Footloose

She bit her lip. “I’m just looking. It’s the first time I’ve shopped for jewelry without considering what Will would think.”

Her revelation made a knot form in his gut. Why? He couldn’t say. “What do you like?”

“I’ve always wanted an anklet, but I’m not sure I would wear it.”

He shrugged. “It’s not the Hope Diamond. Get it, try it. If you don’t like it, it’s no big deal.”

“I don’t know.”

Her hesitation tugged at something inside him. “Which are your top three favorites?”

“Um, that one,” she said, pointing to a sterling silver chain with tiny beads. “The one with the clam shells and the one with the daisies.”

“Okay,” he said and nodded toward the store clerk. “I’d like some anklets.”

“What?” Amelia stared at him. “You can’t get these for me.”

“Yes, I can. It’s not as if it they’ll break the bank,” he said.

“But—but—”

“Chill out, Magnolia. It’s not an engagement ring. This is faster, that’s all. At the rate it’s taking you to decide, we won’t get out of here until sundown tomorrow.”

“Then I’ll just take the one with daisies,” she said to the clerk.

“We’ll take all three,” Jack corrected and handed the clerk several bills. “You sure you don’t want to get that tattoo tonight? I can supervise.”

“I’m not getting a tattoo,” she said. “And I’m not comfortable with you buying these. It’s not appropriate for a woman to accept jewelry from a man she hardly knows.”

It took him a few seconds, but then he got the reason for her discomfort. She was afraid he was bartering anklets for sex with her. “Don’t you think a night of unbridled sex with you is worth more than forty-five bucks?” he asked in a low voice.

She sucked in a quick, shocked breath.

“I’m counting on it,” he said.

“I never said I was having sex with you,” she whispered.

Looking into her blue eyes and taking in the sight of her parted candy-apple lips, he made a decision. He was going to have Magnolia. Sometime, somehow and every way he could imagine. “But you will,” he said, because in this circumstance he considered it fair to warn her of his intentions.

“That’s very arrogant,” she said.

“Confident. There’s a big difference,” he told her, accepting the bag and pocketing his change. “Thanks,” he said to the cashier and turned back to Amelia. “You’ll understand it after you get to know me better.”

“What if I decide I don’t want to get to know you better?” she asked as they left the shop.

He stopped and met her gaze. “Are you saying you don’t?”

She opened her mouth and closed it, frowning. “Just because I find you interesting doesn’t mean I’m going to bed with you.”

“You will,” he said. “But don’t worry. Tonight’s not the night.”

DURING THE RETURN DRIVE to the Bellagio estate, Amelia’s mind wouldn’t stop whirling. She had hoped the rush of open air would clear her head and reduce Jack’s impact on her, but she couldn’t stop looking at his hands, and every once in a while when she inhaled, she caught a hint of his aftershave.

He was too cynical and too sure of himself. If that was all she knew of him, she could easily dismiss him, but the way he challenged her alternately bothered her and fascinated her. How could he be so wrong and so right at the same time?

“You’re quiet,” he said.

“I’m enjoying the ride.”

“Pissed,” he concluded, but didn’t appear overly concerned.

“I’m not pissed,” she corrected. “I’m uncomfortable.”

“Afraid of what I’m going to do? Or what you’re going to do?”

A sexy image of his hands sliding over her blew through her brain. She closed her eyes and shook off the picture. “Neither.” She leaned forward and turned on the CD player.

“Stones to the rescue,” he said when Mick Jagger’s voice blared out the speakers.

But only for a little while, she thought and tried not to imagine all the good kinds of trouble she could get into with Jack.

By the time he pulled the car near the gate of the Bellagio estate, she felt as if she were in a convertible wind-induced stupor. Zoned out.

Jack slowed to a stop and looked at her. “You okay?”

She nodded.

“Before you go, give me your foot,” he said.

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I want to see one of those anklets on you and I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be in town.”

Her stomach twisted and she felt an odd jab of distress. “You’re leaving?”

He shrugged. “Depends on how a deal I’m working on shakes out. So give me your foot.”

Reluctant but compelled, she shifted toward him and lifted her foot. He rested it on his thigh, drawing her attention to his crotch. She forced her gaze away, watching his hands as he pulled a chain from the paper bag.

He fastened the silver chain of shells around her ankle and looked at her. “Nice,” he said. “How do you like it?”

The sight of his tanned hand over her pale skin made her stomach jump. “Uh, it’s pretty.” She met his gaze. “Thank you.”

He eased her ankle down over his leg and took her hand, pulling her closer. “You can’t blame hurricanes tonight. Are you going to kiss me?” He rubbed his thumb beneath her chin. “You gonna kiss a coldhearted cynical sonuvabitch like me?”

“You’re not totally coldhearted,” she said.

“But I’m cynical as hell,” he said, his gaze unwavering.