Sleepless in Savannah (6 page)

Including him.

Which absolutely proved that a relationship between him and Sophie would never work. If he ever chose to get romantic with a woman, he wouldn't make a public spectacle of himself or their relationship. He'd woo her in subtle, simple ways. She wouldn't need a cameraman or voters on her Web site to tell her he was the one.

She'd know it every time he touched her.

* * *

Sophie tried to call Lucy on her cell phone, while she maneuvered her car through traffic. Her diet Coke sloshed on the console, and she swiped at it, grateful when her little sister answered. Lucy was breathless and laughing as if she weren't alone. She was obviously doing better in the love department than her big sister.

"Lucy, sorry if this is a bad time, but I'm on my way to the airport. Deseree said you were coming to Savannah."

"I am. Listen, Sophie, I have a new business on the side, and I want you to plug it on your show."

Oh, gracious, what was her sister into this month? "You're not taking the Diva act on the road?"

A man's teasing voice echoed in the background. "No, but that's not a bad idea."

"It's a terrible idea; I told you to think about something more reputable. Dancing may be fun now, but as you get older it'll get old, too. Aren't you tired of men gaping at you, thinking you're easy just because you dance?"

"I'm only twenty-six, not an old lady like you." Lucy was nothing if not a smart aleck. "And I don't think I'll ever get tired of men gaping at me."

Sophie ignored her sister's barb about her being old. The big three-oh left plenty of time for fun and men, but she had to be responsible, too. The man's husky purr sounded louder, as if he had moved closer to the phone. Surely her sister wouldn't have answered if she were in bed.... "Lucy, who is that guy?"

"Oh, it's just Elvin; he's helping me dress for the show."

The nude dancer from the Pleasure Palace? He'd looked like a druggie to Sophie. "Please don't tell me that you and Elvin are involved."

"No, of course not. We just like to have fun together. You do remember how to have fun, don't you, Soph?"

"Of course I do." Sophie pinched her eyes together and bit her tongue. Her big-sister lectures would fall on deaf ears. "Deseree said something about you adding new moves to the act. You're not stripping, are you?"

Lucy's laughter bubbled over the line. "No, Soph, but if I did, it wouldn't be a big deal."

"Yes, it would; you're not going to strip."

"Okay, then I need to make my new business work."

Lucy logic. "All right, tell me about this new venture or whatever it is."

"Well, last week I went to this thing called a Sleepover party and I decided to sell their products. My gosh, the discounts I get on the merchandise will make it worthwhile."

A car horn blasted, drowning out half of Lucy's words, and Sophie skimmed the shoulder, trying to avoid hitting the Land Rover. Lucy had said something about sleeping over at a party? "What are you talking about?"

"It's like selling Tupperware. You have home parties and demonstrate the items for sale. It's so much fun!"

"You're going to sell Tupperware?" Now, that she had to see.

"No, it's not Tupperware. It's gifts for singles."

Hmm, like aromatherapy products, CDs?

"Romantic gifts," Lucy continued.

"Like cards and bubble bath?"

"Er, yeah, we have cards and bubble bath and candles, among other things to enhance a relationship."

"Well, that does sound like it might work for the show."

"I know! Think of the great advertising."

"But why come here?"

"Because two of the girls here have the local market cornered, and you're featuring the singles series. It'll be the perfect way for me to launch into new territory."

Sophie steered into the airport parking lot, then hopped out, holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she grabbed her suitcase. Static cut in, clogging the connection just as a plane took off with a roar over her head. "I'm losing you, Lucy, but you can come, on one condition."

"I knew you'd agree."

"Only if you promise not to mention the Diva act, or that I was ever a part of it."

Lucy whistled over the phone. "Are you sure you don't want to let people know? You were a star in Vegas, Soph. Fans still remember you here."

Exactly what she wanted to avoid. "I'm positive. I have a new career now. If the press gets wind of my past life, it could ruin things for me."

"All right," Lucy agreed. "My lips are sealed."

"Good, you'd better keep them that way." Sophie hung up, checked her watch, and jogged toward the terminal. If she didn't rush she'd miss her plane.

Not that she was anxious to be with Rory, but she couldn't miss the date or her TV version of her romantic getaway wouldn't air. Then Lance Summers would never know what he had missed.

And she definitely intended to show him what a wonderful time she had had without him.

Even if her face cracked in two from all the phony smiling.

Chapter 4

Lance tossed and turned all night on Sophie's lumpy sofa, wishing he'd let one of his hired hands handle this renovation job, but for some reason he hadn't wanted to relinquish the project to anyone else. Maybe he didn't trust them to preserve the historical details. Or maybe he was afraid one of his work crew would wind up in Sophie's bed.

No. Sophie had nothing to do with it. He liked doing renovations; that was how he'd gotten his start in the business.

He rolled sideways, wincing as a pain shot through his lower back. Sophie's four-poster queen-size bed beckoned. It had to be more comfortable than the faded sofa, which was too short for his legs and too hard on his lumbar region. But her room also smelled like Sophie, and he could not imagine sliding between her sheets without imagining sliding Sophie beneath him, and that was not going to happen tonight or any other time in this century.

Damn it, he couldn't sleep, and he had to have at least eight hours or he'd be a bear tomorrow. It was hot as Hades in the house, too, almost as bad as outdoors. Once he'd replaced the flooring and roofing, he'd have to check the air conditioner. A rumbling sound from the attic made him jerk his head up. Ghosts? No, old wiring, faulty plumbing, that psycho cat. The wind maybe?

Was the wind blowing in Cancun? He wiped at a bead of sweat on his face. Was it as hot on the beach as it was in her house?

The image of Sophie entwined in his arms set him to pacing, the uncomfortable couch forgotten as he prowled from one end of the room to the other. Was she in bed with Rory Dalton now? Letting the hulk run his stubby hands all over her delicate body, teasing her until she came apart in his arms? Playing naked and getting hot and sweaty with the waves crashing in the background as she cried out in orgasm?

He stopped and threw his hands over his head, trying to drown out the images.

A low whistling sound echoed from above, giving him pause again. Was someone in the house? He climbed the steps, glanced in the spare bedroom which was empty, then crossed the hall to Sophie's bedroom. Darkness swallowed the room, moonlight spilling in through the sheers draped from the ceiling to the faded carpet. He hoped Sophie would want to rip up the ugly carpet and showcase the original flooring.

He stepped forward, intending to examine it, but halted at the sight of that big black furball sprawled in the center of the magnificent bed. The furry animal lifted its head and hissed at him, claws bared (declawed or not, he still had back claws and they looked ominous), teeth shining white in the dim moonlight.

Lance backed away, knowing he couldn't trespass into Sophie's territory with her feline protector armed, ready to pounce and do him bodily damage. Jazzy obviously didn't like him. Or maybe the house was haunted, as he'd once heard, and the whistling sound was the ghost, and the cat was reacting to it, not him. Animals were supposed to be able to sense spirits.

The idea was ridiculous.

But the very first time he'd come to see Sophie here, she'd mentioned the legend of the star-crossed lovers. Legend claimed that during the Civil War, an injured soldier took refuge inside these walls. After the woman of the house had doctored the soldier's injuries, she'd taken him as her lover. But the soldier had been called back to war, and she'd never seen him again. Her anguished spirit supposedly roamed the house, waiting for him to return....

Lance did not believe in star-crossed lovers. Maybe he didn't believe in love at all.

Reminding himself that the next day loomed with more backbreaking labor, he headed down the staircase, crossed to the sofa, stretched out, and closed his eyes.

An hour later he lay staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks and watching a spider spin a web in the left-hand corner. If he were at his apartment, he'd be sleeping like a baby. Or would the phone be ringing from that singles service? When he'd stopped by earlier, the message machine had been blinking out of control, the messages all from husband-hunting women.

He had never had insomnia in his life. Construction work, especially hands-on physical labor, normally wore him out.

Was the hulk wearing out Sophie now? Keeping her awake with long, slow kisses? When they returned to Savannah, would Dalton try to move in on Sophie for good, make a permanent place in Sophie's bed for himself?

Would her cat like Dalton and allow
him
to venture into Sophie's bedroom?

His Southern, big-brotherly breeding kicked in. Maybe he should do something. After all, Sophie was Maddie's best friend; he'd hate to see anything bad happen to her. And some men did take advantage....

I wouldn't go out with you if you were the last man on earth.

Her words tormented him.

And Maddie had doomed him further with her comment: My brother needs help in the romance department.

He closed his eyes, praying for sleep to claim him and end the torture, but images of Sophie in that sexy red negligee she'd left on her bed played behind his eyelids in the dark.

* * *

"I still can't believe we're here," Rory said in a husky whisper.

Sophie nodded and sipped her champagne. Cancun meant moonlit beaches, white powdery sand, a warm breeze blowing gently off the ocean, strains of piano music floating through the sultry air scented by tropical vegetation, and gourmet meals served by candlelight with endless complimentary wine—essentially, the resort was the most romantic place Sophie had ever been.

Unfortunately her bones possessed no romantic inclinations at the moment.

Especially toward Rory Dalton, with the multiple hands and one-track mind.

"Smile for the camera."

Rory pulled her into an embrace and they posed. Sophie donned a smile that she hoped fooled everyone who would watch the show. They finished their wine, Rory toasting the trip, she praying it would soon be over. They had already sipped margaritas at sunset, taken a romantic stroll along the sandy shore, been serenaded by a Spanish quartet, enjoyed the evening show, and dined overlooking the majestic waters in the open-air pavilion.

"How about a dance?" His floral green shirt shimmered beneath a full moon that was meant for lovers. That, or werewolves ready to feed on the innocent.

Not that Sophie was completely innocent.

He caressed her neck, nibbling at her earlobe. Sophie told herself the camera was rolling, that Lance would see this footage and think she was having the time of her life, completely
over
him, and that nothing obscene could happen in the middle of a crowded dance floor in the outdoors.

Rory pulled her into his arms, but the scent of his cologne hung as heavy in the air as his testosterone. The man must be part ape. Sweat beaded on his forehead, dark hair escaped through the opening in the top of his Floridian shirt, and he had been salivating for the last hour. She should toss him a bone, but didn't want to lead the man on.

"Sophie, thanks for giving me the opportunity to share this trip with you."

He really was being nice, Sophie reasoned. It wasn't his fault she had been stupid enough to want Lance. Maybe she was being overly cynical.

"You're welcome; you won fair and square, Rory."

"I'm totally taken with you; you know that, don't you?"

She feigned laughter, playing along. "Where did you go to charm school?"

He pressed his body into hers, the force of his arousal punctuating the fact that he was all male, and that she might have misjudged his charm for a come-on. His hands slipped from her waist to cup her butt, and she tensed, another smile tightening her mouth as she offered a fake smile to the camera.

"This is the most exotic place I've even been," she said, hoping to turn the conversation to tourist mode. "The waves crashing in the background, the scents of flowers floating around us, the balmy air..."

He licked her neck, his pointed tongue circling her breastbone as he dipped lower. "If you think this is erotic, let's go back to my room."

Oh, gracious, he thought she'd said
erotic?

"Er, Rory—"