Undying Laughter

Her skin was warm and soft, a perfect complement to the deep tan that naturally heightened the unusual shade of her eyes. And the way the sun shimmered off those long tresses of pale blond hair—he swallowed as he reluctantly dropped her hand.

“Do you have a name?” she asked, a teasing look in her eyes.

The fraction of a second it took him to recall his own name seemed to amuse her all the more.

“Wesley Porter,” he mumbled, feeling his cheeks warm slightly as he ushered her inside the empty restaurant.

His palms were actually moist by the time they reached the bar, where his books were stacked high next to a mug of long-forgotten coffee.

“We weren’t expecting you until this afternoon,” he said.

Sliding onto one of the bar stools, Wesley battled to keep his eyes off the incredibly shapely legs peeking out from beneath her skirt.

“Spur-of-the-moment,” she explained. “When I saw the place, I just couldn’t resist taking a sneak peek.”

He felt one of his brows arch high on his forehead. “Do you always act on your impulses?”

She smiled again. “Is that a question? Or a really bad come-on line?”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, studying the backs of his hands. “I guess it’s all this scholarly pursuit. I tend to ask questions a lot.”

“A bar-owning student?” Destiny asked after glancing at his textbooks.

“My mother owns the place. I’m just helping out while I study for my boards.”

“Rose,” she said, nodding. “David’s mentioned her.”

“David?”

“My manager,” she said as she boldly slid off the stool, went behind the bar and poured herself a cup of coffee.

Wes wasn’t sure what bothered him more, the fact that she seemed so at home in a strange environment, or that he’d been so enthralled with her legs that he hadn’t even thought to offer her the most basic of hospitalities.

“This is great,” she said, hugging the mug in both hands. “I should have been entitled to a refund from the airlines for that stuff they foisted off on Gina and me this morning.”

“Gina?”

“My personal assistant,” she said as she came back and took the seat next to his. He smelled the faint scent of her perfume, and the words “utterly feminine” floated through his thoughts as he watched her felinelike movements. No wonder she was a popular performer, he thought. As far as he was concerned, she didn’t have to tell the first joke. He’d probably pay good money just to watch her walk down the street.

“So,” she began with a wicked light in her violet eyes, “do you just ask questions, or do you occasionally talk all on your own?”

“Depends,” he returned, feeling the corners of his mouth respond to her ever-present smile. “I guess I’ve had my nose in these books for so long that I’m sort of out of practice.”

“You?” she scoffed.

His head fell slightly to one side and he regarded her for a protracted second. “Meaning?”

“Back up,” Destiny answered. “What exactly are you studying for?”

“Psychiatric boards.”

“You’re a shrink?”

“In training.”

“Lord,” she mumbled just before bringing the mug to her bow-shaped lips.

“I’ll take that to mean you aren’t fond of my profession?”

Her initial response was a small shrug of her shoulders. “Not my call,” she told him. “I just think there’s something perverse about delving into people’s private lives.”

He smiled at her. “This from a woman whose private life manages to grace the tabloids on occasion?”

“Point,” she conceded. “You read the tabloids?”

“Only when I’m standing in the checkout line at the store.”

“That’s what everybody says. Except that those rags have higher circulation numbers than the New York Times.”

A shrink, she thought to herself. Too bad. The first nice-looking doctor she ever meets turns out to be a psychiatrist. Heaven knew the very last thing she needed in her life was analysis.

Whoa! her brain screamed. This man wasn’t exactly “in her life.”

“Can I see the rest of the place?” she asked, wondering why she felt such an overwhelming sense of regret. It hardly made sense. She would be in Charleston all of six weeks. Then, hopefully, she’d be off to Los Angeles and her own television show.

“Sure thing,” Wesley answered, reaching into the front pocket of his jeans and producing a ring full of keys. “Follow me.”

Hopping off her stool and depositing her empty mug on the polished bar, Destiny silently admired the physique of the man ahead of her. His shoulders were broad beneath the preppy polo shirt. His waist and hips were trim, though he didn’t impress her as the type to spend hours working out. He did, however, impress her as one heck of a sexy man.

With the exception of David, her world was filled with overweight, cigar-chewing club owners. This dark-haired intellectual man, with bedroom blue eyes hidden behind tortoiseshell glasses, was refreshing. He had jump-started her hormones in ways she had long ago suppressed.

Wesley led her through an immaculately clean kitchen and out the back door. The aroma of wisteria competed with the less-than-pleasant odors coming from the Dumpster.

“It’s very deceptive from the street,” she said, quickening her step to keep pace with his long strides.

“Charleston Single Houses were built on these long, narrow lots in order to capture the breeze coming off the water. Think of it as eighteenth-century air-conditioning.”

“Good line.” She laughed. “Can I steal it for my routine?”

“Absolutely.”

Following him along the stone path, Destiny was immediately impressed by the condition of the long, rectangular sign hanging over the double doors. She was also vainly impressed by the large photograph of herself plastered above the door. After all this time, the words Appearing Nightly still gave Destiny a thrill.

The thrill faded quickly when she caught sight of the large box near the front door.

“Not again,” she groaned.

“Not again what?” Wesley asked her, genuine concern in his deep voice.