"I wouldn't eat those if I were you," a deep, drawling voice sent shivers down my spine.
"No? Why not?" I turned as I asked the question. A pair of startling blue eyes in a tanned, weathered face smiled back at me. I knew it would be him, though how he'd wormed his way behind me in the buffet line, I had no idea.
"Because, young lady, those beans there" -- he used his plastic fork to point at the baked beans in the chafing dish next to the beef brisket -- "aren't homemade. And you don't sound like you're from around here. I'd hate for you to get the wrong impression about Southern cooking," he explained.
"Really." By now, we were holding up the buffet line at the Rockford Annual Marketing Convention, and people were impatiently waiting for us to continue our conversation elsewhere. I looked down at my meagre plate with a bit of green salad and a biscuit. "What about the beef? Is it safe?"
"Mmhmm, here you go," the blond-haired man ladled a bit onto my plate. "The only way to tell is for me to have lunch with you and act as your advisor on Southern fare," he grinned.
I humphed and lead the way to two seats on the far side of the hall. Somehow, he dropped his own plate on the table and beat me to my chair, pulling it out for me like a real gentleman. Seated, I realized how tall he was -- at least six foot two or so to my five foot one... and a half.
"Bobby Wagner." His large, warm hand enveloped my small one. He stroked my palm a little as he released my fingers, coating me with shivers. I knew his name already, I'd spent half the convention staring at him, and he'd spent the other half carefully staring at me. Of course, we'd done it when neither was supposed to be looking. He was from some hick town in Oklahoma, according to the placard in front of him at the conference table. Not that I'd sneaked a peek when he went to the mens' room during a break, or anything.
"Rachel Moss," I grinned back at him, totally captured by the way he moved and his confidence. I wrinkled my nose. "Exactly what is beef brisket, anyway?"
I'd like to say that I made some startling, witty remarks during lunch, but I didn't. I learned a little about him; he worked for a large marketing firm in Tulsa. His boss had sent him to this convention as a way to get him to take a vacation, though he wasn't supposed to guess that. What Bobby didn't say -- but what was plainly obvious -- was that HE was looking for a little extracurricular activity, if I should be so interested. The intensity of his gaze and his total attention flattered me.
In turn, I told him about my work for a large corporation in Toronto, how I'd never been so far south before and even about my pet rabbit. Looking back, it seems stupid. I have the feeling Bobby wasn't really listening to the words coming out of my lips. Instead, I think he was watching my mouth. Aside from making me totally self-conscious, it was incredibly sexy.
"Want to skip the rest of the afternoon and go find something else to do?" Bobby grinned at me, wickedly voicing my own thoughts. Right then, I was thinking low, dirty thoughts. Thoughts that involved my mouth and his fly. I blushed.
"Absolutely not. They paid for me to be here, I'm supposed to be learning. But thanks for the brisket tips," I sassed. Before he could get up, I cleared out my plate and dashed to the ladies' room. I'd made a getaway this time, but next time he asked -- and there would be a next time -- I didn't want to say no.
***
"So, how do you want to do this?" A voice behind me questioned softly.
I turned slightly, a grin on my face. It was Bobby; I'd known it would be.
"I'm sorry? Do what?" I asked, pretending ignorance to what his blue eyes were blatantly asking. It had been twenty-four full hours, and I'd managed to avoid being caught alone by Bobby since our beef brisket date. Not that I didn't want him to catch me; I just wanted him to have to work at it.
"You know what. This is the last night of the Convention. Do you really want to spend it hanging around here getting drunk with these folks?" Bobby smiled in an amused fashion. He leaned against the wall behind me, his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
"I suppose you have a better idea?" I asked. I turned away from him and scanned the room. I hated to admit it, but he was right. The buffet dinner long since over, the attendees at the Convention were rapidly consuming the contents of the bar and laughing ribaldly at each others' jokes. I had a long flight through Dallas and back to Toronto in the morning. The last thing I wanted to do was get bombed.
"Come on, your room's only up three floors. What do you say?" He leaned in and nuzzled the side of my neck and I tingled a little with pleasure, even as I leaned my head further to the side to give him more access.
"Thank you, but I don't recall inviting you to my room, which, by the way, is on the sixth floor," I said primly. I really did want to go back to my hotel room, but I wasn't planning on making it that easy for him. Part of the fun was the thrill of the chase! I had the feeling this wasn't the only rejection I'd have to give him tonight. "I feel like getting some air. If you'll excuse me..."
He laughed out loud and watched me walk from the room. I could feel his gaze on me, but he didn't move to follow. Damn. I really was going to have to go outside, now.
Surprisingly, I appreciated the fresh air outside the hotel. I hadn't noticed how much the banquet room had begun to smell like stale alcohol and unwashed bodies. I imagine that the natives would have called it cold outside, but to a Canadian like me, it was almost balmy.
Behind me came the jingling of keys.
"Feel like going for a ride?" Bobby had appeared from nowhere, holding up a ring of keys. "Tulsa's close enough to drive over, so my boss wouldn't pay for airfare. My car's right over there... and the hotel has the license plate if you're nervous." For a moment, his eyes were serious, before he showed me to his car. It was a showy little red sportscar. Not exactly what I'd expected.
"I thought rednecks drove pickup trucks?" I slid into the passenger seat with a saucy swing of my jean-clad hips.
"I have one of those, too, but this is better on gas. Hang on!" With that, he tore out of the parking lot and hit the quiet highway. After being cooped up in the hotel for several days, the speed of the little car gave me a daring shot of adrenaline.
"So, when we get back, are we going to your room?" Bobby asked, skilfully maneuvering his way around an old Lincoln.
"No," I smiled. I dropped my hand onto his thigh and left it there as he swung around another car.
