Makin' Whoopee

MAKIN' WHOOPEE

A Bantam Book I March 1987

LOVESWEPT and the wave device are registered

trademarks of Bantam Books, Inc. Registered in U.S. Patent

and Trademark Office and elsewhere.

All rights reserved.

Copyright © 1987 by Billie Green.

Cover art copyright © 1987 by Lino Saffiottl.

For information address: Bantam Books, Inc.

"Yes . . . Uh-huh . . . No, I don't think so."

Sara Love held the phone between her cheek and shoulder, only half listening to the voice on the other end as she ran a pencil down a long column of figures. Occasionally, when there was a pause, she would murmur a noncommittal response. After fifteen minutes of the same thing, she glanced furtively at her watch.

"Could we talk about this later, Ted?" Her voice was faintly apologetic. "I'm absolutely snowed under here. Mr. Brady called, and he and his wife want to go out for another look at the house on Evergreen Circle." She paused for a moment. "Yes, I know, but they want to see it again." She laughed softly. "That's how the real-estate business works. Okay—yes, see you tonight, Ted."

She replaced the receiver and leaned back in the swivel chair, absentmindedly brushing a lock of long, dark brown hair from her face. Her thoughts were already far away from Ted Alston, the man she had been dating for almost six months, as she concentrated completely on her work.

The small office in which Sara sat, one of two that were located in the back of her house, had once been a servant's bedroom. Of all the rooms in the big Victorian house, she loved this one best. The large windows caught the Montana sun as soon as it touched the eastern horizon, allowing its light to fill every inch of the room. What space wasn't taken up by her desk and file cabinets was given over to green plants and sunshine. When she felt the hectic pace of her schedule closing in on her, Sara could look out over acres of wooded land and let the serenity of nature calm her.

At night, when the woods were hidden by darkness, she had to rely on hidden reserves to keep her going. It was difficult but necessary. No one knew how hard she worked. Not one of the people close to her knew of the nights she stayed late in her office, working after hours to maintain the success she had found in real estate.

Now, as she shuffled through the papers on her desk, Sara felt an itch on the back of her neck and sat up straighter. Swinging the chair around sharply, she found startlingly clear blue eyes staring into her brown ones.

"Haven't you got anything better to do than eavesdrop on private conversations?" she asked, staring impatiently at the solidly built blond man who was leaning lazily against the doorframe.

"No," Charlie said, his smile forgiving her sarcastic tone. He pushed away from the door and strode confidently into her office.

On some days Charlie Sanderson could look like a perfectly normal human being. Today wasn't one of those days. His tight, faded jeans were topped by a petal-pink striped shirt and gaudy yellow suspenders. One bronze chrysanthemum peeked out of the pocket of the shirt. The type of clothes Charlie wore was usually seen on slight, effete young men, accentuating their languid nature. On Charlie's muscular frame the same clothes underwent a metamorphosis, becoming, by some magic, intensely masculine.

He was a study in contrasts—epicene clothes on a hard, compact body; curly blond hair framing a strongly featured face. With its distinctive cleft chin and large, assertive nose his face was not easily forgotten. Everything about Charlie was highly noticeable, but the two things that truly held an observer's attention were his clear blue eyes and his hands. Charlie had the hands of a sculptor.

"What's up?" he asked as he sat on the edge of her cluttered desk. "You didn't look like you were hanging on to the lawyer's every word. Don't tell me there's trouble in paradise."

"That's none of your business," she said, her tone unencouraging.

"It doesn't surprise me," he said, as though she hadn't spoken. "I knew you'd have problems with F. Lee sooner or later."

"Sooner or later?" she repeated, arching one slen-

der brow. "I've been dating Ted for more than five months. That's not exactly a short run."

Charlie shrugged. "So it's later," he said. "What's the matter? Is he going kinky on you?" He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Did he ask you to push a peanut along his naked body with your nose?"

"You're crazy," she said, trying not to laugh as she backed away from him slightly. "Of course he didn't."

"He's slow." Charlie picked up a prototype for a newspaper ad and glanced at it casually, then laid it back on the desk, catching her gaze as he did. "That's one of the first things I ask a woman to do."

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Is sex all you ever think about?"

"No ..." His voice trailed away as a thoughtful expression crossed his strong features. After a moment, he said in surprise, "Yes, by George, I think it is."

She laughed. "You're impossible."

"Not impossible," he said modestly. "Merely highly improbable."

"Okay, you've gotten your laugh. And once again you've managed to disrupt my work. Now why don't you find your way back to your office and leave me to the privacy of mine?"

"Not yet. I need to talk to you."

"About business?" she asked warily.

"Of course—" he began, then broke off abruptly. As she watched, little bits of sapphire blue began to sparkle in his eyes. His expression changed to one of delight as he stared at her hair. "You know, you have the most damnably beautiful hair I've ever seen. It always surprises me. When the sunlight hits it, it shines like mink."

He smoothed a strand from her cheek, using one finger to tuck it behind her ear. Sara didn't back away from him this time. She simply stared up at the man so close to her, a flip reply caught in her throat as he carefully examined her face.

Such a casual caress shouldn't bother her, she told herself. Charlie was a toucher. He liked physical contact. She had seen him hug old men on the street. It seemed to be a form of communication for him.

Was it only her imagination that lately this seemed to be happening more and more often—Charlie touching and Sara freezing under his touch?

For the space of a heartbeat a wave of something— sensuality was too weak and ordinary a word to describe it—flowed over Sara, knocking her off balance. Her world tilted because she didn't know whether the feeling was coming from her or from the man beside her.

This is Charlie
, she told herself in an effort to regain her equilibrium.
It's just Charlie
.

Then, when her nerves were stretched as far as they could go without breaking, the atmosphere changed. As though the moment hadn't even happened he said, "Of course I need to talk to you about business, Sara Love. Would I come in here for anything else? Don't answer that," he added with a grin as he moved to sit in the chair facing her desk.

With the deftness of a chameleon, Charlie was now all business. Gratefully Sara felt the heated intensity drain out of her as she slowly drew in a steadying breath.

"I really like the sound of that lodge," he said. "Findlay just stopped by, and I got the key from him. I've decided to drive up tonight and take a look at it. If it's as sharp as it sounds, we would be crazy not to buy."

"That's a little scary, Charlie. Are you sure we're ready to make an investment of that size?"

The property he was referring to wasn't even on the market yet. Charlie had heard about it through one of his dubious, but inevitably reliable, connections and had immediately decided it was exactly what they needed. It was a small lodge in the mountains about eighty miles from Billings. Sara had already been over the figures and knew the price wouldn't break them, but it would certainly tie up a sizable amount of their working capital.

"The houses we've bought have done well for us," she said as she leaned back in her chair. "But this— this isn't in the same class at all."

Shaking a lock of dark blond hair off his brow, he leaned forward, boyishly eager to make his point. "Listen, Sara Loveliest of them all, in the past year our profits have doubled. We're solid at that, but if we don't do something with the money, the government certainly will. And you know how creative they can be."

"I know, I know." She nodded, then smiled wryly. "We've talked about something like this so often.

But it was always just that—talk. Now that we're actually thinking of doing it, it's different."

"Why don't you come up with me? We'll have the whole weekend to look it over," he said eagerly. "Be in on the first step. All you can see now is the money we'll be laying out for it. But if it's a good piece of property, then you'll be as excited about it as I am."

She was tempted. But then, she thought, why wouldn't she be? One of the things that had made their small real-estate firm so successful so quickly was Charlie's enthusiasm and persuasive charm. With merely a smile or a wink, he could convince people that their welfare was uppermost in his mind. And even more amazing, it usually was.

After a moment she shook her head. "I can't. Ted and I have plans. If I break another date—especially this one—he'll sulk for a week."

The intensity returned to Charlie's blue eyes as he stared at her for a long moment. "You know, I wish you could hear yourself talk about that jerk. It might be very enlightening for you."

"Ted is not a jerk," she said, her defense automatic. "You barely know him."

He shrugged. "So let me get to know him better. Why don't you bring him along this weekend?"

That was a possibility,
she thought, tapping her chin with a pencil. She and Ted had a business dinner to go to tonight, but they could make an early start in the morning. She did want to take a look at the lodge.

"We would have the whole place to ourselves," Char-

MISSING PG 8 and 9

community. He had pried and poked at her insecurities until they had disappeared—almost. Charlie had been there to hold her up during the bad times and to make the good times occasions for fireworks. She had made up her mind a long time ago that Charlie had been born just for the fun of it. He had been blessed with the gift of laughter and spread it around with a generous, indiscriminate hand.

But occasionally Sara caught a glimpse of something in his expression, some deep, indefinable emotion that puzzled her and threw her off balance. And sometimes when she thought of all the women who spun in and out of his life, when she thought of the mysteries only hinted at in his blue eyes, she felt she didn't know him at all.

Shaking her head, she glanced down at her watch. The house she was showing was on the other side of Billings. If she was going to meet the Bradys there before noon, she'd better be on her way.

She grabbed her briefcase and purse and left her office. In the hall her steps slowed as she fumbled through her purse for her car keys and checked for the keys to the house she was going to show.

"Since you're going out for lunch and dinner, I'm taking off early to check up on my niece."

Sara looked up. Her housekeeper, Irma, was standing beside her with the usual fierce expression on her face. The older woman was slightly rounded, and her white hair made a bright halo around her smooth pink face. She looked like a woman who would strew warmth and good humor in her path.