to another
game on the felt. Lacey didn't think they'd mind being alone too much.

Rafe supported Lacey as they walked out to the car, and
then he tucked her into the front seat. He was silent as he climbed
into the car, started the engine and drove back along the coast. As he
was driving he reached out and caught her hand. She squeezed it, loving
his need for her affection.

"I'm not ready to take you home," he told her.

"I'm not ready to go home," she answered him, "but I'm
fading fast." She tried to stifle a yawn but wasn't too successful. "Do
you have any suggestions? What are we going to do next?"

"I have plenty of suggestions," he told her, "but you've
already said no to them."

"For tonight. Not necessarily for always." She smiled
across at him in the dark.