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“No, every place in town is just as packed this time of day,” Mariah told him, pulling away from him. But the crowd’s scrutiny made her a little jittery. Or maybe it was the scrutiny of a man who’d claimed he didn’t find women like her “real riveting.” Of course, he’d been speaking of his late sister-in-law, but Mariah had caught his meaning. And despite herself, such judgment of her had hurt, even coming from the kind of man she might least expect to understand.
“This is fine,” she said tightly, her pleasure at his unexpected invitation waning. “Really.”
Turquoise blue eyes marked her expression, and he answered with his own tight “Whatever you say.”
Finally they spotted a table, a tiny one back in the far corner. Taking the chair next to the wall, she pushed back her hair. She’d only recently taken to wearing it down on occasion, or in one of the less traditional braids. Then she recalled Jeb’s other remark about his late sister-in-law, of her being able to let her hair down once in a while. She hastened to explain, “I was at a soccer match.”
“A soccer match?” With difficulty, Jeb squeezed into the chair next to her. Elbows bumped, knees brushed, gazes collided in unspoken apology and she became physically even more aware of this man.
So nothing had changed for either of them. Jeb Albright still had every bit of that tangible sexuality she’d perceived the other day. But what struck Mariah now was how that image continued to lure her in. Abruptly the feel of his roughened hands holding hers was revived. There had been an earthy honesty in that touch, uncultivated but quite genuine, and she experienced again the apprehension it had raised in her—that such sexuality had a power that could not be denied.
“The son of one of my clients plays in a junior soccer league,” she found herself babbling, in an attempt to escape her thoughts, “and I videotape his games. Both parents work in Dallas and find it difficult to get away for the matches.”
Scooping her hair over one shoulder to finger-comb it into order, she continued with some pride, “Watching a tape isn’t as good as being there, but they tell me it’s become a family ritual, with full commentary and instant replays. Apparently the boy thinks he’s living the best of both worlds, getting to sit at his parents’ sides as they watch him play.”
“You can actually make a livin’ doing that? Taping the kid’s games, I mean?” Jeb asked, his expression one of amazement—or skepticism, which called up their inauspicious first meeting, when he’d been so dubious of her ability to help him.
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