Brown-Eyed Girl Read online

  He smiled at me. “I like your hair down like that.”

  Self-consciously, I reached up to try to flatten it. “It’s too curly.”

  “For God’s sake,” I heard Steven’s acid voice in the earpiece. “When a man gives you a compliment, don’t argue with him. Over.”

  “Can you take a break for a few minutes?” Joe asked.

  “I probably shouldn’t —,” I began, and I heard both Steven’s and Sofia’s voices at the same time.

  “Yes, you should!”

  “Tell him yes!”

  I yanked off the earpiece and mike. “I don’t usually take a break during the reception,” I told Joe. “I need to keep an eye on things in case anyone has a problem.”

  “I have a problem,” he said promptly. “I need a dance partner.”

  “There are a half-dozen bridesmaids here who would love to dance with you,” I said. “Individually or collectively.”

  “None of them has red hair.”

  “Is that a requirement?”

  “Let’s call it a strong preference.” Joe reached for my hand. “Come on. They can do without you for a few minutes.”

  I flushed and hesitated. “My bag…” I glanced at the bulk of it wedged beneath the chair. “I can’t just —”

  “I’ll watch over it,” came Sofia’s cheerful voice. She had appeared out of nowhere. “Go have fun.”

  “Joe Travis,” I said, “this is my sister Sofia. She’s single. Maybe you should —”

  “Take her away,” Sofia told him, and they exchanged a grin.

  Ignoring the dirty look I gave her, Sofia murmured something into her radio mike.

  Joe kept possession of my hand, pulling me past tables and potted trees until we’d reached a semisecluded area at the other side of the reception tent. He signaled a waiter who was holding a tray of iced champagne.

  “I’m supposed to be running things,” I said. “I have to stay vigilant. Anything could happen. Someone could have a heart attack. The tent could catch on fire.”

  After taking two glasses of champagne from the waiter, Joe handed one to me and retained the other. “Even General Patton took a break sometimes,” he said. “Relax, Avery.”

  “I’ll try.” I held the crystal flute by the stem, its contents shimmering with tiny bubbles.

  “To your beautiful brown eyes,” he said, lifting his glass

  I flushed. “Thank you.” We clinked glasses and drank. The champagne was dry and delicious, the chilled fizz like starlight on my tongue.

  My view of the dance floor was obstructed by orchestra instruments, speakers, and ornamental trees. However, I thought I caught sight of Hollis Warner’s distinctive white-blond bob in the milling crowd.

  “Do you happen to know Hollis Warner?” I asked.

  Joe nodded. “She’s a friend of the family. And last year I took pictures of her house for a magazine feature. Why?”

  “I just met her. She was interested in discussing ideas for her daughter’s wedding.”

  He gave me an alert glance. “Who’s Bethany engaged to?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Bethany’s been going out with my cousin Ryan. But last time I saw him, he was planning to break up with her.”

  “Maybe his feelings went deeper than he thought.”

  “From what Ryan said, that doesn’t seem likely.”

  “If I wanted to land Hollis as a client, what advice would you give me?”

  “Wear garlic.” He smiled at my expression. “But if you handle her right, she’d be a good client. What Hollis would spend on a wedding could probably buy Ecuador.” He looked at my champagne glass. “Would you like another?”

  “No, thanks.”

  He drained his own glass, took mine, and went to set them on a nearby busing tray.

  “Why don’t you do weddings?” I asked when he returned.

  “It’s the hardest job in photography, except for maybe working in a war zone.” He smiled wryly. “When I was starting out, I managed to land a position as a staff photographer for a West Texas quarterly. Modern Cattleman. It’s not easy trying to get an ornery bull to pose for a picture. But I’d still rather shoot livestock than weddings.”

  I laughed. “When did you first take up photography?”

  “I was ten. My mom sneaked me off to a class every Saturday, and told my dad I was working out to get ready for Pop Warner football.”

  “He didn’t approve of photography?”

  Joe shook his head. “He had definite ideas about how his sons should spend their time. Football, 4-H, working outside, all that was fine. But art, music… that was taking it too far. And he thought of photography as a hobby, but nothing a man should try to make a career of.”

  “But you proved him wrong,” I said.

  His smile turned rueful. “It took a while. There were a couple of years we weren’t exactly on speaking terms.” He paused. “Later it worked out that I had to stay with Dad for a couple of months. That was when we finally made our peace with each other.”

  “When you stayed with him, was it…” I hesitated.

  His head bent over mine. “Go on.”

  “Was it because of the boat accident?” Seeing his quizzical smile, I said uncomfortably, “My sister looked you up on the Internet.”

  “Yeah, it was after that. When I got out of the hospital, I had to stay with someone while I healed up. Dad was living by himself in River Oaks, so it made the most sense for me to go there.”

  “Is it hard for you to talk about the accident?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Can I ask how it happened?”

  “I was fishing with my brother Jack in the Gulf. We were heading back to the marina at Galveston, stopped near a seaweed mat, and managed to hook a dorado. While my brother was reeling it in, I started the engine so we could follow the fish. Next thing I knew, I was in the water and there was fire and debris everywhere.”

  “My God. What caused the explosion?”

  “We’re pretty sure the bilge blower malfunctioned, and fumes built up near the engine.”

  “That’s awful,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah. That dorado was a five footer at least.” He paused, his gaze flickering to my mouth as I smiled.

  “What kind of injuries —” I broke off. “Never mind, it’s not my business.”

  “Blast lung, it’s called. When the shock waves from an explosion bruise the chest and lungs. For a while I couldn’t work up enough air to fill a party balloon.”

  “You look pretty healthy now,” I said.

  “One hundred percent.” A wicked glint entered his eyes as he observed my reaction. “Now that you’re all sympathetic… come dance with me.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not that sympathetic.” With an apologetic smile, I explained, “I never dance at an event I’ve planned. It’s sort of like a waitress seating herself at a table she’s supposed to be serving.”

  “I had two operations for internal bleeding while I was in the hospital,” Joe informed me gravely. “For almost a week, I couldn’t eat or talk because of the ventilator tube.” He gave me a hopeful glance. “Now do you feel sorry enough to dance with me?”

  I shook my head again.

  “Also,” Joe said, “the accident happened on my birthday.”

  “It did not.”

  “It did.”

  I lifted my gaze heavenward. “That’s so sad. That’s…” I paused, fighting my better instincts. “Okay,” I found myself saying. “One dance.”

  “I knew the birthday would do it,” he said in satisfaction.

  “A quick dance. In the corner, where as few people as possible can see.”

  Joe took my hand in a warm grip. He led me past sparkling groves of potted trees and palms, back to a shadowy corner behind the orchestra. A sly, jazzy version of “They Can’t Take That Away from Me” floated through the air. The female singer’s voice had an appealing rough-sweet edge, like broken candy.
r />   Joe turned me to face him and took me in a practiced hold, one hand at my waist. So this would be a real dance, not a side-to-side sway. Tentatively, I placed my left hand on his shoulder. He pulled me into a smooth pattern, his movements so assured that there could be no doubt about who was leading. As he lifted my hand to guide me into a twirl, I followed so easily that we didn’t miss a step. I heard his low laugh, a sound of pleasure at discovering a well-matched partner.

  “What else are you good at?” he asked near my ear. “Besides dancing and wedding planning.”

  “That’s about it.” After a moment, I volunteered, “I can tie balloon animals. And I can whistle with my fingers.”

  I felt the shape of his smile against my ear.

  My glasses had slipped down my nose, and I briefly broke our hold to push them back up to the bridge. I made a mental note to have the earpieces adjusted as soon as I got back to Houston. “What about you?” I asked. “Do you have any hidden talents?”

  “I can scissor dribble a basketball. And I know the entire NATO phonetic alphabet.”

  “You mean like Alfa, Bravo, Charlie?”

  “Exactly.”

  “How did you learn it?”

  “Scouting badge.”

  “Spell my name,” I commanded, testing him.

  “Alfa-Victor-Echo-Romeo-Yankee.” He twirled me again.

  It seemed the air had turned into champagne, every breath filled with free-floating giddiness.

  My glasses slipped again, and I began to adjust them. “Avery,” he said gently, “let me hold those for you. I’ll keep them in my pocket until we’re done.”

  “I won’t be able to see where we’re going.”

  “But I will.” Carefully he drew the glasses from my face, folded them, and slipped them into the breast pocket of his tux. The room turned into a blur of glitter and shadow. I didn’t understand myself, why I had surrendered control to him so easily. I stood there blind and exposed, my heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings.

  Joe’s arms went around me. He took me in the same hold as before, except now we were closer, our steps intimately constrained. This time he no longer followed the orchestra rhythm, only settled into a slow, relaxed pace.

  As I breathed in the scent of him, burnished with sun and salt, I was confounded by the yearning to press my mouth against his neck, taste him.

  “You’re nearsighted,” I heard him say on a questioning note.

  I nodded. “You’re the only thing I can see.”

  He looked down at me, our noses nearly touching. “Good.” The word was scratchy-soft, like a cat’s tongue.

  My breath caught. I turned my face away deliberately. I had to break the spell, or I was going to do something I would regret.

  “Get ready,” I heard him say. “I’m going to dip you.”

  I clutched at him. “Don’t, you’ll drop me.”

  “I’m not going to drop you.” He sounded amused.

  I stiffened as I felt his hand slide to the center of my back. “I’m serious. Joe —”

  “Trust me.”

  “I don’t think —”

  “Here we go.” He lowered me backward, supporting me securely. My head tipped back, my vision filled with the twinkling firefly lights entwined in the tree branches. I gasped as he pulled me upright with astonishing ease.

  “Oh! You’re strong.”

  “It has nothing to do with strength. It’s knowing how to do it.” Joe caught me against him, closer than before. Now we were matched front to front. The moment was charged with something I’d never felt before, a soft voltaic heat. I was quiet, unable to make a sound if my life had depended on it. I closed my eyes. My senses were busy gathering him in, the hard strength of his body, the caress of his breath against my ear.

  All too soon, the song ended with a bittersweet flourish. Joe’s arms tightened. “Not yet,” he murmured. “One more.”

  “I shouldn’t.”

  “Yes, you should.” He kept me against him.

  Another song started, the notes flaring softly. “What a Wonderful World” was a wedding staple. I’d heard it about a thousand times, interpreted every way imaginable. But every now and then an old song could pierce your heart as if you were hearing it for the first time.

  As we danced, I tried to gather every passing second for safekeeping, like pennies in a Mason jar. But soon I lost track, and there was only the two of us, wrapped in music and dream-colored darkness. Joe’s hand covered mine, and he pulled my arm around his neck. When I didn’t resist, he reached for my other wrist and pulled that one up, too.

  I had no idea what song played next. We stood locked in a subtle sway with my arms linked around his neck. I let my fingers drift over the nape of his neck, where the thick hair was tapered in close layers. A feeling of unreality swept over me, and my imagination kept veering in the wrong directions… I wondered what he would be like in intimacy, the ways he might move and breathe and tremble.

  His head lowered until his jaw grazed my cheek, the touch of shaven bristle delicious.

  “I have to work,” I managed to say. “What… what time is it?”

  I felt him lift his arm behind me, but apparently it was too dark to read his watch. “Must be close to midnight,” he said.

  “I have to set up the after-party.”

  “Where?”

  “The swimming pool patio.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, you’ll distract me.” Realizing my arms were still linked around his neck, I began to pull free.

  “Probably.” Joe caught one of my wrists and turned his mouth to the inside of my wrist. A shock of sweetness went through me as I felt his lips touch the thin, tender skin, grazing the frantic thrum of a pulse. From inside his pocket, he withdrew my glasses and gave them back to me.

  I couldn’t stop staring at him. There was a crescent mark on the left side of his jaw, a thin white line amid the shadow of shaven bristle. And another mark near the outward corner of his left eye, a subtle parenthetical scar. Somehow the tiny imperfections made him even sexier.

  I wanted to touch the marks with my fingertips. I wanted to kiss them. But the desire was hemmed by the instinctive knowledge that this wasn’t a man I could ever be casual about. When you fell for a man like this, it would be an all-consuming bonfire. And afterward, your heart would resemble the contents of an ashtray.

  “I’ll meet you when you finish setting up,” Joe told me.

  “It may take a long time. I don’t want you to wait.”

  “I’ve got all night.” His voice was soft. “And you’re how I want to spend it.”

  Desperately, I tried not to feel so flattered and overwhelmed. And I hurried away with the sense that I was running through a minefield.

  Five

  “W

  ell?” Sofia asked, removing her radio mike as I reached her. How could she look so relaxed? How could everything seem normal when it was the opposite of normal?

  “We danced,” I said distractedly. “Where’s my bag? What time is it?”

  “Eleven twenty-three. Your bag is right here. Steven and Val have already started the setup for the after-party. Tank helped the live band with all their speakers and power cords. Ree-Ann and the caterers are working on the pie buffet and the wine and coffee service. And the waitstaff is about to begin the reception cleanup.”

  “Everything’s on schedule, then.”

  “You don’t have to sound so surprised.” Sofia smiled. “Where is Joe? Did you have a good time dancing?”

  “Yes.” I picked up my bag, which seemed to weigh a thousand pounds.

  “Why do you look nervous?”

  “He wants to meet me later.”

  “Tonight? That’s wonderful.” At my silence, Sofia asked, “Do you like him?”

  “He’s… well, he’s…” I paused, floundering. “I can’t figure out the angle.”

  “What angle?”

  “Why he’s pretending to be interested in me.�
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  “Why do you think he’s pretending?”