Читать книгу: «Footloose»
Footloose
Leanne Banks
This book is dedicated to everyone who has ever been dumped and eventually felt as if they’d dodged a bullet.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Special thanks to Alisa Banks, Rhonda and Bob Pollero, Cindy Gerard, Cherry Adair, Traci Hall and terrific editor and lifesaver Margo Lipschultz.
Dictionary Definition:
Heel: Noun. A solid attachment of a shoe or boot forming the back of the sole under the heel of the foot.
Amelia Parker’s Definition:
Heel: Noun. A low-down dirty guy who steals your heart then stomps it into a thousand pieces.
CHAPTER ONE
AMELIA WAS SO EXCITED she could barely breathe, let alone eat the delicious dinner she would share in a short time with Will, his boss and his boss’s wife at the fabulous restaurant in Buckhead.
Her ex-fiancé, William, was about to become her fiancé again and everything would be right with the world. She wished the two of them could have managed some alone time before dinner, but Will was arriving directly from the airport.
They would share a sweet reconciliation afterward. She had it all planned. Fighting butterflies, she walked down the stairs of the historical mansion that belonged to her recently married landlord, Aubrey Carter Elizabeth Roberts Gordon.
“You look beautiful, dear. He’ll regret every minute he’s spent without you,” Aubrey said. “And if he doesn’t, Harold will—”
“Pull out a can of whoop-ass like that boy has never seen,” Harry finished.
Aubrey tried to pinch her lips together in disapproval, but a smile escaped. Polar opposites, the middle-aged couple provided a constant source of amusement and encouragement to Amelia. Harry was a rough rascal of a man who’d made a mint in mobile home sales and Aubrey was the quintessential perfect, proper, Atlanta-born-and-bred woman. Who would have thought the two of them would fall in love and marry within a month of meeting each other? Surely if Harry and Aubrey could make it work, then so could Amelia and Will.
“Do you have everything ready?” Aubrey asked.
Amelia nodded. “I’ve got candles waiting to be lit. I baked his favorite pie from scratch, bought his favorite wine and put his favorite country music CD on the stereo.”
“You’re going to knock him off his feet,” Aubrey assured her.
“That pie smells awfully good. You sure you don’t want me to test it?”
Aubrey gave Harry a playful swat. “Stop teasing her. Can’t you see she’s nervous?”
“Do I really look okay? This is his favorite dress. And I’m wearing his favorite perfume. He always said he liked my hair best this way.” Amelia touched a hand to her carefully-straightened locks.
“You look gorgeous,” Harry said, patting her hand. “And more important than your hair or perfume, you’re nice to be around. Remember that.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“We’ll be way on the other side of the house,” Aubrey said. “So don’t worry about making introductions if Will comes back here tonight. We can save that for later.”
Feeling a rush of gratitude, Amelia gave in to the impulse to hug Aubrey. “Thank you so much,” she said again, and left for the restaurant.
Her mind whirled a mile a minute during the drive to the restaurant. She wasn’t sure how she’d survived the last forty-five days of being in limbo with Will. She could hardly remember a time when he hadn’t been part of her life. He’d proposed to her on the playground when they’d been in elementary school and they’d been together ever since.
Watching so many couples break up over the years, Amelia had always felt as if she must have been sprinkled with stardust. She and Will had found each other so early. What a relief to have that aspect of her life taken care of.
She felt a tiny ripple of unease at the thought, but refused to pay attention to it. Will had broken up with her twice during the last six weeks, then he’d turned right around and asked her to take him back, which she had. Two weeks ago, though, Will had told her he wanted to put their relationship on hold, and everything had felt off-kilter to Amelia again. She was ready to get back on track. Her only regret was that she would have to resign from the designer shoe company Bellagio, Inc. She would miss her new friends. She’d learned long ago, though, that true love required sacrifice.
Amelia pulled into the parking lot of the popular restaurant and walked into the entryway, hoping to see William, but he wasn’t there. She checked with the hostess and was led to a back room of the restaurant where a couple and Will, looking more gorgeous than ever, sat at a small round table.
Will glanced up at her and stood. “Amelia, there you are,” he said and lightly touched her back. “Mrs. Fitzgerald is dying to meet you. She’s a big fan of Bellagio shoes.”
That feeling under her nerve endings grew stronger when Will introduced her simply as Amelia Parker, not as Amelia Parker, his fiancée. He didn’t kiss her or touch her hand during the meal. Although he was polite, he seemed detached.
Her stomach twisting into a knot, she still managed to make friendly conversation. By the end of the meal, however, she couldn’t stop wondering why Will was acting so cool when he had been adamant about her joining him at this dinner. He’d said it was important to him, so of course she’d come.
Feeling every tick of the clock, she refused dessert and wondered if she should excuse herself. Mrs. Fitzgerald saved her from her quandary when she received a call from the sitter saying that her child had a fever. The couple quickly excused themselves, leaving her alone with Will. Finally.
“Let me walk you to your car,” Will said.
His silence as he escorted her to the parking lot made her stomach hurt even more. Amelia bit her lip. “I wasn’t sure where you planned to stay tonight.”
He shrugged. “I got a room downtown since I’m just here for the night. I guess we should talk,” he said as he opened her car door for her.
Amelia had the sudden feeling of dread, the same, she’d bet, that someone being led to the guillotine would feel. She’d had this sensation when he’d broken up with her before. Amelia couldn’t fool herself any longer. Will was going to dump her once and for all.
Maybe not, her hopeful naïve side argued weakly.
But deep down, she knew. He was going to give her the biggest heave-ho of her life and there was nothing she could do about it. She sank blindly into the driver’s seat.
Will slid into the passenger seat and turned toward her. He sighed. That sigh was never a good sign.
“I don’t know how to say this, Amelia, but I’m not in love with you anymore.”
Her heart sank to her feet. No, lower—it had to be lower, lower than the bottom of her car and the paved parking lot. He’d never put it exactly that way before. She shook her head, her mouth opening, but she couldn’t find any words.
“I don’t know how it happened, but I fell in love with someone else.”
Amelia’s brain screeched to a halt. “Pardon me? There’s someone else?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t mean to fall out of love with you, bugaboo,” he said, his pet name suddenly grating on her raw nerves. “It’s just that I met Sidney and she knocked me on my butt. She’s everything you’re not.”
She felt as if someone were shifting her internal gears without the benefit of a clutch. “She’s everything I’m not,” she echoed, confused. “I thought I was everything you wanted.”
“I can’t explain it. She’s as ambitious as I am, always doing something that surprises me. She’s impulsive, has a temper, but she makes me feel alive every minute.”
Amelia couldn’t digest it. She couldn’t believe what he was saying. “Did you even notice that I fixed my hair the way you always said you loved it?” she asked him. “I’m wearing your favorite dress. Did you notice that? I’m wearing your favorite perfume.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Amelia. I just don’t feel that way about you anymore.” He sighed again. She hated his sighs. “Sweetheart, I think I just outgrew you.”
Outgrew her. Fury blasted through her fear. Some small bit of pride and self-preservation bubbled up from her desperation. She had made sacrifices for Will. She had traded a scholarship to a prestigious university for a state school where Will could gain admission, too. She had cut and colored her hair for him, dressed for him, put her career ambitions in the backseat for him. She had agreed to delay their wedding so they could be more financially stable. She had made sacrifices.
For the first time, she had the ugly feeling that she had made too many sacrifices.
“Would you mind giving me a ride to my hotel?” he asked. “I can tell you need time to think about all this. You can go ahead and give me the ring back, too,” he added casually. “And bugaboo, we’ll always be friends.”
Amelia felt something inside her shift. She could almost hear the sound of stone platelets scraping against each other. It was monumental. She’d based most of her life on the plan that she and Will would be together forever. That plan had just been cancelled for good. After six weeks of waffling, she could tell that Will didn’t want her anymore, even though she’d done everything she could to make him love her.
To be honest, she’d known it for a while, but had been too terrified to face it. Everything had changed. Everything would be different.
But her heart kept beating. She kept breathing. Her brain kept working. She was still living. She laughed in relief. Maybe the anticipation had been worse than the reality.
She looked at Will, really looked at him, without the gauze of love covering her eyes. He had a weak chin, he chewed with his mouth open and he rushed her during sex. He had chosen her engagement ring based on his taste, not hers, and he was cheap.
She removed her engagement ring from her finger and handed it to him.
Then she started her car. “Get your own ride and get another friend.”
“But—”
“No buts,” she said. “Get out of my car.”
Looking at her as if she’d sprouted a third head, he complied. Still dazed, she headed back to her suite at Aubrey’s house, where she smashed Will’s favorite CD into a million pieces, poured his favorite bottle of wine down the toilet and gave his homemade apple pie to a sympathetic but appreciative Harry.
AMELIA HELD ON TO HER anger as long as she could. Anger, she decided, was loads better than sadness. Anger had energy and kept her from getting weepy. Anger was big and hot and bright. It filled up her bewildered insides like fireworks filled up the black sky on the Fourth of July.
The problem was that Amelia had never been able to hold on to anger that long. It had always seemed like a stupid waste of energy. So four days after Will had dropped the big bomb on her, the ache inside her overrode the anger. She felt so empty and so sad.
Her mother had always said the best way to deal with feeling sad was to bake a pie for someone. Focusing on someone else would help you feel better about yourself. Even the good book said, “It’s better to give than to receive.”
A lot easier, too, Amelia decided and began to bake some pies. She baked pies for thirty straight days, until her boss and friend Trina Roberts took her aside and gently referred her to a shrink.
The nice balding man listened and nodded his head and told Amelia she needed to experience herself more. Amelia didn’t really understand what that meant.
During her next visit, the shrink told her she needed to be nice to herself. “You can’t truly love another until you love yourself,” he said wisely. “It sounds like maybe you lost sight of who you really are when you tried so hard to be what Will wanted.”
He even quoted the good book. “‘Love your neighbor as yourself’ means you need to love yourself, too.”
Even though Amelia was pretty sure her father would refer to the shrink as a flaming liberal, his advice made a little bit of sense.
When she couldn’t quite figure out how to love herself, the shrink gave her homework. She needed to write down what she liked and what she didn’t like, things she wanted to try. That was how she came to start the list. The first thing she wrote on it was that she’d like to live at the beach sometime. And studying what she’d written, Amelia decided it was time to get a life, her own life. At last.
CHAPTER TWO
Three weeks later
DRINKING HIS SECOND CORONA, Jack O’Connell watched the little blonde at the other end of the bar as she wrote on a cocktail napkin and sipped a drink with a colorful umbrella.
Amidst the tanned beach babes exposing yards of skin, she looked like a fish out of water as she kept pulling up the strap of her sundress. Her skin was alabaster white. Poor thing, he thought, she probably burned like a beast.
Her earnest intensity about whatever she was writing on that cocktail napkin made him curious. Which just showed he had too much time on his hands. Vacations made him edgy. He always felt that if he took time off, he would miss something. Even though he was down here to grease the skids on his biggest deal ever, he had a lot of dead time to fill.
He glanced at the blonde again, wondering what her story was. He noticed a wallet on the ground by her feet and wondered if it belonged to her. Indulging his curiosity, he strolled toward her, picked up the wallet and straddled the stool beside her.
“This yours?”
She glanced up, her blue eyes wide with surprise. “Omigosh. Yes, thank you.”
“Jack O’Connell,” he said, introducing himself.
“Amelia,” she said hesitantly.
“Amelia,” he repeated and smiled. He liked the way the name sounded in his mouth. She reminded him of a white magnolia blossom. “What’s a nice, well-bred southern girl like you doing at a tiki bar in the Florida Keys by herself?”
“It’s the first time I’ve had a chance to get out. And my first hurricane,” she added, nodding toward her drink.
“How do you like it?” he asked.
“It tastes like fruit punch. With some extra punch.”
He chuckled. “One-hundred-fifty-one proof punch. And the cocktail napkin? Is that a new amendment to the Constitution you’re writing? Looks pretty serious.”
He watched in surprise and delight as pink color flooded her cheeks. A blush. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a female over the age of seventeen blush.
“Well, one side is a list of birthday gifts I need to get in the mail to my niece and nephew because I won’t be home for their birthdays.”
“And the other side?”
“It’s a, uh, different to-do list,” she said and took a gulp of her drink. “I recently had a big change of direction in my life, and so I’m making a list.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” he said. “Is drinking your first hurricane on the list?”
She hesitated, then her lips slowly stretched into a smile. “I guess it was on my mental list.”
“You should put it on your written list, too,” he said. “Because then you can check it off. And every time you check something off, it gives you a sense of accomplishment. Yeah,” he added at her curious look. “I make lists, too. Down here the list includes watching as many sunsets as possible and missing the sunrises because I had such a good time the night before. Increasing my repertoire of memorized Jimmy Buffet lyrics and setting a new personal record for how many minutes I keep a Corona in my hand during a twenty-four-hour period.”
Her smile broadened. “I’m not sure I can put all of that on my list because I’m not on vacation.”
“You’re working here?”
She nodded. “I work for Bellagio, the designer shoe company, and I’m down here on temporary assignment as an assistant to Lillian Bellagio. She’s the widow of one of the founders of the company.”
The mention of Bellagio made his heart rate pick up. The name always had. How ironic that she worked there. And how…opportune. “Sounds like a cupcake assignment,” he said.
“Yes and no. Mrs. Bellagio is perceived as challenging and sometimes demanding. That’s why they sent me. Before I became a full-time employee of Bellagio, I was a temp in almost every department. They always sent me to take care of the crisis du jour.”
“So I bet you know a lot about the inner workings of Bellagio.”
She shrugged and took another long sip of her hurricane. Jack noticed she was nearing the bottom of the glass. He gestured toward the bartender to bring her another and tapped his bottle of Corona.
“If you decided to go with Bellagio full-time, you must like ’em,” he said.
She nodded. “I like the people there. They really pursued me. It’s a relief to know that even if my personal life is in the toilet, I can still perform professionally.”
“Personal life in the toilet,” he echoed. “Is that the reason for the list?”
She looked self-conscious. “I guess.”
“What do you have on there?”
She pulled the napkin protectively to her. “It’s under construction.”
“Come on. Give me a few hints. Maybe I could help.”
She shot him a wary glance and took a sip of her fresh drink. “Please don’t take this the wrong way. It was nice of you to get me a drink, but I don’t know anything about you.”
“And you’re afraid I’m going to ply you with alcohol and have my wicked way with you.”
Her cheeks bloomed with color again. “I didn’t say that.”
“Amelia, do you want to know the truth?”
She nodded.
“I’m bored. You looked more interesting than anyone else here.”
She glanced around, then met his gaze again. “There are some very pretty girls here.”
“Yep, but they don’t look interesting. You look pretty and interesting.”
She hesitated, clearly still uncertain.
“Listen, you’re in the Keys. It’s okay to have some fun.”
She gave a big sigh and he could hear tension being released like air poured out of a flat tire. “I want to get a different car,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “I want to travel. I want to start an IRA. I want to get a different haircut, maybe change my hair color, buy some different clothes.”
“Everything’s gotta be different? What kind of car do you have?”
“A Honda.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“My ex-fiancé picked it out.”
“Oh,” Jack said and kicked himself for not figuring that out earlier. She was recovering from a breakup. The classic signs were there—stiff drink, halter dress, distrust of the opposite sex. “A Honda’s not a bad car.”
“I know. It gets great gas mileage, doesn’t break down frequently, has good resale value.”
“Too practical for you? Are you more of a practical woman or do you like to take chances?”
She sighed again and frowned. “Up until now, I’ve been very practical.”
She didn’t sound happy with the revelation.
“That’s Van Morrison playing,” he said. “Wanna dance?”
She looked startled at his invitation, then hesitant, then a little defiant. “Yes, I would, thank you.”
He led her onto the sand that served as a dance floor and coaxed her into the rhythm of the song. She stumbled a couple of times, laughing at herself. The breathless sound tugged at something inside him. Her breasts brushed against his chest and he felt his blood sink to his groin.
Getting her into bed would be a piece of cake. She was vulnerable and he had Irish charm on his side. Another hurricane and a couple of slow dances were all it would take.
Jack was a shark by trade, but he didn’t make a habit of taking advantage of wide-eyed, broken-hearted amateurs. Yet while she was innocent, she also seemed determined to get into the water. And with her knowledge of Bellagio, she could be useful. That, he couldn’t resist exploiting. But her vulnerability was something else. So he would be careful with her, but he would get what he could from her.
After a couple more dances and half a hurricane, she loosened her tongue. At his gentle prodding, she gave him a new snapshot of the players, major and minor, at Bellagio, the corporate culture and the general attitude and mood of the employees. Tucking the information in the back of his brain for future use, he checked out what she’d scribbled on the napkin. “This list needs some work,” he said.
She reached for the napkin, but he held it away from her. “That’s supposed to be just for me.”
“Don’t worry. I’m just an anonymous guy you met at a tiki bar. I’ll be the ghostwriter. If you really want to make some changes, then you need to climb further out on the limb.”
“Changes such as?”
“I’ll start you off small. Swimming in the nude,” he said, taking her pen and writing it down.
Her eyes widened. “I don’t think—”
“It’s not as drastic as sex on the beach, but we can add that one if you—”
“No, and—”
“What about driving a convertible with the top down? Have you ever driven one?”
“No.”
“Good thing to do at least once. Sky diving?”
“Absolutely not.”
And so it went. He suggested. She countered. Egging her on to expand her list was the most fun he’d had in a long time.
TWO HOURS LATER, after Amelia had finished her third hurricane and Jack had extracted information about Marc Waterson, Bellagio’s heir apparent, Jack did the honorable thing and returned Amelia to Lillian Bellagio’s estate. She leaned against his shoulder and dozed during the short drive.
The thought occurred to him, again, that it would be so easy to take her back to the beach house where he was staying. She wouldn’t protest. She reminded him of a little lamb without any protection. The wolves would get her in no time if she didn’t shore up her defenses. At the same time, though, it would be a damn shame to see her toughen up. Her innocence was rare and appealing.
Pulling to a stop just outside the estate, he gave her a gentle shake. “Amelia, we’re here. Time to wake up.”
Her eyelids fluttered open and she looked at him in confusion. “Jack.”
“Yep. I’ll be at the gate in just a minute. Will you be able to walk to the house?”
She nodded. “Sure,” she said and sat up, blinking.
“You’re sure?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you.” She looked at him. “You’ve been very kind.”
He felt a sliver of discomfort at taking advantage of her hurricane-influenced state to get insider info on Bellagio. “It was a fun night.”
She studied him for a long moment. “You’re very good-looking. Could you do one more favor for me?”
“What?” he asked a little warily.
“Could I kiss you? I’ve never kissed a guy the first time I met him.”
He felt a jolt of surprise. “Is this on your list?”
“Hmm. I guess it is.”
“Okay,” he said and leaned toward her.
She pressed her hand against his chest. “No. I have to kiss you. I have to start it.”
Accustomed to taking the lead, Jack felt a startling punch of exhilaration. Damn, who would have thought…
Her eyes open, she leaned toward him and lifted her lips to his and rubbed from side to side. The soft texture of her mouth and the sensual movement provided the biggest tease he’d had in a long time. He was used to taking what he wanted. Sure, he knew the ways of seduction, but they were a means to an end.
She opened her mouth and he felt a lick of anticipation shimmy down to his groin. He could feel her indecision. To taste or not to taste.
He struggled with an instinct to take control, to plunge his tongue into her mouth, but her tentative explorations were too delicious.
He opened his mouth and barely brushed her lips to give her encouragement without guiding her.
She echoed his movement and rewarded him by sliding her tongue just inside his mouth.
White-hot lust raced through him. He wanted to devour her mouth, bury his face in her breasts and slide between her thighs until neither of them could walk normally. He couldn’t remember feeling this hot since he was sixteen years old.
She lingered, rubbing just the tip of her tongue over the inside of his lip, then against the tip of his own tongue. Then she pulled back and he again fought the urge to close his arms around her and kiss the breath out of her.
Something made him stop. He would figure out later just what that something was.
She looked up at him, her blue eyes smoky with a hint of arousal, and she smiled. “Thanks.”
Over the pounding of his heart, he smiled back. “Thank you.”
Driving to the gate, he pulled to a stop again, putting the car in park. He got out and opened her door. “You sure you’ll be okay?”
“I’m sure,” she said, her voice determined as she rose to her feet and stood for a couple of seconds as if to get her bearings.
He found an old paper receipt in the console and scratched his cell number on it. “Call me,” he said, handing it to her.
She glanced at the paper, but just smiled enigmatically. “Thanks again.”
He watched her walk down the driveway and wondered why he felt like he was the one who’d been hit by a hurricane.
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