Beneath the branches of a cypress tree, a brown pelican rose up from the water and flapped its wings against the lazy bayou, its splashes rippling the calm, still air. Carla stared at the water, feeling like she, too, had just been smacked with pelican wings.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she paused before turning around. Had she heard right? Dinner? With Jackson? Did he mean just the two of them, or did he mean why doesn’t she sit at his table with him in the caf, or did he mean—
Her thoughts were spinning so quickly she didn’t have time to process them. She turned, facing him, not exactly sure what would come out of her mouth.
“I—” She cleared her throat, tried again. Damned if she’d let him hear the tremor in her voice. She pressed her suddenly sweaty palms against the sides of her jeans, covertly trying to blot them dry. “Dinner?”
His eyes narrowed as he studied her. “Yeah.” He nodded. “Dinner.” When she didn’t immediately reply, he added, “You don’t eat it?”
“Yeah. I mean, of course I do.”
“Good. 7:30?”
“Yeah, 7:30 works.”
“Bon. See you then.” He turned and looked out at the water, his behavior as calm as if they’d just discussed the weather. She checked herself. He had asked her out on a date, right? And if that was the case, she had things to consider. Like where they were going, where she should meet him, or — biggest question of all — what she should wear. As she pondered these thoughts she remained standing in front of him, as if bolted to the ground.
He frowned. “Something wrong?”
“No, I…I’m just wondering where I should meet you?”
“At the house. My car is parked in back, but I’ll bring it around. It can get swampy back there.”
“Okay, will do.”
He returned his attention to the bayou and she knew she’d look ludicrous asking more questions. He’d only invited her to dinner, after all. It’s not as if he’d said, “Hey, why don’t you sleep with me tonight?” A ridiculous heat crept into her cheeks at that thought, and she rushed to turn away, walking fast as if she were late for an appointment.
The data room was quiet as a tomb, but she welcomed the privacy. Finishing the big filing project from her first day gave her a chance to think without interruption, something she needed right now. There were so many questions running through her mind, the most prevalent one being why Jackson had asked her to dinner.
She considered several possibilities. Maybe he welcomed all his new interns this way. Or maybe he already had the reservations and whoever he’d originally been going with had to cancel. Perhaps she was just a fill-in. She didn’t love the idea, but supposed she had to think about it. Besides, better that over another scenario popping into her mind, one that planted a ball of nausea in her stomach.
Maybe he felt sorry for her.
She paused in her filing, the very thought making her ill. Could that be it? With all her talk of her over- achieving parents and her super star brothers, had she painted a gigantic “L” for “Loser” on her forehead? Poor, poor Carla. Short, slightly overweight, no good at sports, a junior executive at best who’s even afraid of snakes. Is that how he saw her? She cringed at the thought.
For the next several hours she filed without stopping, taking no breaks, not even a moment for the ladies’ room. She wanted nothing more than to block the anxiety from her mind. Diving into a project had always worked in the past. Until Quinn stuck his head in the door to tell her to knock off for the day, it worked this time, too.
“We’re not running a forced labor camp,” he teased at nearly half past six. “Come on, Carla. You can stop for the day. If anything, you must be hungry.”
That did it. With the reminder of her upcoming dinner looming before her, no way could she could file another piece of paper. Besides, she was hot and sweaty and needed to get ready.
“Thanks, Quinn,” she said as she walked toward the door. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Quinn frowned. “He’s keeping you in here?”
“Well, I’m not really sure, to tell you the truth. He hasn’t said anything.”
“If I know Jackson, he’ll put you somewhere else tomorrow. He does his best to make these assignments meaningful, and being stuck all day in the file room doesn’t exactly qualify.”
Carla grinned. “I’m going to agree with you there.
But he hasn’t said anything to me yet.”
“I’m sure you’ll run into him in the caf. You can ask him then.”
She waved good-night to him as she walked out the door, realizing Quinn had inadvertently answered one of her questions. Apparently Jackson did not have a habit of taking all his interns out to dinner, so that scratched one possibility off her list. It remained to be seen why he’d asked her.
The time neared quarter to seven once she got back to her room. She knew she’d have to kick it into gear to be ready on time. After all, she still had no idea what to wear.
She jumped into the shower and quickly rinsed off, deciding not to bother washing her hair for a second time that day. She’d just put it up into a simple bun. All dried off, she wrapped the towel around herself and opened the closet door. Decision time.
It very likely wasn’t any place ultra-fancy, so she ruled out the cute little black dress she’d brought along. She really didn’t anticipate ever wearing it this month, but didn’t want to be caught unprepared just in case. She had a denim skirt she liked, but would it be too casual? With a sigh of impatience and a glance toward the clock, she thumbed through her options. Silk pantsuit, no. Business suit, no. Her fingers lit upon a red and black cotton skirt she liked. She pulled it out and held it in front of her as she stepped over to the full- length mirror. She sorted through her blouses and spotted a black top. She had a belt that would work with it and complement her waist. This might be it. Only thing is…
She looked at it again. The blouse had a v-shaped neckline that would show some skin. Not a lot, but undeniably there. Hmmm. She thought about it and was surprised to realize how much she wanted to wear it. How she wanted to entice Jackson and have him get a glimpse of her sexy side. So what if she could stand to lose a few pounds? She also had a pretty face, a great smile, and damn it, nice cleavage. That sealed the deal. She set the outfit on the bed. She’d pair it with sandals and call it a day. Or a night, as the case may be.
She returned to the bathroom and glanced once more at the clock. Ten past the hour. She’d better hurry. She wound her hair into a loose bun, swept powder on her face, blush on her cheeks, added mascara to bring out her eyes. Lastly she dabbed a touch of lavender scent behind her ears, on her wrists, between her breasts. She gave herself a critical look and decided she’d do.
Ten minutes later, with a couple of minutes to spare, she was ready. She went downstairs to wait for Jackson, who already stood in the hallway. She took one look at him, and her pulse shot to the moon.
Gone were the sleeveless T-shirt and cargo pants he’d worn earlier in the day, replaced with nice jeans and a long-sleeved white linen shirt that looked striking against his olive skin. He had the sleeves rolled up to the middle of his forearms. There was something outrageously sexy about the casual exposure of that skin, as if not wearing the sleeves as they were meant to be turned him into a bit of a bad boy, the kind of guy parents warned against but to whom women were drawn like moths to flame.
His hair looked darker than usual, and as she drew close to him, Carla realized it was because it was still damp from a recent shower. But what she noticed the most were his gorgeous dark blue eyes unobstructed by glasses.
“Very nice,” he said, low, as she approached.
“Thanks. You look pretty great yourself.” Her gaze swept over his face.
“You’re not wearing glasses.”
“Occasionally I bother to put in contacts.” He held out his arm, directing her toward the front of the house.
“Why don’t you wait on the porch? I’ll pull the car around.”
As she stepped outside, the hot humid air wrapped itself around her like a damp blanket and in only seconds she could feel a trickle of sweat rolling between her breasts. She blew out a breath of air, silently admiring the people who could stand to live in this weather year-round.
Seconds later, Jackson’s car came around the corner. To her surprise, he drove a hybrid SUV, new car smell still lingering inside.
“Nice car,” she said as she climbed aboard.
“Thanks.” He waited until she buckled up and then they were off. “I only got it a couple of months ago. I needed carrying room in the back.”
For one wild second Carla’s heart sank. Why did he refer to needing car seat space? Were there little ones in his life she’d not known about.
As if reading her mind, Jackson continued. “We transport the snakes from time to time, and it’s tough getting the cages into the back seat of a car. So I traded it in for this.”
Her head whipped around to the back seat, heartbeat pounding in her chest. Snakes? Here? Her eyes darted to and fro like a frightened mouse, but she saw no evidence of snakes or cages. “Are there any back there now?” she squeaked. Damn.
Jackson chuckled. “Don’t worry, the coast is clear I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“Thank you.” Carla gave him a grateful smile, ordering herself to enjoy the ride and not jump around like a skittish cat. I wouldn’t do that to you. Words casually said, yet sexy as hell.
She sank back in her seat, letting the conditioned air cool both her skin and her thoughts. “So where are we going?”
He gave her an enigmatic shrug. “You’ll see.”
“I’ll see? When? You’re making me a little nervous here.” At his raised eyebrow she added, “You work with snakes for a living, after all.”
His white teeth flashed in the waning light. “No snakes where we’re going. Just relax. We’ll be there in about half an hour.”
It was clear he’d elaborate no further, so she had no choice but to trust the sexy snake man and enjoy the ride. After cruising along some of the darkest roadways she’d ever been on, Carla finally saw lights in the distance. Not many, but enough to indicate signs of life. As they drew nearer, she realized that the lights belonged to a single restaurant, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, like a lone lighthouse perched atop a cliff. The place was lit up like a Christmas tree with hordes of cars parked haphazardly around the unpaved, gravelly lot.
Jackson navigated the bumpy terrain, looking for a place to park. There appeared to be no designated spaces; people simply left their cars wherever they found room. Once he’d gotten a spot, Carla opened her door to get out and could hear the pulse of music coming from the restaurant. She looked around for a sign indicating the name of the place, but there was none to be had.
“Where are we?” she asked Jackson as he came around the car to join her.
“Les’s Place. Been here for years.”
“Really?” She began climbing the short set of stairs leading to the front door, with Jackson close behind.
“Does that surprise you?
“Well, they don’t appear to do any marketing. At least, I didn’t see this advertised in the ‘Welcome to Louisiana bayou country’ brochure I picked up at the tourist information booth at the airport. And I also didn’t see any website links when I researched this area.”
Jackson kept a straight face, but Carla looked up at him when he opened the door for her, certain she detected amusement in his eyes.
Still, he appeared to take her comments seriously when he said, “No marketing, eh? You think that’s a problem?”
Whatever response she might have given was swallowed up by the boisterous noises greeting them as Jackson opened the door and they stepped inside. The joint was jumpin’. A six-piece band filled the back of the room. The fiddle player, who doubled as lead singer, was a petite blonde with spiky hair. She was accompanied by the accordion, guitar, bass, drums, and something that looked like a washboard. The blonde sang about life on the bayou with infectious energy.
All around the packed room people smiled and clapped, strutting their stuff on the makeshift dance floor in front of the band. Matching the style of the parking lot, wooden tables were scattered throughout the restaurant in no particular order but wherever room allowed. Hungry diners occupied nearly every one of them, downing heaps of jambalaya, étouffée, rice and beans. Carla’s mouth watered.
“C’mon,” Jackson said, “there’s room over there.”
He slid his hand into hers as he led her across the rustic wooden floor toward an empty table. His touch was warm, strong, the grip of a man used to handling powerful snakes. Her knees trembled from the rush of excitement brought on by the feel of him. And suddenly she was seized by a sudden crazy urge to hold his hand forever.