Here and gone.
There was an appeal to that. And there was a definite appeal to him, too, as he sat across from her with that crooked grin, all playful cowboy, the complete opposite of a man like Cade.
What would be the harm in just one date?
But then something went swirly in her belly, melty and hot, trickling downward until it settled in the core of her.
She shoved the sensation aside.
“Come on, Laila,” Jackson said, his brown eyes glinting with that flirtiness she’d seen before. “I’m just talking about a date, not a marriage proposal.”
Wasn’t he a card.
Or, more to the point, a wild card.
“Very funny,” she said.
“Don’t tell me a man doesn’t have a chance with you.” He sent a glance over his shoulder, toward the door where Cade had disappeared only moments ago. “Or maybe there’s something else to it.”
She had the feeling he was going to go somewhere she didn’t want to go.
“Maybe,” he said, “there really is something between you and Pritchett, even if you were desperate to get away from him less than five minutes ago.”
Jackson said it in a teasing way, as if he didn’t believe it for a second.
Was there anything this Texan didn’t see? It was as if he could read her through and through.
Yet she refused to dignify his question with an answer. She knew when a troublemaker was stirring it up.
He chuckled, just as the jukebox went silent, leaving only the laughter from the bar patrons.
She crossed her arms over her chest.
“We both know that there’s no way you’ll end up with a nice guy like Pritchett.” He put the glass to his lips, drinking.
His throat worked with every swallow.
She couldn’t take her eyes off him, couldn’t stop herself from thinking what it would feel like to have her lips against that throat, the warm skin roughened by stubble from a five o’clock shadow.
But she managed to pull her gaze away before she offered evidence that he was right about her being attracted to a bad boy over a good one.
“I may not end up with Cade,” she said, “but that doesn’t mean I’d put myself in the position of ending up anywhere with you.”
He put down the drained mug. “Shot through the heart, Miss Laila. You’ve got some excellent aim.”
“And you don’t know enough about me to go around predicting who’s my type and who’s not.”
“I can sure guess.” He sat back in his chair, long-limbed and laconic.
A wise girl would have gotten up from the table by now, heading through the door for home, where it would be safe. But here she was flirting with him.
And she didn’t want to stop.
He said, “I surmise that, all your life, you’ve dated men who are steady. Men who drive just five miles above the speed limit—and that’s their idea of living dangerously. And yours, too.”
He didn’t even seem to be expecting a response—not judging by the long, cocky stare he was fixing on her, one that suggested he knew how madly her blood was flying through her veins, just from being near him.
When had she ever felt like this before?
Was it curiosity that was keeping her here? Or was it because the big 3-0 was looming above her like a net, ready to drop and wrap her up in the great unknown?
Whatever it was, she finally, quietly dared to say, “And just what would a man like you have to offer on a…date?”
Jackson lowered his ankle from where it’d been resting on his knee. “I drive a whole lot faster than the speed limit, for one thing.”
“And you’ll be driving just as fast out of town, once you’re done with your business here.”
“So I will. But a woman who doesn’t aim to settle down wouldn’t care so much about my leaving. We understand each other’s philosophies on that.”
Was he saying that they had something in common? That because she didn’t have any plans to get married, she was just like him?
The notion should’ve disturbed her, but instead, it sent a shot of adrenaline racing through her body.
“Come on, Laila,” he said, leaning toward her even closer. Charmingly. Devastatingly. “One date. That’s all I’m asking for.”
She swallowed. “That’s all?”
What was she doing?
“One date is all…for now.” He stood to his full height, towering above her, then leaned down until his words brushed her ear with warmth. “But I’m pretty sure you’ll find that one date won’t be enough.”
And, with that, he ambled away, not even bothering to get her phone number or arrange a time to pick her up.
Just as cocky—and tempting—as he’d been when he’d entered the bar.
“Seriously?” said Laila’s best friend, Dana Hanson, while sitting in a chair by Laila’s office desk the next day. “You’re actually going out with that pugilist?”
Laila closed the glass door that separated her working space from the rest of the bank, which bustled with people during lunch hour. Dana, who was wearing her sandy hair in a conservative upswept style that artfully hid the purple streak she’d decided to add last weekend, had pushed her decorative Clark Kent glasses to the crown of her head in her awe of Laila’s situation.
“I think I have a date with the pugilist,” Laila said, staying near the door where she could keep an eye on things.
“How is it that you’re not sure?”
“Well, he asked me out then just sort of…left me hanging.”
“A proficient tease. He sounds like an all-around bad seed.” Dana waggled her eyebrows. “I would go out with him, just for the adventure.”
“I’m not sure I should, even though I kind of said I would.” Laila shook her head. “He has me all confused.”
“Then that’s why you’re into him. He’s different. He’s the guy who makes our straight-arrow golden girl feel like she could get a little tarnished. And he throws you for a loop when you don’t normally get riled up by men.” Dana pointed at her. “That’s why you like him.”
“Technically, I didn’t say yes to a date.”
“But you didn’t refuse.”
“I should’ve.”
“Why?”
Laila gave up trying to make sense out of any of it, then motioned to the suit she was wearing—a black and white advertisement for dedicated businesswomen everywhere. “Because of this, Dane. Because maybe I’m a little…”
“Bored with it all?”
Nodding, Laila leaned her head against a wooden reinforcement by the door. All around, her office seemed so bland, with its chrome touches, the fake potted flowers in strategic places. Real ones would’ve been prettier, but it took commitment to maintain them.
“I know, life’s rough,” Dana said. “Every man wants the beauty queen.