She arose early the next morning and switched on her computer. After dressing in workout clothes, she made coffee and plopped down on the sofa with a mug in one hand and her computer on her lap. There was an email from Marsha Strong, the woman who owned the dance studio where Dorrie had pitched in for a few months.
Hey Dorrie,
Hear you’re in New York. Time for a quick coffee with me? My partner, Joanne, had a baby and has decided to retire to full-time motherhood. I’m looking for a new partner, and you came to mind immediately. You did a great job taking over for me a few months ago. Everyone loved you. How about coming back as a partner? Let’s talk.
Hugs,
Marsha
An opportunity to work in New York! Dorrie was thrilled. Now, if she reconnected with one of the three men, she could come back after the movie and settle down…Perhaps get married? Happiness looked like it might be within reach. Archer Canfield is a definite maybe. I could do a lot worse than end up with him.
She was excited about the two avenues her career could take. I’ll make a lot more money in Hollywood. Have freedom to do the choreography I want. If they make the series—a big ‘if,’ it can still get canceled. But the yoga/dance studio has been around for years. That’s steady employment, though for a lot less money.
She chewed her lip, thinking about the decisions before her. A lot will depend on the men. Why come back, if there’s no one to come back to? But it’s my career, and I should do what’s right for me. Do I want to walk away from these guys again? If I do, there’ll be no going back. She jumped as the sound of Drake’s voice broke into her thoughts.
“You look serious,” he said, scratching his stubbly chin.
“Oh my God, I didn’t hear you.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. What’s up?”
Dorrie gave him a thumbnail sketch of the new option in her life and the decision looming before her.
“Don’t make your decision based on a guy. Guys are flaky. They can change their minds. Do what you want with your career.”
One glance at her watch let her know she was out of time. “Thanks for the advice, Drake.” She patted his shoulder, slipped into her shoes, and headed for the door.
“Besides, you never know when a new man will appear,” he said.
I’ve got enough men to deal with right now. Time for thinking had run out. She had to get the rehearsal going, or this shoot would be a disaster, and she’d be down to one career option in a jiffy. She raised her hand in a wave to Drake as she slipped into the hall.
On her way to the studio, she called Grace Brewster to discuss her work dilemma.
“It’s great to have a choice,” Grace said.
“I suppose. But what about the guys?”
“Tough choices.”
“I’m thinking if I make a connection, it might be best to come back.”
“And give up the TV series?”
“Maybe.” Dorrie chewed her lip.
“Why don’t you see how it goes with the guys first. Then decide.”
“Good advice. Thanks.”
She hung up and continued walking. I’m not going to tell the guys about the New York job. Let’s see how it goes when they think I’m going back to California. If we make a connection, I’ll tell them. See if they want to commit then.
Satisfaction at having a solid plan made Dorrie smile and put a zing into her step. She increased her stride and proceeded with confidence to the rehearsal hall. At the appointed hour, she took the troupe through their exercises and began to map out the routines to be shot in the park. Strength emanated from her. Hope at rekindling love in New York buoyed her spirits and released new energy, which she needed to lead the dancers.
I’m going to make this choreography shine. The dancers are focused, with only a few drama queens in the crew. I know the routines cold. Her weak ankle held through the morning workouts, boosting her good feeling about this job.
You’ll see, Mr. Gunther Quill, who can create original, stunning dance routines to make your movie shine. You won’t be sorry you hired me. Feeling strong and smart, Dorrie didn’t worry about talking to Archer Canfield. This morning, I can do no wrong.
Lunch break was the perfect time to connect with Arch. Dorrie brought a small sandwich and found a spot nearby in the park to eat. She bolted some yogurt for dessert and dialed the number for Moonlight Books.
“Archer Canfield’s office,” came the cool greeting from Archer’s secretary.
“May I speak to Mr. Canfield?”
“Who’s calling?”
“Dorrie Rodgers.”
“Just one moment, please.”
Dorrie’s heart pounded. What if I got it wrong? What if he was only being a polite Englishman? What if…what if…
“Dorrie! Is it really you?” A deep voice with a thick, British accent interrupted her thoughts.
“It’s me.”
“How wonderful to hear your voice! Where are you? Can you come to lunch?”
“I’m in New York. I have rehearsals today, but I’m free for dinner. Is that too—”
“Not at all,” he piped up. “Dinner would be magnificent. Where would you like to go?”
“How about that adorable little restaurant near your office?”
“You mean Maison Rouge?”
“That’s it!”
“Shall I pick you up?”
“Not necessary. Can we meet there at seven?”
“Perfect. Looking forward to seeing you, my dear.”
“Me, too.” Dorrie signed off. A tingle shot through her spine, but a glance at her watch told her she’d be late getting back to rehearsal if she didn’t get moving in five minutes. She walked down West End Avenue, humming. I can’t wait to see Arch again.
The rehearsal hall had warmed up with all the bodies working out and the summer heat seeping in. She turned up the air conditioning. Chaz Duncan followed her in. She had met him after seeing Hustle and Dance on Broadway. She liked him. Even though he was a big star, he was down-to-Earth, and so was his wife, Meg.
Dorrie started the group with stretches before she explained the scene and demonstrated the choreography. Her weak ankle continued to hold. She could still dance, just not hour after hour, day after day. Chaz joined in, as he would be dancing in the movie just like he had in the Broadway show.
When rehearsal finished, she raced back to the Cunningham’s apartment and jumped in the shower. After towel drying her thick, reddish-brown hair, she fluffed it up with her fingers. The long locks fell in loose curls over her shoulders. She stood, poised at the closet door, pondering what to wear. A small knock preceded Chrissy’s entrance.
“I hope you don’t mind…”
“Come in, come in. I’m trying to decide what to wear.”
The two women examined each garment with a critical eye.
“What exactly do you want to accomplish? Seduction or polite conversation?” Chrissy asked.
Dorrie laughed. “I don’t know. Guess I want to look as good as possible without being slutty or obvious.”
Chrissy nodded then took out a dress. “With your peachy complexion, this purple one should be perfect.” The sundress had wide straps, a form-fitting bodice, and a heart-shaped neckline. The rayon fabric was soft. The purple was rich and warm, hosting tiny pink and light green flowers in a deep border around the neckline and the slightly ruffled hem.
“Good choice.” Dorrie slipped it on, and Chrissy zipped up the back.
“You look stunning!”
Dorrie beamed at her friend and faced the mirror to fasten an amethyst teardrop pendant. She slipped matching earrings in her ears and twirled.
“Fabulous! If this guy can resist you, he must be gay.”
Dorrie giggled then picked up her makeup bag. “Now for the finishing touches.”
She applied her makeup artfully—eyeliner, mascara, a touch of blush, and pink lipstick. A dab of her favorite lilac perfume finished the picture. She strapped black, patent leather sandals on her feet and picked up a small, black satin clutch purse.
Joining her friends in the living room, she requested their critique. “So? What do you think?”
“I think you look gorgeous,” Chrissy said.
Drake whistled, his cheeks coloring a bit as his gaze traveled her length. “Guess we shouldn’t wait up for you tonight, eh?”
“Drake!” She smacked him on the shoulder. “This is just dinner.”
“Yeah, right. Looking like that? Don’t think so.”
Dorrie plucked her shawl from the chair as she headed toward the door. After shooting a smile at Angus, the doorman, she headed downtown toward La Maison Rouge. It was a warm evening, but a breeze cooled her enough to make the walk pleasant.
Dorrie glanced at all the shop windows displaying a variety of merchandise. Always so much to see walking in New York. She passed displays of the latest fashions or mouth-watering chocolates nestled in elegant packaging or shoes in every style and color. Tempted to do some shopping by more than one store, she reminded herself that time was growing short and so was her bank account. Archer hates it when people are late.
Stepping inside the chic restaurant, the tempting yet subtle aroma of good food made her stomach rumble. After giving her name to the maître d’, she was shown to Archer’s table. As she walked slowly through the dining room, her pulse kicked up. Nerves made her breath come quickly and a touch of sweat broke out on her upper lip. She swiped at it with a finger while her eyes searched for her date.
He stood up as she approached his table. His caramel-colored hair hadn’t changed. He still wore it slightly longer on top, where it fell into a perfect, gentle wave, spilling onto his forehead. She sensed the gaze from his gray eyes caressing her curves, the way they had when she had modeled for his company.
He wore an expensive, navy blue suit, the jacket, cut well, fitted to his slender body. However, the pants were slightly baggy in a careless way, showing little vanity in the man. That’s Archer, no conceit or concern with the latest fashion. She chuckled to herself.
The crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled warmed Dorrie. Thirty and forty-four isn’t such a big difference. He’s such a handsome man. Archer took her hand and kissed it. The maître d’ pulled out her chair and handed her a napkin when she was seated.
“Lovely as ever, Dorrie. How are you?” Archer trained his eyes on hers, after a brief glance at her nicely displayed cleavage.
“I’m fine. How are you, Archer?”
“Great. Been promoted. Sales are up, and I’m sure those gorgeous covers with your picture have a great deal to do with it.”
“Those pictures are five years old.”
“But they were timeless. Dressed in costumes, we could use your pictures again and again…and so we have.”
“Undressed, you might say,” she quipped, then blushed when she realized what she’d said.
“Beautifully undressed, I might add.” He took her hand and his eyes glittered with a touch of desire.
A small tremor shot through her at his touch. When she relaxed, his slender, long fingers curled, lightly capturing hers. Her mind drifted back to the feel of his fingers on her skin, moving her hair or sliding a dress down slightly to be off her shoulder.
His hands had given her goose bumps in those days. He had had her trembling with a simple caress, necessary to set up the shot. The way his eyes bored into hers or his gaze caressed her curves had made her hot and left her wanting more. But that was as far as it ever went. Above all else, Archer Canfield was a gentleman and a professional. Their relationship had had to remain business only.
She sighed as the memories danced through her head. His thumb stroked the back of her hand, bringing her attention back to the present. The waiter stopped by.
“Still white zinfandel?” Archer asked her.
She nodded, pleased he remembered. He ordered a bottle and two glasses.
“No more martinis?”
He blushed. “I had one while waiting for you.”
“I thought I was on time.”
“Oh, you were. I was early. Needed a little something to get up my courage, I’m afraid.”
“Is seeing me again that difficult?”
He laughed. “My dear, not at all. Sorry if I gave you that impression. It’s just that…well, controlling myself. That’s the rub.”
“Controlling yourself?” Dorrie cocked an eyebrow at him.
He leaned over and brushed her mouth with his. “There. Perhaps that’s the best way to break the ice. I assumed, rather hoped, you wanted to see me for non-professional reasons?” He chuckled, a bit of color stealing into his cheeks. His lips were soft and warm. The scent of his aftershave was not too strong and only slightly sweet. Archer had no scruff, but a perfectly shaved face. Too old fashioned for stubble. Too proper.
Dorrie was speechless. She sensed heat rising to her face. She’d wanted him to do that quite a few times before, but it had never been appropriate. She finally found her voice.
“Personal reasons, you’re right,” she choked out as the waiter arrived and uncorked the bottle. He poured a bit for Archer, who tasted and approved it. After the waiter filled their glasses, they ordered dinner. Dorrie selected steak tips in a marsala sauce. Archer ordered fish.
“That’s the same dish you ordered five years ago.”
“Guess they don’t change the menu often. You have quite a memory.”
“I remember everything about you.” He raised an eyebrow and shot her a lascivious look. Embarrassment washed over her as she recalled the session she did for the book, Dishonor with the Duke. She had been topless for the pictures. It had been her first time, and she had been shy, nervous, and embarrassed.
Though the photographer set up the shots, Archer was there, front and center, even positioning her locks to hide most of her right breast. She took a swig of her wine to cover the silence. Her skin tingled with the memory of his fingertips, touching her ever so lightly, as he rearranged her hair. Longing to feel his touch again caused her pulse to jump.
Wearing an enigmatic smile, Archer sipped his zinfandel and stared at her.
“Don’t be embarrassed, my dear. You were the loveliest model we ever had. Who could forget your innocence and beauty?”
The warmth of his stare relaxed her. He does have feelings for me. She inched her hand toward his, and he picked up on it, meeting her fingers with his. They sat locking looks and giving out small sighs until the waiter arrived with their food.
Suddenly, Dorrie was ravenous. She tore into her dinner with a hunger she hadn’t experienced in days. Archer, too, seemed to be enjoying his meal almost as much as looking at her. His gaze always ended up at the same place, resting on her chest. Does he remember that shoot? Probably not as well as I do, but maybe.
“Penny for your thoughts,” she managed, between bites of her superb steak.
Now, it was his turn to blush. “Oh, dear. I’m afraid I’d get more like five to ten if you knew what I was really thinking.” His fair skin turned a becoming shade of deep pink, causing Dorrie to laugh. I’ll bet he was thinking about that shoot.
“Dishonor with the Duke?” she whispered.
“Good Lord. She’s a mind reader!” His face expressed mock shock, and they both laughed as Archer’s color returned to normal.
The sommelier returned to pour more wine, and Dorrie began to relax. She had always loved being in the company of this charming, older man, and this night was no exception. His attentiveness and wit singled him out as superior to other men. Archer turned the conversation away from racy thoughts to their work lives.
He elaborated some on his promotion and the good health of Moonlight Books. Dorrie told him about her accident and new career. She glossed over her failed engagement with a sentence or two, not revealing her intended was Gunther Quill or the reason for their breakup. Archer, always the gentleman, didn’t pry. She breathed a sigh of relief that he accepted her explanation at face value, with no further information required.
“Dessert?” the waiter asked.
Dorrie shook her head. “I’m full.”
“You’re not modeling anymore, so why not? They have absolutely yummy desserts here. Gustaf, read her the list,” Archer instructed.
Dorrie’s eyes widened at the mention of the sinful, warm chocolate cake with liquid center and whipped cream.
“Aha! I see we have a winner!” Archer grinned.
“Really, I shouldn’t.”
“How about if I share? Then you’ll only be eating half.”
She couldn’t resist and nodded with enthusiasm. Gustaf gave a short bow and left quietly.
“You must feed this new figure of yours.”
“You noticed?”
“How could I help it? Quite an improvement…not that you weren’t anything but enchanting before…but this…uh…fuller…you…” he stuttered along, getting redder and redder.
Dorrie laughed at him. “I see. You like a little more…um, meat on the bones?”
“That’s it. Yes. You put it perfectly.” He let out a breath.
“So do I. That’s a benefit of not being a dancer. I don’t have to be so skinny anymore.”
“It suits you.” Again, his gaze slid over her body like a warm hand, causing a tiny shiver to race up her spine.
The dessert arrived with two forks. Archer let her take the first bite. A dab of whipped cream stuck to her lip. He swiped his thumb over her upper lip to remove the cream then put it to his mouth.
“Shame on me. Mother taught us never to lick our fingers, especially in public. Couldn’t help it.”
The moment his finger touched her lips, she wished it had been his tongue instead. She closed her eyes to focus on the sensation, the pressure sliding across her mouth. They devoured the chocolate cake quickly, keeping eye contact. The temperature between them rose with every bite. Dorrie wanted him, wanted to be crushed against his slender, wiry frame, wanted to lose her inhibitions with him in a big bed with soft sheets and a plush comforter.
Archer pulled his credit card out and placed it over the bill. With his other hand, he traced a finger down her cheek. “As sweet as ever. Dorrie, you’re a breath of fresh air.”
And you’re still hot as hell with your civilized, formal ways, perfect shirts, and expertly knotted ties. Smoldering underneath, making me want to uncover the beast in you.
“Thank you for the delightful dinner.”
They walked out the front door.
“It’s a beautiful evening. May I walk you home?”
“Of course.”
He closed his hand around hers and they strolled up Broadway, stopping to look in the shop windows and comment on the displays. Arch made witty remarks, and Dorrie giggled. After a few blocks, he drew her to him, and they continued the stroll with his arm around her shoulders and hers around his waist.
The sweetness of the night air, mixed with his aftershave, intoxicated her. Archer was no body-builder. He was lean. She liked his trim build and average height. What he lacked in muscles, he made up for in kindness and intelligence.
“Do you have your own place while you’re here?” His question wasn’t very subtle. She chuckled to herself at his clumsy attempt to find out if they had somewhere to be alone.
“I’m bunking in with a couple…old friends from before.”
“Oh, I see. Very economical.” He nodded, but she saw the disappointment in his eyes.
I also wish I had my own place so we could be alone. She sighed. As they passed a narrow alley, Archer stepped inside, taking her with him. He took her in his arms and kissed her. After joining her hands around his neck, she peered at his eyes.
“You’re irresistible,” he whispered, lowering his lips to hers again. He angled his head to deepen the kiss. Dorrie opened her mouth to him, and their connection got passionate. His hands slid down her back, cupping her bottom, pulling her into him until there wasn’t a breath of air between them. She softened against him, submitting to his desire, wanting him.
His hand traveled up to her ribcage and higher to cover her breast. A soft squeeze made her moan at the pleasure of his touch. He broke from her, kissing her neck and further down until his exploration was thwarted by the neckline of her dress. As if his internal flame was suddenly doused by a bucket of cold water, Arch straightened up and took a step back.
“I’m so sorry. Inexcusable. I lost my head, I’m afraid.” His voice was soft and low but fire still burned in his eyes.
“Sorry for what?” Her breathing slightly ragged, she leaned back against the brick wall.
“For…taking such liberties. I shouldn’t have…touched you like that.” He cast his gaze to the ground.
“I wanted you to.”
His eyes widened slightly as they connected with hers. He raised an eyebrow. “You did?”
Dorrie closed the gap between them, grabbing his lapels and pulling him to her for another kiss. This time, she slipped her tongue into his mouth. He responded immediately, crushing her against his chest. She lost her sense of time and place in the sensations his mouth and hands were creating. There was nothing for Dorrie but Archer Canfield and the heat burning through her veins as her need for him grew.
“Eh, buddy. This isn’t the place for that stuff. Move along…”
The would-be lovers parted, sucking in air. Glancing toward the street they spied a police officer, legs spread, hands on hips.
“I’m sorry, officer. Of course. You are correct. Please beg our pardon.” Archer straightened his tie, and pushed the hair off his forehead as he stepped back into a shadow.
Dorrie could barely breathe. She stared at the cop, trying to hide the flush in her cheeks. Smoothing down her dress, she returned to the sidewalk.
The police officer nodded to the couple and went on his way. Archer and Dorrie stood for a second before joining hands and continuing to the Cunningham apartment. They stopped at the threshold. Angus tipped his hat and held the wrought iron door open.
“How long will you be in New York? Can I see you again?” Archer asked, his voice low.
“A few weeks. I’d love to see you again.”
“Good. Let me check my schedule tomorrow, and I’ll call you.”
“I’ll be rehearsing all day, so a text or email might be better.”
“I hate those damn things.”
“Gotta move with the times, Arch.”
He chuckled. “I know, I know. Okay. I’ll get in touch with you one way or another.”
“I had a fabulous time tonight.” She kissed him lightly.
“Me, too.” She touched his lips before he turned toward the curb. He raised his hand and a cab stopped. She watched as the vehicle pulled away. A small sigh escaped her mouth as Archer was whisked away to his apartment downtown.
“Good evening, miss,” Angus said.
“It was a very good evening. Thank you. Goodnight.” She headed for the elevator.
Drake and Chrissy were watching television when Dorrie let herself into the apartment.
“How was your date?” Chrissy asked, while Drake froze the image on the TV screen.
“Good.”
“No lipstick. Must have been good,” Chrissy snickered.
“Thanks for that observation,” Dorrie chuckled.
Drake turned to face her. “Was it everything you thought it’d be?”
“And more. I’m tired. Goodnight.”
Dorrie toed off her shoes and padded into her room. After slipping her naked body between the sheets, she stared out the window at the full moon. If he wanted me that much, why didn’t we jump into a cab and go back to his place? Maybe he wanted to test the waters first. Maybe on the next date?
She was ready to jump into bed with him. But will I get the chance? She fell asleep wondering about Archer Canfield, more questions without answers.