Follow My Lead (Stepping Up 2)

“So did I,” she admitted with a smile.

“So you took his call but not mine?”

“He didn’t call,” she said, stabbing an egg with her fork. “Icalled him.”

“But you wouldn’t talk to me?”

“No,” she said. “I wouldn’t talk to you.”

“I would have gladly let you call me a jerk to have the chanceto explain what had happened.”

And she would have let him explain, and would have forgivenhim. Like she was now. The conversation continued, and more and more she laughedand relaxed. When finally their plates were gone, she had changed her tune aboutBlake, about where this was—or was not—going. They had one night and then she’dbe flying from city to city, absorbed in filming the reality show. It wasn’t asif this attraction could become anything more serious. There were really onlytwo ways this flight could end: Darla in her room alone, or Darla in her roomwith Blake.

Tomorrow would be the same no matter what—they would behundreds of miles apart. She wanted him. She wanted him like no other that shecould ever remember. And she wasn’t letting anything—including too manymimosas—get in her way. He might be a mirage, the wrong man once again hiddenbeneath hot, sexy perfection. But tonight, she decided right then and there, shewas going to make him hers.

4

NEAR SEVEN IN THE EVENING, Blake and Darla stood in front of the arrivals terminal, waiting for their car, battling the chilly gusting Denver wind.

Blake inhaled the delicate floral scent of Darla’s perfume, the feminine sweetness like whiskey warming his limbs. He rarely noticed a woman’s perfume. But then, Darla wasn’t just any other woman. He wasn’t sure of the exact moment, sometime after she’d traded in her mimosas for coffee and before the bumpy landing, when she’d desperately clung to her seat and then momentarily to him, he’d realized she had, and still was, effortlessly seducing him.

“I can’t believe I forgot it would be this cold already,” Darla said, fighting an obvious shiver. “And I darn sure can’t believe there isn’t a cab to be found. This is an international airport. It’s just strange.”

“Mountain country gets cold at night by most standards, even during the summer. Will you be seeing your parents on this trip?”

“I wish,” she added. “But they’re tied up with the ranch and hours away. We’re here and gone so fast I won’t have the time.” She motioned to a line of cabs rounding the corner.

“Looks like someone opened the flood gates,” he commented.

A four-door black sedan pulled up at the curb in front of them and the driver quickly exited and spoke over the roof. “So sorry, Ms. James and Mr. Nelson. There’s a traffic accident on the highway leading into the airport.” He popped the trunk. “I’ll put your bags in the back.”

Blake reached for Darla’s large suitcase—large as in the size of Texas. “You better let me get that for you.” He rolled it to the rear of the vehicle and hefted it into the compartment. “Good gosh, woman. This thing weighs a ton. You might want to rethink such a huge bag for so much travel. Next time I won’t be here.”

She scoffed. “Only a man would suggest such a thing. I’m going to thirty cities and a girl needs good shoes to be on television.” She grimaced. “There’s a way to bring up bad memories.”

Somehow, he was going to live down the past. “One of many reasons I’m glad I’m a man. Shoe choices are simple.” He opened the back door for her and waved her in. “Ladies first.”

She slid inside and Blake joined her. Again in close quarters with Darla, his blood thrummed with anticipation. Darla definitely gave him another reason to be happy he was a man right now.

“Might as well get comfortable, folks,” the driver suggested. “We’re a good forty-five minutes from downtown.”

“Yikes,” Darla said, glancing at her watch. “I was supposed to meet my producer for drinks at 8:30 p.m.”

“Meagan Kellar?” Blake asked, confirming they were both talking about the show’s creator, and whose husband was the studio’s head of security.

“Yes,” she said. “You, too?”

He nodded. “I doubt it will matter if we’re late. It’s probably a large group.”

“Still,” Darla said, clearly concerned, “maybe I should call her.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” the driver said. “But I did send a text message to Ms. Kellar when I arrived at the airport, per her request.”

“Oh, excellent,” Darla said. “Thank you so much.”

Blake found her quick, polite response sincere and refreshing. She was like a cool drink of water in the midst of what had become the murky water of people with agendas, whether they be work-related or personal. He wasn’t sure most people separated the two. Darla was who Darla was, untouched by success, free of airs and a big ego, and thankfully without fake niceties.

“You know,” he said, “I’m glad you got mad at me when you first saw me in the airport.”