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She’d been planning to say more. A comment about how he was so perfectly on time. A comment about how he’d picked truly decent weather for their date, below freezing and dry.
Maybe a simple “nice to see you.”
None of it came out. Somehow since she’d last seen him, Candy’s face-recall powers had turned Justin ordinary. She’d dulled his eyes to flat brown, softened his lean, masculine face, over-neatened his hair, grown his nose too large.
Surprise attraction punched her in the solar plexus; it was hard to breathe and harder to look into those eyes. Deep, lively, gaze-into-your soul eyes, boyish and Bambi, rugged and Rambo all at the same time. The kind that could get her to do to anything with one blink.
How could she have forgotten?
“You look very, very nice, Candy Graham.”
She pulled herself together. Sexy Glamour Girl wasn’t rattled by anything as mundane as killer eyes. “You look very nice, too, Justin Case. And you’re very on time.”
“No, I’m early.”
“Really?” Candy turned to lock the door. “My clock said exactly seven.”
“Mom said every woman needs five to ten extra minutes to fuss. She taught me never to show up exactly on time for a date.”
“Ah.” Candy pocketed her key, wondering if she should have played “not-ready-yet” when he rang the bell. Sexy Glamour Girls probably loved to keep their men on tenterhooks.
“Why didn’t you wait ten more minutes?”
“Actually…” He glanced from her hooker shoes back up to her eyes, stopping infinitesimally at the inflated wonders she barely recognized as her own breasts. “I couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t…”
“Wait.” He smiled a slow smile, which made Candy wish she hadn’t locked the door yet so she could turn away now to hide her pleasure and confusion.
Instead, she hid it under an attempt at a smoldery smile, suddenly less reluctant to tackle the evening as an overpumped sex goddess. “It’s fine that you were ‘early.’ I was ready.”
“You were.” He gestured to the shiny red sedan in her driveway, engine still running. “Shall we?”
“Sure.” She moved forward; a sharp wind gust flung sting-ing crystals at them from a nearby snowdrift. Justin immediately crossed behind her, taking the wintry surprise attack on himself.
Considering it probably felt like icicles flung from a cata-pult to him and a cold tickle to her, he was very gallant. Chuck 60
hadn’t been into the whole protect-the-woman thing. Candy hadn’t minded—women could take care of themselves, thank you very much—but this, yes, was nice.
“Thank you, Justin. The wind can get pretty frisky.”
“So I’ve learned.” He came around and opened her door, stayed to help her in, which she thought at first was overkill, but the combination of ridiculous heels and a teeny skirt did make getting into a vehicle dicey business, and she ended up grateful for his hand.
His car, some manly sport model, was heated to the point where most of the moisture had left her throat by the time he closed his door. “You must be looking forward to experiencing a Wisconsin summer.”
“I hear it gets humid.”
She shrugged. “More than San Diego. Less than Florida.
It’s all relative.”
“True.” He backed out of her driveway, avoiding the snow-banks crowding either side, and headed south toward Capitol Drive. “I’m really looking forward to spring, though. My first.”
“Your first! You’ll love it.” The idea of someone being introduced to spring lifted her spirits. “It’s indescribable.”
“Try me anyway.” He tuned the radio to Milwaukee’s jazz station, WJZI, and a gruff saxophone solo filled the car with musical color.
“The crocuses show up first, purple and yellow miracles after so much white and gray. Birds are suddenly in everywhere. You hear them singing even though the temperature hasn’t changed yet, and you have no idea how they know it’s time. Daffodils come next, and tulips. Those first inches of green pushing through the earth are enough to bring tears to your eyes. And the smell…” She leaned back in her seat, stretched her arms forward and took in a long, searing breath of overheated air, eyes flying open when the car veered to one side and back.
