A Man of her Own Read online

  Hold your horses! This is a riding lesson. Nothing more.

  Seeming oblivious to the fact her every touch was sweet torture, Sarah moved his foot again. “You want to lower your heels, pointing your toes upward. This will stretch muscles along your calves you probably don’t know exist.”

  To demonstrate her point, she ran her fingers up his blue-jean clad leg.

  Lane gulped. His body refused to listen to his call for composure.

  “You want to press your knee into the saddle, connecting to the leather right here.” She pushed his knee into position, her fingertips lingering on his leg. “Your lower leg will be away from the horse like this.” Sarah moved his leg. “When you want to ask the horse to go faster, you will push your leg into his side like this.”

  Unbidden warmth infused his body from the tip of his jogging shoes upward. Lane fought to concentrate on her words.

  “I didn’t know it was this complicated.” He breathed deeply.

  “You’re dealing with a thousand pound plus animal,” Sarah reminded him. “These techniques have been developed over the centuries to help a rider control the horse and to get the most out of the ride.”

  “You really know a lot about this, don’t you?”

  She shrugged. “Enough.”

  “How did you learn?”

  “A lot from my father. I picked it up by being around him. He’s been dead ten years.”

  Lane noticed a flicker of sadness in her eyes. “You miss him, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” Placing her right hand on Harry’s neck, Sarah looked away. “My mother too.”

  He didn’t know why her admission affected him. Maybe because he still missed his mother. Suddenly Lane felt a strange sense of connection, as if they shared a bond—something more than the lust that seemed to ignite whenever they were together.

  Lifting his gaze to look between the horse’s ears, Lane made a quick decision. “I’m hosting a party Saturday night for ‘Thunder Over Louisville.’ I’d like to invite you to view the fireworks.”

  He caught the surprise in her eyes before she lowered her lashes. “That would be nice. Thank you.”

  “It’s a date then.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  Now he had only himself to blame if his impulsive invitation led to something more than the simple viewing of fireworks.

  CHAPTER SIX

  What was that old saying about the best laid plans? Well, Sarah’s skidded to an abrupt halt. The week after the riding lesson, Lane avoided her like the proverbial plague.

  So she’d struggled to put the intoxication of his heavy-lidded gaze behind her and forget the feel of his hard-muscled legs beneath her fingertips.

  It didn’t work, of course.

  To make matters worse, she was sick to death of making phone calls, opening acceptance cards and placating Aunt Amelia, who was constantly interfering in the preparations for the party. As much as she loved her aunt, Sarah knew the woman could drive a saint crazy. Her respect for the easy-going Mr. Carlisle grew ten-fold.

  Her only hope was the “date” was still on. One afternoon, Lane had passed her in the hall and stopped her. He’d made it perfectly clear she was to dress “appropriately” for his party, because his family would also be there.

  His family? She was to meet his family? Her tummy had lurched at the prospect. But she’d also gotten his real message loud and clear. “Don’t embarrass me. Behave yourself.”

  Didn’t he know she had more finesse than to intentionally embarrass him in front of his family?

  A day and a half later she finally admitted to herself she might have behaved badly in front of Lane on some occasions. Images of his strained look as he gazed at her tank top came quickly to mind. With his family at the party, she understood why he didn’t want her dressed in her barhopping finery.

  Yet the more she thought about their upcoming date, the more she realized how little she knew about her chosen prince. Lane had told her he had a brother and two sisters, but she didn’t know their names or where they lived. In fact, she didn’t know where he lived. She was attracted to the man but knew nothing that mattered about him.

  Her heart turned over at the thought. Sarah wanted to know the man inside—the man behind the haughty façade he presented to the world.

  When Saturday finally arrived, she’d shut herself in the library doing paperwork and fighting a bad case of the jitters.

  “Are you ready?”

  Sarah’s head jerked up. She hadn’t heard Lane come in. “Of course I’m ready.” She shut down her laptop and stood up.

  Her gaze connected with his. Unexpectedly, warmth crept over her, and she couldn’t repress the smile of pure joy that spread across her face. His eyes pinned her for a moment, causing her smile to fade under the onslaught of his unreadable expression.

  Standing at the library door—ramrod straight and shoulders squared—he looked once more like a commanding general. Thankfully he wasn’t wearing that off-putting white chef’s coat. Instead he wore a blue cotton sweater that complimented his eyes, and jeans that looked comfortable and well-worn.

  She’d followed his directions, but she didn’t need to tell him that. He could see she’d dressed in tan khakis and a long-sleeved Oxford cloth shirt. She’d even trapped her hair back from her face with a ribbon. Today she looked about as sexy as a wet dishrag.

  But she hadn’t forgotten the freesia body splash. Even with his family surrounding him, maybe she’d have an opportunity to turn up the reluctant restaurant owner’s hunger one more notch.

  “I’m parked out front,” he said and ushered her outside and into the leather seat of his Porsche Boxster.

  Sarah’s heart was full with the romance and adventure of being in the “to-die-for” sports car and next to the man she wanted. She sat back to enjoy the ride with the top down and wind picking up strands of her hair.

  For a moment during the trip, as Lane navigated the winding country roads and turned onto US 60, she felt all things were possible. But by the time he’d turned onto I-64 and had not spoken one word, her mood changed. What business did she have going after this man? He was totally out of her league, and more importantly he had no desire for all the things in life she wanted.

  Suppressing a sigh, Sarah resolved to make the best of it. Keep a stiff upper lip, as Amelia had counseled when her dad died. She’d do that. She had plenty of experience.

  Lane cast a sidelong glance at Sarah. Silent, sunshine on her face, and one hand straying to her dark hair, she looked the picture of proper refinement. Guilt jolted him, and he returned his gaze to the highway. She followed his instructions to the letter. Dressed “appropriately,” Sarah didn’t resemble the sexy, playful woman who’d initially spiked his interest.

  He’d hurt her feelings by his stuffy request. Lane had known that as soon as the words left his mouth. But what would his family think about her if she were dressed like the temptress at the bar? For an odd reason he wanted them to like Sarah even though she was just his date. He’d invited her because he thought she would enjoy the fireworks. It was as simple as that. Nothing more.

  Fraud. Liar. He’d never before brought a date to one of his family parties, and they’d know something was up.

  ***

  Festivities leading up to the Kentucky Derby started on Saturday two weeks before the race with a huge celebration called “Thunder Over Louisville.” Consisting of a military air show and a gigantic fireworks display, the popular event took place every year along the Ohio River in downtown Louisville. Crowds, often reaching five hundred thousand, packed the shores of Southern Indiana and the Kentucky waterfront. Thunder Over Louisville was by far the most popular event leading up to the famed horse race.

  As they approached downtown, Sarah’s stomach started to churn. She darted a glance toward Lane.

  “I’ve never seen Thunder Over Louisville.”

  “You’re in for a treat then.”

  So much for conversation. So much fo
r her earlier resolve to win Lane’s heart. Would his family approve of her? Did it matter? As far as she knew, Lane didn’t approve of her himself.

  They left the interstate at the Ninth Street exit ramp. Somehow Lane maneuvered his two-seater between police roadblocks and drove toward the river. They ended up in an ally behind a row of rehabbed, nineteenth century brick warehouses.

  Sarah recognized Lane’s restaurant on the first floor of one of the buildings on Main Street. “Are we going to The Racetrack?”

  “Actually I close on Thunder day because of the crowd. Not much business.”

  He pulled into a parking spot marked “private.”

  Before he finished putting up the top, she hopped out and stood staring down the shadowed ally. She didn’t know what to expect. Lane wasn’t very forthcoming. If she and this guy were ever going to connect, she’d have to get used to his silences.

  Lane must have sensed her frustration. Circling behind the car, he stopped beside her and shot her a questioning look. “You okay?”

  She shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

  “I just thought you might be nervous about meeting my family.”

  “Should I be?”

  “No, of course not.”

  Sarah lifted her gaze to his. Why the concern? And why his even quicker denial? He studied her face. Flushing, she refused to back down. They stood for a quiet moment in the darkened ally, appraising each other, both seeming afraid to speak what was in their hearts.

  If anything.

  She made herself look away. Their brief link was broken.

  “Come on, little one.” Lane surprised her by taking her hand.

  They strolled toward the refurbished building. “I need to warn you about my brother.”

  “He’s not going to ravish me, is he?”

  He frowned at her teasing. “Certainly not, but he thinks he’s quite the ladies’ man.”

  “Unlike his big brother?” Sarah couldn’t resist.

  “Unlike his big brother,” he agreed.

  Lane unlocked the back door and ushered Sarah inside the old brick building. “This building is over one hundred years old.”

  “Do you live here?”

  “Yes. I bought the building from Henry. The restaurant kitchen is in there.” He indicated a back door to The Racetrack, but continued walking down a hall to what looked like a service elevator. He punched in numbers on a security keypad and the door opened.

  They stepped inside, and the elevator grumbled up seven floors. When the door opened again, Sarah entered a vast, airy space that seemed to be all windows.

  “It’s a loft!”

  Sunshine streamed through north and east walls of windows. Drawn to them, Sarah left Lane’s side. The Ohio River stretched out below and the city skyline was so close that she felt as if she could reach out and touch it.

  Sarah whirled around to smile at him. “What a wonderful view. I see why it’s a great place to watch Thunder.”

  “I feel as if I live in a much larger city living here.”

  “And it’s so close to your restaurant. How perfect!”

  “Yes, perfect,” he said with a solemn look.

  She saw the slight twitch of his jaw and the darkening of his eyes. He stared at her as if he couldn’t get enough, his hands dangling loosely by his sides. Sarah’s heart did a slow roll. He could sweep her away with that look.

  Abruptly, Lane spun on his heel. “I need to pop a few dishes into the oven.”

  “Can I help?”

  “No, make yourself at home.”

  Lane’s kitchen was snuggled into the end of the long warehouse-like room, separated by an extended peninsula that acted as a breakfast bar. The custom-made cabinets were scarlet, so bright and cheerful they took her breath away. The black work surfaces and appliances gave the kitchen a masculine feel. Everything was expensive but practical, just what she expected from a man with Lane’s wealth and love of culinary excellence.

  For a moment, she watched him pull dishes from the refrigerator and busy himself with last minute preparation. He ignored her. So what else was new?

  Sarah sighed and turned from the kitchen area. She wandered the spacious loft, curiosity getting the best of her.

  The rest of Lane’s living area didn’t have the same pizzazz as his kitchen. Two cozy corduroy sofas, placed in an “L” shape, formed the cornerstones of the central gathering spot in the middle of the room. These sofas were taupe, low key but elegant. Magazines littered a square glass coffee table. Bon Appétit. Wine Spectator. It figured.

  The walls of his condo were brick. Undecorated. As understated as the man himself. Sarah pivoted once more to gaze out the bank of windows, realizing that with the spectacular view, he needed no expensive bric-a-brac to beautify his home.

  A buffet table was set up on the wall near the elevator. It was already stacked with paper plates and plastic silverware. How typical of Lane to be so well prepared and so practical. No dishes to wash. That was a good thing.

  “Back so soon?”

  Sarah spun around to see a disheveled young man dressed in a white T-shirt and sweat pants coming down a spiral staircase. He was a smaller version of Lane. Younger, thinner and fairer, he had none of his brother’s brooding good looks.

  “You’re not Lane. I thought I heard him come in.”

  “You did.” She extended her hand. “Hello, I’m Sarah Colby.”

  “Aaron Williams.”

  They shook hands, each eyeing each other cautiously.

  “You must be Lane’s brother.”

  “You must be his new girl.”

  Heat flushed Sarah’s face. She didn’t know how to respond.

  “Miss Colby and I are colleagues,” Lane answered for her. He set a covered dish on the buffet table.

  Colleagues. Okay, those were the rules. She’d be a team player.

  Standing straighter, Sarah smiled at Lane’s brother. “We’re planning my aunt’s Derby Eve charity party.”

  “I thought Sarah would enjoy seeing the fireworks,” Lane added quickly.

  “Right.” Aaron’s gaze darted between them. In a loud aside to Sarah that was intended for his brother’s ears, he said, “You’re the first girl Lane has ever brought to one of these family functions.”

  Her questioning gaze shot toward Lane.

  “So since you’re only colleagues, you might want to come with me to the Derby. I’ve got two box seats and need a date.”

  Warning bells rang. Aaron was baiting his brother. Sarah had no need to play along. Making Lane jealous was one thing, but using his brother to do it was another.

  “I’ve never been to the Derby,” she replied with caution.

  “Never?” Aaron sidled up to her with a wide grin. “To be honest, I haven’t either. Big brother never allowed me to go to the Infield. Said I could get into too much trouble.”

  Lane looked around from the buffet. “Thankfully, you’re no longer my responsibility, ‘little’ brother. You can now do whatever you please.”

  Aaron winked, trying to draw Sarah into the sport. “So you don’t mind if I take Miss Colby to the Derby?”

  “That’s up to Miss Colby, but I venture to guess she may be too tired after her Aunt’s charity event to go to the Derby with a college kid.”

  Sarah hid her smile. She was a “green kid” and fresh out of graduate school, wasn’t she? Maybe she was a few years older than Lane’s brother, but she certainly wasn’t “old” by any standards.

  Aaron winked again at Sarah. “You’re protesting too much, big brother.”

  Lane opened his mouth, but the doorbell buzzed, interrupting whatever he was going to say. Walking to the elevator, Lane called over his shoulder, “Get your clothes on, kid.”

  Aaron saluted and scooted up the spiral staircase. Soon the elevator grumbled to a halt and the door sprang open, releasing a bundle of blonde energy who threw herself on Lane’s leg.

  “Uncle Lane!”

  “Hi, pumpkin.” He ruf
fled the child’s hair.

  “Did you cook me something?”

  Lane lifted the girl into his arms. “Sure did.” She hugged his neck.

  “Anne Louise, I told you not to pester your uncle.” The girl’s mother stepped out of the elevator, hastily followed by her overburdened husband, who carried a covered dish and a couple of duffle bags.

  Lane didn’t wait long for introductions after seeing his sister’s gaze settle on Sarah. “Carol and Raymond Jeffers, this is Sarah Colby. And this lovely lady is Anne Louise,” he said to Sarah.

  “How do you do?” Carol raised an eyebrow. Apparently she also thought it strange to find a woman with her brother.

  Sarah shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Raymond nodded in Sarah’s direction. “Lane, you don’t mind if this old pack mule gets rid of his load, do you?”

  “My room.” Lane inclined his head. “You’ll find Aaron upstairs dressing.”

  “Thanks. My arms are killing me. Your sister has a habit of dragging everything with her whenever we go someplace. Besides, I’ve walked seven blocks from where we found a place to park.”

  “Men are such wimps.” Carol grinned and cast Sarah a meaningful look. “Come on, pack mule, I’ll help you unload.” She lifted the covered dish from her husband’s hands and went toward the kitchen with it.

  Little Anne Louise, still snug in her uncle’s arms, put her hands on his cheeks and forced him to look at her.

  “Show me,” she begged.

  “Okay, pumpkin. But you have to guess what I made this time.”

  “A horse?”

  “No” Lane started toward the kitchen area. “Guess again.”

  “A cat?”

  Sarah’s heart swelled. Lane was good with kids. This further confirmed his role as a potential Prince Charming.

  Left alone, she drifted to the windows and gazed at the river, the railroad bridge crossing it, and the busy interstate highway running parallel to it.

  Maybe she should try Anne Louise’s tactic. The little girl had gotten Lane’s attention simply by forcing him to look at her. That seemed a better way than wearing skimpy tank tops and tight jeans.