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away from him and jammed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, praying that she hadn’t noticed his growing arousal. Dammit! Somehow he mustered up a grin and managed to meet her eye. “You’re gonna knock his socks off, Kirk. Trust me on that one.”
    She brought her gaze to the mirror, but quickly looked away. “I still can’t wear this on Saturday,” she told him, regret in her voice.
    “No.” McCade crossed his arms again. “You’re being negative. Start thinking positively—”
    “It would be different if I had a date. But the thought of walking into that room, dressed like this, all by myself…” She made a face. “Eeek, you know? I wouldn’t know what to do with my hands.” She snuck another look back into the mirror. “Or, God, my legs.”
    “I’ll be your date.”
    “In your leather jacket and jeans? It might work in L.A., McCade, but this is
Phoenix.
”
    “No, really.” The more McCade thought about it, the more he liked the idea. He’d take her to this stuffed-shirt shindig. It would give him a chance to dance with her, hold her in his arms. “If you show up with a date, that’ll make you even more appealing to old James. You know how it is, everybody always wants to play with the other kid’s toys.”
    “Well, jeez, McCade, how can I resist when you put it like
that,
” she said sarcastically as she sat down on the edge of her bed.
    “You know what I mean.”
    She looked up at him, tapping her foot. “You’ll have to shave.”
    “No problem.”
    “And get your hair cut.”
    McCade raked his fingers through his hair. “I like my hair this way. Long hair is in style—”
    “Not among the country-club set in Phoenix, it’s not.” She looked down at her fingernails, pretending to examine a chip in her nail polish.
    He watched her for several long moments. He wanted to go. He really wanted to go. Maybe James Vandenberg was seeing someone else. Maybe he didn’t like blondes. Maybe if Vandenberg was out of the picture…
    “All right,” he said. “For you, I’ll get my hair cut.”
    Sandy stood up, grinning. “And I get to pick out your clothes, the same way you picked out these for me.”
    “Fine, but I really don’t think you’re going to have much of a choice,” he told her. “The dinner dance is black tie.”
    “Yeah, but when they say black, they don’t mean leather, McCade.”
    Maybe Sandy would dance with McCade and realize she didn’t want to be with anyone else. Maybe…
    McCade laughed, and this time he felt his smile reach his eyes.

THREE
    M C C ADE SAT IN the chair with his eyes closed, listening to the hum of the blow-dryer, letting Tony work his magic. He’d awakened late that morning, and had gone into the bathroom to cut and then shave off his beard.
    After Tony finished making him look more presentable to the Phoenix socialites he’d be rubbing elbows with this evening, McCade had to swing by and pick up the tuxedo Sandy had picked out and he’d bought for the occasion. She’d talked him into getting a stack of other clothes as well—chinos and polo shirts he swore he’d never wear. The tux wasn’t quite his style either, but he didn’t have any choice tonight. The alterations were supposed to be done by three-thirty, which would give him barely enough time to get to the condo, change, bully Sandy into her new clothes, and put on her makeup.
    He smiled. He liked putting makeup on Sandy. He liked standing close enough to feel her body heat. He liked touching her soft, smooth skin—
    “Jeez Louise, you haven’t even seen how beautiful I’ve made you, and you’re already as happy as a little clam.” Tony’s voice cut into his thoughts. “Or maybe it’s thinking about a certain gorgeous blonde that’s making you smile.”
    McCade’s eyes opened slowly, and the look he gave Tony was lethal. The hairdresser turned off the dryer, cheerfully ignoring him. “I’d recognize that foolish little smile anywhere, although I must admit I