“Here we go,” Lane said, ushering her inside. He closed the door, then turned and stared openly. The picture in front of him was quite a transformation, and heat curled up the back of his neck.
“Wow. You look great.” His eyes roved over her, taking in the shapes the ugly pink uniform had concealed. He wouldn’t call Mandi’s shapes curves. They were more like angles. She had a slender neck, sharp shoulders and a tiny waist. So far, he liked what he saw. It’d take a little more exploring to get the full picture.
He saw Mandi’s gaze bounced around the small suite. It was nothing special, but it was clean. He’d managed to pick up the clothes and shove them into the closet. She stepped into the seating area and dropped her purse onto a table, then perched on the arm of the sofa and turned to him, her head tilted.
Her hair was prettier than he’d realized. Thicker. Sexier. It fell several inches below her shoulders, curly, with some reddish highlights that had been hidden in the ponytail. Dark jeans hugged her thin legs, and the squeaky shoes had been replaced by narrow, spiked heels. His mouth went dry at the message those shoes were sending out.
“Hey, I picked up some wine and beer. What would you like?”
She twirled the rose a moment, then straightened and moved toward him. “What kind of beer?”
“Bud Light.”
“Sounds good.”
He pulled one out of the refrigerator, twisted the top off, and handed it to her.
“Thanks.”
Lane watched her take a long drink, and his jeans tightened. He laughed at himself. Doing almost nothing, she was making him crazy.
“Nice room,” she commented. “It’s funny, I’ve worked across the street for five years and never been inside this place.”
That pleased him. Good to know this wasn’t her standard Friday night pick-up.
She set the rose down, then, with one hand on her hip, she wandered the room. When she stopped, she leaned against the wall, giving her a view of both the seating area and the bedroom. He’d piled most of the pillows on the one bed closest to the door. Lane waited, letting her set the pace. He froze when she began unfastening the buttons on her blouse with one hand while she held her beer to her lips with the other. When she turned to him, the open blouse exposed a black tank top underneath and the creamy skin of her chest.
Blood pounding in his head, Lane strolled from the bar into the sitting room. He put his beer down on the table and pulled her to him. His hands felt huge around her tiny waist. Tilting her chin up, he met her eyes and saw a heat that matched his own. It was all the invitation he needed. He crushed her lips with his, adrenaline shooting through him as Mandi pressed against him. Her lips tasted faintly of berry, and he caught a whiff of something floral as she wound her arm around his neck, her fingers like whispers against his skin.
He pushed the blouse over her shoulders, then, with his lips still locked on hers, he took the bottle from her hand, and the blouse fell to the floor. His hands continued their exploration, splaying across her back, moving down to her hips, pinning her against him. When they slid under the camisole to find the softness of her breasts, a light, breathy moan was his reward.
But when her hands began to fumble with the buttons on his shirt, Lane forced himself to apply the brakes. Wham-bam, thank-you, Ma’am wasn’t his style. He closed one hand over hers and pulled her from the wall, leading her to the small sofa.
A puzzled frown settled on her face. “What’s the matter?”
Dropping down next to her, he brushed a finger over her hand. “Let’s talk a minute.”
She hitched the strap of her camisole up and curled her legs onto the sofa. With an elbow braced against the back cushion, she faced him, her wide eyes more green than gold now in the dim light.
“You just want to talk?” The confusion on her face matched the disappointment in her voice.
Lane swallowed hard. And found himself wanting nothing more than to draw her into his arms again. He shook his head while he shifted close enough to reach out and twine a couple of fingers through her hair. “No,” he said. “But I’m not in a hurry. Tell me about Mandi.”
Her head rolled back, the sound she made something between a groan and a snort. “Uh. No. I don’t think so.”
He studied her. So talking was more intimate to her than sex. Talking about herself, anyway. She’d bare her skin, but nothing on the inside. What was she hiding in there?
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to talk to strangers?” she asked, not meeting his eyes.
Lane took a long pull on his beer. “We’re not going to be strangers,” he said softly. He jerked a thumb toward the window. “How long have you worked at Jimmy’s?”
Mandi crossed her arms, and rolled her eyes at him. “You practicing to be the next Conan O’Brien, or what?”
She obviously wasn’t interested in putting her cards on the table. Not yet, anyway. He smiled, trying to put her ease. “No, but I’m all-ears if you do any celebrity impersonations.”
She didn’t return the smile. While Lane considered what might be a safe topic, Mandi swung her legs off the sofa, and sat up, tapping her fingernails against the bottle in her hand. For a moment, he thought she was about to bolt.
“There’s nothing to tell, anyway.” Her voice hardened, inviting no further discussion.
But Lane figured that wasn’t true. He reached out and touched the scar that ran along her left forearm. He could still see the marks where the skin had been stitched together. “What happened here?” he asked quietly.
She pulled her arm away. “Nothing.”
Okay, so much for conversation. He stalled. “Do you need another beer?”
She ran a hand through her hair and looked at him for a minute. Then she moistened her lips with her tongue, and stood. “I’ll get it.”
As she strolled the short distance to the kitchen area, her hips swayed with every step. Lane blew out his breath. What the hell was he waiting for? He followed her to the refrigerator before she had a chance to open it. From behind, he pushed her soft curls out of the way, and kneaded her shoulders. Her light murmurs turned to a gasp when he lowered his lips to her smooth neck.
She twisted around, and this time when her fingers moved to the buttons on his shirt, he let his run up and down her spine. When he leaned down for a kiss, satin-soft lips moved against his.
Catching his breath, Lane paused a moment and searched her face. “You sure about this?” he asked. Luminous eyes stared back at him, and she nodded.
“I’m sure,” she whispered.
Lane continued his caresses while Mandi tugged his shirt loose. He let go of her for a moment and yanked the shirt off. Taking her arm, he propelled her into the bedroom, and in a frenzy of hands and gasps, they tumbled onto the bed.
He touched her and tasted her, reveling in her delicate, feminine sounds, enjoying her pleasure. When he couldn’t stand it any longer, he tore open a foil packet and braced himself above her.
“Mandi,” he said hoarsely.
Her eyes fluttered open.
“Smile for me.”
She ran a finger across his jaw, and her lips curved, a sweet smile spreading across her face. Lane held her gaze, and when she gave a little laugh, he thrust into her.
**
They’d fallen asleep before Lane had thought to pull the heavy lined curtains across the window, so light flooded the room the next morning. When Mandi stirred, Lane propped himself on his elbow for a better view. She glanced up with a shy smile.
“You should do that more often,” Lane said.
“What?” She hitched a shoulder. “Do what?”
He brushed a thumb over her flawless cheek. “Smile.”
Her hand grazed his bare arm. “Well, not everyone can make me smile the way you did.”
“Ah. That is a special gift,” he said, pulling her closer.
“Besides, there isn’t much to smile about.” Her eyes looked past him, and the smile faded.
Lane’s fingers caressed the silky skin of her chest, just above her heart. “They gotta start in here, you know.”
Her gaze snapped back to him.
“You’re way too young to be so sad,” he murmured. “Tell me.”
To his surprise, her lips trembled and her eyes watered. When she started to roll away from him, he curved his arm around her waist and propelled her back. He leaned over her shoulder. “Whoa, whoa. Hey, I’m sorry.”
She pulled away and scrambled out of the bed on the opposite side. “I have to go,” she whispered.
Lane snatched up his boxers and yanked them on, then met her around the bed. He stopped her, his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t go. Look, I just want to get to know you. Whatever it is, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes. Damn it, this wasn’t how he’d expected to start the day. When she finally looked up at him, Lane brushed the hair back from her face. “Come on. Don’t cry.”
The instant the words left his lips, Mandi’s shoulders shook. Aw, Christ. He gathered her up against his chest.
Mandi tried to hold the tears back, but they came anyway. Why did he care? What did it matter? He didn’t even know her. She squeezed her eyes shut. She hadn’t told anyone about Paige in a long time. Where would she even start? She shuddered a deep breath, her fingers clenched in the dark hairs of Lane’s chest. Then she lifted her face. His eyes were full of concern. But she well knew they’d change to disgust if she told him everything.
“I’d like to know,” Lane said. “But it can wait.”
She pulled out of his arms and sank onto the bed, her head in her hands. “Why?” She didn’t realize she’d said it out loud until he repeated it.
“Why?” He sat down next to her. “Mandi, we just spent the night together. It’s kind of customary for people who do that to know a little something about each other.” He squeezed her hand. “We don’t have to talk but don’t go. Okay?”
Mandi swiped at the stupid tears she’d been unable to stop. Bull. This was casual sex. Period. He didn’t need to know anything else about her. And a few orgasms, lovely as they were, didn’t give him the right to pry into her life. She snatched up her clothes, and scooted into the bathroom, ignoring Lane’s outstretched arm. Jeez, she’d never met a man who wanted to talk so much.
She stepped into the shower, and enjoyed the full-volume pressure – a far cry from the daily trickle she was used to. Too bad she didn’t have more time. She dressed quickly, and wrenched open the door, ready to make her escape. Instead, Lane blocked her path. He held a cup out to her.
“Coffee. You need cream or sugar?”
So much for a quick getaway. She shook her head, the rich scent of the coffee too tempting to resist. “Black is fine. Thanks.”
“It’s not gourmet, but it should hold us over until we get someplace else.”
“Someplace else?” Mandi echoed. What did that mean? She sipped the steaming coffee and watched Lane over the cup. He cocked his head, a confused frown on his face.
“Breakfast.”
“Oh, no. I don’t need anything,” Mandi protested. She rarely ate breakfast, anyway. Of course it would really be brunch at this point. Didn’t matter. He didn’t need to spend money on her. She glanced around for her purse. “I should get going.”
A hand curled around her arm before she could move forward.
Lane took a step toward her, his chest like a brick wall in front of her. “I’d like to take you out for breakfast.”
Instinctively, she started to pull her arm out of his grasp, but at that moment, her stomach betrayed her, rumbling so loudly they both could hear it.
Lane crossed his arms, a knowing smile looking down at her.
Busted, she couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay.” Maybe he’d gotten the message and wouldn’t press her for any more information. At least eating would give them something to do besides talk.
When Lane started to pull the car onto the highway ramp, Mandi turned toward him. “Where we going?”
He flashed her a grin. “Didn’t figure you’d want to go to Jimmy’s. I’ve found a few other places. Ever been to the Egg Emporium?”
Oh, crap. There was one only a couple of blocks from her parents’ house. And it was one of their favorite places. Surely he wouldn’t go clear down there. “Yeah, I’ve been to one. They’re good. Crowded on Saturdays and Sundays, though.”
He lifted his brows. “Someplace else you’d rather go?”
She sat back, and had the feeling any place she chose would be all right with him, and it wouldn’t matter if it wasn’t the cheapest place in town. “No. That’s fine.” A thread of relief whispered through her when he got off the highway after a few exits, still fifteen minutes from her parents’ area. Thank God. She wouldn’t mind being seen with a guy like Lane Whitmore, but she really didn’t want to see any former classmates from the old neighborhood, people who’d gone on to make something of their lives.
As she suspected, the restaurant was like Friday night rush hour with people jockeying for position in all directions. Several stood outside waiting for their name to be called. As they started up the walkway, Lane grabbed Mandi’s hand, sending her pulse jumping again.
He shot her an easy smile as he opened the door and ushered her inside. They squeezed into the waiting area, and Mandi was suddenly self-conscious. They looked like a couple – as if they lived together, had gotten out of the bed they’d shared the night before and were going about their day together. As heat rose to her face, she took the small complimentary cup of coffee he offered her, thinking an ice-cold glass of water might be a better choice.
It was too noisy to talk, thank God, and Lane sifted through the many sections of newspapers spread around the seating area. Mandi stole a sideways glance at him while he sipped his coffee. He hadn’t shaved before they left his place, and the shadow of new growth gave him a roguish look. She kind of liked it. When he looked over and caught her staring at him, a quick smile spread across his face, He shifted, and draped an arm around her shoulder. For a moment she envied his ability to smile so naturally. She’d forgotten how to smile spontaneously. These days, she had to have a reason. Had to make a conscious effort. Most of the time, she just couldn’t muster one.
Mandi straightened and shook off those thoughts. Any time she was tempted to feel sorry for herself, she remembered how it all began in the first place. Whose fault was that? She blew out her breath, thankful when the girl at the desk called Lane’s name.
“What can I get ya’ll to drink?” a waitress asked as soon as they were seated.
Mandi checked her watch. Almost eleven. This would probably be her only real meal of the day. She ordered a tall orange juice, and couldn’t help but notice that the waitress, all the wait staff, was neatly put together in bright-colored collared shirts and khaki slacks. While it wasn’t fancy, the restaurant had a sophisticated feel, with modern light fixtures and wooden tables with fabric-padded chairs. A far cry from Jimmy’s, for sure. The diner was nicked and torn and outdated – shabby without the chic. It was about time she asked Jimmy to at least ditch the ancient uniforms they wore.
Lane requested more coffee, then closed his menu and raised his brows. “Ah, the healthy choice. Showing me up.”
“I’ll probably switch back to caffeine later before I go to work,” Mandi told him.
When the waitress returned, Mandi ordered a basic egg breakfast with bacon and hash browns. Lane ordered an omelet loaded with just about everything.
“You’ll have to let me know how it compares to the omelets at Jimmy’s, so I can tell Carl.”
Lane took a sip of his coffee. “You can tell Carl the omelet I had there was delicious.”
Mandi had to laugh. This guy was too nice. She swallowed the lump in her throat. She was in over her head. In over her status, anyway. Lane Whitmore was too good to be true. Of course, she’d known it the first time she’d seen him. He was temporary. Like an over-the-counter medication, he provided temporary relief from common aches and pains.
“I’ll tell him,” she said softly. She gulped down the cold water, trying to pull her thoughts away from dwelling on what she couldn’t have. “So, what are you doing today?” she asked, attempting to offer some kind of conversation. She had little hope of the food being served quickly.
“I figure since it’s Saturday, more people will be home, outside doing yard work, things like that. Thought I’d do some canvassing, talk to folks in the neighborhoods.”
“You’re just going to walk the streets?”
Lane grinned. “Something like that.”
“I’ll loan you a can of pepper spray.” And she wasn’t joking. But she knew it was different for a man. A man might get hassled, maybe roughed up in the worst areas. A woman could disappear.
He sat back and tapped his fingers against his coffee mug. “I know this place doesn’t have a great reputation, but I’ve been here a few days, and haven’t seen anything that scares me too much yet. As far as I can tell there are a lot of hard-working people just trying to live their lives. Obviously not making a ton of money, but plugging along.”
“That’s true. But there are also gangs and drug dealers and basic stupid low-life.”
Lane leaned forward again, his smoky eyes intense on hers. “Which brings me to the question I asked you the other night. What the hell are you doing working at Jimmy’s? You could work someplace like this.”
Mandi glanced around the restaurant. Someplace like this. She knew what he meant. Cleaner. More upscale clientele. “Maybe. But Jimmy’s is close to home. When I get off work at eleven or twelve, I want to get home. Besides, Jimmy’s been good to me.”
Her throat constricted. A sense of loyalty kept her at Jimmy’s. She’d stay there until she had enough money to blast out of Texas for good. The people there had helped her through the worst days of her life. She owed them. They’d covered for her through the times when she froze up, threw up or didn’t even show up.
“You live close to Jimmy’s? By yourself?”
“I’m by myself now. But when we first–” Whatever thought she’d had, whatever she was about to say completely escaped her brain. Her eyes locked onto the elegant woman coming toward her.
“Mom!”
Panicked, she looked at Lane, who immediately slid out of the booth.
“Miranda, honey. My goodness! What a surprise.”
“What are you doing here?” What the hell is what she really meant. Why were they out of their own zone? Now. Here.
“We were meeting the Martinsons for brunch.”
Another woman stopped at the table. “Why, hello there, Miss Miranda. How are you?”
Mandi’s father and Mr. Martinson stopped behind the women, and with reluctance, Mandi stood. She let Mrs. Martinson pull her into a brief hug. “I’m fine, thank you,” Mandi murmured. But her eyes were on her father. Even on a Saturday morning, her dad wore dress slacks, polished loafers and a collared shirt. She watched him take in the scene, looking from Mandi to Lane, knowing how he’d interpret the situation. His unmarried daughter, the slut, having breakfast with the man she’d spent the night with.
“We’ll wait up front,” Mrs. Martinson told them. “No rush.”
When they moved on, Lane looked at Mandi expectantly, probably waiting for her to come to life and introduce him to her parents. Hmmm, how to introduce him? What was he? Friend, casual acquaintance, sex partner?
Before she could decide, Lane took charge. With a confident smile, he extended his hand to her father. “Lane Whitmore. Pleased to meet you.”
“Prescott Evans.”
The men shook hands, and then Lane and her mother did the same.
“So nice to meet you, Lane. I’m Beth,” her mother said, hitching her boxy Kate Spade bag over her shoulder.
Mandi wondered if Lane was the kind of guy who’d notice designer labels. Would he notice her dad’s Rolex? The diamond flashing on her mother’s hand? Probably. Those were hard to miss.
Her mother gave a nervous laugh. “Well, we better get out of the way. We’ll catch up later. Are you coming by tomorrow?”
Mandi thought of the mountain of laundry piling up in her closet. She sometimes went to her parents’ house on Sundays for dinner, and tossed in a load rather than going to the sketch Laundromat at The Meadows. It’d been a while.
“I’m not sure yet. I’ll call you.”
“All right. Let us know.” She glanced at Lane. “Bring your friend. We’d love it.” She gave Mandi a hug, then in a loud whisper asked if she needed any money.
Mandi wanted to sink through the floor as her dutiful father pulled out his wallet. She waved it away, her face burning. “No. Dad, really. I’m fine.”
He replaced the wallet. “All right then. We’ll see you later.” He leaned in and planted a quick kiss on Mandi’s cheek then he gave Lane a curt nod, and nudged her mother along.
Please. Go already. Mandi sank back into the booth, knowing Lane’s eyes were fixed on her. Thankfully, the waitress appeared with their food. And Mandi nearly did a face-plant into her plate.
Lane gave her a moment. Obviously, she was flustered and needed to collect herself. He took a few bites of his omelet, even remembered to chew. Then curiosity won out.
“So, those were the parents.”
She looked up, her eyes flickering everywhere but at him.
“Yep.”
“Guess that means you don’t want to talk about it.” What would she talk about?
She met his gaze then, pretend innocence on her face. “About what?”
“Mandi, come on. Do I look stupid to you?”
Her cheeks colored, and she toyed with the straw in her juice. “No. You don’t. You’re right. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Warm green eyes met his then, and he saw her silent plea. Lane let it go. It wasn’t his place to pry. At least now he knew why Mandi looked out of place at Jimmy’s. She was a transplant. Her parents had money, obviously, but for some reason she’d rejected it, opted for a different lifestyle. He couldn’t help wondering what accounted for the rejection. So, she had issues with her parents. Lots of people did. He couldn’t imagine that was enough to make her so withdrawn. He’d bet money there was more to the story. But even as a pang of sympathy caught in Lane’s chest, alarm bells clanged in his head. This girl might come with too much baggage.
He’d been figuring on a repeat of last night after she got off work. Maybe going out for a beer first, but definitely ending up back at his room. He’d liked the feel of her, liked running his hands through all that hair. Now he wasn’t so sure. What was he getting himself into? He was there to work, not get mixed up with some head case.
He studied her a moment while she ate, sure she was deliberately avoiding his gaze. But that didn’t mean she was psycho. Maybe she was naturally shy and reserved. Didn’t explain the sadness, but hey, it beat a girl who wouldn’t shut up. So she didn’t like to talk. In the short time he’d known her, he’d made her smile and laugh. That was good.
“Okay. Forget the parents,” Lane said between bites. “But give me a little something here. First, and I’m sure this is all kinds of bad on my part, how old are you?”
She met his eyes then. “Twenty-five. What about you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
With relief, Lane let his shoulders relax as the awkwardness passed. The greeting from Mandi’s dad had been frosty, but his daughter was plenty old enough to make her own choices.
“You said you’re an urban planner. But you don’t work for the city?”
Lane recognized a deliberate attempt to change the subject, and went along with it. Maybe if he answered a few questions, she’d loosen up. “Nope. Work for myself. Worked at a firm for a couple of years after I got my master’s, then teamed up with a buddy of mine. That went sour a while back, so I’m on my own.”
“Why urban planning?”
He thought a minute. “I guess mostly I like for things to make sense. Have you ever gone through a town where everything looks hodge-podge? Homes right up next to businesses?”
She nodded.
“It’s messy. Doesn’t look good. Doesn’t function well. Ever gone to a shopping center where there are lots of ways to get in, but you can’t get out? Urban planning helps plan things out logically so that they make sense.”
“Uh-huh. Where’d you go to school?”
“UT for my undergrad, then Stanford for my master’s.”
Her eyes lit up. “Really? Oh, my gosh. I’m originally from California. Orange County. I love California.”
“But not Texas?”
She grimaced. “I hate Texas.”
“Hate? That’s pretty strong.”
Her eyes drifted to somewhere behind him.
“The move to Texas didn’t go well for me.”
The waitress stopped and refilled Lane’s coffee. “Ya’ll doing okay?”
Mandi nodded.
“Yes, thanks,” Lane told her, then turned his attention back to Mandi. “How’d you end up in Texas, anyway?”
She put down her fork and heaved a sigh. “My dad got transferred here. Big promotion, so we moved. My brother was lucky. Warren had already graduated from high school, so it didn’t make any difference to him.”
“But it did to you,” Lane said softly. “You had to leave your friends behind and start over in high school?”
A flash of pain crossed her face, and Lane knew he’d stumbled across another minefield.
“That’s never easy,” was all he said, turning his attention to the bill the waitress had left. When he looked back at Mandi, he wondered when she’d shortened her name, and took a chance on another personal question. “Your mom calls you Miranda, but I’m guessing you’d rather go by Mandi?”
Mandi, with the unusual spelling, suited her, he decided. Different in a quirky kind of way.
Wrinkling her nose, she picked up her knife and shook it at him. “Do not call me that other name.”
“Tell me how you really feel,” he said, grinning.
A ghost of a smile turned her lips. “I feel ridiculous being called Miranda.”
“Why’s that? It’s pretty.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s pretentious.”
“Ah. How long have you been Mandi?”
“Actually my parents used it as a nickname when I was little. Once I was in school, though, all my teachers called me Miranda because that’s what the official enrollment said. I switched to Mandi when we moved here.” Her voice went tight, matching the look on her face. “It fits me better.”
“Got it,” he said. But in his mind, he pictured her in other settings, dressed the part of her parents’ daughter. He had the feeling she could easily pull off a more aristocratic air. If she chose to.
Her eyes peered at him over her glass. “You haven’t said where you’re from.”
“That’s because I thought I might get stabbed,” he said. “I’m from Texas.”
She screwed up her face. “Ugh. My condolences. What part?”
Lane laughed. “I was born in Dallas, but lived most of my life in Austin, my current home, where my dad is dean of the Business school at UT.” Where he could be following in his dad’s footsteps. He remembered some tense times when he’d decided not to go into business. Not to get a law degree. When he’d almost taken a gap year. On some level, he supposed, that was his rejection of his parents’ path. But it hadn’t left any permanent scars. Overall, he had a good relationship with them. Except for his mother’s frequent hints about girlfriends and weddings, they gave him his space and supported his choices.
“So that means you travel a lot? I can’t imagine there’s a lot of need for urban planning in Austin.”
Mandi’s words snapped Lane back to the present. “True, but Austin’s growing, and it’s a great location. Close enough to Houston, San Antonio and Dallas to keep me busy.”
He hoped so, anyway. That was his plan. Each of those cities was within driving distance. For now, he didn’t mind the travel, but he supposed one day, if he had a wife and family, it could be an issue. That wasn’t going to happen any time soon, though. He wasn’t ready to settle down into that routine. Right now, he wanted to focus on building his business and reputation. He could take those anywhere. Being unattached and flexible gave him a huge advantage.
Lane took another swallow of coffee and looked across the table at Mandi. A light relationship was exactly what he needed.