a deep breath and thrust her chin forward. She'd never reach the finish line with an attitude like that. She would go back out there and be so sweet and so clever, he'd forget the first part of the evening. She could do it. Her motto had always been: If someone else can do it, so can I, and do it just a little bit better.
Shoulders back, she pushed open the door, stepped out, saw herself in the mirror above the sink, and groaned. Makeup certainly had a short half-life.
Waiting for Bailey to return, Austin leaned back in his chair, his heart racing. Damn the woman! She had him incredibly aroused just by touching his leg. It was a good thing there weren't any bushes around to throw her behind or he'd probably lose control again.
Though he wasn't sure she would be so receptive this time. She seemed bored with the whole evening, didn't even want another drink.
He still didn't understand her recent actions—running away from him, physically and emotionally, after making love on Sunday night; appearing totally confused but no longer angry at lunch on Monday; and now, seemingly eager to meet him here, allowing his leg to touch hers, then bolting from the room. She was a very frustrating woman, weaving—no, make that crashing—her way into the core of his being then retreating frostily.
Lifting his glass, he drained the last few sips of his beer, his mind registering peripherally that it had gone flat and stale. He usually left that last half inch, but Bailey had driven him to unusual behavior.
Across the room he saw her coming back to the table, elegant litheness moving through the chaos.
His fist clenched tightly. He would take charge of the situation, force sense from this chaos. With a macho gesture, he raised his beer glass to his lips and tossed his head back. As Bailey reached the table, he set it back down, hoping in the dim light she hadn't noticed he'd tried to drink from an empty glass.
After an hour of excruciatingly painful mundane conversation, Austin had to admit he was floundering. Bailey totally unnerved him, sitting there all prim and proper in her navy blue pinstripe suit when he knew what was under it. He'd seen her cool eyes become slits of passion, had kissed her full lips and held her firm, sweaty body against his. However hard she tried to pretend it hadn't happened, he knew it had.
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Would you like to go somewhere else?" he asked. "Maybe we could find someplace to dance." He could hold her body next to his again, and who knew what might happen then?
"Dance?" She looked confused, almost frightened.
Her eyes darted across the room, then back to him and down to her empty tea glass. "I don't dance," she finally said, her tone cold.
Right, he thought. She could run like a gazelle, swim like a mermaid, make love like—there was no metaphor for that, for the way her body moved so smoothly with his. No woman that coordinated, that graceful, would be unable to dance.
"Religious preference?" he asked sarcastically.
"No. Lack of training and talent." Her eyes met his, defiant, challenging. She sat upright in her chair and crossed her arms.
He knew that body language. She was shutting him out and, as usual, he had no idea why, but he wasn't about to let her know that. He emulated her posture. "How amazing that a beautiful woman like you can't dance."
He almost got her that time. She blinked twice, rapidly, then regained her composure. Austin waited, a strange intoxication pervading his being. He could almost predict what she would say now, and that was exciting, to think he knew her so well. She'd make some snide remark such as how they ought to report that amazing fact to Ripley's Believe It or Not.
"Not all of us are skilled in all things," she said. Austin dropped his gaze to the table and took a deep breath, trying to regroup. He'd been wrong. He didn't know her after all.
"I'm sure you have a busy schedule tomorrow," she continued in that same distant tone, "and I need to get home and feed Samantha."
She opened her bag and pulled out her wallet. With another jolt, Austin realized she intended to pay for her own drink.
"No!" He grabbed her hand, and for an exhilarating instant he could see green sparks shooting from her eyes. "My treat," he insisted. "You can have me over for