It Had to Be You (Chicago Stars #1)(42)

She smiled, then tried to say something sexy and flippant only to discover that she couldn’t think of a thing. In her mind the springs on the brass bed had begun to creak, only this time she was lying on it instead of young Elizabeth. She was the one in the lacy slip with the strap falling off her shoulder. She imagined herself watching him as he stood beneath the paddle wheel fan with his shirt unbuttoned.

“Damn.” The curse was soft, hoarsely uttered, not part of the dream but slipping through the lips of the real man.

As he gazed into her eyes, her body felt as if it were shedding years of musty cobwebs to become moist and dewy. The sensation was so strange, she wanted to run from it, but at the same time, she wanted to stay here forever. She was overwhelmed by the temptation to lean forward and touch his lips with her own. And why not? He thought she was a champion man-killer. He didn’t have any way of knowing how out of character such a gesture from her would be. Just this once, why didn’t she take a chance?

“There you are, Phoebe.”

Both their heads snapped around as Ron emerged through a break in the hedges. She took a quick, unsteady breath.

Since Ron had been rehired, he and Dan had kept their distance, and so far there had been no explosions. She hoped that wasn’t about to change.

Ron nodded at Dan, then spoke to Phoebe. “I’m going to head home soon. The cleanup will be taken care of.”

Dan glanced at his watch and stood. “I’ve got to go, too. Did Paul show up with those films for me yet?”

“I haven’t seen him.”

“Damn. He’s got videotape I wanted to take a look at before I went to bed.”

Ron smiled at Phoebe. “Dan’s notorious for surviving on four hours of sleep a night. He’s a real workhorse.”

Phoebe’s encounter with Dan had shaken her because she felt as if she’d exposed too much of herself. Standing, she ran her fingers through her hair. “It’s nice to know I’m getting my money’s worth.”

“Do you want me to have him bring the tape over to your house as soon as he gets here?” Ron asked.

“No. Don’t bother. But tell him to have it on my desk by seven tomorrow morning. I want to take a look at it before I meet with my staff.” He turned to Phoebe. “I need to make a call. Is there a phone inside I can use?”

His manner was so businesslike that she wondered if she had imagined the crazy, charged moment that had passed between them such a short time ago. She didn’t want him to know how he had unsettled her, so she spoke flippantly. “Don’t you have one in that beat-up heap you drive?”

“There are two places I don’t believe in keeping phones. One’s my car, and the other’s my bedroom.”

He’d won that round, and she tried to recover with a lazy gesture toward a door on the far side of the house. “The one in the family room is the nearest.”

“Thanks, baby cakes.”

As he walked away, Ron frowned at her. “You shouldn’t let him address you so disrespectfully. A team owner—”

“Exactly how am I supposed to make him stop?” she retorted, turning her frustration onto Ron. “And I don’t want to hear about what Al Davis would do or Eddie De—whatever.”

“Edward DeBartolo, Jr.,” he said patiently. “The owner of the San Francisco 49ers.”

“Isn’t he the one who gives his players and their wives all those lavish presents?”

“He’s the one. Trips to Hawaii. Big, juicy Nieman Marcus gift certificates.”

“I hate his guts.”

He patted her arm. “It’ll all work out, Phoebe. See you in the morning.”

As he left her alone, she stared toward the house in the direction Dan had disappeared. Of all the men who had passed through her life, why did it have to be this one who attracted her? How ironic that she found herself so profoundly drawn to what she feared the most: a physically powerful man in superb condition. A man, she reminded herself, made all the more dangerous by his sharp mind and quirky sense of humor.

If only he hadn’t left so soon. Ever since she had arrived in Chicago, she had felt as if she had been transported to an exotic land where she didn’t know the language or understand the customs, and her encounter with him tonight had only intensified the sensation. She was confused but also filled with a strange sense of anticipation, a sense that—if only he’d stayed—something magical might have happened.



Molly drew up her knees and tucked them under her long blue cotton nightgown. She sat curled in the window seat of the cavernous family room looking out through the glass at what she could see of the party. Peg, the housekeeper, had sent her to bed an hour ago, but the noise had kept her from sleeping. She was also worried about Wednesday, when she would start public high school and all the kids would hate her.

Something cold and wet brushed against her bare leg. “Hello, Pooh.” As Molly reached down to stroke the dog’s soft topknot, Pooh reared up and placed her front paws on the teenager’s thigh.

Molly lifted the dog into her lap and bent her head to croon soft baby talk to her. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you, Pooh. A good, sweet doggy girl. Do you love Molly? Molly loves you, doggy girl.”

Dark strands of her hair mingled with Pooh’s white fur. As Molly laid her cheek on the powder-puff softness of her topknot, Pooh licked her chin. It had been a long time since anyone had kissed her, and she kept her face where it was so Pooh could do it again.