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“Let's—let's forget this. I—I think maybe I made a mistake. Let's go back to the motel.”
“Not a good idea, Francie. Once you make that crossover into the Promised Land, you can't really turn back without making things awkward.”
“Oh, I don't think so. I don't think it'll be awkward at all. It wasn't actually the Promised Land, just a small flirtation. I mean, it certainly won't be awkward for me, and I'm positive it won't be awkward for—”
“Yes, it will. It'll be so awkward I probably won't even be able to play half-decent golf tomorrow. I'm a professional athlete, Francie. Professional athletes have fine-tuned bodies, like well-oiled engines. One little speck of awkwardness'll throw everything off stride. Like dirt. You could cost me a good five strokes tomorrow, darlin'.”
His accent had gotten unbelievably thick, and she sud
denly realized she was being conned. “Damn it, Dallie! Don't do this to me. I'm nervous enough as it is without your making fun of me.”
He laughed, put his arm around her shoulder, and pulled her close in a friendly sort of hug. “Why don't you just say you're nervous instead of going through all that fancy stuff of yours? You make everything so hard on yourself.”
It felt nice being in his arms, but she couldn't quite forgive him for teasing. “That's easy for you to say. You're obviously comfortable in every conceivable sort of bed, but I'm not.” She took a breath and spit out exactly what was on her mind. “Actually... I don't even like sex.” There. She'd said it. Now he could really laugh at her.
“Now, why's that? Something that feels as good as sex and doesn't cost any money should be right up your alley.”
“I'm just not an athletic person.”
“Uh-huh. Well, that explains it, all right.”
She couldn't entirely forget the swamp. “Could we go back to the motel, Dallie?”
“I don't think so, Francie. You'll be closing yourself up in the bathroom and worrying about your makeup and reaching for that perfume bottle of yours.” He lifted the hair on the side of her neck and, leaning over, nuzzled his lips against her skin. “You ever necked in the back seat of a car before?”
She closed her eyes against the delicious sensation he was arousing. “Does one of the royal family's limousines count?”
He caught her earlobe gently between his teeth. “Not unless the windows fogged up.”
She wasn't sure who moved first, but somehow Dallie's mouth was on hers. His hands moved up along the back of her neck and plowed through her hair from beneath, spreading it out over his bare forearms. He imprisoned her head in the palms of his hands and tilted it farther back so that her mouth opened involuntarily. She waited for the invasion of his tongue, but it didn't come. Instead, he played with her bottom lip. Her own hands crept around his ribs to his back and unconsciously slipped beneath his T-shirt so she could feel his strong bare skin. Their mouths played together and Francesca lost all desire to try to maintain the upper hand. Before long, she found herself receiving his tongue with pleasure—his beautiful tongue, his beautiful mouth, his beautiful taut skin beneath her hands. She devoted herself to the kiss, concentrating only on the feelings he was arousing without giving a thought to what would happen next. His mouth slid away from hers and traveled to her neck. She giggled softly.
“Do you have something you want to share with the rest of the class,” he murmured into her skin, “or is this a private joke?”
“No, I'm just having fun.” She smiled as he kissed her neck and tugged on the rosette of material at her waist securing the long tail of the T-shirt. “What's an Aggies?” she asked.
“An Aggie? Somebody like me who went to college at Texas A&M is an Aggie.”
She pulled back abruptly, her amazement etching itself in the perfect arch of her eyebrows. “You went to a university? I don't believe it!”
He looked at her with a mildly aggravated expression. “I've got a bachelor of arts degree in English literature. Do you want to see my diploma or can we get back to work here?”
“English literature?” She burst out in laughter. “Oh, Dallie, that's incredible! You barely speak the language.”
He was clearly offended. “Well, now, that's real nice. That's a real nice thing to say to somebody.”
Still laughing, she tossed herself into his arms, moving so suddenly that she knocked him off balance and bumped him back into the steering wheel. Then she said the most astonishing thing.
“I could eat you up, Dallie Beaudine.”
It was his turn to laugh, but he didn't get very far with it because her mouth was all over his. She forgot about being scared and about not being any good at sex as she lifted herself to her knees and leaned on him.
“I'm running out of maneuvering room here, honey,” he finally said against her mouth. Pulling away, he opened the door of the Riviera and got out. Then he extended his hand for her.
She let him help her out, but instead of opening the back door so they could resettle in roomier quarters, he pinned her hips with his thighs against the side of the Riviera and drew her into another kiss. The dome light left on by the open door produced a dim area of illumination around the car that made the darkness beyond seem even more impenetrable. The vague image of her open-toed sandals and alligators lurking beneath a car flickered through her mind. Without losing one moment of the kiss, she draped her arms over his shoulders and pulled herself up so that one of her legs was wrapped tightly around the back of one of his and her other foot was planted firmly on top of his cowboy boot.
“I do like the way you kiss,” he murmured. His left hand slid up along her bare spine and unfastened her bra while his right reached between their bodies to tug at the snap on her jeans.
She could feel herself getting nervous again, and it didn't have anything to do with alligators. “Let's go buy some champagne, Dallie. I—I think some champagne will help me relax.”
