Mists of the Serengeti(81)

I thought of Jack’s muddy boots by the back door, the way he took a damp cloth and wiped the dust off his face and the back of his neck before he sat down to eat. I thought of him cleaning the stalls, talking to the horses, starting his day before anyone else arrived on the farm. That was the Jack I knew. That was the solid, unassuming man I’d fallen in love with. And knowing he wasn’t doing it to just make ends meet, that he was doing it because it’s what drove him, what inspired him, what defined him, made me love him even more.

“What do you think?” asked Josie, handing me the mirror to check my makeup.

“I think I want to completely blow Jack Warden’s mind tonight.” I dismissed the mirror and sat up straighter. “Let’s kick this up a notch, girls.”

“Yasss!” they chorused around me. “Now we’re talking!”



I TOOK A deep breath and checked my reflection. Josie, Melody, and Valerie were gone, but there I stood, afraid to blink, in case the dazzling woman staring back at me disappeared. My hair was parted to the side, chestnut locks falling in lustrous waves around my shoulders. I’d gone for a floor-length black dress with a sexy side slit. It looked demure when I stood still, but every time I moved, it exposed a thigh-high flash of my skin. The cut was iconic, with a deep V in the back and a narrow waist. It fit me like a dream, draping over my curves in all the right places. I took a step forward and stopped. I wasn’t used to wearing heels, but I liked the way they made me walk—thrusting my hips and breasts forward, accentuating the roundness of my buttocks.

My eyes appeared bigger and wider—soft gold shadow blended with smudged chocolate brown eyeliner. There was a tingling in the pit of my stomach every time I thought of Jack. It made my cheeks flush and my pupils dilate. My skin glowed with anticipation as I smoothed my dress and turned off the lights.

A date.

A real date.

A real date with Jack.

I waited for the lift, holding my breath. I couldn’t wait for Jack to see me all dressed up. And yet, I was wracked with nerves. There was something else too—a sense of urgency to be with him. Our time together was ticking away too fast. I pressed the button again and waited. And waited.

Screw it.

I slipped my heels off and took the stairs. Each step was inlaid with beautiful coconut wood. I could see the lobby as I spiraled down the staircase, holding my shoes in one hand, and lifting the hem of my dress with the other. As I rounded the final flight, the main floor opened up to me. I slowed down, my eyes searching for Jack.

A few guests were seated in plush chairs around intricately carved wooden coffee tables. One of them saw me, bent his head, and whispered something to his companion. Both heads turned my way. Great. I was obviously overdressed. I cringed as I made my way down. More heads turned.

Damn it. Couldn’t they have put this staircase somewhere else? Anywhere but smack dab in the middle of the lobby? I stood barefoot on the bottom step, wanting to run back upstairs, when the elevator dinged. As the door opened, I caught my breath. It was Jack, but in a dazzling white shirt and a tailored charcoal jacket that accentuated the frame of his shoulders. His pants were molded to the cut of his thighs and he wore . . . the same pair of worn, dusty work boots.

I smiled and met his eyes, but he stood there, dumbstruck. The lift door shut, swallowing him up again. A second later, it opened, and he stepped out.

“That was . . .” He cleared his throat and pointed to the lift. “That was me, so floored by the sight of you, I forgot to get out.” His gaze roved over me again. “You look . . .” He shook his head and tried again. “Wow. You’re spectacular.”

“You look pretty hot yourself,” I replied. His hair was still wild and unruly, but he’d made concessions. He’d trimmed his beard. I could almost make out the outline of his jaw.

He was the kind of handsome that made your heart twist.

“Do I pass?” His eyes sparkled at my unabashed perusal.

“Not sure if the boots go with that fine ensemble, but you’ll do.”

“Hey, at least I wore shoes. My date showed up barefoot.” He crossed the floor and took the heels from my hands. “May I?” He knelt before me and slipped on one shoe, and then the other. My heart took a perilous leap as he brushed his fingers over my ankle before he straightened.

“Ready?” He offered his arm.

I linked my arm through his, and we turned to find every eye in the lobby on us. We’d forgotten there were people around, people who were watching us.

“I feel so overdressed,” I whispered.

“They’re not staring because you’re overdressed. They’re staring because they can’t help it. Because you’re breathtaking. I booked us a table at the restaurant, but now I’m not so sure I want all these people ogling you.” He led me across the lobby to the entrance of the restaurant.

“Deal with it,” I teased over my shoulder, as the ma?tre d’ led us to our table. It was a beautiful dining room—safari-themed, with splashes of crimson and warm wood. Local art adorned the walls. Starched, white cloths covered candlelit tables. “I didn’t spend all that time getting ready, for room service.” I yelped as Jack gave me a sharp, discreet smack on my bum.

“Everything okay?” asked the ma?tre d’. He was an older gentleman, with a thick, groomed mustache and deep lines on his forehead.