THREE

“Hello?”

The male voice was gruff, slightly sleepy, and the timbre raised the hair on her arms. Harley hesitated a minute before exhaling a simple “Hi.”

She cringed and damned the breathlessness in her voice. She sounded like a woman calling for phone sex. Great. Mona would love it.

Swallowing dry air, she licked her parched lips and listened, hearing a long, satisfied sigh and the creak of… bedsprings.

“I was wondering if you’d call” His voice seeped through her, wickedly deep and low.

“I was wondering myself,” she managed to answer.

“What made up your mind?”

Harley shrugged for her own benefit. How much did she want to tell him? And did she even know? “I think it was something about chances not taken.”

“You take them a lot?”

“Almost never.”

He chuckled, a resonant rumble. Pure male. Pure temptation. Harley curled her toes into the mattress, settled deeper between two pillows, and pulled her sheet to her chin.

“Neither do I,” he finally said.

She responded with, “Then why did you give me your card?”

She waited, anticipating his answer, wondering what he had seen in her that prompted his impulsive move.

“I’m not sure but I think I’d like you to help me find out.” He breathed into her ear.

Harley closed her eyes, opened them slowly. Trembling, she listened to the bedsprings again. Bedsprings. Uh-oh. What if he wasn’t alone? “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

“No, I was up.”

O… kay. “I forget Friday nights don’t start at eleven for everyone. I shouldn’t have called so late.”

“Actually, I was just getting out of bed.”

Why, because you’re a love-’em-and-leave-’em kind of guy? “Uh, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

“It’s fine.” He sounded almost desperate. “In fact, I’ve been thinking about you.”

Did that mean he was alone? “I tried to call earlier but got a wrong number.”

“No. What you got was my brother,” he said, sounding very pleased that she’d tried again.

His answer took this from anonymous into personal. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. “Your brother lives with you?”

“My brother and my uncle.” When she didn’t say anything for a minute, he asked, “Does that surprise you?”

She found herself frowning. “I didn’t picture you as the family type.”

He laughed. “And what type am I?”

Gorgeous. Scrumptious. Sophisticated. Refined. How did she put all that into words? She settled on, “A man who takes what he wants from life.”

“And that rules out having a family?”

“In some cases, it should,” she said, going deeper so much sooner than she’d ever intended. Actually… she hadn’t intended anything deep at all.

“Is that what happened to you?” he asked, then hurriedly added, “Forget it. That’s way too personal for a first date.”

Harley smiled “Is this a date?”

“Could be, though I have to admit I’ve never gone out with a woman whose name I don’t know.”

“It’s Harley,” she told him, rejecting Mona’s suggestion of creating a new identity. She was who she was.

“Harley?” He sounded amused. “As in Davidson?”

She laughed. “I was conceived on the road to the annual rally in Sturgis. My parents thought it appropriate.”

“Your parents are bikers?”

Harley could almost imagine his smile. The thought gave her goose bumps. “Yes, but they finally grew up. They traded in the ape hangers for Gold Wings. Now they live on the road.”

“No other family?”

“One sister.”

“And her name is Honda?”

“Nope. Everly.”

“As in Phil and Don?”

“You got it.”

“Your parents weren’t the born-to-be-wild type, huh?”

“From what I remember, they were more dazed and confused. But Everly and I turned out okay.”

He took a long time to consider what she’d said. “Do you live alone?”

“Completely,” she reassured the both of them.

“Good. Real good,” he added.

And Harley felt a yearning like she’d never felt before.

“So, Harley with the wheat-field hair and bluebonnet eyes, where do we go from here?”

The yearning deepened. She licked her lips. “That depends on what you want.”

The sound that rolled from his throat was a growl of hunger and nothing less. “I want you, Harley. I want the tension, the anticipation. I want to know you, inside out.” He paused. “But I’m not that shallow. I can wait.”

She couldn’t breathe. Oh, God, she couldn’t breathe.

“Harley?”

With a shaking hand, she shifted the receiver to her other ear—the one that wasn’t on fire. “I gu—” she started, then coughed and caught her air. “I guess that’s as good a way as any to start a relationship.”

“Is that what this is? A relationship?”

“No,” she said firmly. “It’s a date.”

His chuckle rolled through her. “Then tell me, Harley. What do you do on a date?”

She groaned and remembered the Japanese film festival, the stock car finals, the batting cages. “Believe me, you don’t want to know.”

“You don’t enjoy dating?”

“I don’t have anything against the ritual. I just haven’t had great luck in companions. I never quite understand their idea of fun. Or their conversations.”

“Then there’s no one special?”

“The last guy I went out with just left for Tibet.”

“Tibet?”

“Never mind,” she said, waving off the question even though he couldn’t see. “It’s a long story.”

“Then, scratch it. I’d rather know what you like to talk about.”

She wound the phone cord around her index finger and settled more deeply into her pillows. “I don’t know. Anything. Simple things. Ask me a question.”

“A question.” He thought a moment. “Easy enough. What do you want for Christmas?”

“Christmas.” Harley sighed. “I’m a kid when it comes to the holidays. I love the tinsel and ornaments, the lights, the cookies and candies.” She moaned in delight. “And the fudge. Every year on Christmas Eve I make five pounds—all for me.”

“And then you sneak downstairs before morning to check out what Santa left under the tree.”

Harley laughed. “He’d have a pretty hard time at my place. My tree is sixty years old, fifteen inches high, and ceramic, sprinkled with crystal lights and miniature candles. And since I never know where my parents will be, and Everly’s rarely in town, I spend Christmas with friends, eat steamed turkey with sprout-and-tofu stuffing, and exchange hideously ridiculous gag gifts.”

Silence met her answer. Not a good sign. Maybe he was more traditional than his appearance led her to believe. What other conclusions might she have wrongly jumped to?

And what kind of misconceptions had he drawn about her?

“Have your Christmases always been so… original?” he finally asked.

“Maybe not original but definitely fun.” Even if Everly and I did create the magic alone. “I had a great time as a kid, sitting on Santa’s lap, and frosting cutout cookies, and making ornaments out of salt dough. Everly and I took turns each year crowning the tree with the angel. Even during college I always made sure I was home to decorate the tree and stuff stockings.”

“So what happened?”

Harley gripped the phone tighter and drew her knees to her chest. She was not going to talk to him about Brad. “I took a chance I shouldn’t have.”

“And you’re afraid to do it again?”

She nodded, then softly whispered, “Yes.”

Seconds passed and turned to minutes and Harley’s heart counted every single one.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“What question?”

“What do you want for Christmas?”

“I never ask for anything because it makes the surprises that much better. Everly always sends something she knows I’ll never buy for myself. Like designer scents, cashmere or angora, satin sheets, lacy silk camisoles…”

Harley let her voice trail off, hearing what she thought was a strangled whistle of breath. Then he cleared his throat.

“What do your parents give you?”

“Last year they sent me an iron bed frame they’d found in a barn in Kentucky The headboard has the greatest scrollwork After sandblasting away seventy-five years of Kentucky coal dust, I had it painted white.” Harley ran her palm caressingly over her bed covering. “The year before they sent me an Appalachian wedding ring quilt. It looks like a bridal bed from a century ago. I love it.”

“Are you m bed now?”

Uh-oh.

“Harley?” he asked, his voice rising suggestively on the second syllable of her name.

“Yes,” she answered slowly, touching her tongue to her upper lip.

“Tell me about your sheets.”

Dangerous territory for a first conversation. “They’re pink. Flannel. And soft. Like cotton balls. Or a kitten.”

“Now tell me what you’re wearing.” His voice had grown deeper, yet his words were hushed, almost a whisper. And though his question was innocent, his intent was not.

She remembered his eyes, the sultry sweep of his lashes, the sleepy haze of dreams, and wondered how he’d look in bed beside her. Arousal spread through her without remorse.

She lifted the sheet and glanced at her nightgown. She’d chosen the one she wore with him in mind, knowing she was going to call, and wanting for some perverse reason to feel sexy when she heard his voice. This was her fantasy, after all.

“Harley, tell me.”

She blew out a slow breath. “A nightgown, in an abstract pattern of deep pink, teal, and peacock blue. It’s silk, cut in a low scoop with thin straps. It laces down the back.”

“All the way down the back?”

Her heart was thunder, a roller coaster, the roar of a jet plane. She swallowed hard. “To the top of… to the base of… to there.”

“Tell me what it feels like.”

Eyes closed, her senses took over. “When I walk, it floats around my ankles and slides against my thighs.”

“And how does it feel in bed?”

“It’s sleek. And cool. A caress on my skin.” She was talking a hundred miles an hour now, wanting to get this over with, wanting to know what he wanted, why he wanted it from her.

And more than anything, why in the hell she wanted him.

“What else?”

“What else what?” she asked calmly, though her instincts said scream.

“What else are you wearing?”

Her nipples beaded. Her thighs grew warm. “Nothing.”

“Not even one of those designer scents behind your knees?”

She inhaled as if by instinct, or his instruction. “It smells like clover, or honey and wildflowers. It’s sweet but not sticky. It reminds me of sunshine.”

“Do you sleep on your back? On your side?” he asked, his voice pure gravel now.

Enough was enough. She swallowed hard, sweat building furiously at her nape. “Why do you want to know?”

This time his breathing was raw and ragged with need. “I want to climb up beside you. Feel your silk. Smell your sunshine. Taste your clover. I want to unlace your nightgown and pull you hard beneath me until beginnings and endings and chances don’t matter.”

Harley tugged her nightgown to her toes, placed a pillow over her breasts. “You frighten me, Gardner.”

“Do I? Are you sure you don’t frighten yourself?”

“I don’t know,” she breathed.

“It’s animal attraction, Harley. Plain and simple.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready.”

“Then sleep on it. Call me tomorrow. Or the day after. But call me. Call me.”

The line went dead in her ear. Setting the phone on her dresser, she reached up and flipped off her lamp, leaving the lower light burning in the pedestal base. She needed that tiny bit of security as the emotions spinning through her threatened to whirl her into another dimension.

She curled tighter into her pillow, pressing her legs together. Her body burned. The soft silk chafed her nipples. And her belly quivered with the need to be filled.

Why had she called? Why had she called? Her life had been so safe, so steady, so… antique. She’d been divorced for four years, her marriage a blur in her memory. But the slightest hint of male interest always brought to mind those years with Brad.

She couldn’t call Gardner again, not after this, not after he’d flipped her world like a snowflake globe, leaving the pieces of who she had been to scatter at her feet. He raised too many questions, made her wonder if she’d been hiding. Made her wonder what she wanted.

No. That wasn’t true. She knew exactly what she wanted. The same things so many wanted. Success. Happiness. Security. Love. Golden’s Touch provided her with an incredible sense of fulfillment. Her strangely quixotic circle of friends were dearer to her than family.

And if she’d been hiding from anything, it was the fact that her drive for stability in life precluded having children.

She would never subject a child to her harried lifestyle. To the anxiety of last-minute travel plans, the days out of town that stretched into weeks. To her short bursts of temper brought on by the internal stress of wondering if a purchase would meet a client’s needs, or if a buying trip had been a waste of time.

Children deserved better than emotionally exhausted and physically absent parents.

Or parents too absorbed in each other to remember they’d brought children into the world.