agreed.
Laura said a quick goodbye and was out the door. Tyler stayed behind. Picking up his coffee again, he said, “The first session is tonight.”
“A promise is a promise, McKay. I’ll be there.”
He looked at his watch.
“You have to go? What a shame,” she said. “Take that car when you leave.” When she reached for his mug, Tyler latched onto her wrist.
Lane felt warmth burn through her skin to her blood. He let go, sliding his hand under the sleeve of her sweater and pulled her near.
Lane’s heart did a wild dance and she could barely swallow. “McKay.”
“Your skin is so soft,” he said.
“Good lotion.” His fingers played over her bare skin, and it was silly, it was just her arm, but Lane felt as if they were playing somewhere else entirely. And if he didn’t stop, she was going to yank him into the back room and try a kiss on for size.
He searched her gaze. “I don’t know what it is about you that’s driving me nuts, Lane Douglas, but I’m willing to wait to find out.”
“There’s nothing to learn, so it’ll be a long wait.”
He leaned closer, tipping his head, and Lane thought, Come on, kiss me.
“I’m a Southern boy.” She felt his warm breath on her lips. “We’re long on patience.”
“Tell that to the back end of my car.”
The alarm on his watch went off, and he clucked his tongue and eased back. He stared at her for a second longer, then releasing a heavy sigh, made an about-face and headed to the door. She looked down and saw the car keys on the counter.
“McKay, take these keys.”
He ignored her and reached for the knob.
“Tyler!”
He flashed her a look over his shoulder that said triumph. Then he was out the door and sliding into a matching black SUV.
“Talking to that man is like talking to wood,” she muttered, then picked up the keys. They were still warm from handling. She pocketed them and did what she did best. Ignored them. Ignored him.
It lasted all of ten seconds, and she dropped into a chair, plucking at her clothes and letting the buildup of steam in her system escape.
Oh, yes, that man.
Definitely dangerous.
Because Lane knew that she could fall for him, and there would be no getting back up this time.
Three
The lights in the town theater were almost blinding. Adults and children were scattered across the stage and the wide area meant for the orchestra, each small group working on different projects.
Lane had made her way down to near the stage when Tyler came through the outer doors, carrying a stack of two-by-fours on his shoulder. He stopped short when he saw her, and a grin spread across his handsome face, warming her right down to her toes. His gaze dropped to her boots and he made a face, shaking his head. She stuck out her tongue at him.
“I knew you’d show.”
“Don’t gloat, McKay. I knuckled under matriarchal pressure, nothing more.”
“Good to know something gets to you.”
You do, she thought when he gave her a long, heated look that said more than she wanted. Why was he so interested in her? She’d have to check her appearance, dowdy it up a bit more, she thought, watching him trot off. Well, more specifically, she watched his behind in tight, worn jeans, the toolbelt rocking low on his hips.
Lane found the chairperson, Diana Ashbury, easily. The woman was short and dark-haired, with a porcelain complexion that reminded Lane of her own mother’s. Lionetta Giovanni, of course, wouldn’t be caught dead volunteering for a children’s pageant. She’d much rather throw money at a charity so she could attend the parties in one of her daughter’s designs. Diana, on the other hand, was hip-deep in coordinating tasks, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, both covered by an apron bulging with craft supplies.
“Thanks for coming, Lane.”
“Two hands, ready and willing,” Lane said.
Diana blew out a short breath and waved at the stations positioned all over the theater. “Pick a job,” Diana said, then scanned her notes on a clipboard.
“Put me where I’m needed most,” she told the woman.
“We don’t have costumes even remotely finished.” Diana’s voice held a little bit of plea.
Costumes? A long-buried corner of Lane’s heart leaped to life. Sewing. Maybe some designing. It wouldn’t be couture, but she could design clothing again. Even if it was for a children’s play. She tried to disguise the eagerness in her voice when she said, “Say no more. I’m on it.”
Lane headed to the orchestra pit where a large table was set up with a sewing machine at each end, manned by two young women. Yards of bright felt, fabric and trims were scattered over the table and nearby chairs. A half-dozen children raced around the aisles, while two little girls sat in the middle of the floor, their heads together, oblivious to everything but the dolls they played with. Between stitching and cutting, the moms hollered for the kids to calm down. Lane introduced herself to the two women, Suzanne and Marcy.
“Why don’t you both take a break and let me handle the sewing?” Lane said.
“You sure?” Suzanne clipped a thread as Marcy spotted a small child climbing onto the stage, where men were wielding dangerous saws and drills. Lane nodded and both women shot after the children.
Costumes were something Lane could do without thinking. She quickly organized the mess at the long table, checking fabric length and yardage against necessary colors and trims. After a quick glance through the patterns, she slid into the chair at the machine. The noise of hammers and kids, of adult chatter and the whine of drills didn’t penetrate her concentration.
When she looked up to call for Anna, the pageant’s fairy princess, Tyler was staring down at her from the stage. He had his hand on his hip, the other twirling a hammer like a six-shooter.
Her heart sped up, and she felt herself blush like a teenager. Then her stomach clenched in a tight knot. Oh, the man had power, she thought. It didn’t hurt that he was wearing a blue cable sweater that made his eyes look deeper, and jeans that molded to every feature from the waist down.
“I was wondering if you were coming up for air.”
Lane glanced at her watch and realized she’d been at this for an hour already.
“You were not.”
His smile faded a bit and his gaze narrowed. “I never lie, Lane.”
He looked angry all of a sudden, she thought, and her own lies struck her like the hammer he held. She had good reasons for hiding, she reasoned. For lying.
“I’ll remember that.” And remember that he wouldn’t tolerate that she was lying to him, she thought, reaffirming her decision to keep her distance.
“Will you be my date for the Winter Ball?”
She blinked at the abrupt shift in the conversation and couldn’t help but notice that a couple of people stopped what they were doing and stared.
“The what?” She’d heard him. She was just stalling. Needed time to think.
“The Winter Ball is the last event of the festival. Big bash, catered, at the country club.”
“I see.” She took a deep breath and ignored the piece of her that wanted to say yes. Instead, she simply said, “No, thank you.”
He