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“Well, if you must, please admire it from afar.”
“I’d be the first one to jump to your defense if any other man held you this close. But since we’re going to be intimate, I—”
“We are not going to be intimate.”
He smiled knowingly.
Sunny’s stiff smile was strictly for the benefit of all the Mrs. Morrises crowding the room. She was not only annoyed but afraid. Ty Beaumont transmitted a masculine, animalistic vitality that beckoned to every female of the species. Sunny, for all her imperviousness where men were concerned, was still a female. Apparently she wasn’t as immune to pure sexual magnetism as she had thought. To keep herself from responding to it, it was mandatory to direct the conversation into safer channels.
“When did you move to Latham Green, Mr. Beaumont?”
“Make it Ty. Let’s see,” he said, wrinkling his forehead in concentration, “about three years ago. Guess we just missed each other.”
Sunny reasoned that George had told him when she had moved away. Before she could ask if George had told him the circumstances of her leaving he said, “In a room full of polyester, your silk really stands out.”
He rubbed his hand over her back. Reflexively she arched it. A wrong move. Because it caused her breasts to flatten against the solidity of his chest. The blue eyes grew dark and intense. Sunny sucked in her breath sharply.
“What do you do for a living?” she asked thinly.
“I’ll bet you wear silk undies, too.”
Suddenly Ty was holding nothing but air. Sunny was moving away from him, making quiet, unobtrusive apologies to the people she edged around on her way to the door. Because of his size, it was more difficult for Ty to cut and wend his way through the dancing couples. Sunny had reached the front steps of the country club’s colonial facade before he caught up with her.
“Was it something I said?”
She faced him like a spitting cat. “It was everything you said, everything you did. I despise that stupid, masculine superiority that you emanate like a bad odor. In fact, I wholly dislike every sexist thing about you, Mr. Beaumont. Now, leave me alone.”
“All right, look, I’m sorry, maybe I was coming on a little too strong.”
“A little too strong?”
“I saw you and I wanted to take you to bed. So—”
He was talking to her back again. He jogged down the steps to the gravel drive that was doing serious damage to Sunny’s pastel leather heels. He caught her arm; she wrested it free.
“If you get your kicks from talking dirty, Mr. Beaumont, I suggest you go to Bourbon Street. There are girls there you can pay by the minute to listen to that garbage. But please spare me from listening to it.”
“George gave me the impression that you’re not like the women around here.”
“Thank heaven for that.”
“You lead a single life in the city.”
“Right.”
“So I was just going straight to the heart of the matter. We’ve only got a week.”
“Of course. Why waste time?” she said, dripping sarcasm from every syllable.
“A sophisticated woman like you knows the score. I saw you, wanted you, I made my move. If I read you wrong, you have my sincerest apology. I wouldn’t want to offend you.”
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that.”
“So, do we plan a roll in the sack for later in the week or not?”
She stared at him, momentarily speechless. But he looked like he actually expected an answer. Finally she said, “No, Mr. Beaumont, we do not.”
He grinned disarmingly. “Sure?”
