Countdown to Baby. GINA WILKINS
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you sure you don’t want dessert?” he asked when they could spend no more time toying with their empty plates.
Still wearing the soft smile his word-pictures had evoked, Cecilia shook her head. “I couldn’t eat another bite. But feel free to order something for yourself.”
He had no interest in dessert, either. As delectable as the pies here were, they couldn’t draw his interest away from the woman across the table from him.
It seemed he was in the mood for spicy rather than sweet this evening.
Somewhat reluctantly he paid the tab and escorted her out of the dining room. The strains of music drifting from the downstairs lounge gave him an idea for prolonging the evening. “The band sounds good tonight. Unless you’re in a hurry to get home, why don’t we have a drink and listen for a little while?”
She barely hesitated before agreeing. “That sounds like fun.”
Immensely pleased with himself, he led her in. Melinda’s lounge was a popular weekend date destination, and both the dance floor and the numerous cozy tables were almost full. Geoff thought it was another example of how magical this evening had been so far that a particularly nice table opened up just as they entered.
An efficient waitress took their orders almost as soon as they sat down. Cecilia asked for white wine, and Geoff requested the same.
The band—a group of talented local thirtysomethings—played a mix of adult contemporary and country pop numbers, the most popular genres for the usual crowd here. Geoff tapped his foot in time with a lively rendition of “Boot Scoot Boogie.” Energetic dancers two-stepped and line danced on the polished wood floor.
Geoff could two-step with the best of them, but he was rather hoping a nice, slow number would be next. The thought of holding Cecilia Mendoza in his arms was enough to make his foot tap faster.
She seemed to be enjoying watching the dancers. An amused smile flitted across her lips as she focused on one rhythmically challenged couple in matching turquoise western shirts and ill-fitting jeans.
Taking advantage of the opportunity to watch her without her noticing, he admired the way the flickering candlelight and colored dance floor lights gleamed in her dark hair. Wispy tendrils had escaped her upsweep to sway against her cheeks and flirt with the tops of her shoulders. He would like to see her hair down. Even more, he would like to see it spread across his pillow.
She chose that moment, of course, to glance his way, making him hope his thoughts were well concealed. “The band is good, aren’t they?”
“Very good,” he agreed, though he hadn’t heard a note since he’d started gazing at her.
She leaned a bit closer to him so he could hear her over the music and surrounding conversations. Though he could hear her perfectly well when she made another comment about the music, he scooted his own chair a bit closer to hers when he replied.
She lifted an eyebrow when his knee brushed hers. “You aren’t getting fresh, are you, Mr. Bingham?”
He grinned and ran a fingertip slowly down her smooth bare arm. “I was sort of thinking about it.”
“Well, let me know when you decide.”
“Are you telling me it’s okay if I do get fresh?”
She gave him a smile that heated his blood to a low simmer. “I suppose you’ll just have to try it and see.”
Obligingly enough, the band slipped into a slow number, the country arrangement of “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing.” As of that moment, it was Geoff’s new favorite song.
He stood and held out his hand. “Dance with me?”
Though she placed her hand in his and rose obligingly enough, she murmured, “I’m not much of a dancer, I’m afraid.”
Somehow he doubted that, considering the graceful way she moved, the gentle sway of her hips. But he couldn’t care less about fancy steps or choreographed moves—he just wanted to get his arms around her.
It felt as good to have them there as he had predicted.
Funny that he hadn’t realized until now how small she was. He would guess her to be a good seven inches shorter than his own six feet, so that even the strappy, heeled sandals she wore brought the top of her head just to his chin. Her figure was slender but nicely curved, making his hands itch to wander and explore. He kept them discreetly placed for public dancing, but he couldn’t help fantasizing a bit….
“It’s been forever since I’ve danced,” Cecilia murmured.
“It’s been a while for me, too.” The double entendre was unintentional—but accurate, nonetheless. When another couple crowded them, bringing Cecilia more closely against him, he was forcefully reminded of just how long it had been since he’d spent any quality one-on-one time with an attractive woman. It took some effort for him to keep his body from embarrassing him like a randy teenager’s.
They spent the next hour dancing and talking. Flirting. Having fun. Geoff could almost feel the last traces of work-induced tension seeping from his muscles. He sensed the same thing in Cecilia as her smiles warmed and softened.
It was inevitable that other people there recognized them with apparent surprise and curiosity, but other than acknowledging greetings, Geoff ignored everyone but his companion. Cecilia did the same, exchanging the occasional smile or wave, but subtly discouraging further approaches.
She was good at that, Geoff decided. Politely reserved. It was a skill his late mother had perfected and that Geoff had worked to develop to preserve some semblance of privacy in his hectic and very public life.
Though he paid little attention to gossip, his prominent family having been the subject of all too much of it during the years, he wondered if it bothered Cecilia that they were attracting so much notice. Tongues would probably wag tomorrow about Geoff making time with one of the midwives from the clinic. He was cynical enough to know that a few would turn the question around. “Didja’ hear that Cecilia Mendoza was making a play to snag the Bingham’s bachelor son?”
Such idle talk didn’t concern him, but maybe Cecilia took it more seriously. Then again, maybe not. After all, she must have known when they agreed to dine here that plenty of people would recognize them and speculate.
He had the feeling that Cecilia was self-confident enough not to be overly concerned at what other people said about her. He admired that about her. It was only one of the things he admired about her, he mused, his gaze lingering on her lush mouth.
Cecilia was reluctant for the evening to end, and it was clear that Geoff felt the same way. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such a pleasant outing. She certainly couldn’t recall the last time she had danced this much. Even if her feet were throbbing in the heeled sandals she hadn’t expected to wear this long, it was well worth the discomfort.
It was a heady feeling knowing that Geoff found her attractive. Too often lately she had felt routine-bound and uninteresting, her days consumed with work, her home life unfulfilling. She was so often surrounded by young nurses and young mothers, who often treated Cecilia with a deference usually reserved for much older women. It was a sign of their respect for her and her career, of course, and she acknowledged that. But their attitudes sometimes made her feel older than thirty-seven.
Now a man at least five years her junior was looking at her with desire and admiration in his eyes. A very attractive, successful, interesting and respected man, who must meet dozens of beautiful and fascinating women in his travels.
She didn’t expect this to go anywhere, of course. Nor did she particularly want it to. After all, Geoff was a Bingham—and she certainly didn’t want to be involved in their lives. It concerned her enough that her brother was marrying one of the notorious Binghams—even though Hannah was only loosely connected to the clan.
Still, Cecilia thought, as Geoff’s strong arms went around her for their final dance, it had been