Page 35 of Prime Time

“Great,” Jeff called. “Join us.”

“Sorry. I’ve got a date.”

Andy kept her eyes glued to the book she had brought down with her, but the words blurred in front of her eyes. Her heart plummeted to her stomach and lay there like a stone.

“Gracie told me she’s serving you Mexican food out here on the patio. Enjoy it. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Everyone called their good-byes, including Andy. Intending to show him she didn’t care if or with whom he had a date, she glanced up at him through the large lenses of her sunglasses. Though the brim of his hat cast his face in deep shadow, she knew his eyes were riveted on her. “Have fun,” she called brightly, as much for the benefit of her crew as for Lyon.

“I will,” he said firmly, grinning at her sardonically and leaving no doubt in her mind what kind of fun he’d be pursuing. Then he turned his back on her.

The pain in her chest was so severe, she didn’t start breathing again until long after she’d heard his footsteps disappear into the house.

Gracie’s enchiladas, tacos, and guacamole were delicious, but Andy didn’t taste anything. Soon after the food had been demolished, the crew bade her good night and headed toward the bunkhouse, where a rousing poker game was scheduled. She wandered through the house after Gracie refused her offer to help in the kitchen. The general had been in bed for hours. She tried not to think about Lyon and who he was with and what they were doing.

Did he go out regularly? Someone specific? Had he called someone today and made the date for tonight? Would women be willing to go out with him on that short notice? Yes. She would have been. Why hadn’t he asked her out?

The answer to that was painfully simple. All too clearly, he’d demonstrated his dislike. The tenderness with which he’d kissed her that morning in her bedroom had been the result of a mood that would never be recaptured. Once he’d remembered who she was and what she was doing in his house, he’d been filled with self-disgust and bitterness. If he chose to believe her manipulative and grasping, then there was nothing she could do at this point to prove him wrong. Strangely she lacked the energy to try.

At eleven o’clock, after filling the long, lonely hours with daydreams of what could never be, she despairingly climbed the stairs to her room.

And at twelve o’clock she was still wide awake, and she decided to avail herself of the pool after all, hoping that a few brisk laps would exhaust her enough to sleep.

Wearing her discreet bikini, which was nonetheless provocative on her lush figure, she went down the stairs, out the back door, and into the pool. All was dark, and she didn’t turn on any lights.

The water caressed her ankles, calves, and thighs. Then she did a surface dive and swam the length of the pool underwater. Coming up for air, she kicked away from the side and swam with even strokes, back and forth three times. She brought herself to the surface, leading with her chin to pull her hair out slick behind her. Leaning her head against the mosaic tiles just above the waterline, she drew in deep breaths.

Only then did she see Lyon, and her heart, which was already pounding with exertion, accelerated even faster. He was standing at the opposite end of the pool. The sport coat that was hooked over his shoulder by an index finger was tossed into a lounge chair. The necktie was whipped from beneath his shirt collar and he began unbuttoning his s

hirt.

“What are you doing?” she asked on a high, breathless note.

Chapter Seven

What does it look like I’m doing?” The unbuttoned shirt was pulled out of the waistband of his slacks. He worked his feet out of a pair of dress loafers and raised each foot in turn to peel off his socks. Next came the lizard belt; it was whisked through the belt loops and joined the growing heap on the lounge chair. Never for an instant did his eyes leave hers. Even through the darkness she felt their impaling power.

His fingers loosed his trousers with dispatch, and he proceeded to step out of them. Andy, watching his act with stunned disbelief, heard her own breathing as rapid panting.

He folded the trousers and laid them on the back of the chair. His thumbs hooked into either side of his underwear.

“I’m not going to scream, you know,” she said haughtily. She knew that this entire scene had been planned and executed to unnerve her. “I’ve seen a naked man before.”

Unswayed, he said silkily, “You’ve seen me naked before. And I think you liked it. I think you’d like a second look.” The underwear was discarded.

What he’d suggested was true. The second look was better than the first. His broad shoulders narrowed only slightly in the chest, then his long lean trunk tapered to slender hips. His legs, dusted with the same dark hair that covered his chest, were straight and hard, each muscle and tendon honed to perfection by constant, strenuous use.

He did a foolhardy dive off the shallow end and torpedoed under the water the length of the pool until he slowly surfaced inches from her. His hair clung to his head like a snug, dark cap.

He was so dangerously, sexily magnetic that Andy felt compelled to retreat. She bent her knee with the intention of pushing away from the wall and going around him. His arms came up on either side of her, pinning her between the side of the pool and his equally unyielding flesh.

“No, no, Ms. Malone. We’re going to have a little chat.”

“You’re home early. Didn’t your date invite you in for a cup of coffee?” she asked nastily.

“As a matter of fact she did.”

“I’ll bet.”

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