Body Language (4 page)

This was where he would kiss her, if he were anyone in the world besides Clint McCade.

Instead, he blinked, laughed, and straightened up. “Come here,” he commanded.

Sandy tried not to wobble in the precariously high heels as she followed him down the hall. He stepped back when he reached her bedroom door, gesturing grandly for her to go in ahead of him.

She took three steps into the room, then stopped as she caught sight of herself in the big full-length mirror that was on the closet door.

“Oh, my God.” Sandy slowly walked toward her reflection. She was…beautiful. The white dress fit her snugly, making her figure look slender and feminine instead of skinny, the way she usually thought of herself. The skirt was short and it made her long, slim legs look as if they went on forever. And she had to admit, the shoes
were
pretty damn sexy. Her hair was an explosion of gold and light around her face and down her back. And her face! Her eyes looked exotic, her lashes full and dark, her lips the perfect shade of red for her complexion. Sandy’s gaze dropped lower, to the low-cut top of the dress. By God, would you look at that? The tops of her breasts looked lush and full.

She could see McCade in the mirror as he leaned against the door frame, his arms across his chest.

“McCade, you’re a magician.” She turned to look at him. “A miracle worker.”

He shook his head. “Hey, I just knew the right kind of wrapping to put on the package.”

She looked at herself again. As the shock was wearing off, reality was setting in. She frowned slightly. “I just…don’t think I can wear this.”

McCade straightened up. “Why not?”

“Well…” She searched for a reason. “For one thing, I’m too tall in these shoes.”

“Oh, come on, Kirk—”

“No, really, McCade. Look at me. I’m six feet tall.”

“Six
gorgeous
feet tall,” he countered. “So what?”

“I’ll tower over everybody.”

“You won’t tower over James.” Three big steps brought him close to Sandy. “He’s as tall as I am, right?”

“A little shorter.”

“Only a little.” He pulled her into his arms, as if they were going to dance together. He held her tightly, intimately against his lean, strong body. “See, you’ll fit him perfectly. He’ll love it, he won’t have to bend so far to kiss you.”

McCade looked down at the woman in his arms. Mercy, he’d been dying to hold Sandy like this for hours. She was staring up at him as if he’d gone crazy, her eyes wide, her soft lips parted in surprise. Oh, man, she felt so good, so heavenly against him. He ran his fingers through her silky hair, wanting her so badly—

He pushed her away from him and jammed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, praying that she hadn’t noticed his growing arousal. Dammit! Somehow he mustered up a grin and managed to meet her eye. “You’re gonna knock his socks off, Kirk. Trust me on that one.”

She brought her gaze to the mirror, but quickly looked away. “I still can’t wear this on Saturday,” she told him, regret in her voice.

“No.” McCade crossed his arms again. “You’re being negative. Start thinking positively—”

“It would be different if I had a date. But the thought of walking into that room, dressed like this, all by myself…” She made a face. “Eeek, you know? I wouldn’t know what to do with my hands.” She snuck another look back into the mirror. “Or, God, my legs.”

“I’ll be your date.”

“In your leather jacket and jeans? It might work in L.A., McCade, but this is
Phoenix.
”

“No, really.” The more McCade thought about it, the more he liked the idea. He’d take her to this stuffed-shirt shindig. It would give him a chance to dance with her, hold her in his arms. “If you show up with a date, that’ll make you even more appealing to old James. You know how it is, everybody always wants to play with the other kid’s toys.”

“Well, jeez, McCade, how can I resist when you put it like
that,
” she said sarcastically as she sat down on the edge of her bed.

“You know what I mean.”

She looked up at him, tapping her foot. “You’ll have to shave.”

“No problem.”

“And get your hair cut.”

McCade raked his fingers through his hair. “I like my hair this way. Long hair is in style—”

“Not among the country-club set in Phoenix, it’s not.” She looked down at her fingernails, pretending to examine a chip in her nail polish.

He watched her for several long moments. He wanted to go. He really wanted to go. Maybe James Vandenberg was seeing someone else. Maybe he didn’t like blondes. Maybe if Vandenberg was out of the picture…

“All right,” he said. “For you, I’ll get my hair cut.”

Sandy stood up, grinning. “And I get to pick out your clothes, the same way you picked out these for me.”

“Fine, but I really don’t think you’re going to have much of a choice,” he told her. “The dinner dance is black tie.”

“Yeah, but when they say black, they don’t mean leather, McCade.”

Maybe Sandy would dance with McCade and realize she didn’t want to be with anyone else. Maybe…

McCade laughed, and this time he felt his smile reach his eyes.

THREE

M
C
C
ADE SAT IN
the chair with his eyes closed, listening to the hum of the blow-dryer, letting Tony work his magic. He’d awakened late that morning, and had gone into the bathroom to cut and then shave off his beard.

After Tony finished making him look more presentable to the Phoenix socialites he’d be rubbing elbows with this evening, McCade had to swing by and pick up the tuxedo Sandy had picked out and he’d bought for the occasion. She’d talked him into getting a stack of other clothes as well—chinos and polo shirts he swore he’d never wear. The tux wasn’t quite his style either, but he didn’t have any choice tonight. The alterations were supposed to be done by three-thirty, which would give him barely enough time to get to the condo, change, bully Sandy into her new clothes, and put on her makeup.

He smiled. He liked putting makeup on Sandy. He liked standing close enough to feel her body heat. He liked touching her soft, smooth skin—

“Jeez Louise, you haven’t even seen how beautiful I’ve made you, and you’re already as happy as a little clam.” Tony’s voice cut into his thoughts. “Or maybe it’s thinking about a certain gorgeous blonde that’s making you smile.”

McCade’s eyes opened slowly, and the look he gave Tony was lethal. The hairdresser turned off the dryer, cheerfully ignoring him. “I’d recognize that foolish little smile anywhere, although I must admit I never thought I’d see it on
you,
sweetheart.”

“Spare me the analysis,” McCade sat forward. “Am I done?”

“Not so fast!” Tony pushed McCade back in his seat. “Don’t you go running out of here spreading pieces of your former hair all the way to the door just because I’ve figured out your terrible secret.”

McCade frowned at himself in the mirror. His wavy brown hair looked…upwardly mobile. Shorter on the sides and around his ears, moussed up and off his forehead in the front, yet long enough to flop down when gravity or humidity won the ongoing battle. With the sun streaks of blond, he looked like he spent his weekends sailing or, ugh, even playing golf.

“I notice you’re not denying anything.” Tony slowly gathered up the big bib that had caught most of McCade’s cut hair.

“That’s because I’m ignoring you,” McCade said calmly.

“Deny it.” The hairdresser’s brown eyes were suddenly serious. “Look me in the eye and say, ‘Tony, I am not in love with Sandy.’”

McCade met Tony’s steady gaze. “Tony, I am not in love with—” But he had to look away. “Dammit.”

Tony knew better than to tease. He crossed his big arms over his ample girth. “McCade, if you love this girl, why the
hell
are you helping her catch some other guy?”

“I want her to be happy,” he said simply.

Tony erupted in a fit of laughter. “You want her to be happy,” he wheezed. “Beautiful, just beautiful. Good grief, McCade, I had no idea you were such a flaming idiot. Hasn’t it occurred to you that Sandy would be stupendously happy if you told her that you loved her?”

“She doesn’t want me,” McCade said tightly.

Tony just laughed harder at that. “Tell her you love her, McCade. Or
I
will.”

Sandy answered the phone on the first ring. “Hello?”

“It’s me.”

“McCade, thank God. I was worried about you.”

“I told you last night I scheduled an appointment with Tony to get my hair cut and…” McCade cleared his throat. “He, uh, didn’t call you, did he?”

“Tony? Why would he call
me?
”

“I don’t know. Look, I’m really running late.”

“Late I can handle,” Sandy told him. “You were gone so long I was starting to think…”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You were starting to think what?”

“Forget it.”

“What? That I skipped town?”

“Well, yeah,” she admitted. He had been gone when she woke up, and he’d taken his Harley rather than her car. At first she’d thought nothing of it, but as it got later and later she’d started assuming the worst.

“Thanks a lot.” All humor was gone from his voice. “Tell me, when was the last time I promised you something, then didn’t deliver?”

“Never. But you’ve been acting so strangely, I thought maybe—”

“Yeah, well, you were wrong,” he said tightly. “Look, they’re finishing up the alterations on my tux. I’m going to change here, then get over there as quickly as I can. But it’ll be another twenty minutes at least—”

“I’m going to have to meet you up at the Pointe,” Sandy cut him off. “I need to get there early. Sorry, but I can’t wait for you, McCade.”

He swore softly. “I wanted to help you with your makeup.”

“I’ll have to muddle through on my own,” she said. “I’ll see you over there, all right?”

“Sandy, wear the white dress, okay?”

“I’ve already got it on.”

“You do?” McCade’s good humor was restored. “Way to go! I thought I’d have to dress you myself.”

Sandy flushed at the vivid picture that brought to mind. “I’ve got to get going. Try not to be late.”

“You may not recognize me with my hair this short,” he told her. “I’ll be the one in the tux—holding a camera.”

Sandy had never seen so many tuxedos in her life.

The early-evening temperature had to be pushing one hundred degrees Fahrenheit, and tuxedo-clad men quickly crossed the hot pavement between their air-conditioned luxury cars and the cool lobby of the fancy Phoenix resort.

And even greater than the number of tuxedos were the number of sequins in the lobby. Most of the evening gowns that accompanied all those tuxedos were bespattered with sequins and glitter and shiny beads of one kind or another.

Glancing down at her own nonreflective dress, Sandy had to smile. Compared with most of the others, this dress that she had worried so much about wearing was simple and elegantly understated. Short as all get-out, she’d have to admit, but nowhere near as attention seeking as, say, the dress covered with imitation peacock feathers that just walked in the door.

Sandy spotted James Vandenberg near the entrance to the room they would be using for Harcourt’s speech. He looked good in a tuxedo. His dark hair was slicked back from his handsome face, and his eyes glistened from the excitement and anticipation that seemed to boil throughout the lobby.

Her stomach clenched with nervousness as she tried to imagine carrying on a conversation with James. She could handle the business end, but after they finished discussing scheduling and camera work, she wouldn’t know what to say. She was lousy at small talk, and she had absolutely no idea what the man was interested in. No idea at all.

As she watched, another man in a tuxedo shook hands with James. Sandy slowed her steps. God, didn’t it figure that all the men who looked like Greek gods would know each other? The second man had his back to her, but the expensive fabric of his tuxedo looked as if it had been cut and sewn with his body in mind. And what a body. Taller than James, this man was lean and strong, with shoulders that were almost as broad as…

No, it couldn’t be.

Just then, James turned to survey the crowd and caught her gaze. His eyes widened slightly and then he smiled. With his eyes still on her, James said something to the man standing next to him.

That man turned around, hoisting a handheld video camera onto his shoulder.

It
was
McCade.

But oh, my God,
what
a McCade! Sandy felt her pulse kick into triple time as her mouth went dry. She had never seen him with his hair this short, she realized. She’d never seen his ears before, at least not for any length of time. He had really nice ears. He had really nice everything. Without the beard, he somehow looked more familiar, yet still so different. It had to be the hair, Sandy decided. The way he was wearing it pushed up and back, so much more of his face could be seen.

McCade was outrageously handsome when half of his face was hidden by his hair. With his whole face showing, he was beyond description.

As Sandy met his gaze a smile curled around the edges of McCade’s mouth. His eyes looked like liquid turquoise.

“Hi,” she said, her voice sounding breathless.

“Hi,” he echoed her. He turned and Sandy followed his gaze, looking straight at James.

James! Oops, he was standing next to her. “Good evening.” She took the hand he offered and shook it. “Ready for this?”

“Absolutely,” James told her with a flash of his even white teeth. “You look terrific.”

He was still holding on to her fingers. “Thank you.” She awkwardly pulled her hand free. From the corner of her eyes, she saw McCade fade into the crowd. He was deserting her! No, he was giving her privacy, she realized. But she didn’t want privacy. She wanted McCade’s quick mind and dry wit near her, ready to take a faltering conversation and revive it.

From across the room, McCade watched as Sandy talked to James. She was tense—her shoulders tight. Her entire body seemed to close in on itself, turning her into a giant bundle of anxiety.

She needed more help. It was going to take more than clothes and a new hairstyle to get Vandenberg’s attention. Sandy needed a major attitude adjustment.

As McCade watched she said something and James laughed. But it wasn’t a real, honest-to-goodness belly laugh; it was much too polite. They shook hands again and went off in different directions.

McCade pushed his way through the crowd, following Sandy into the conference room where Harcourt was slated to give his speech. But there was no time to talk. She was kept busy right up until the candidate began talking, and then McCade had his job to do. It wasn’t until his camera was packed and in one of the equipment vans that he could focus on Sandy.

She was standing by the main door, talking to James and her assistant, Frank. Frank left with a cheery wave, and as McCade watched, Sandy got even more tense. After about thirty more seconds James disappeared.

“Hey.” McCade came up behind her. “The band’s starting to play in the ballroom. What do you say we take a spin around the floor?”

“Since when do you know how to dance?” Sandy raised one eyebrow. “It’s not something you can pick up simply from watching Fred Astaire movies.”

“My mother taught me,” he admitted.

She laughed. “You’re kidding.”

“She told me good looks weren’t everything. She said there were three things a man needed to learn in life in order to succeed. One was ballroom dancing.”

He pulled her hand into the crook of his arm and led her back toward the ballroom.

“What were the other two?” she asked.

“Research,” McCade told her. “She said memorizing the answers to a test didn’t make a man smart—it made him a parrot. But a man who knew how to do research had the answers to virtually any question at his fingertips.”

A twenty-piece swing band was playing in one corner of the room. McCade tugged Sandy gently toward the dance floor.

“You might know how to dance, but
I
don’t.”

“Just follow me,” he said. “How’d it go with Vandenberg?”

“He makes me really nervous,” Sandy admitted.

“So I noticed.”

“I made a joke, and I don’t think he got it. I wish…”

“What?” McCade looked down into her eyes. Heaven was that shade of blue, so soothing and pure.

But she shook her head. “How
do
you tell the difference between love and lust?” she asked instead.

He laughed in surprise. “You’re asking the wrong man. My experiences with love are extremely limited.”

Sandy smiled up at him. “Come on, McCade. I’ve known you for fifteen years, and you’ve been in love at
least
twenty different times—”

“It wasn’t ever real,” he told her. “I’ve really been in love just once.”

“So there
are
differences. Tell me what they are.”

He shook his head. “Kirk—”

“Please. You’re the only person in the world I can talk to about this.”

He was silent, just looking down at her as they danced.

“Did you know it was love before or after you slept with her?” Sandy asked.

McCade shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Sandy—”

“
McCade.
” She imitated him.

“Before,” he told her. “I knew before.”

“You’re positive?”

“Very,” McCade said.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I never made love to her.”

McCade could see surprise in her eyes. “You’re kidding.”

“Can’t we talk about something else?” he said a little desperately. “Have you seen Spike Lee’s latest movie yet?”

“How could
you
be in love with someone and not—”

“Look, it takes two to tango, Kirk.” McCade smiled grimly. “All right? Now, can we drop this?”

Sandy studied his handsome face. His arms felt so solid around her, and he was holding her close enough so that their thighs brushed as he moved. They fit together perfectly, just as he had said they would—Wait. He’d been talking about Sandy and
James,
not Sandy and himself.

She closed her eyes, imagining a world where Clint McCade saw her as a woman, not just a friend. He would hold her even closer, and she would melt against him, and…“I’m sorry, but I don’t believe it. There’s no woman on earth who would refuse
you.
”