But he was already dragging her to her feet. She barely hung on to her briefcase as she was summarily yanked from the booth, with not one patron of the Fork coming to her aid. No, they were smiling, as if they were extras in Love Story, or something. Before she could so much as protest, she was out the door onto the sidewalk.
‘Now,’ Danny said, making it a point to fill his lungs with air. ‘Isn’t this better?’
‘No,’ she said, even though it was a lie. ‘It’s just windier.’
He tapped her on the nose. ‘Live a little.’
Dee struggled to keep her skirt pulled low and her dudgeon high. How did he do it? She wanted to go with him. She wanted to run down the sidewalk hand in hand like a kid and whoop at the moon. And if anybody knew better, it was Deirdre Dolores Fortune.
‘Mr James…’
‘Danny.’ He took her hand and turned her toward the river. ‘If you want, we’ll walk over to ask your sister why she’d ever want to get married and move to Italy with somebody who sounds like he can’t drive. But on the way, there are still some questions I have.’
‘Lucky me.’
‘It’s painless, I promise,’ he said with that sly grin of his. ‘What’s up there?’ he suddenly asked, pointing toward the orange-tinted trees that crowned the bluffs across the river.
Dee followed his gaze. ‘Salem’s Mountain.’
‘Can you see the sunset from up there?’
‘What’s left of it.’ The clocks had just turned the week before, and it was still a surprise to see the sun up at seven.
‘Let’s go see.’
Dee just blinked at him. ‘Now?’
He laughed and Dee wanted to smile right back. ‘It would be pointless to do it later. C’mon.’
Her heart was stuttering again. Temptation whispered in her ear. Mare could wait. The rest of the world would continue to spin on its axis if she took just a little time and watched the sunset with a handsome man. Before she had a chance to really think about it, she let him pull on her hand, and she followed him down the street.
They only made it as far as the corner when Dee dragged Danny to a stop. She’d just spotted his mode of transportation.
‘That’s a motorcycle,’ she accused.
He straightened, insulted. ‘This is not just a motorcycle. This is a 1956 500 cc Triumph TR6.’
It sat sleek and low and menacing against the curb. And, damn it, bloodred. Xan red.
‘I’m sure it must be very proud. But I’m not going anywhere on it. My sister was almost killed on one of those things.’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Now I know where that guy’s name came from. And why you aren’t interested in letting your sister travel to Italy with him. But no one has ever called me “crash.”‘ He leaned close again. ‘Come on. You know you want to.’
This time the words almost made her groan. He was light. She did want to. He was rubbing his thumb over the palm of her hand and setting up showers of heat all through her. ‘It’s… oh, I can’t do this in a dress.’
And no underwear.
‘Of course you can,’ he said. ‘You probably don’t want to do it with your hair held hostage, though.’
And before she could so much as protest, he managed to pluck out the one bobby pin that anchored every other bobby pin in her hair so that it all came tumbling down, pins flying everywhere.
‘How dare you?’ she demanded, grabbing her hair in an effort to corral it.
It was too late, of course. Her hair exploded into curls.
‘Perfect,’ Danny crowed, ‘This would happen sooner or later on a motorcycle anyway. Come on.’
She wanted to. She wanted to climb aboard that bloodred disaster machine and wrap her arms around his chest as he kicked the thing into action. She wanted to feel the engine in her chest. She wanted to feel the vibration of the bike in places that were dangerous, places she spent most of her time keeping under strict control. Places that would be pressed snug against his jeans. She wanted to just take off and find out where she went when she got there. And that scared her more than anything.
‘Why are you doing this?’ she demanded.
Danny’s smile grew even larger. ‘Pure impulse.’
She shook her head. ‘Pure impulse is what gets people into trouble.’
‘Pure impulse is what gets inventions invented and great thoughts thought.’
‘And young girls pregnant.’
Danny stepped closer, crowding her against the bike, and laid his hands on her shoulders. ‘Haven’t you ever given in to impulse, Deirdre Dolores?’
Dee found herself grinning against her will. ‘As seldom as possible, Danny James.’
‘Well, that’s where we differ. I do nothing that’s not spawned by a walloping dose of whimsy. And my whimsy right now is telling me I need to get up that mountain. With you.’
He was so beautiful, so alive, a shock to her senses. He was magic and freedom, and she was suddenly drunk with him. And she didn’t even know what his secret was. Because he had at least one. She could smell it on him, just like that power he refused to believe he had.
He lifted a finger to trace her lower lip. ‘You really are beautiful,’ he said, his eyes hooded and compelling. ‘I wasn’t lying about that. But especially with your hair down. You should wear it down more often.’
She couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Couldn’t so much as get a breath past the sudden fire in her chest.
‘Now,’ he said, fingering one of her curls like a silk ribbon, ‘I say we find out what my girl can do.’
Dee took a breath of him and lost what sense she had. ‘Which one?’
He dropped a kiss on her nose. ‘The one I named after another special lady.’ He still had hold of her hair, and was using it to draw her closer. ‘But not, I think, as special as you…’
Dee wanted to ask. She thought she did, anyway. But when she looked up into his eyes she lost herself. Blue was the hottest fire, wasn’t it? She simply couldn’t look away from him, from his hot blue eyes. The gathering dusk settled in his hair and sharpened the lines of his face. The scent of power drifted off him, setting up a resonance in her, like a tuning fork. And he was stroking her face, his work roughened fingers trailing sparks. What did a researcher do to get hands like this? What could those hands do to her?
‘Xantippe said you looked like her,’ he murmured, bending closer. ‘She was wrong. You’re so much more beautiful.’
Dee lurched back. ‘Who said I looked like her?’ He blinked, bemused. ‘What?’
But Dee’s eyes were already closed in despair. ‘You named your motorcycle after my aunt, didn’t you?’
By nine o’clock that night, Mare was depressed as all hell. Algy had not shown up for the six-thirty showing, thereby shaking Dreama’s faith in her as Queen of the Universe; William was reaching new depths in moroseness, looking so depressed that she had to keep an eye on him at all times; and Jude repeatedly told her that the New York job was hers for the taking as long as she shaped up and gave up anything that wasn’t ‘normal,’ looking at her as if he expected her to do something in return, like fall into his arms or something. On the positive side, she’d made a noon appointment at Mother’s Tattoos the next day to get the tattoo she’d lied about to Crash so she’d have a new one to show him if he talked her into taking off her clothes before he went back to Italy. But the only really cheerful thing that happened all night was that Pauline from the Greasy Fork stopped in to rent My Dinner with Andre and told her that Lizzie’s incredibly dull boyfriend, Charles Conway, had left for Alaska that afternoon. ‘Why?’ Mare said. ‘Who cares?’ Pauline answered. Since Mare was pretty sure the answer would be ‘Not Lizzie,’ she said, ‘Good point,’ and went back to work.
‘So that man who was here earlier,’ Jude said from behind her. ‘You’re not supposed to entertain friends during working hours. Was he your boyfriend?’
‘Yes… he vas… my boyfriendt!’ Mare said.
Jude looked confused.
‘Young Frankenstein,’ Mare said. ‘Cloris Leachman. It’s a classic.’