Seductively Yours Page 5

  “Maybe I’d better take her,” Trevor offered, starting to reach out.

  Jamie shot him a frown. “Chill out, Trev. Abbie and I are getting along just fine, thank you.”

  Abbie laughed, as if she found Jamie’s words hysterically funny. Trevor fell silent.

  Sam tugged at Jamie’s arm, looking jealous of the attention his sister was getting. “I got new shoes,” he said, pointing to his sneakers. “I outgrewed my other ones.”

  “Did you?” Jamie tried to sound suitably impressed. “My goodness, you’re growing fast.”

  “Daddy said he’s going to put a brick on my head,” the boy confided with a giggle. “I told him that was silly. I would still grow.”

  “Right. And you’d look rather silly walking around with a brick on your head all the time, wouldn’t you?”

  He laughed again and scooted an inch closer to her.

  Having been asleep in a baby carrier on the floor at Wade’s feet, little Claire began to squirm and fuss.

  “We’d better be going,” Emily said, rising. “As much as we’ve enjoyed the evening, it’s time to get the kids bathed and in bed.”

  Clay didn’t look overly enthused, Jamie noted in amusement, but he obediently gathered his electronic game and moved to stand with his family as the adults exchanged parting pleasantries. Still holding Abbie, Jamie remained seated for the moment, saying her goodbyes from the couch.

  She agreed with Emily that they really should “do lunch” sometime—though she wondered if Emily was only making expected small talk, or the invitation was genuine. It wasn’t as if they’d even known each other well when Jamie had lived here before. But then, Jamie hadn’t known a lot of people. Her difficulties at home had kept her rather isolated from her peers.

  The few close friends she’d had back then, like Susan, had implicitly understood that Jamie wouldn’t be reciprocating their sleepover and birthday-party invitations, but she’d been aware that others had whispered among themselves about Jamie’s alcoholic parents. Being a McBride, and the sister of a man wrongly suspected of murder, Emily surely knew the pain of being on the wrong side of the rumor mill. So maybe she and Jamie could be friends.

  “As much fun as it is to hold this little cutie, I’d better be going, too,” Jamie said only a few minutes after the Davenports had departed. She kissed Abbie’s soft, chubby cheek, and then handed her to Trevor before rising and turning to Bobbie. “Thank you so much for having me to dinner, Mrs.—er, Bobbie,” she said a bit self-consciously.

  Bobbie stood and took her hand. “It was a pleasure to have you, dear. I know you want us to stop embarrassing you about it, but I need to thank you one last time for what you did at the swimming pool. None of us will ever forget it.”

  Aware that Trevor and Sam were standing behind her, Jamie murmured something appropriate and turned to Caleb.

  “Good night, Jamie,” he said, patting her arm in a fatherly manner. “You come back and see us sometime, you hear?”

  “I would be delighted. Thank you.”

  “Trevor, walk Jamie to her car. I’ll take Abbie.” Bobbie reached for the child, assuming without waiting for confirmation that her instructions would be followed—as they usually were.

  “I’ll go, too,” Sam said, starting forward.

  His grandmother caught him by the shoulder. “No, sweetheart, you stay here with me and Grandpa. Say good-night to Ms. Flaherty now, and you’ll see her again another time.”

  Pouting a little, Sam gazed up at Jamie. “Good night, Ms. Flaherty,” he said, holding out his right hand as he’d seen the others do.

  She shook his hand. “Good night, Sam. I’ll see you around, okay?”

  “I hope so,” he answered wistfully.

  Trevor motioned toward the doorway. “After you, Ms. Flaherty,” he said with dry courtesy.

  She gave him a cheeky grin. “Why, thank you, Mr. McBride. Good night again, everyone.”

  She happened to glance at Bobbie as she accompanied Trevor out of the room. The look on the older woman’s face gave her pause for a moment. Just what was this, anyway? A gratitude dinner—or a fix-up?

  Had Bobbie decided that Trevor had been in mourning long enough? And, if so, what on earth made Bobbie think she was a suitable match for a conservative lawyer with two small children?

  “Mother’s not particularly subtle,” Trevor murmured as he and Jamie stepped into the still-warm evening air.

  To avoid his eyes, she concentrated on admiring the stars spread so brightly above them, on the music of the night creatures singing in the woods surrounding the rural house, on the earth smells of early summer. As much as she’d enjoyed New York, she hadn’t lost her appreciation for Georgia in June. “Your mother is very nice,” she said, her tone deliberately absent.

  “Yes, but she can be rather heavy-handed when she gets one of her nutty notions.”

  Deciding not to dance around the subject any longer, she turned to lean back against her car and study his face in the shadows. “And just what ‘nutty notion’ are you referring to, Trev?”

  “My name,” he reminded her, “is Trevor.”

  “Yes, I know. You were saying?”

  “Surely you were aware that Mother’s been nudging us toward each other all evening.”

  Jamie shrugged. “Since we were the only singles here this evening, it was only natural for her to encourage us to visit, I suppose.”

  “Maybe. But just in case she has something more in mind, I hope she doesn’t cause you any embarrassment.”

  Chuckling, she ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t embarrass easily.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  Sometimes Jamie just couldn’t help herself. She reached out to stroke a fingertip along Trevor’s firm, chiseled jaw. “How about you, Trev? Do you embarrass easily?”

  She saw his eyes narrow in the yellow light coming from the overhead security pole. “Not usually,” he drawled.

  “Oh?” Still driven by her own personal imp, she walked her fingers up his chest until both her hands were resting on his shoulders. “Just what does it take to make you blush?”

  He might have worn a very faint smile when he replied, “I haven’t blushed since high school.”

  She fussed with his shirt collar, letting her fingers dip inside to lightly stroke his neck. “What was the cause then?”

  “I believe it was a suggestion you made to me behind the gym.”

  She laughed at his dry tone. “And did you take me up on it?”

  “No. I didn’t have the nerve…then.”

  He was most definitely calling her bluff. Their mouths were only a couple of inches apart—and Jamie hoped her wry smile gave no clue to the way her heart was racing. “What about now?” she asked, the huskiness in her voice not entirely feigned.

  “Now…” She felt his breath brush her lips, and her mouth tingled in anticipation. There was a momentary hesitation, and then Trevor drew back, slowly, breaking the contact between them. “I still don’t have the nerve,” he murmured.

  She sighed in regret—and she was only partially teasing. “Pity.”

  He reached behind her to open the car door for her. “Drive carefully. And watch your speed.”

  “No problem,” she quipped, pleased to note that her voice sounded steady—at least to her own ears. “I’ve tested my limits enough this evening, I think.”

  Trevor stepped back without answering. She slid into the car, started the engine and drove away. She glanced only once in the rearview mirror. Just long enough to see that Trevor was still standing there. Watching her.

  HE COULD STILL FEEL her fingertips against his jaw. He could still feel the warmth of her lithe, vibrant body standing so close to his. He could still hear the echo of her husky laugh, like a brush of feathers against his nerve endings.

  Trevor downed the single shot of bourbon he allowed himself each day and set the glass aside, his movements unhindered by the near-total darkness in the room. He was
used to sitting in his living room alone in the dark, long after the children were in bed. Many nights he sat there resisting an urge to pour another drink—and brooding about Melanie. Remembering the satisfying, if somewhat unexciting, relationship he’d thought they had. Mourning the loss of the woman he had once loved and the illusions she had shattered. Facing a future that bore little resemblance to the one he’d envisioned when he had married her.

  Tonight he found himself thinking of Jamie, instead.

  It was still hard for him to believe how close he’d come to acting like an awkward adolescent outside his parents’ door earlier. He was a grown man, a widower, the father of two children, and still Jamie had brought him perilously near stammering incoherence—with only a brush of her fingers and that soft, sexy laugh. They seemed to have little more in common now than they’d had as teenagers—and yet he still found himself tempted to duck behind the high-school gym with her.

  She had always had the strangest effect on him. He would have thought he’d outgrown it by now.

  Apparently, he hadn’t.

  NEARLY EVERYONE in Honoria dined at Cora’s Café, at least occasionally. One of the last establishments still thriving in the old section of downtown, it was within walking distance of city hall, the police station, the bank and a few small businesses, so the daily lunch trade was brisk.

  Jamie was swept with nostalgia when she entered the café for lunch with her accountant on the Friday after her dinner with the McBrides. The place looked the same as it had fifteen years ago, she thought, looking around at the crowded tables with their red-and-white-checked coverings. The same cheap prints hung on the walls, though they were considerably more faded now, and the same old noisy cash register was still in use at the front checkout. No computerized register for this place—and they didn’t take plastic.

  Heavyset, frizzy-permed Mindy Hooper greeted Jamie at the door. Mindy had gone to work for Cora straight out of high school—almost ten years before Jamie’s own graduation—and had been there ever since. She hadn’t changed much during those years; now fast approaching forty, Mindy was slow-moving, broad-bottomed, plainspoken and apparently content with the sameness of her daily routine. “Hey, Jamie. I wondered when you were going to come see us again.”

  “It’s good to be back, Mindy. Does Cora still make the best chocolate pie in the state?”

  “Best chocolate pie in the world,” Mindy replied, wryly patting her wide hip. “I’m waddling testimony to that.”

  Jamie laughed. “Is Clark Foster here yet? I’m meeting him for lunch.”

  “No, not yet. You go ahead and get a table and I’ll send him your way when he comes in.”

  “Great. And when you get a minute, I’ll have a glass of iced tea. It’s already hot out.”

  “Just wait until summer really kicks in,” Mindy predicted with cheery pessimism. “’Bout melted the dash in my car last August.”

  Since Georgians loved nothing more than complaining about the weather, Jamie murmured something sympathetic before heading for a nearby free table. She saw several people she knew, of course, and stopped on the way to exchange pleasantries. Cora’s was almost as bad as the discount store when it came to being seen. Hardly a place for a discreetly anonymous tryst, she thought humorously as she took her seat. Not that there was anyone she was thinking of seeing on the sly at the moment, she added.

  A balding, soft-middled businessman in his late thirties pulled out the chair across the table from her. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Traffic was a bear.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Traffic? In Honoria?”

  “Okay, it was old Mrs. Tucker,” he admitted. “Driving five miles an hour right down the middle of Main Street.”

  She laughed. “Driving that big old car of hers? The one that looks as if it’s driving itself because she’s too short to be seen over the dashboard?”

  “Yeah. She’s had that car since before we were born, I think, and it might have all of twenty thousand miles on it by now.”

  “Most of them from driving down the middle of Main Street, right?”

  “Exactly.” He reached for one of the plastic-coated menus stuck between the paper-napkin dispenser and a wooden box holding salt, pepper, ketchup and pepper sauce. “You haven’t ordered yet, have you?”

  “No, I just got here. I did ask for iced tea…oh, here it is.” She smiled up at Mindy, who unceremoniously plunked two mason jars full of iced tea in front of them.

  “What’ll y’all have?” Mindy asked without bothering with an order pad.

  Clark glanced up from the menu. “What’s today’s special?”

  “Same as it is every Friday. Chicken-fried steak with mashed potatoes, cream gravy, white beans and turnip greens, or fried catfish with coleslaw, hush puppies and green tomato relish.”

  Clark replaced the menu. “I’ll have the chicken-fried steak.”

  “Very healthy choice, Clark,” Jamie teased, having heard him complain more than once about his difficulty losing weight.

  He sighed. “You’re right. Add a green salad to that, will you, Mindy? With Thousand Island dressing.”

  Jamie chuckled and shook her head. “I don’t suppose you have anything broiled or grilled, Mindy?”

  “Got the diet plate. A fried hamburger patty, cottage cheese and canned peaches.”

  Cora’s Café had been serving the same “diet plate” since the 1950s, despite changes in diet philosophies. Jamie conceded defeat and ordered the catfish.

  When they were alone again, Clark laced his fingers together, rested his hands on the table and tried to look professional…which wasn’t an easy task, considering his resemblance to the Pillsbury doughboy, Jamie thought with secret amusement. “I’ve gone over all your records and everything seems to be in order,” he told her. “I’ve worked up figures for your estimated quarterly tax payments—the first one’s due next week, by the way. I have your paperwork in my briefcase here at my feet. I’ll give it to you after we’ve had our lunch.”

  She nodded. “I appreciate it, Clark. I was pretty sure everything was in order, but it’s nice to have a professional opinion. It’s too inconvenient for me to have an accountant in New York while I’m living in Honoria.”

  He looked a bit smug. “Your accounts are relatively easy to manage, but I agree that you need a professional to keep an eye on them. You invested wisely while you were in New York. You shouldn’t have to worry about retirement.”

  She felt a surge of satisfaction at his words. He could have no idea, of course, how important it was for her to have a sense of security about money. She hadn’t chosen a safe, predictable career path—acting was hardly a profession known for job security—but she had lived frugally and worked steadily as a substitute teacher between acting jobs. As impractical as she was in some ways, Jamie never fooled around when it came to money. She had no intention of ending up like her parents, a couple of aging alcoholics living hand-to-mouth on government checks.

  It had been Clark who had suggested they have this meeting over lunch, telling her it was a nice, casual way to start off their business relationship. Jamie hadn’t hesitated to accept, since she had few plans now that she was on summer break. Because she knew he was in the middle of a divorce, she didn’t ask about his wife, but it wasn’t difficult to get him talking about his two sons. She concentrated on her somewhat guilty enjoyment of the fried catfish while Clark liberally sprinkled pepper sauce on his greens and bragged about his boys.

  They were almost finished with their meal when Trevor entered the café with his father. They paused at the table, Caleb speaking first. “Well, hello, Jamie. Clark, how’s it going?”

  “Pretty good, Caleb. How about you?”

  “Oh, getting along.”

  Jamie glanced at Trevor and found him looking at her with a frown. He quickly smoothed the expression, but she wondered why he’d looked so disapproving. She couldn’t imagine what she’d done to annoy him. She’d thought they’d parted on good t
erms.

  “Hello, Jamie,” he said with a formal nod of greeting. His tone was noticeably cooler when he added, “Clark.”

  Clark’s response could only be described as frigid. “Trevor.”

  Surprised by the obvious antagonism between the two men, Jamie speculated on what might have caused it. The McBrides were notorious for their local feuds, but, as far as she knew, there’d never been a problem between the McBrides and Clark’s family. This must be something personal.

  “How are the children, Trevor?” she asked in an effort to ease the tension a bit.

  “They’re fine, thank you.”

  “Have you found a new nanny yet?”

  “Yes. I have one on a trial basis now.”

  “I hope she works out for you.”

  “Thanks. Dad, we’d better grab a table while there’s one available. Mindy’s been giving us the look.”

  “The one that says ‘Sit your butts down so I can do my job’?” Caleb spoke from longtime experience with the no-nonsense waitress. “Guess we’d better cooperate. Good to see you, Jamie. And you, too, Clark.”

  “Enjoy your lunch,” Clark replied politely, his smile forced.

  Trevor left with only a vague nod toward Jamie.

  She feigned a shiver. “Did it suddenly get cold in here?”

  Clark had returned his attention to his plate, his appetite obviously little affected by the interruption. “Trevor and I have had a few disagreements lately.”

  “Gee, I never would have guessed.”

  “He’s representing my wife in the divorce,” Clark admitted. “I think he’s doing so a bit more fiercely than necessary. I’ve accused him of trying to bankrupt me. He gives me a slick line about how he’s just doing what she’s hired him to do.”

  Jamie grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “I always liked Trevor, though I didn’t know him very well. But that was before I saw him in cutthroat-lawyer mode.”

  “Trevor’s always been an overachiever. I’m sure he just figures he’s giving his client her money’s worth.”