The Fantasy Factor. Kimberly Raye
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a voice whispered. You can’t do this.
She was different now. At least, that’s what she wanted everyone to think. And they weren’t going to think any such thing if she lost her head right in the middle of the dance floor and pressed herself up against him. And rubbed this way and that. And touched him just so—
A loud whistle ripped through the air and shattered the seductive spell she’d been lost in. She jerked around to see Maddie, Eileen, Janice, Brenda and Cheryl Louise. They waved and gave a thumbs-up.
“What’s that all about?”
“Just a game.”
“What kind of game? To see who gives the loudest wolf whistle?”
“Actually, it’s about dancing.” She forced her fingers to let go of his collar and she pulled away. “And I just won. If you’ll excuse me…” She didn’t wait for a response. She darted away from him and left him staring after her.
His gaze drilled into her back, and it was all she could do to keep from turning and running back and begging him to take her to bed.
Or, more important, straight into a nice warm shower. Because that’s what he did in her fantasies. What they’d planned on doing for their fourth encounter so long ago. What he’d never had the chance to do because she’d changed and he’d left and life had come between them.
She said a quick goodbye to her friends before heading for the rear exit. Out in the parking lot, she climbed behind the wheel of her car. As she shoved the key into the ignition, her arm bumped a giant cardboard box filled with vases for the centerpieces she was going to put together tonight for Cheryl Louise’s reception tomorrow. Glass clinked and the engine groaned.
She gave one last look at the exit door, half expecting, half hoping that he would come after her. He didn’t, and a swell of disappointment went through her, quickly followed by a wave of relief.
The last thing, the very last thing she needed in her life was to have Houston Jericho running after her. He wasn’t her type and she wasn’t his.
Even if he did suit her perfectly in her dreams.
This was real life, not some hot, erotic fantasy.
More important, this was her life now—her calm, conservative, boring life, and she wasn’t about to spice it up and ruin her image by losing her head, or her hormones, over Houston Jericho.
It was all about keeping her perspective the next time she saw him.
If that didn’t work, she would just have to keep her distance.
“MY, MY, BUT THAT WAS a beautiful ceremony.” Miss Marshalyn sighed and finished penning her name in the guest book. “Marriage is such a blessed union,” she told Houston as she wrapped an arm around his and started inside the VFW Hall for the reception. “Don’t you think, dear?”
“For some, I’m sure it is. But for others—”
“Nonsense. It’s blessed for everyone. Oh, look, there’s Jennie Mayfield.” She pointed to a petite blonde oohing and aahing over a small baby. “That’s her new niece. She has nine of them, and seven nephews, and she dotes on them.”
“Good for her.”
“No, good for you. If she thrives on her nieces and nephews, she’s sure to dote on her own children, and you most certainly want a wife who adores her children.”
“I’m sure she’ll make a great wife. Not for me, but for someone—”
“There’s Darlene Davenport. She’s the secretary over at the bingo hall. She knows everything about gardening.”
“That’s good.”
“You’re darned tootin’ it is. A man deserves fresh vegetables with his dinner, and since you’ll have one hundred acres of your very own, you can devote plenty of room to a nice garden.”
“About the land—”
“No need to thank me, dear,” she cut in, waving him silent.
“I wasn’t going to thank you. I was going to tell you that I really can’t—”
“Why, there’s Margie Weston!” Miss Marshalyn blurted. “I haven’t seen her in ages. I must go say hello. We’ll chat later, dear.” Before Houston could blink his eyes, he found himself standing alone. But not for long.
It seemed that the old woman wasn’t just pointing out prospects to him. She seemed to be pointing him out to all of her prospects. In a matter of minutes, he found himself surrounded by a handful of women talking about everything from muddy diapers to various species of tomatoes.
“I like the cherry ones, myself, but they do require extra care to grow. What about you, Houston? What’s your favorite tomato?”
“I don’t eat tomatoes.”
“How about cucumbers?”
“Never liked them.”
“What about squash? I’ve never met a man who didn’t like squash.”
“Can’t stand the stuff. Wow, there’s Darcy Waters. I haven’t seen her in ages.” He tried Miss Marshalyn’s avoidance tactic. “I have to say hello.”
He left the group staring after him, muttering about what a loosey goosey Darcy Waters used to be.
They were right. She’d been loose back then, and she was still going strong, he quickly discovered after saying hello. Five husbands, an equal number of divorces and three kids later, she still found time to keep the dance floor hot over at Cherry Blossom Junction and every other honky-tonk in the surrounding counties. She liked astrology and Marlboro Lights and he quickly discovered that he didn’t like her half as much as he liked Sarah Buchanan.
Even if Sarah was wearing a hideous orange bridesmaid’s dress and doing her best to avoid him.
He shifted his gaze to the woman currently straightening the bride’s lengthy train. She busied herself behind the scenes rather than out front the way he remembered.
She’s different now, a voice whispered. Last night proved what everyone said about her—namely, that she kept a low profile, walked the straight and narrow and conducted herself like a bona fide lady. At the same time, he couldn’t forget the wild light in her eyes when she’d stared up at him for those few moments on the dance floor, as if she’d wanted more from him than just a dance.
Maybe. And maybe it was just wishful thinking because he wanted more from her than just one dance.
He couldn’t help but wonder if she tasted as good as he remembered, if she felt as soft, if she sounded just as breathless when he nibbled at her neck and stroked her nipples.
And Houston had never been a man just to sit around and wonder about anything. He went after what he wanted and found out for himself.
He started toward her.
“I DON’T BITE.” The smooth, silky voice came from behind, followed by a firm, familiar touch on her shoulder. “Except for that one time, but it was only because you wanted me to.”
Sarah’s hand faltered on the cup of punch she’d just poured. Raspberry sherbet mixed with ginger ale sloshed over the side and trickled over her fingers. She set the cup aside, next to the dozen or so others she’d poured in the past few minutes and did her best to calm her pounding heart.
Pounding, when she’d promised herself just last night that she wasn’t going to get nervous. Or excited. Or turned on.
Especially turned on. She had a reputation to protect and salivating at the first sign of the town’s hottest bad boy was not in keeping with her goody-goody image.
“Hello to you, too.”
“I didn’t walk clear across this room to say hello. I tried to do that more