First Date - [Bridesmaid's Chronicles 01] Page 10

  Alex cocked his head and reached out for a strand of her hair. She sat very still, her gaze flying to his, as he let the strand slide through his fingers and a tingle ran down her scalp.

  "The beer's the exact shade as your hair," he said. "A deep red mahogany."

  She lowered her gaze. "My hair used to be carrot-colored. I got it from my grandmothermy ma's ma."

  "The same one who had Alzheimer's?" Alex asked.

  "Yes. I hope I didn't inherit that particular gene."

  Alex tipped half the contents of his glass down his throat in one convulsive gulp.

  Struck a nerve, had she?

  Alex changed the subject before she could pursue it, and they talked about what it was like to grow up in Texas, land of football, beef and oil. It occurred to her that this was an excellent time to find out more about Roman and see if she could dig up any dirt. How many beers would it take for Alex to get careless about what he said?

  "So did you and Roman play football?"

  "Of course. He played strong safety and I played defensive end. Another friend of. ours, J.B., was the quarterback. He was the only one of us to go on and play college ball."

  "You guys must have dated all the cheerleaders."

  His eyes crinkled at the corners, and she noted that they looked lighter today, almost the shade of good brandy. "We went out with our share," Alex agreed. "There was the pep squad, too, of course."

  "Of course." She smiled at him blandly and had another sip of beer. Now they were getting somewhere.

  "But Rome had a pretty serious girlfriend," Alex said, disappointing her.

  "What happened?"

  He shrugged. "I don't knowit just fizzled out, like a lot of high school relationships. He and Melissa didn't have enough in common to keep it going. He wanted to leave town, go to college, see something of the world. She wanted to get married right out of high school and settle down. How many guys are ready to get married at eighteen?"

  "Is that what your girlfriend wanted?"

  Alex snorted. "Hardly. I was dating Roman's sister Kiki at the time, and she is hell on heels."

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "Kiki is something else. Let's just say she's a little high maintenance and leave it at that."

  "Does she still live in Fredericksburg?"

  Alex laughed out loud. "Uh, no. Kiki lives in Manhattan. She's not cut out to be a small-town girl."

  Oh, right. Julia had mentioned something about Roman's parents visiting her in New York.

  "And," Alex said mock seriously, "you should never, ever forget that she was runner-up to Miss America in 1995."

  Alex had dated a Miss America contestant. Oh, fabulous. Why is he sitting here with me ? Sydney inhaled a large gulp of beer. "So what does Kiki do?"

  "Kiki's an actress."

  "Broadway?"

  "Nope. Soaps, commercials, that kind of thing. What is this, Twenty Questions?"

  "Sorry," said Sydney sheepishly. "I'm just curious." Then, unable to resist, "So Kiki broke your heart in high school, huh?"

  Alex settled back on his stool and ran his tongue over his teeth before his mouth settled into something half grin, half grimace. "Not exactly. Kiki fixed my little red wagon in high school, is what Keek did." Finally he laughed.

  "Oh, come on. Share the joke," Sydney prompted.

  Alex grabbed a few peanuts and tossed one into his mouth. "Kiki and I didn't always see things quite the same way, and we broke up every other day. On one of those occasions I decided that the breakup was final. She didn't agree, but I wasn't in a negotiating kind of mood. So Kiki got madand Keek mad is a dangerous thing. She spread it throughout the whole school that she was finished with me because I was such a dud in the sack."

  Sydney pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.

  Alex shot her a slant-eyed look. "Which is not true, and I still have her claw marks in my back to prove it."

  Claw marks ? Sydney blinked.

  He cleared his throat. "Don't think she's evil: I probably deserved her payback. I was pretty impressed with myself back then."

  She nodded, raised her beer to her mouth again, and decided it was time for a subject change. "Uh, this is good."

  "You sound surprised." Alex leaned back in his chair and eyed her lazily. "I don't get the feeling you expect too much from Texas."

  She cleared her throat. "Well, there are a lot of stereotypes."

  "What did you expect to find, the Wild West or Southfork?"

  "I wasn't sure."

  "Did you think we were all backward and chewed on straws?"

  "No, of course not."

  "But you didn't expect to find emus and wine, high-tech companies and gourmet products."

  "No. I thought more along the lines of big hair, cows, Cadillacs and rodeos."

  "Well, I can show you all of those things and you'd have a ball. But there's a lot of diversity here. The universities bring in plenty of interesting people, and born-and-bred Texans are fascinating in themselves.

  Don't ever make the mistake of underestimating them." Alex tipped back some more beer.

  Excellent. Keep on drinking, buddy. I need some dirt on your friend Roman . Sydney wondered how she could steer the conversation back to him without being too obvious. She wanted to know more about this mysterious Melissa person, the high school girlfriend. Maybe she still lived around here. Maybe if she found out her last name, she could track her down. And maybe Melissa could provide information that would stop Julia from rushing into marriage with her ex-boyfriend.

  "Let me get another round," Sydney said, signaling the bartender. "You're basically down to backwash, there."

  Alex's mouth quirked. "I'll gladly have another beer, but I won't allow you to pay for it."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I'm old-fashioned."

  "You're too stiff-necked to let a woman pay for your drink?"

  Alex sighed. "Yeah. Just like you're too stiff-necked to accept either a compliment or a lousy couple of beers."

  Sydney blinked.

  "Besides," he continued, "it would bankrupt you to buy enough beer that I'd spill all about Rome's past. So don't bother." He grinned at her as her mouth fell open.

  "I wasn't trying to do any such thing."

  "You've got that righteous tone down pat, don't you, Jersey?"

  "You know, I really wish you'd stop calling me that. I don't wear tight camel-toe jeans or have mall bangs."

  "You trying to tell me that my conceptions of Jersey are as dated as yours about Texas?"

  She nodded. "So how is beer made, exactly?" She gestured toward the huge metal tanks behind the bar.

  "Well, it's a complex process, but basically a brewer combines barley, water, hops and yeast." He raised a brow. "Since your sister is marrying into the Sonntag family, I would think you'd be more interested in the winemaking process."

  Sydney thought of Roman again and grimaced. She'd get some dirt on Mr. Professionally Nice if it killed her.

  "Still being snotty about Roman, I see. Or are you being snotty about the idea of Texas wine? You seemed to like it enough the other day. Either way, you're making a mistake. Roman's a good guy"

  "Don't you think you're a little biased, being his best friend?"

  "and Texas wines are competing now with Californian and Australian wines in national tastings."

  Yeah, yeaha blue ribbon to the Beaujolais Rodeo and the Cabernet Saddle-On. She didn't know jack about wine, but again, she was convinced Alex was biased. What else was he going to say? He wasn't going to walk around commenting that his friend was making grape piss. She couldn't help ita small snort escaped her.

  "Is that considered ladylike in Jersey?" asked Alex. "Because you sound just like a mare with a horsefly up her nose."

  Sydney's mouth dropped open and she actually raised a hand to push him, or maybe smack him she wasn't sure which. But before she could follow through Alex caught it in his own, along with the other, and her breath hitched in
her throat. His broad palms covered her knuckles, folded them gently down, and his fingers held her in calm but powerful captivity.

  His expression was amused, but as they looked into each other's eyes and the moment of tension lengthened, his irises deepened from caramel to chocolate. His eyes were teardrop shaped, the outside corners tilting down slightly. Dark lashes framed them, added power and masculinity.

  Sydney found herself looking at his mouth next at lips that curved seductively, the line of them forming a sensual, sideways, scripted "E." E for edible? E for easy? E for erotic?

  Alex's mouth came closer. Oh, my God. He's going to kiss me. Why would he do that? Why

  Her thoughts stopped, replaced by sensation as his lips touched her own. He brushed her mouth softly in exploration, then angled his head and returned for more contact. Her lips were still apart with the surprise of it, and he dipped between them to enter her mouth.

  Sydney had never really cared for kissing before now. It had always been an awkward affair of rubbery, fleshy lips and excess saliva and alien tongues, never making much sense to her.

  She'd obviously never kissed someone like Alex. And it dawned on her what she'd been missing: a slow introduction to sensuous languor that overrode the quickening of her pulse, the sharp surge of sexual electricity, the desire to consume and be consumed.

  She could kiss Alex for hours. His mouth stroked her, excited her and soothed her all at once. He slipped into her mouth and melted something at her core.

  He smelled of sandalwood and sunshine, Ivory soap and dark, sweet beer. He tasted unique. He was tender and rough at the same time: As the kiss deepened, she could feel that five o'clock shadow of his scrubbing at her skin like steel wool. It only heightened the sensations plucking at her nerves.

  Sydney realized with strange clarity that Alex was the first man she'd ever kissed; he relegated the rest to boys. She understood at last what that overblown, vaguely ridiculous term "passion" meant: the completely primal response of a woman to a man.

  Unfortunately, with all this clarity came fear. I'm

  kissing Alex Kimball, whom I've known for a day and a half. I'm kissing him like a desperate, drowning leech of some kind. He'll have to have me surgically removed from his face. What am I doing?

  Sydney jerked away from him, blinked in utter confusion and panic, and slid off her barstool.

  "Why did you do that?" she blurted.

  Alex gazed at her, the picture of calm. "Because I wanted to. Very much."

  She swallowed and reached for her handbag.

  "Should I apologize, Sydney?"

  Her eyes flew to his. "I" She twisted the ring on her index finger, a nervous habit. "I don't know. But I have to go. Thanks for the beer." She turned quickly and walked out, under Alex's perplexed gaze.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sydney hurried along Main Street with her head down. What had just happened back there? They'd gone from verbal sparring to annoyance to a playful kiss on Alex's partand she'd reacted like a match to a lighter. How mortifying. He must be able to see that she hadn't even been on a date, much less in someone's bed, for over a year.

  Maybe it was time to get a battery-operated boyfriend so she didn't embarrass herself in front of human candidates. God, she'd stuck to the man like a kid's lollipop to a car seat. And he'd just been messing around!

  She had a buzz from the two pints of beer and her face smarted from beard stubble. The man had more prickles than a cactus.

  She passed the wide glass door of the beauty salon where she'd first seen Alex's mother, and a familiar face peered out from under a dark slather of evil-looking slime. Thelma Lynn Grafton's orange eyebrows furrowed and her mouth pursed like an overripe prune. She looked Sydney up and down, making her feel more uncomfortable than Marcella ever had. In fact, Marcella seemed positively friendly compared to this lady.

  But the thought occurred to Sydney that Thelma Lynn Grafton, high priestess of Fredericksburg gossip, could be extremely helpful to her on her mission to uncover dirt on Roman Sonntag. So although she didn't feel like it at all, she forced herself to stop, turn and double back to the salon. She needed a distraction from thoughts of Alex, anyway.

  She opened the door, smiled at Thelma Lynn and her gruesome slimy head, and said hello. Whew, whatever is in that orange hair dye smells like Eau de Landfill .

  Mrs. Grafton stared at her for another long moment, nodded, widened her prune enough to crack a polite smile and then pretended to go back to her magazine while Sydney explained to the receptionist that she was visiting from out of town and wondered if she could get a menu of their services.

  It was the same receptionist who had been there the other day, the Holstein with highlights. "Menu?" She looked blank and chewed her bubblegum like cud.

  "Yes, like a price list."

  "I'm sorry, ma'am, we don't have one of those. But I can tell you what we charge. Are you wantin'

  a haircut? Color? Highlights?" Her world-weary blue gaze and head-to-toe scan implied that Sydney needed all three, plus a new wardrobe and perhaps cosmetic surgery.

  Sydney didn't really want anything, but she wanted to talk to Thelma Lynn. She noted that the two manicure tables were close to where the woman was sitting, and thought quickly of her ragged cuticles and scruffy nails. "How about a manicure?"

  "That'd be twelve dollars, unless you're wanting a full set of tips.".

  "No, no, just a manicure, thanks."

  "We have an appointment right now, if you wantLindy can take you."

  "Perfect." Now all she had to do was put Alex completely out of her mind and come up with some way to engage Thelma Lynn in conversation.

  Sydney sat down across from Lindy, who was an obvious sweetheart. In her late forties, Lindy had soft dark hair, a wide, hot-pink smile and gentle, competent hands.

  They chatted for a few minutes, especially about Syd's Northern accent, which meant explaining she was in town to visit her sister.

  "The little blond gal that's gotten herself engaged to the Sonntag boy?" To Sydney's relief, Thelma Lynn joined the conversation without any prompting.

  "Yes, that's my sister Julia." Sydney nodded and smiled. "I'm Sydney."

  "I'm Thelma Lynn Grafton, and you tell Roman I'm expecting a wedding invitation."

  Sydney blinked. Well, all righty then . "I'll do that."

  "You and Julia sure don't look anything alike, now do you?"

  Lindy raised a brow and looked up at Thelma Lynn from across the manicure table. Syd tried not to let the familiar comment hurt. God knew she was used to it by now.

  "Uh, no. No, we don't. Julia looks a lot like my mother's sister, and they tell me I look like our great-grandmother on our father's side. She was French-Irish."

  "And your other people?"

  My people? I don't currently own any, thank you . "We're mostly Italian on our father's side, and"

  Thelma Lynn nodded, and a speck of her evil head-slime splatted onto her salon robe. "That would explain 'Spinelli.' " She pronounced their last name as if it were a foreign and particularly distasteful vegetable.

  "Scotch-English on our mother's side," finished Sydney.

  "Roman's German," said Thelma Lynn, "like all the original founders of Fredericksburg." She ruminated for a moment, as if contemplating the fact that a combination of French-Irish, Italian, Scotch-English and German would make for a real nice Eurotrash baby.

  But Sydney had her right on the very topic she wanted her on: Roman.

  "So Roman's family has been here for a long time?" she asked.

  "Hon, Roman's family practically founded the town. Old Ercel came over from Frankfurt with a bunch of laborers and the work ethic of ten men. He saw, he drilled, he conquered. Oil, that is." Thelma Lynn rubbed her nose with a scrawny, orange-tipped hand. "The Sonntags were rolling in bucks until recently, when the wells started to go dry."

  Oh, really ? Here was an interesting bit of information. The Sonntags were having money problems? And now Roman had
suddenly picked the daughter of a motel magnate as his bride.

  "When did the wells stop producing?" Sydney asked.

  "From what I hear, it's been mostly in the last year or so. It was all hush-hush, but a few months back they sold some of Olga's fine antiques at one of them big auction houses. Now they're putting what they have left into this winemaking business. Sounds crazy to me, but you never know."

  Lindy pushed back Sydney's cuticles with a strange tool and then began to buff her nails. "I got a bottle of their Chablis as a gift, and it was delicious," she said. "I don't know much about wine, but I know what tastes good." She brushed oil from a tiny bottle onto Sydney's cuticles, and told her to go to the sink and wash her hands. "Then pick your color, sweetie."

  Syd didn't feel very sweet at all as she thought about the fact that it took lots of money to launch a new business like a winerymoney that the Sonntags didn't have, but Marv did. Was Julia Roman's collateral for a nice business loan?

  The more Sydney thought about it, the more she was convinced: the linen pants and expensive shirt; the highbrow interest in wine and the tiny cell phone on which he was speaking to someone in Italyforget the tool belt, this Roman guy had champagne tastes and needed an infusion of cash to support them. It didn't hurt that Julia was adorable and sexy and cheerful.

  But how to confirm all of this and warn her sister before Roman hooked her? She needed to be able to show her proof. Suddenly Sydney thought of that honker of a diamond engagement ring, and how flawless and white it was for an antique. She thought of Thelma Lynn's words about the auction house. A horrid possibility occurred to her. What if what if the stone wasn't real? She was almost ashamed of herself for wondering, but once the thought popped into her head, she couldn't banish it. How could she get the ring off her sister's hand in order to find out?

  "What's gotten into you, Loverboy?" demanded Sam, Alex's favorite bartender at the Biergarten. "I haven't seen you kiss anyone like that since Spin the