Hmmm. Elbows are an erogenous zone. Who knew?
My cheeks flared up again. Cripes.
“
Excuse
me,”
I said, reaching down and unstrapping the strappy shoes, hanging them from one hand as I sighed with relief.
Ian laughed. “
I
’
ve often wondered how women get around in those things.”
“
They
’
re the instruments of Satan,”
I said, tossing them at the base
of the magnolia tree. “
Well, now that I
’
ve made a startling first impression…”
“
Don
’
t concern yourself. I enjoy startling first impressions.”
He smiled again and the muscles in my neck relaxed.
“
You
’
re too kind,”
I said, noticing that the lines that marked
the edges of his eyes were smile lines. Great. As if the gorgeous eyes and the killer accent weren
’
t enough, it appeared he had a great disposition, too. I sipped my wine, trying to drown out the sneaking feeling that a crush was forming.
“
So, this ex of
yours,”
he said, “
would I have read him?”
“
Probably not. He
’
s one of those severe literary writers that critics love but no one wants to read.”
Ian kept his eyes on me. “
What
’
s his name?”
“
Peter Miller.”
Ian nodded. “
Coffee Table Memoirs
, was it?”
“
Memoirs from the China Hutch
,”
I said, unable to hide my surprise. The book had sold about five copies, and I
’
d bought two of them.
“
Ah, yes, sorry,”
he said quickly. “
It was...”
He paused, as though searching for something complimentary to say.
I jumped i
n. “
It
’
s okay if you thought it was bad. We
’
re not together anymore.”
I paused. “
As a matter of fact, feel free to say as many bad things as you
’
d like.”
Ian gave a short chuckle. “
I take it things didn
’
t end well.”
I shook my head. “
Do they ever?”
Ian nod
ded. “
Point taken. Well, I
’
m sorry to disappoint, but I didn
’
t think it was bad at all. As I recall, it had a strong philosophical undercurrent. I sensed a deep regard for Kant.”
My eyes widened. “
You really did read it.”
He crossed his arms and looked at
me, his eyes searching, connecting. “
You
’
re Eloise, aren
’
t you?”
I lifted my wine, draining the last drop. “
No. That
’
s ridiculous.”
He grinned, shaking an index finger at me. “
You are. You
’
re Eloise.”
I shook my head and stared at my toes, bare and dirty,
digging holes in the grass. “
Eloise is an amalgam of many women Peter has known...”
“
But predominantly you.”
I gave him a long stare. “
Are you telling me I remind you of a stuttering prostitute with an inability to walk in a northerly direction?”
He laughe
d. “
No. It
’
s the tendency you have to tuck your hair behind your ear. You
’
ve done it about five times since we started talking. I put it together when you mentioned the book.”
My hand froze in midair as it flew to swoop hair behind my ear. I hadn
’
t realize
d I was doing it. I stared at my hand hanging in front of me, feeling like an idiot, until Ian gently guided it to the side of my head, running his rough fingertips over mine as he tucked the hair behind my ear for me.
Oh. Man. Crush. Gah.
“
There
’
s nothing
to be ashamed of,”
he said. “
I thought Eloise was quite charming.”
He dropped his hand, but maintained eye contact. I had no idea how to respond. Was he saying
I
was charming? No one had ever called me charming before. Articulate, yes. Driven, absolutely.
I
’
d even gotten a slightly inappropriate
intriguing
from a professor once. But I couldn
’
t recall a single charming. I smiled. I didn
’
t know if it was the wine or Ian Beckett, but for the first time since Mags had bounded down the porch stairs the day befo
re, I felt calm and at ease. I inhaled, enjoying the sensation for a moment, knowing it had to be brief.
After all, I had a plan to stick to.
“
This is going to sound crazy, but...”
I began. At the same moment, Ian also spoke.
“
She
’
s not coming back with a
beer for me, is she?”
I laughed and shook my head, remembering Vera
’
s excuse for making herself scarce. “
No, she
’
s not.”
He grinned and leaned toward me a bit. “
Your family isn
’
t terribly subtle.”
“
No.”
I could feel my face growing warm.
Again.
“
They
’
re no
t.”
For a moment I considered abandoning the plan, running away, telling the Mizzes I couldn
’
t do it and resigning myself to a summer of harassment. But it wasn
’
t just me in this. Ian would be harassed as well, invited to endless Sunday dinners and variou
s
contrived social situations until we either slept together or died of natural causes. No, the plan was the only way out. For both of us.
“
So,”
he said after a moment, breaking into my thoughts. “
What
’
s going to sound crazy?”
I held up one index finger. “
I
’
ll be right back.”
I turned and took a few steps, then looked back to see if he was watching me. He was, but he wasn
’
t watching my backside or my legs, the way men usually did when you walked away. His eyes were set on mine, as though he was trying to rea
d me. I paused there, looking at him with probably the same expression of curiosity and surprise that he had. I held up my index finger again and continued over to Bev at the alcohol table.
“
Gimme the Love Kit, lady,”
I said, grinning at her. She raised an
eyebrow at me and reached under the table, pulling out an oblong nylon pack and handing it to me.
“
Moving fast with the Flyer, are we?”
she asked.
I smiled. “
Daylight
’
s burning.”
She nodded. “
That it is, darlin
’
. That it is.”
I headed back to Ian, being s
ure to make meaningful eye contact with both Mags and Vera as I closed the space between us. Ian watched me as I walked toward him, and when I smiled, he returned volley. I stepped close to him and tucked my hand in his elbow, leading him through the thro
n
g of partygoers. I leaned my head toward his shoulder, speaking to him in muted tones as we walked toward the house.
“
I have a favor to ask you,”
I began. “
My family is a little on the eccentric side, as you might have guessed, and...”
I swallowed. This ha
d been much easier in front of the mirror this morning.
Ian raised his eyebrows. “
And?”
“
And... they actually tricked me into coming down here this summer for the express purpose of...”
I paused, suddenly unhappy with the phrasing I
’
d rehearsed. I was only
now realizing that it made me look just as crazy as the Mizzes.
Crap.
There was no saving my dignity now. I plowed on.
“
They want me to sleep with you.”
We both stopped walking and looked at each other. I swooped hair behind my ear, consciously recognizin
g it as a nervous habit for the first time.
“
Don
’
t worry,”
I said. “
We don
’
t have to... I mean, that
’
s not what I
’
m proposing. I just need a favor.”
His eyebrows knit as his smile quirked. He opened his mouth, closed it, shook his head. “
I
’
m not sure I und
erstand what you
’
re asking.”
I moved closer and lowered my voice. Ian
’
s dark eyes were locked on mine, darting back and forth, watching me intently as I spoke.
“
See, they think I
’
m depressed over my breakup with Peter, and... well...”
I sighed, regrouped,
started again. “
You know how some women, when they
’
re depressed, they eat... or drink, or shop?”
He nodded. I moved closer, unable to keep eye contact. His hand was on my elbow, pulling me to him, sending heat rushing to my spine.
“
Well, the women in my fa
mily Fly.”
I squinched my eyes shut and barreled through the next part. “
That
’
s the term they use. It just means having great sex with a temporary man. And they picked you. For me. And all I need is for you to go inside with me and we can just talk or wha
t
ever, just long enough to... They just, they won
’
t leave me alone if they don
’
t think...”
I trailed off, fighting an urge to burst into tears of fury. As bad as the epiphany had been, asking Ian Beckett to pretend to have sex with me was worse. Much, much
worse.
He pulled back from me, and when I got the courage to look in his eyes, he was smiling. He held out his elbow. “
Shall we?”
I released a deep breath. “
Are you sure you don
’
t mind?”
“
Not in the least,”
he said, cupping my hand in the crook of his arm
and leading me toward the house. “
It
’
s the best offer I
’
ve had in a long while.”
We stepped into the house and I shut the back door behind us, pushing the curtain aside with my finger and seeing all eyes drift in our direction.
Perfect.
“
So, are all Americ
an women crazy, or is it just the Fallon women?”
Ian asked. I bristled at first, but then considered what we were doing, and shrugged.
Fair enough.
“
No, it
’
s mostly just us.”
I was sitting at the head of the bed with Ian at the foot, our legs stretching ov
er the middle next to each other. The room was lit only by a series of small, rose-scented candles on my dresser, the mirror reflecting the gentle flickering light over the eighties heartthrob posters covering the pink walls. The room was kept like a shri
n
e to myself as a teenager, and whenever I walked in, I always ran my tongue over my teeth, expecting to feel braces.
The first wine bottle was empty, and the second
—
which Id snagged from the basement about an hour after Ian and I first shut my bedroom door
behind us
—
had maybe one more round left.
I took a sip of my wine and dropped my head back against the headboard. The cool night breeze flowed through my window screen, carrying the smell of fresh pine and the hint of someone
’
s car exhaust. I was feeling softened around the edges and I liked it. Teaching at a university doesn
’
t give a girl much chance to be soft around the edges.