Carolina Heat Read online

  “I’m much better at putting words down on paper. It gives me a chance to filter out mistakes.”

  “But it also removes spontaneity. What about the ability to truly be in the moment and have an honest reaction?”

  Her response was dry as the aged Merlot they were drinking. “Trust me, my editors prefer it.”

  Mark leaned back in his chair. “You mentioned your father earlier. What is he like?”

  She took a very deliberate sip of wine. “He could be harsh,” she said slowly. “He traveled all the time, and when he was home he expected his family to run as smoothly as his corporation. Dealing with the normal foibles of childhood simply wasn’t on his schedule.”

  “The way you talk about him - I take it your father passed away?”

  She nodded. “About five years ago. His lifestyle was a heart attack waiting to happen—and it finally did.”

  He laid a hand over hers. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. This may sound callous, but it all worked out for the best. My mother was desperately unhappy with him for years.”

  “Did she stay because of you?”

  Annabelle bit her lip. “Yes. Well, not just me. My brother Jonathan, as well. I begged her to leave him time and again. I was positive we could pick up and start a new life far away.”

  She was quiet while their salads were served. It hit her that with very little urging, she was in the midst of pouring out her life story to this man. On the surface, it struck her as wildly inappropriate for a first date, let alone an evening which stood little chance of ever being repeated. But another part of her relished how easy it was to talk to Mark. He was a consummate listener, and made her feel every word she uttered was vitally important to him. It was the ultimate role reversal for her.

  Annabelle knew it was time to lighten the conversation. “I was naïve,” she continued abruptly. “Doesn’t every child dream of running away from home?”

  “Well, the smart ones dream of it. Then there are those of us stupid enough to do more than dream,” Mark rejoined. “I went through with it once. My favorite frog died, and I blamed my mother. In hindsight, though, I’m reasonably certain it was the steady diet of Oreos and soda I provided that did him in.”

  Annabelle’s laugh bubbled out. “I didn’t realize I was dining with a frog slayer. Were you lured back home, or did your parents drag you back kicking and screaming?”

  “I made it as far as Mrs. Haley’s. She tucked me into a guest room to save my pride, then promptly called my parents. I was back home in time for breakfast.”

  “Did you get another frog?”

  “No, I had to downgrade to goldfish for a year to prove myself worthy. Then I graduated straight to a puppy.”

  “Oh,” Annabelle sighed. “How wonderful. I’ve always wanted a puppy.”

  “What’s stopping you?” Mark asked around a bite of salad.

  “My career,” she answered, the answer popping out automatically. “I can end up in three different states in three days, and a different country two days after that. It doesn’t leave much time to walk a dog.”

  “Wow!” Mark snuck a crouton off her plate. “I didn’t realize travel writers had such demanding schedules. I pictured you hanging around each town for at least a couple of weeks, exploring every last nook and cranny.”

  Annabelle mentally kicked herself. It was a mistake even most rookies were bright enough to avoid. The golden rule was to stick to your cover story. The second part of the rule was to not reveal personal information which conflicted with your cover story.

  She tried to cover her slip. “Well, your description is more the norm,” she acknowledged with a wave of her fork. “But my schedule can be unpredictable. As a freelancer, I could have simultaneous assignments at opposite sides of the country.”

  “Must put a strain on your personal life,” Mark noted. “Is it as exhausting as it sounds?”

  “You have no idea,” came her heartfelt answer. As the waiter served their entrees, she searched for a way to toss the conversational ball back to Mark. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, he covered her hand with his.

  “I don’t believe I’ve taken the opportunity to tell you how beautiful you look tonight. Your hair is like a molten sunset spreading across your shoulders.”

  Annabelle’s vision blanked, then hazed over with indignation. “I’m going to come right out and tell you there is absolutely no chance I’ll sleep with you tonight.”

  Mark tipped back in his chair, threw back his head, and let out a hearty guffaw. It was loud enough to cause several other diners to turn and look at their table. He continued to laugh, oblivious to Annabelle’s whispered entreaties to be quiet. Finally, he sputtered to a stop. “Darlin’, when was the last time you went on a date?”

  Her jaw dropped. “None of your business!”

  “Now, don’t get up on your high horse.”

  “And don’t call me darlin’,” she spat back. That was enough to give him a few more chuckles, much to Annabelle’s continued outrage.

  “Annabelle.” Mark said her name very softly. “This is the South—the Good Old South.” She ignored his words and looked down, quite pointedly, at the hand he was still holding. He patted it, but did not let go. “We call everyone from the Governor to the garbage man darlin’.”

  The fire in her eyes subsided slightly, but still smoldered. Mark considered mentioning how her eyes deepened to forest-green when she was angry, but it only took a second to realize any more comments in that vein would trigger another dramatic response. Annabelle tossing her drink in his face was a real possibility at this point. Apparently all the clichés about temper and redheads really were true. Too bad she was so pretty with a flush of temper in her cheeks. Normally he’d cut his losses, but for some reason he couldn’t put his finger on, this was one woman he couldn’t walk away from. “What you need to understand—”

  “No,” she cut in, furiously. “What you have to understand is I won’t sit here while the entire restaurant watches us like a circus exhibit. The way I see it, your famed Southern charm leaves much to be desired.” She threw a twenty-dollar bill on the table and pushed her chair back.

  Mark’s eyes narrowed. Did she actually think she was going to walk out on him? It was time to set her straight. Before she could fully stand, his fingers circled her wrist. “If you take one step away from this table, I will empty our bottle of wine over your head. Then it’ll be entirely your own fault if the whole restaurant laughs at you.”

  Annabelle’s lips thinned, but she remained seated. “Are you out of your mind? Why on earth would you do such a thing?”

  “I figure the only way to deal with a temper tantrum is to throw one of my own. After we both pitch a fit, the air will clear, and we can discuss the whole thing rationally.”

  “Is that what you think this is? A temper tantrum?” Her body slumped wearily into the chair. It looked like all the adrenaline of the moment had drained out of her. “We seem to keep banging our heads together, you and I. But I’ll give it one last try.” He released her wrist, and she took a sip of wine before continuing. “You are, for all intents and purposes, a total stranger. You hit on me, made sure to find out where I’m staying, and then gave the impression I should go to bed with you for all your trouble.”

  He was equal parts confused and amused. “When you put it like that, I could be a serial killer, for all you know.”

  “Oh, I feel immeasurably better.”

  Mark closed his eyes, trying to picture at exactly which point he lost control of the evening. “Annabelle, I’m sorry if I offended you. With all the crazy people in this world, it’s good to be cautious. Even though I am not, nor ever have been, a serial killer.”

  Her eyes twinkled with restored good humor as she tossed a roll at him. “Fine. You have an interesting way with apologies, Mr. Dering.” He nonchalantly picked up the roll and bit into it. Annabelle laughed and dug into her dinner.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I am
in no way apologizing for the compliment. And just because I stated the simple fact of the beauty that is your hair, it does, in no way, obligate you to have sex with me.” He could tell her good humor was fully restored when she had the grace to look embarrassed.

  “It was such an overblown, outrageously romantic thing to say. I took it to be the cheesiest come-on of all time because, honestly Mark, nobody talks like that!”

  “I do,” he corrected her. “Women are supposed to enjoy romance. I happen to know for a fact that many of them do.”

  “Wow—a bold move, trying to impress a woman with your sexual history.”

  “Nothing of the sort. Merely stating another fact.”

  Annabelle stabbed at her barbequed shrimp. “And why do you care when my last date was?”

  “You just won’t let any little thing lie, will you?” He reached across and took her hand. “Because it doesn’t make sense. Most women as beautiful as you are aware of their charms, and wouldn’t be taken aback by their date handing them a compliment.”

  She closed her eyes and bit her lip. “Okay, I’m mortified. I was way out of line. A friend of mine warned me recently about being too wrapped up in my job to be able to appreciate life. And here I am, unable to take a simple compliment at face value.” She picked up her twenty and waved it in front of his face. “Is this a big enough bribe to get you to forget the last five minutes ever happened?”

  “Peace offering accepted.” He nipped it out of her fingers. “In the interest of starting a more neutral conversation,” Mark said with a grin, “I’d like to point out this window seat of ours is shaded by a very ancient magnolia tree. It was used for shelter by the soldiers during the War Between the States.”

  “This tree right outside? Give me a break. It’s no different from the thousands of houses claiming George Washington slept there.” Annabelle turned to look at the tree, and then swiveled more fully in her seat.

  “Do you see that man across the street?”

  “Which one?”

  “The short guy in a Hawaiian print shirt, Bermudas, two cameras and a straw hat.”

  Mark nodded. “I’m no fashion expert, but he looks like a tourist. Talk about overkill. As if two cameras weren’t enough, do you see the binoculars strapped around his neck?”

  As the two of them stared, the man lifted his binoculars and looked directly at the restaurant. Directly at Annabelle. With a start, he dropped the binoculars and hurried down the street.

  “Weird. Almost like he was watching us,” Mark said.

  “Do you know him?”

  “No. I think he just wanted a closer look at your shrimp. Who can blame him?”

  The blare of a trumpet snapped Annabelle’s head back around. A Dixieland band began their set.

  “You seem jumpy.”

  Annabelle bit her lip. “I warned you I might not be the best company. I trekked all over the city today. I crossed off almost every attraction in my guidebook.”

  Mark stared at her. It was obvious she was hiding something. He considered the fact their dinner had been emotionally charged from the start, and decided not to call her bluff. Instead, he added it to his list of fascinating contradictions he hoped to untangle as their relationship grew.

  “Either your guidebook is abridged, or you had a completely exhausting day.”

  “I don’t want to miss something that could be good for my article,” she said brightly.

  They both refused dessert, but lingered over cappuccino. Twilight settled over the city, painting the buildings a dusky lavender. Annabelle started yet again when a camera flashed on the sidewalk.

  “Tourists can be unflagging in their desire to immortalize every second of their trip,” Mark commented. Then he leaned forward and pointed. “Did you see him? Did you see the man?”

  She sipped at her coffee. “All I saw was the flash.”

  “It was the same man we saw an hour ago, the one with the binoculars.”

  Her cup clattered back to the saucer as she straightened and looked out the window. “Are you sure?”

  “Oh yeah. That shirt of his practically glowed in the dark. Kind of strange he’d come back and take a picture at night. Tourists are a strange breed, though.” Mark noticed the slight frown on Annabelle’s forehead. He certainly didn’t want to scare her, and tried to lighten the mood. “Chances are good his picture will be shown around as the restaurant where General Lee ate, over two hundred years ago.”

  “Let me take a wild stab—is this place less than five years old?”

  “Dirt lot not more than four years ago,” Mark pronounced. Annabelle grinned back at him.

  “Do you really like it here, Mark? Breaking your ankles on cobblestones, being stuck in traffic held up by horse-drawn carriages, and not being able to walk along the Battery without cameras being thrust at you?”

  “I get the feeling Charleston hasn’t made a favorable impression.” Mock despair colored his voice. “How could you resist total enchantment with this city after my personal tour? I must be losing my touch.”

  “Don’t take it as an insult,” she reassured him. “My article will be chock full of glowing praise, never fear.”

  Mark wiped a hand across his brow in an exaggerated parody of relief. “I’ll still be able to walk among the other tour guides with my head held high.”

  “Please! You’d never let me leave this table unless I promised a favorable slant.”

  “You’re right, of course. I’d stop at nothing to make a good impression on you.” His eyes never left hers as he gently lifted and turned her hand. He half expected resistance, but she made no move to stop him.

  Annabelle felt the warm touch of his lips on the inside of her wrist while transfixed by his hot stare. An unexpected tingle started low in her stomach and spread in all directions. For a brief moment, her other senses deserted her. The world shrank to the mere inch of skin his tongue caressed. She dragged in a ragged breath. “You have definitely made an impression.”

  “You’re truly stunning when you’re off-balance,” Mark murmured against her arm. “Don’t get me wrong—I think you’re lovely, regardless. But when something jostles your ever-present control, your face softens. Your eyes widen and turn the color of cypress trees.” He pressed one last kiss in the middle of her palm and placed her hand back on the table.

  Several different emotions warred within her. Disbelief, amusement, and mistrust were all there, but mostly overshadowed by a powerful surge of pure lust. She was reluctant to admit how long it had been since her libido had kicked in like this. Sensible or not, she was grateful to Mark for awakening it.

  Surprised at the steadiness of her hand, she picked up her coffee cup and saluted him. “You just earned your fair city another thousand words. It’s guaranteed to be the feature article. You’ll have twice as many tourists here after the November issue hits the stands.”

  Mark smiled, and gestured for her to lean closer. He put a hand up to her ear and whispered, “What would it take to inspire you to write a book?”

  Her head shot up and she let out a huge belly laugh. She laughed so hard tears began to slip down her cheeks. The man constantly surprised her.

  “My stomach hurts, I laughed so hard,” she admonished him.

  “Then it’s time we left.” He rose to pull out her chair. “After a few blocks, your feet will be so sore from the dreaded cobblestones, you’ll forget all about your tummy ache.”

  Minutes later, they stood on the wide, old-fashioned porch of the Haley house. Mark held firmly to Annabelle’s hands.

  “I won’t beat around the bush, because I’m sure Mrs. Haley will be out here in a moment, ready to whisk you inside like a proper Southern belle.”

  Annabelle beamed at the thought. “At home I have a doorman, but he usually just watches any improprieties that occur. Mrs. Haley makes me feel pampered.”

  “She makes me feel about seventeen,” Mark admitted. “So before we’re interrupted, I need to tell you that you fasc
inate me. I also need to find out how soon we’ll repeat this evening?”

  Annabelle put a hand on the railing and took comfort in its solidity to ground herself. The man spoke like a poet. As she listened to him, it was all she could do to not glance down to check if her toes were covered by a hoop skirt.

  “As I said earlier, you certainly made an impression. In all honesty, I even enjoy arguing with you. Sounds silly, doesn’t it?”

  “Not a bit,” Mark shook his head emphatically. “You spoke your mind, without a care as to the possible reprisals. I admire that greatly.”

  Her guard automatically snapped back into place. “You’ve made it clear lavish compliments flow like water down here, and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but don’t you think you might be laying it on a tad thick? You’re making huge generalizations after spending a matter of hours with me. I’ll be gone in a few days.”

  “Which is exactly the problem. I don’t have time for a slow, conventional courtship.” Mark wrapped his arms around her snugly. “And I won’t try to monopolize every minute of your day. I know you have work to do, and as a matter of fact, I have to work tomorrow also. But I’m thirty-four years old, and you intrigue me in a way no other woman ever has. I don’t intend to miss this chance.”

  “I don’t think men like you even exist in New York.” Without forethought, she kissed him briefly, and just as quickly stepped out of his embrace. “Tomorrow night?”

  “Absolutely. But don’t wear fancy dress. We’ll be dining outdoors. I’ll be here at seven. Oh, and you’re downright addled if you think a peck constitutes a goodnight kiss.”

  He pulled her back into his arms smoothly and gave her a long, deep kiss. It only took an instant for her lips to soften and curve into his. He immediately pressed his advantage, and the softness of the kiss changed to a passionate exploration of her lips and neck.

  Annabelle let out a brief murmur of surprise. Then she gave up thinking, gave up practicality, gave up her caution and matched every bit of his need with her own. Her hands moved restlessly up and down his back. His hands buried in her hair, anchoring her in his embrace. It was a give and take of all the passion which had built since the first moment they met, coursing through their kisses. Their feet shuffled around in a lazy circle, each trying to push closer to the other. Annabelle felt the hard ridge of the doorway against her back. Immediately Mark stepped away.