Calculated Risk (10 page)

Stevie ticked off her faults as a date
on her fingers. “First, I kept up a running complaint about his
car’s lack of virtue; second, I acted like a little kid eating
liver when we had our health food; third, I corrected ninety-nine
percent of his grammar every time he opened his mouth; fourth, I
looked more like his mother than his date in this dress and towered
over him in my heels; and fifth, I kept running through his tokens
at the arcade.” A proud smile curved her lips. “When Rob wakes up
tomorrow, he’ll be taking my name in vain over his
cornflakes.”

“Granola and bran,” Quintin corrected,
a companionable grin slanting. “You’ve made me feel three hundred
percent better,” he confessed. As his hand moved to cup her chin,
the digital display on his watch caught his attention. “Damn –“ he
frowned at the hour “—I’ve got to leave. I told Rob I was going to
the market.”

Stevie slid off his legs and
straightened her dress while she followed him to the entrance hall.
“The more I think about it, Quint, the more I’m convinced that one
date with me was probably more than enough.” Her eyes were wide and
her expression serious. “Poor Rob probably expected a torrid,
steamy evening of rapture, and I emptied the kid’s wallet in two
hours and didn’t even give him a good-night kiss!”

“How about if I take one.” It was a
statement rather than a question. Quintin realized that he had been
subconsciously planning this possibility all day and had dreamed
about it all the night before.

His hands cupped her face, his fingers
spread amid silken hair that spilled copper fire over his wrists.
Stevie’s lips were soft and yielding on his and willingly accepted
the intrusion of his anxious tongue. He took sustenance from her,
his own energies seemingly refueled by merging with
hers.

The taste of him was the antidote for
Stevie’s enervated emotions. She savored this vital connection,
sharing the moment as they shared each other. Her body spoke a
silent language to his, and where they touched – at the shoulders,
the hips, and the thighs – they seemed electrified.

With obvious reluctance, Quintin
relinquished her mouth. His fingertips stroked the subtle hollow
beneath her cheekbones. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Stevie leaned against the front door,
letting the solid oak brace her decidedly languid body while she
took two deep breaths. A secret part of her had stopped wondering
and started hoping. She found she desperately wanted this problem
with Rob solved so her relationship with Quintin could continue to
progress.

“You’re going to win the florist’s
award for most roses received in a month.” Gloria Lansing’s dulcet
announcement greeted her boss as Stevie opened the glass
reception-room doors. “Bobby Ward left a single red rose and this
note on his way to school.”

“Damn!” Stevie’s gray leather attaché
case bounced onto the blue carpet. “I was absolutely positive that
last night’s encounter would kill the attraction,” she grumbled,
and reluctantly accepted the proffered white envelope. “Oh, God,
listen to this: ‘I know how busy you are, but will you come with me
to the basketball game Friday night?’”

Gloria failed to hide her amusement.
“Looks like the son checkmated his father’s reverse
psychology.”

Stevie released the three buttons on
her brown wool gabardine jacket and slid her hand into the pocket
of the matching skirt. “No, no, I think Quint’s idea is right. In
fact, Dear Taffy said something to the same effect in her column
this morning. And you’ll notice our next date coincides with his
paycheck.” Her nose wrinkled at the hastily scrawled note. “I hate
basketball. Give me a seat on the fifty-yard line, a blanket, and a
thermos of brandy-laced coffee and I’m happy.” She tapped her chin
with the invitation. “Maybe I just didn’t come across as strong as
I thought.” Stevie’s eyes widened under sudden inspiration. “What’s
de rigueur for high school gymnasium wear these days?”

Gloria looked intrigued. “Still
preppie. Jeans and a rugby shirt.”

“Wouldn’t Rob be embarrassed if his
date shows up in a silk dress and heels?”

“Won’t you be embarrassed climbing the
bleachers in your silk dress and twisting your ankle in your
heels?” Gloria made the wry prediction.

Stevie’s lips curved. “Forgot about
that.” Mauve-tinted fingernails made random zigzags along the roll
collar of her ivory blouse. “Well…I could still overdress,” she
insisted. “Remember that rambunctious raccoon vest with the hanging
tails Cowboy ‘Wild Bill’ Crocker brought me from his Rocky Mountain
tour?” Tawny brows arched in renewed enthusiasm.

Gloria laughed and nodded. “Do I ever!
We almost bought a cage and food for the damn thing.”

“What if I team that vest
with suede pants tucked into those armadillo-skin cowboy boots that
were another gift? I’d say Bobby Ward would be one red-faced boy
over his
ne plus ultra
date?” She bent to retrieve her fallen briefcase. “Dig that
stuff out of the prop room for me, please, Gloria. I’d better give
Quint a call and –“

“You won’t have to. He’s been lighting
up the switchboard every five minutes.” Gloria tapped her watch.
“You’ve got just two more minutes to wait,” she promised, and
pulled a pencil from her gray topknot. “I’m going to have to
rearrange your Friday night schedule. Luckily, I’ve made your
entire calendar erasable.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Stevie cracked
wise. “What’s on for the next few days?” She inspected the neatly
typed sheet Gloria handed her. “Ouch. I am busy. Do the best you
can with Friday; see what you can shove on to Saturday. Until this
nonsense gets –“

Gloria grinned as the telephone beep
interrupted. “There’s the guy with the cute ass.” She winked,
lifted the receiver, and intoned: “Good morning, Brandt Associates.
Once moment, please.” She pressed the hold button. “It’s him.
you’ve got five minutes before you meet with the head of Global
Records,” she called to the redhead’s sprinting figure.

Stevie answered with a breathless:
“Hello.”

“You weren’t as terrible a date as you
thought,” Quintin’s deep voice grumbled across the line. “I assume
you already received the flower and the basketball
invitation.”

Her hip wiggled onto a comfortable
position on the edge of the wide oak desk. “They were here when I
arrived. But I came up with something for Friday that should dampen
Bobby’s spirits.”

“Tell me.”

“Let’s just say I will not be dressed
like the all-American high school girl when I go to the
gym.”

Her melodic laugh revived his spirits.
“How about if I drop by tonight and you can model your outfit for
me?”

“I’d like nothing better,” she
admitted. Her hand tightened around the receiver as she focused on
the scheduling sheet in her left hand. “But I have a client who’s
been with this company for twenty years flying in from the coast.
Normally my dad would come out of retirement and play host, but my
folks are on vacation in Hawaii.”

Mentally she tried to break some
appointments but found it impossible. “Quint, I’m booked solid. My
secretary is scrambling now to rearrange my calendar so I can
attend the basketball game. This is the music industry’s busy
time,” Stevie informed him. “There are wall-to-wall award shows,
tour dates and recording sessions to book and contracts are up for
renewal. I may only see home to shower and change
clothes.”

“This is my slow time,” came his rueful
declaration. “Construction literally halts in the winter. I’ve got
a few bids to work up, but most of my crew is on vacation.” Quintin
paused for a second, then added, “How about if I wait at your place
Friday night?”

“Sounds perfect.” Stevie nodded as
Gloria stuck her head around the half-open door and gestured toward
the grandmother clock in the corner, which silently indicated the
time. “I’ve got to go. There’s an extra front door key taped to the
bottom of the flower planter.”

“Did you use too much blusher this
morning or is that your natural reaction to Papa Ward?”

Stevie’s thumb stroked the smooth
cat’s-eye gemstone that was on the ring finger of her right hand.
“It’s my natural reaction to Quintin Ward,” she answered, rubbing
the ring as if it were a worry bead.

“So why the frown?”

Preoccupied hazel eyes looked at the
woman who was more confidante-second mother than employee. “Here in
the office I’m more masculine than feminine. I’m assertive,
judgmental, and decisive. When I’m with Quintin, I turn into …”
Stevie groped for the right words. “…into a stereotypical female:
shy, nervous, and submissive. I enjoy being independent, but I find
I don’t mind leaning on him and letting him do all the thinking.”
Stevie shrugged. “What do you make of that?”

“I think you should trust your internal
cues…your feminine intuition.” Gloria smiled. “A smart woman knows
how to combine independence and intimacy.” She jerked a thumb
toward the clock. “And right now you are scheduled to be
–“

“One tough broad.” Stevie winked,
straightened her jacket, and headed for the door.

***

Stevie struggled out of the
rust-spangled red VW amid a chorus of gleeful goodnights and used
the last of her energy to wave. The twenty-six steps to her front
door were the most painful she had ever taken. The last ten were
finished walking on the heels of her boots.

Quintin had the door opened before she
even rang the bell. “I was peeking out the front window; it looks
like you were well chaperoned.”

“Eight.” She waddled past him into the
foyer. “Eight people in that little car.” Stevie motioned for him
to help her out of the raccoon vest. “I got to sit between the two
front seats, wedged behind the stick shift and on the lap of a kid
who kept belching.” She piled a seemingly endless number of
black-ringed fur tails on the foyer’s glass and chrome
console.

In the dimly lit living room, Stevie
spied a bottle of wine and two glasses waiting on the coffee table.
“Oh…Quint…that was so sweet.” She turned and smiled. “I’ve got to
sit down and take off these boots. In the middle of the second half
my toes went numb.” She bent over and pressed her fingers into the
leather. “They’re dead, Quint, or at the very least
gangrenous.”

“Stevie, you can’t sit down.” His words
sounded strangled.

“Why not?”

“You’ve got…uh…a big wad of pink bubble
gum on the seat of your pants.”

“Quintin, please …” she begged, and
looked between her legs at his upside-down image. “Please tell me
you are joking.”

He stared at the gooey mound that was a
conspicuous pink ornament on the loden suede. “I’m
sorry.”

She rested her head against the stucco
wall. “These pants are brand new.” She groaned. “They cost a
fortune.”

He brushed back an auburn wave that
curtained her face. “Let me have an ice cube and a butter knife and
I’ll make them good as new,” he promised, “but first let’s get rid
of those boots.”

Straddling each leg in turn, he
forcefully but carefully eased off the pointed vamp of the garishly
designed footwear. “These damn things are obscene,” Quintin scolded
as he gently removed her socks. He cursed again viewing her
bleeding, blistered toes, and heels.

“I thought so.” She moaned in relief.
“Rob thought they were ‘like totally total,’” she mimicked, “and
one of his friends, Jack, the kid wearing the camouflage
coordinates, told me I was ‘like tubular.’ Tubular!” A hiss was
issued between clenched teeth.

“That’s a compliment,” he translated
with a chuckle. Quintin’s hands flowed along the sides of her
torso, examining the lithe curves beneath her thin-sand colored
sweater. “No one could ever accuse your body of resembling a
tube.”

“Right now this body is one big muscle
spasm. My ninety-year-old grandmother doesn’t have this many aches
and pains,” she muttered, letting him take her by the hand into the
kitchen. “Eight people packed like…like sardines in that little
car. I know I’ve slipped a disk.”

“How did your date become a group
effort?”

Leaning over the kitchen island, Stevie
propped her elbows on the butcher-block top. “I don’t know,” she
sighed. “We drew them like flies. One came to borrow money and
stayed; another helped himself to our popcorn; three others needed
rides home; and one kid kept tickling himself with the raccoon
tails.” She shuddered, then shivered again as the ice cube Quintin
was holding wet through her pants and made frigid contact with her
skin.

While his palm clamped the ice tightly
on the chewing gum, his fingers shaped the rounded contour of her
right buttock. “I gather your outrageous outfit wasn’t so
avant-garde.” Quintin reclined close against her side.

She made a face. “Let’s just
say I was the only one embarrassed. Although someone did ask me if
I was wearing an endangered species.” Stevie gave his arm a swat
when he laughed. “The truth is
I
was the endangered species,” she snapped crossly.
“Nobody speaks the King’s English anymore. The word
like
prefaces everything.
I swear, it has to be rated among the most annoying four-letter
words of this century.”