to enjoy a night out but neither did she seem to be making connections. But right now, with her body close to his, he knew exactly the connection he’d like to make. “I don’t suppose you’re ready to make an early exit, are you?”
Her body stiffened slightly. “With you?” she asked, her brow lifting again.
“I thought we could get a drink somewhere… something other than champagne.”
She inclined her head toward the Tyrannosaurus Rex. “There’s a bar over there.”
“Okay then, how about somewhere that doesn’t include prehistoric relics?”
Finally, she laughed. He’d never worked so hard to get a woman to smile, but now that he had, the effort was worth it. If he’d thought she was beautiful all alone with an I-wish-I-was-somewhere-else expression on her face, with her in his arms and laughing, she was exquisite. Pressing his luck, he said, “No expectations. Just drinks… and a chance to get to know each other better.”
As her mirth slowed, she looked to the side before shifting her gaze back to him. He forced himself not to squirm, although her penetrating gaze reminded him of his grandmother when he’d knocked over one of her crystal vases.
“Well, Jorge, I’ve got a long drive home and have to get up early tomorrow for work. As tempting as it is to say yes to drinks and the possibility of knock-my-socks-off sex—if our getting to know each other was going to lead down that path—I don’t think I’m your type… or you mine. Nor is it safe to go off with a man I don’t know, even if he is a bodyguard. So, I’ll politely decline.”
In a few sentences, her explanation caused whiplash. Yes, she was right to be cautious with a stranger. But her description of what she thought sex with him would be like made his already-erect cock twitch painfully. But then her comment about not being his type… he had no idea what she was referring to. Was it because she thought he was a hired bodyguard instead of a wealthy invitee to the gala? Or was it that his multicultural heritage was written all over his face? He’d thought her to be shy, but perhaps she was simply conceited. As though one of the ice buckets chilling the champagne had been dumped over him, he stepped back, dropping her hand. Offering a slight bow, he said, “Thank you for the dance, Josie. I wish you a pleasant evening.” Turning, he weaved his way through the guests and the mocking Triceratops skeleton. Walking out into the cool evening, he jerked his tie off as soon as he exited the building and shoved it into his pocket.
Beautiful, well-spoken, reticent… she was an enigma, a mystery he would have liked to have solved. But on the other hand, perhaps I wouldn’t have cared for what I discovered.
2
Cobb pulled into his parents’ driveway, meandered around the front circle, and parked outside the garage. The large Spanish revival home always sent a feeling of calm throughout him. The tanned stucco exterior with the red-tiled roof had an old-world ambiance while the interior combined modern with the past. His parents had bought the house when his father was a U.S. Senator with plans to run for governor.
Twelve-foot ceilings throughout, paired with wide, sun-reflective windows gave it a light, airy feel along with wide verandas, a backyard that featured lush, green grass, a swimming pool, and a Tiki bar. And situated on a hill, the views of the mountains in the distant background were spectacular. Tiled and oak floors, exposed wooden beams, and sandstone brick complemented its heritage. Large yet cozy. Exquisite yet comfortable.
He walked into the kitchen and headed directly to the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of water. The room was spotless, but he knew the family’s cook, Mrs. Sanchez, would have everything ready for tomorrow’s breakfast when she arrived early. Spying carefully wrapped slices of apple pie, he grabbed one and set it on the counter. He turned, hearing a slight noise, and watched as Mrs. Sanchez approached. “It’s late, Mrs. Sanchez. Are you all right?”
“Jorge? You’re home early.”
When back home in New Mexico he went by his given name, Jorge, although since the military he’d been referred to by his last name, Cobb. His last name had meant nothing to those he served with. The fact that his grandfather had once been the governor of New Mexico and his father had been in politics for years was not recognized by anyone. And that was perfect. He’d