Sunny Chandler's Return (2 page)

She chewed it with slow, sinful relish, letting each layer of chocolate melt and fill her mouth with its particular degree of sweetness.

It was a sensuous experience, not only for Sunny, but for the man watching her from across the room. Casually propped against the wall, ankles crossed, long legs at a slant, he watched Sunny Chandler’s carnal destruction of two chocolate-covered strawberries. She made eating them such an erotic exercise that his own mouth watered, more for a taste of the lips and tongue that did them such delectable justice than for the strawberries themselves.

“Still got your eye on her, I see.”

He shifted his weight but didn’t remove his gaze from the woman. “Sunny Chandler’s an eyeful,” he admitted to the man who had rejoined him.

“Always was. One of the prettiest girls in school. Classy, you know?”

“What she did before she left wasn’t very classy. Why’d she do it?”

“Well now, if I knew that, I’d be the only one.”

The taller man looked down at his friend. “Oh, yeah? She just pulled a stunt like that and left?”

“Like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Left her bridegroom—Don Jenkins, you know him—high and dry.” He jabbed the other man in the ribs. “No pun intended.”

They laughed together, but not loud enough to detract attention from the future bride and groom, who were busy opening wedding gifts amid appreciative
oohs
and
aahs
.

“She was supposed to marry Don Jenkins, huh?”

“Yeah. I never go into the Baptist church that I don’t think about it.”

“And nobody knew why she walked out?”

“Uh-uh. ’Course, there was plenty of speculation.”

All it took was an inquiring, arching eyebrow and the second man was only too glad to fill the first in on a few of the possibilities that had been discussed over card tables and clotheslines.

He pondered the woman a moment longer and watched as she stopped a passing waiter to hand him her plate. “I think I’ll ask the lady to dance.”

He pushed his upper body away from the wall, but the other man’s laughter halted him. “Good luck, buddy.”

“You sound as though you think I’ll need it.”

“You couldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole.”

“I don’t want to touch her with a ten-foot pole. I want to take her to bed.”

The other man started with surprise. He’d never heard his friend say anything so bold. Oh, he would talk man talk, all right, swap bawdy stories. But his tales were always about somebody else. He kept his private life to himself. He didn’t have to toot his own horn. His success rate was well known around town.

He recovered from his surprise. “I know that your track record with women is impressive. But it ain’t gonna happen this time.”

“What makes you think so?”

“From what I hear, Sunny is a real ball-breaker. She doesn’t have anything whatsoever to do with men. Turns ’em to stone like that gal in Greek mythology.”

Rather than deterring the man, that piece of information only served to pique his curiosity more. He always welcomed a challenge. His eyes narrowed as he continued to stare at her.

His cohort recognized that speculative look. “I know what you’re thinking. But you can’t thaw that one out.”

“Are you losing confidence in me?”

“Where Sunny Chandler is concerned I am.”

The sly grin was slow in coming. “What do you want to bet?”

“You mean it?” He got an affirmative nod. The man absently tugged on his earlobe as he contemplated the wager. “I had a hankering for a new fly-casting rod, but Wanda cracked a crown and had to get a new one. What dentists charge for those things these days—”

“A new fly-casting rod it is. And you know how I like Wild Turkey. Shall we say a case of Wild Turkey against a new fly-casting rod?”

They shook hands solemnly. “She’ll hightail it back to New Orleans as soon as this wedding is over. You don’t have much time. One week from tonight.”

“I don’t need much time.” He moved away.

“Wait,” the other man said, detaining him a second time. “How’ll I know if you pull it off?”

“By the smile on her face.”

His
smile had all the cunning of a fox and all the honesty of a Boy Scout. Piratical mischief and angelic sincerity exuded from that smile. That self-confident grin could either make you melt or shiver, depending upon your point of view. Sunny did a little of both when she met it seconds later.

At the tap on her shoulder, she turned around, confronting a red necktie with thin blue stripes resting against a dove-gray shirt. She followed the necktie up to that devastating smile.

Her heart skipped a beat or two. Her stomach seemed to free-fall for a long time before crash landing. Her mouth went as dry as the Sahara. But she kept her features cool and remote as she took in the streaked blond hair, Nordic blue eyes, suntanned face, and tall, muscular frame. She recognized him as the man who had laughed out loud so rudely.

His packaging was prettier than most. So? She knew the type. She recognized that kind of smile. He was all but licking his chops, thinking that he’d spotted a tasty morsel. Well, he’d find out soon enough that she was more vinegar than honey.

“I like the way you eat strawberries.”

That wasn’t exactly the opening line Sunny had expected. At least she gave him credit for originality. Cerebrally she could acknowledge his cleverness and pass it off. Physically it wasn’t so easy to dismiss.

Her tummy fluttered and slipped a little lower. That leading line of so few words told her several things at once. That he’d been watching her for some time. That he liked what he saw. That he was interested enough to take a closer look.

Flattering? Yes. Had she been any other woman, it might have worked for him. Instead she only stared back at him with a hauteur that would have discouraged a less determined man.

His sapphire gaze moved down to her mouth. “What else are you good at?”

“Fending off unwelcomed passes.”

He laughed. “And making witty comebacks.”

“Thank you.”

“Dance?”

“No, thank you.”

She tried to turn her back on him, but he touched her elbow. “Please?”

“No. Thank you.” She enunciated the words so that he couldn’t mistake the resolve behind them.

“How come?”

She didn’t want to embarrass Fran and Steve. Otherwise she would have reminded this glib, blue-eyed blond man with the to-die-for body and the crocodile grin that she owed him absolutely no explanation for not wanting to dance with him.

Instead she settled for, “I’ve danced too much already and my feet are hurting. Now, excuse me, please.”

She moved away, keeping her back to him. She stepped around the buffet and headed toward the round table in the center of the room, the one with the champagne fountain on it. She held a tulip glass under one of the spouts and filled it.

“I was taught in Sunday school that it’s a sin to lie.”

Champagne splashed over her hand as she spun around, making eye contact with that broad chest again. She seriously doubted that he’d ever been to Sunday school. And she was positive that the only thought he ever gave to sin was which one to commit next. “I was taught that it’s rude to make a pest of oneself.”

“You didn’t have to lie, you know.”

“I wasn’t lying.”

He made a
tsk
ing sound. “Now, Miss Chandler, I’ve been watching you for more than an hour, and you haven’t danced a single dance, though you’ve been invited to several times.”

Her cheeks went pink, but she was more annoyed than embarrassed. “Then that should have been your first clue. I don’t want to dance.”

“Why not just say so?”

“I just did.”

He laughed again. “I like your sense of humor.”

“I wasn’t trying to be amusing and couldn’t care less whether you like me, my sense of humor, the way I eat strawberries, or anything else.”

“You’ve made that clear enough, but, you see, that creates a bit of a problem for us.”

“How?” She was quickly losing patience and tiring of his game. If it hadn’t been for Mrs. Morris’s avaricious stare, she would have set down her champagne glass and stalked from the room, making her apologies to Fran and Steve later. “What problem could you and I possibly have in common?”

“See that man standing over there by that basket of roses?”

“Who? George Henderson?”

“You remember him?”

“Of course.” Sunny smiled and waved. Blushing to the roots of his thinning hair, George waved back.

“Well,” the stranger continued, “George and I just made a wager.”

“Oh?”

“He bet a new fly-casting rod against a case of Wild Turkey that I couldn’t get you into bed with me by the end of next week. Now, unless you care just a little bit whether I like you or not, it’s going to be damned hard for me to win my case of whiskey.”

He carefully removed the tilting champagne glass from her bloodless, nerveless fingers before it spilled. Setting it on the table first, he then pulled her into his arms and said, “Dance?”

The band was into the second verse of the song before Sunny could speak. “You are kidding, aren’t you?”

Butter would have melted beneath his smile. “Now, what do you think?”

She didn’t know what to think. She didn’t know a man with enough guts to admit making such a wager, if he’d had enough gall to make that kind of bet in the first place. Surely he was teasing her! Still, his smile wasn’t very reassuring.

She didn’t smile back. “What do I think? I think you don’t take no for an answer.”

“Not when I want something badly enough.”

“And you badly wanted to dance with me?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why?”

“I’ve never met a woman with golden eyes before.”

Those very eyes blinked up at him. “They’re not gold. They’re light brown.”

“I’d call them golden,” he replied stubbornly. “They match your name. Wonder how your mother knew ahead of time to name you Sunny?”

She quickly realized that George Henderson would have told him her name. No need for alarm there. But he couldn’t have determined the color of her eyes from across the room, and she pointed out that discrepancy to him. “So why did you want to dance with me?”

He drew her closer. “As I said, I like the way you eat chocolate-covered strawberries.” Eyes the color of a Scandinavian fjord looked down at her mouth again. “There’s a tiny speck of chocolate in the left corner of your lips.” Instinctively, Sunny made a point of the end of her tongue and searched out the particle. When it dissolved against her tongue, he said, “Got it.”

Sunny jerked herself out of the momentary trance he had miraculously induced. “I guess George told you everything about me.”

“Enough. But some things I want to find out for myself.”

“Like what?”

“What I want to know about you, Sunny, I don’t think you’d want me to find out here on the dance floor.”

She squirmed away from him and said frostily, “Thank you for the dance, Mr.—”

“Beaumont. Ty Beaumont. But you can’t stop dancing now. They’re already into another song.” He swung her into his arms again. When she would have struggled to extricate herself, he said, “Hi, Fran. Hi, Steve. Great party.”

“Hello, Ty,” they said in unison.

Sunny gave them a sickly smile as they danced past, then shot her partner a poisonous glance. He had her and he knew it. He wasn’t going to let her go without a fuss, and he knew that she wouldn’t risk making a scene.

But she’d be damned before she relaxed her body against his, the way his strong arms were dictating that she should. It was disconcerting enough just to be held this close. His thighs were hard as they moved against hers.

“Back to why I wanted to dance with you,” Ty said conversationally. “I like your golden hair, too.”

“Thank you.”

“Bet it looks sexy as hell spread out on a pillow.”

“You’ll never know.”

“I’ve already got one bet riding on that. Wanna make one between you and me?”

“No.”

“Good. Because you’d lose.”

“On the contrary, it would be a sure win, Mr. Beaumont. And please remove your hand.”

“From here?” He pressed the small of her back. There was an explosion of heat in Sunny’s lower body. She almost gasped at the shock of it, but caught herself just in time. She was afraid, however, that she hadn’t concealed her reaction from her partner, who was watching her closely. “Relax,” he told her.

“Forget it.”

“I don’t mean to be insulting.”

“Don’t you?”

“No. I just admire your figure.”

“Well, if you must, please admire it from afar.”

“I’d be the first one to jump to your defense if any other man held you this close. But since we’re going to be intimate, I—”

“We are
not
going to be intimate.”

He smiled knowingly.

Sunny’s stiff smile was strictly for the benefit of all the Mrs. Morrises crowding the room. She was not only annoyed but afraid. Ty Beaumont transmitted a masculine, animalistic vitality that beckoned to every female of the species. Sunny, for all her imperviousness where men were concerned, was still a female. Apparently she wasn’t as immune to pure sexual magnetism as she had thought. To keep herself from responding to it, it was mandatory to direct the conversation into safer channels.

“When did you move to Latham Green, Mr. Beaumont?”

“Make it Ty. Let’s see,” he said, wrinkling his forehead in concentration, “about three years ago. Guess we just missed each other.”

Sunny reasoned that George had told him when she had moved away. Before she could ask if George had told him the circumstances of her leaving he said, “In a room full of polyester, your silk really stands out.”

He rubbed his hand over her back. Reflexively she arched it. A wrong move. Because it caused her breasts to flatten against the solidity of his chest. The blue eyes grew dark and intense. Sunny sucked in her breath sharply.

“What do you do for a living?” she asked thinly.

“I’ll bet you wear silk undies, too.”

Suddenly Ty was holding nothing but air. Sunny was moving away from him, making quiet, unobtrusive apologies to the people she edged around on her way to the door. Because of his size, it was more difficult for Ty to cut and wend his way through the dancing couples. Sunny had reached the front steps of the country club’s colonial facade before he caught up with her.