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She walked over toward the windows and looked down on the strings of tiny white lights dangling over the Riverwalk from the cypress trees. “Yes. My father was a golfer.”
“I remember. I tried to get a job caddying at his country club when I was a kid, but they told me I had to cut my hair first.” He smiled. “I wasn’t willing to give up my D.A., so I pumped gas instead.”
She had a mental image of him leaning against a locker and running a black plastic comb through his slicked-back hair. Hoyt had worn a crew cut.
He pulled his bow tie free and undid his collar button. “I made a seven-thirty tee time for the two of us tomorrow morning at my club. We can beat some of the heat.”
“I don’t have my clubs or my shoes.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Don’t you have to work?”
“I’m my own boss, Suzy.”
“I—I really need to be back by noon.”
“Do you have another commitment?”
She didn’t, and she realized she was being foolish. If she had to spend time with him, what better place than on a golf course? “I have some errands to run, but I can do them later. Golf will be fine.”
“Good.” He stood, slipped off his jacket, and tossed it down on the couch. “Would you like to see the terrace?”
“I’d enjoy that.” Anything to postpone what was to come.
To her alarm, he headed for the staircase. She had assumed the terrace was off this level of the duplex, but now she realized it must lie off the master bedroom upstairs. He had reached the bottom step before he sensed that she wasn’t following him. He turned and regarded her evenly. “You don’t have to take your clothes off to see the view.”
“Please don’t be flippant about this.”
“Then stop looking at me as if I’m going to rape you. I’m not, you know.” Turning his back on her, he stalked up the stairs.
She followed slowly behind.
17
Suzy approached the railing where Way was standing, with his hands in his pockets, looking out over the San Antonio skyline. Keeping a careful distance between them, she came up next to him.
“Everything dries out quickly up here,” he said, without looking at her. “Irrigation is a real challenge.”
She glanced around at the terra-cotta tubs that held ornamental trees and the planters that displayed colorful blooming annuals. A hibiscus bearing bright yellow flowers brushed the side of her skirt. She would rather talk about gardens than what loomed ahead.
“I have the same problem with some of my hanging baskets. They’re under the eaves, so they don’t get any rainwater.”
“Why don’t you move them?”
“I love looking at them from my bedroom window.”
She immediately regretted mentioning the bedroom and looked away from him.
“For a mature woman, you’re as skittish as a teenager.” His voice was soft and vaguely husky. She stiffened as he turned to her and cupped her upper arms in the palms of his hands. The warmth of his body penetrated the thin silk of her dress. He dipped his head.
Her lips parted in protest as his mouth covered her own. She stood rigidly and braced herself for some terrible assault, but his kiss was surprisingly gentle. He brushed his lips over hers—she had not expected them to feel so soft and warm. Her eyes drifted closed.
He shifted his weight and lightly pressed his hips to hers. She tensed as she felt his arousal. He slowly drew away from her, and, as she regarded him, she was unable to hide her confusion. Had she actually given in to him for a few seconds? Surely not. Surely it was revulsion she was feeling. Regardless of his power and his money, this was still Way Sawyer, the biggest hoodlum at Telarosa High.
He brushed a lock of hair back from her cheek. “You look like a kid who just got her first kiss.”
His comment flustered her nearly as much as his kiss. “I don’t have much experience with this.”
