Footloose

She opened her mouth and he felt a lick of anticipation shimmy down to his groin. He could feel her indecision. To taste or not to taste.

He struggled with an instinct to take control, to plunge his tongue into her mouth, but her tentative explorations were too delicious.

He opened his mouth and barely brushed her lips to give her encouragement without guiding her.

She echoed his movement and rewarded him by sliding her tongue just inside his mouth.

White-hot lust raced through him. He wanted to devour her mouth, bury his face in her breasts and slide between her thighs until neither of them could walk normally. He couldn’t remember feeling this hot since he was sixteen years old.

She lingered, rubbing just the tip of her tongue over the inside of his lip, then against the tip of his own tongue. Then she pulled back and he again fought the urge to close his arms around her and kiss the breath out of her.

Something made him stop. He would figure out later just what that something was.

She looked up at him, her blue eyes smoky with a hint of arousal, and she smiled. “Thanks.”

Over the pounding of his heart, he smiled back. “Thank you.”

Driving to the gate, he pulled to a stop again, putting the car in park. He got out and opened her door. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

“I’m sure,” she said, her voice determined as she rose to her feet and stood for a couple of seconds as if to get her bearings.

He found an old paper receipt in the console and scratched his cell number on it. “Call me,” he said, handing it to her.

She glanced at the paper, but just smiled enigmatically. “Thanks again.”

He watched her walk down the driveway and wondered why he felt like he was the one who’d been hit by a hurricane.

CHAPTER THREE

OKAY, SO MAYBE the three-hurricane thing hadn’t been such a good idea after all, Amelia thought the next morning as the sound of her alarm clock scraped like a thousand razors in her skull. She felt renewed sympathy for the state of Florida for the pounding of hurricanes it had taken throughout the years.

Images of the night before skittered through her brain. She’d started a list. It had begun sensibly, but then that hot guy had made suggestions. Had she really kissed the man she’d met last night? She pulled her sheet over her head in embarrassment. What was his name? Something that started with a J. John, Jim. Jack. He had been so hot, so good-looking and sexy, and she’d just bet he possessed little to zero ambition. She was lucky he hadn’t taken advantage of her.

Or maybe not so lucky, she thought, as a kick of defiance raced through her. The advantage to being taken advantage of was that she wouldn’t have to take responsibility for being a bad girl. Remembering how his biceps had felt beneath her fingertips and the contrast of his light eyes against his tanned skin, she closed her own eyes and relived the secret pleasure of feeling desirable. She wondered what it would take for her to find the nerve to have a fling with a guy like that.

A siege of protests stormed through her mind. She was starting to think that this sexual attraction thing was like a muscle and she needed to build up to it.

She might be ready in a couple of months, she told herself and pulled the sheet back down.

A hangover wouldn’t keep her from beating Lillian Bellagio into the office. The one thing that had kept Amelia from dissolving into a puddle during her breakup was the knowledge that she was good at her job. She could make order out of mayhem on any day that ended with y. The love of her life may have kicked her to the side of the road, but the people at Bellagio thought she was all that and a bag of chips. Her boss, Trina Roberts, had even confided that several supervisors had engaged in little battles to keep her in their departments. Gingerly lifting her head from her pillow, Amelia eased out of bed and walked to the bathroom, wishing she could mainline ibuprofen.

She glanced in the mirror and saw the same old pale face staring back at her. Her blond hair rebelled at her meticulous efforts with the flat iron yesterday, sticking out in every direction represented on the compass. Will had preferred her hair super straight. That had been easy when she was young, but once puberty hit, her hair had turned wavy and more unruly.

She scowled at her reflection. She should cut her hair and dye it black. Add black lipstick and several piercings and she would look like a rebellious teenager.

Disgusted with her indecisiveness, she stripped off her nightshirt and got into the shower. After she lathered her hair and body and rinsed, she glanced down at her bright pink toenails in approval. One small step for independence.

Will had preferred neutral colored nails. But Amelia had learned that her brightly painted toenails gave her a little lift. One question about her preferences answered. Now she only had a million more questions about herself to ask.

Thirty minutes and three cups of coffee later, with her hair pulled into a low ponytail, she dressed in a cotton skirt and blouse and walked toward Lillian Bellagio’s offices in the south wing of the house.

Knowing Lillian had ditched her last three assistants in record time, Amelia hadn’t let the balmy climate and the sumptuous Bellagio estate fool her. Although Lillian’s calendar was filled with garden club meetings and luncheons, Bellagio’s grande dame had zero tolerance for sloppy staff, business or otherwise.

After confirming Lillian’s usual breakfast of tea with cream, a peach scone and a small bowl of fresh fruit, Amelia turned on her computer and checked Lillian’s e-mail for reminders and notices. Then she scanned her own messages and responded to her mother’s daily e-mail, along with a note from one of her sisters. She printed off the tentative itinerary for the next board meeting and made a list of the most recent requests for Lillian’s presence and/or the presence of her money.

Fifteen minutes before the planned time for their morning meeting, Lillian walked through the doorway, her perfectly groomed white hair smoothed into a stiff bob that Amelia was certain would defy gale-force winds. Lillian had arrived increasingly early each morning. Amelia wondered if the woman was trying to catch her off-guard. After taking care of several Bellagio disasters, Amelia wasn’t about to let Bellagio’s most demanding, fickle and finicky board member one-up her. It was a matter of pride.

“Good morning, Amelia.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Bellagio. How are you?”

“Very good, thank you. Have you ordered my tea?”

“Yes, ma’am. I asked them to hold it until you arrived so it wouldn’t get cold. Excuse me,” she said and pressed the intercom button. “Beatrice, could you please bring Mrs. Bellagio’s breakfast?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the kitchen assistant said. “I’ll be right up.”

“Thank you,” Amelia said and moved to a chair in the sitting area where Lillian preferred to plan her day.

“You’re the most prompt assistant I’ve ever had,” Lillian said.

“Thank you, Mrs. Bellagio.”

“You’re different from the others,” Lillian continued, and thanked Beatrice when she delivered her breakfast tray. She prepared her tea. “You keep your belly covered and I don’t see any tattoos. You’re efficient to a fault. I like that. A little old-fashioned. I was like that at your age, too,” Lillian said. “Perhaps I was a bit too old-fashioned. I understand you got out last night. As long as it doesn’t interfere with your work, you should do it more often.”

Amelia’s stomach clenched. How much did Lillian know? Did the woman have spies everywhere?

“It’s okay,” Lillian went on, searching Amelia’s face. “I know the only reason you were assigned to me is that I’m considered a pain and you’re considered a magician. It’s a shame I won’t get to keep you. But I can tell you’re headed for bigger things.” She paused a moment. “I was told about your broken engagement. A couple of words to the wise. Never chase a bus or a man. Another one will be along in ten minutes. You may as well enjoy yourself while you’re here.”

Amelia stared at the woman in surprise. For the past ten days, Lillian had been polite, but reserved and impersonal. Now it was almost as if Amelia had passed some invisible test.

The older woman smiled. “I can see you must have believed the rumors. My reputation is notorious. It comes in handy sometimes. Can you imagine how many of those macho Bellagios would roll right over an old lady like me if I didn’t cause a little fuss every now and then?”

Intrigued, Amelia smiled cautiously. “I can see your point of view.”

“Good,” Lillian said. “I suspect you and I will get along very well, but if you tell Alfredo or any of the others that I’m anything but a shrew, I’ll tell them you’re a liar.” Her sugary southern accent didn’t fool Amelia. She’d bet Lillian could gut any beast that caused her trouble, and that included a human male.

Lillian lifted her cup of tea to her lips. “I have a guest arriving next weekend. I’d like to host a small party. It’s short notice. Can you plan it?”

Amelia felt a little kick of excitement. The party presented a small challenge, but she loved pulling off the impossible. When presented with a professional crisis, her brain immediately began to supply her with a range of solutions. Planning a party under such short notice was no different.

“I’ll need a guest list with phone numbers and addresses, your budget, any food preferences or allergies and the mood you’d like to create. I can have something preliminary for you this afternoon.”

Lillian nodded in approval.

Amelia was thrilled with a legitimate excuse to procrastinate dealing with her trainwreck of a personal life. She could plan all of Lillian’s social events for the next year in less than a week, but she knew that putting her own life together would be like building a house one brick at a time.

THE PARTY WAS A HUGE SUCCESS, with Lillian’s guests begging to borrow Amelia. Lillian demurred, instead instructing Amelia to take two days off as a reward for her hard work.

The prospect of facing forty-eight empty hours nearly gave Amelia hives. Why was it so much easier to manage someone else’s life than her own?

After Amelia showered, she slathered on SPF 50 sunscreen and changed her clothes three times because she couldn’t decide what to do during her free time. Finally settling on a swimsuit that she covered with a skirt and top, she grabbed a straw bag and towel and plopped a pair of sunglasses on her nose.

She glanced at the cocktail napkin with the list she’d begun during her three-hurricane evening and felt it egging her on. Jack’s bold scrawl contrasted with her softer print. She looked at some of his contributions to the list and noticed a common thread. Everything was to be done naked. Not sure whether to laugh or to panic, she grabbed the napkin and stuffed it into her purse.

She walked a half-mile down the road to a public beach and spread out her blanket. Reclining in the sun, inhaling the sea air, listening to the lapping sound of the waves, her mind strayed to thoughts of Will and the European honeymoon they’d planned. She’d turned down an opportunity to be a foreign exchange student in Italy for a semester because Will had wanted their first time in Europe to be together.

“Stop it,” she whispered to herself. Rule number two for how to get over the love of your life was to replace thoughts of him with something else. Besides, she was supposed to be relaxing, clearing her mind.

She shifted on her towel and sighed. Why was relaxing such hard work? Flipping onto her tummy, she pulled her how-to book from her straw bag.

She lasted another fifteen minutes and decided to take a walk on the beach. The stingy stretch of sand, which she now knew was common to the Keys, made walking more like pacing. Back and forth, back and forth.

So fidgety her skin felt tight, she gave up on the beach and walked into the small center of town to wander through the shops. She picked up a couple of books for her niece and nephew’s birthdays, sent a postcard to her mother and eventually stopped at a popular breakfast and sandwich shop.

When no waiter showed up to take her order, Amelia considered leaving. After further observation, she overheard the owner, a frazzled but friendly woman with white hair, apologizing. Her cook had called in sick and the owner had to do everything herself until extra help arrived.

“I can pour coffee and water if you like,” Amelia offered, and after a few half-hearted protests from the owner, Amelia began making beverage rounds.

Twenty minutes later, she put a glass of water in front of another customer, whom she noticed out of the corner of her eye was male. They’d started to blur together. “Good morning. Your waitress will be here in just a few minutes to take your order. Would you like some coffee?”

Silence followed. Then she heard, “Sure. New job?”

Amelia blinked, taking her first good look at the customer. With amused blue eyes framed by a dark fringe of lashes that matched his dark hair, he could have been a heart-stealer. If she’d had a heart left to steal.

Jack. Recognizing him from her night of hurricanes, she felt a rush of self-consciousness. “Not really. The owner was in a little bind. I’m free today, so it was no big deal to pour water and coffee.”

He looked at ease with himself in his t-shirt and shorts. Tanned, muscular legs and flip-flops suggested he had no problem kicking back and relaxing. She envied him that.

“You’re off all day today?”

She nodded, pouring coffee into his cup. “And tomorrow.”

“You want to take a day trip after you finish your shift here?” he asked, cracking a half-grin. “It’s Jack, by the way.”

“I remember,” she said. “And I’m—”

“Amelia,” he said before she could. His grin widened.

She hesitated a half-beat. She didn’t really know him. However, if he hadn’t taken advantage of her during her hurricane night, then he was probably okay. There had been the kiss, she reminded herself. But that had just been a kiss. A really really hot kiss, but…

She shook her head at her stupid debate. If she spent the afternoon with Jack, she wouldn’t have to dream up twenty more things to do today. “Thanks. That sounds good.”

He laughed. “Don’t you want to know where we’re going?”

“Oh, yeah. Where?”

“Key West. Sundown party at Mallory Square.”

“I’ve never been to one of those,” she said, feeling a ping of anticipation.

“We can change that,” he said, lifting his cup. The way he looked at her over its rim made something inside her give a little jump, which surprised her. So maybe she wasn’t dead after all.

Another employee showed up after thirty minutes, so Amelia turned in her coffee pot and water pitcher. The owner thanked her effusively and promised future lunches on the house.

Resisting the urge to return to the Bellagio estate to change clothes, Amelia freshened up in the restaurant’s powder room. The humidity had her hair sticking out in twenty different directions. Without her flat iron, she would have to go au natural with her hair, which scared the poo out of her. Amelia had ironed her hair into submission for so long she didn’t really know what it would looked like if she let it go free.

Sighing, she shook her head. It wasn’t as if she was trying to impress anyone. She just wanted to fill some free time.

Jack tossed a few bills on the table and stood as she walked toward him. “Ready to go?”

She nodded and put on her sunglasses as she followed him to the small parking lot.

He stopped at a black Porsche and pulled a cap out of the back. “You might want to wear this. You look like you could burn in five minutes with the top down.”

“Try three,” she said wryly. “I don’t remember this car.”

He chuckled and opened the door for her. “I’m not sure you were in a condition to remember much of anything. The car belongs to a friend of mine. When I visit, he lets me stay at his place and use his wheels.”

“Nice friend,” she said, sliding into the passenger seat.

“Yep.”

“Where are you visiting from?”

“Chicago, right now.”

A roamer, she concluded. It didn’t surprise her. He looked like the kind to travel light. If she’d been looking for a keeper, that would have put her off, but she wasn’t so it didn’t bother her.

“What do you do?” she asked. “For a living.”

He shot her a smile that reminded her of a shark. “Whatever’s profitable,” he said, revealing nothing.

“Legal?” she pressed, because she had her limits.

“Clean as a whistle,” he said, but his silence made her think he didn’t teach kindergarten. He started the engine and backed out of the parking space.

“So, how’s it been working for Bellagio’s grande dame? She finally let you out of the cellar?” he said.

“Pushed me out,” Amelia muttered. “She’s not as bad as—” She broke off, remembering how Lillian had insisted she wanted to maintain her reputation. “She’s quite a woman.”

“Quite a woman,” Jack echoed. “She’s either won you over or you’re being politely vague.”

“Sort of like ‘whatever’s profitable,’” she shot back.

He glanced at her in surprise and looked back at the road, smiling. “So the sweet Georgia peach has been hiding a little kick.”

Amelia hadn’t really thought about having a kick. She’d pretty much relied on Will for most of the kicking. She adjusted her cap. “Who knew?”

“How long did you say you dated your ex?”

She winced, wondering how much she’d revealed during that night of too many hurricanes. “A long time,” she said vaguely.

“Wasn’t it twelve or thirteen years?”

“Nice of you to remind me.”

He shook his head. “I bet you’re just starting to find out who you are.”

His insight surprised her. “Maybe, but one of the things I’ve learned is that I don’t like to talk about myself.”

“Unless you’ve had a few hurricanes,” he said.

“A gentleman wouldn’t continue to bring that up.”

“I’m not that kind of a gentleman,” he told her cheerfully.

“You were the other night when I was—”

“Smashed,” he finished for her. “One-time thing. Everyone lives by their own set of rules. One of mine is to maximize whatever gets thrown at you. I’m a bastard.”

Amelia digested that. He was an odd mix. He seemed laid-back. And not. She couldn’t tell if he was a con man or a mooch. “Does that mean I shouldn’t count on you if I drink too many hurricanes again?”

“I would get you home, but we might take a side-trip first,” he said in a breezy voice with just a hint of sexy undertone.

Her stomach tightened at the warning. She looked at his large hands, one on the steering wheel, the other on the gear shift. The wind ruffled his dark hair and whipped at his shirt. His shoulders were broad and his pecs and biceps bulged from some kind of exercise. His abdomen was flat, his legs long. His thighs looked strong. Her gaze strayed higher and she looked away, embarrassed at the direction of her thoughts.

He was a hottie, so why had he approached her? She couldn’t squelch her curiosity.

“There were at least a half-dozen females at that tiki bar who looked available and very attractive,” she said. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t approach them.” She paused. “Or maybe you did, and I just didn’t notice.”

He laughed. “No. I told you before that I approached you because you were the most interesting looking woman in the room.”

Interesting looking. She narrowed her eyes. That could be a compliment. Or not. “Is that like ‘quite a woman’?”

“No. You didn’t look like the rest of the women there.”

“They were tanned, beautiful and very thin,” she said stiffly.

“You looked real and pretty. And I wondered what you were writing on that napkin.”

“Well, now you know. The list,” she said.

He nodded. “Have you added to it?”

“No,” she said, feeling guilty and wimpy.

“Maybe you need a jump-start.”

Amelia adjusted her sunglasses and felt another little leap of nerves in her belly. She suspected Jack wasn’t the kind of man to provide just a little jump-start. He seemed more like a walking detonator. “Maybe,” she said tentatively.

“I could make a lot of suggestions,” he said in a wry, sexy tone. “But this is more about what you want. So, what do you want, Magnolia?”

Magnolia? She paused for a long moment and sighed. “That’s part of the problem. I don’t know.”

“That’s okay. The list is about experimentation.”

“I don’t really like to experiment unless it’s connected with my job.”

“So you want to just keep doing what you’ve always done? You don’t need a list for that.”

The prospect of being stuck in her current position forever made her want to scream. “No. You’re right. I need to experiment. But I don’t know how to start.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to sky dive?”

Her stomach clenched. “That’s a little drastic, but parasailing looks interesting.”

“Put it on your list. What else?”

“I’ve always wanted to sit in the front row at a concert,” she admitted.

“Any group in particular?” he asked.

“I’m flexible.”

“Write it down. Want to climb a mountain?”

“No, that’s a guy thing. But I always wondered what it would be like to be someone totally different than me.”

“So you’d like to switch identities,” he said.

“Not forever.”

“For a day.” He grinned. “Write it down.”

“But how could I do that?”

“Make up a person you’d like to be. Dress like her, talk like her, eat like her. Do whatever she would do that day. It’s just an expanded version of Halloween.”

“You probably think I’m nuts,” she said.

“Nah. It’s fun being part of your evolution.”

“What about your own evolution?”

“I’m way past you. I know what I want.”

“And that is?”

“To limit my commitments, always be ready to take the next step and not waste time looking back.”

“That sounds a little cold. You never look back?”

“Only when it’s profitable,” he said with that razor grin. “I heard a football analogy that you can only make one play at a time. If you’re thinking about an earlier play or a future play, then you’re not focusing on what you need to do now.”

“Hmm. Did you play football?”

He shook his head. “Not enough money as a kid for me to do anything but work after school. My mother wasn’t exactly a wise financial planner.”

“And your dad?”

“Wasn’t around,” he said. “Let me guess your family situation. Mom and Dad sat down with the kids for dinner every night. You took a family vacation in the summer, visited grandparents at Christmas and you lived in the same house growing up.”

His accuracy irritated her. Was she that transparent? That predictable? “My father wasn’t at dinner every night because he worked out of town sometimes. Sometimes my grandparents would visit us. We moved once,” she said.

“Bet you had some kind of music lessons, too,” he said.

“Piano,” she admitted. “What about you?”

“Air guitar,” he said with a chuckle. “No money for that, either. Trust me, Magnolia, I didn’t have the Norman Rockwell family experience. Let me guess again. You’re not an only child.”

“Right, I have—”

“No. Don’t tell me. Sisters,” he said.

A little spooked, she did a double-take. “Yes, three. I’m second out of four. How did you know I had sisters?”

“You’re a girly girl and you don’t seem comfortable with men.”

She dropped her jaw at his assessment. “You don’t know that I’m not comfortable with men.”

“You’re not that comfortable with me,” he pointed out.

“Well, that’s because you’re—” She broke off because saying the next thought that came to mind would have made her sound ridiculous.

“I’m what?”

“Nothing,” she said. “You’re right. I’m a girly girl with sisters. My mother taught us to bake and sew and sent us to charm school so we could walk and talk like ladies.”