Two Sexy!
Stephanie Bond
Schoolteacher Meg Valentine has been dying to put some adventure, some excitement–some sexual stimulation–into her life! So when gorgeous bodyguard Jarett Miller asks her to stand in as a body double for his famous client, sexy beach babe Taylor Gee, how can she refuse? Although Meg's not exactly the sex goddess type, under Jarett's skillful tutelage–and his even more skillful hands–she becomes increasingly aware of her own sensuality.Sensuality she's definitely having fun exploring with the hunky bodyguard. But is Jarett in love with the real Meg…or in lust with the sexpot he's created?
“It’s time to end this, Jarett. Before we get in any deeper,” Meg said.
Jarett took a couple of steps toward her. “Are you talking about the body-double scheme we pulled off? Or something else?”
Meg twisted the towel she was holding and looked at him from lowered lashes. “What else would I be talking about?” she asked.
Jarett’s jeans became uncomfortably tight. He knew he should keep things strictly business between them, but he couldn’t. He wanted her—more than he’d ever wanted anything. He wanted her hair falling down around him and her glasses steamed up. He wanted to give them both a night to remember before they returned to the real world.
He crossed the room in a few quick strides, and curving his hand around the nape of her neck, he pulled her up to meet his hard, hungry kiss. He slid his hands up her back and into her hair, causing the silky tresses to slip out of their confines and fall down her back.
His body leapt in anticipation and raw desire. Taking a step back, he looked into her bright green eyes. “But Meg, this could be just the beginning….”
Two Sexy!
Stephanie Bond
This book is dedicated to the folks behind the scenes
at Harlequin, who work to bring us romantic
entertainment month after month:
the editorial department, the art department, the production
department, the sales department,
the marketing department, the public relations department and eHarlequin.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR…
Welcome to Blaze! I’m thrilled to be a part of this exciting new line and even more excited by the possibilities now open to us—as authors and readers.
If you missed Midnight Fantasies, the July 2001 Blaze collection, you missed meeting Rebecca Valentine, owner of Anytime Costumes. But you’re about to meet her sister, Meg, who agrees to run the shop while Rebecca is on her honeymoon. Meg Valentine is a teacher who’s yearning for a little excitement before accepting a proposal from her longtime boyfriend. Taking the job as a body double for a celebrity sex kitten certainly fits the bill! And while wearing provocative clothing and evading the paparazzi are eye-opening experiences, Meg soon discovers the most risqué part of her employment is working closely, very closely, with seriously sexy Jarett Miller. Get ready for the sparks to fly!
If you’ve been waiting for a longer, more sensual read, the wait is over…. Blaze has arrived! Don’t forget to share the good news with a friend—she’ll thank you.
For a complete list of my titles, visit my Web site at www.stephaniebond.com.
Stephanie Bond
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
1
“AMAZING. LISTEN TO THIS.”
Meg Valentine looked over the top of her BLT sandwich at her best friend, Kathie, sprawled in a chair in the teachers’ lounge.
“The wedding of actors Elyssa Adams and John Bingham cost a reported one million dollars. The gown alone set the couple back fifty thousand, and the cake, twenty thousand.” Kathie lowered the magazine. “Twenty thousand bucks for a lousy cake, and it probably wasn’t even chocolate. Do you realize that’s how much money I’ll net this year?”
Meg grinned, chewing. Besides being a chronic complainer, Kathie was a Hollywood aficionado—the woman spent every disposable dollar on celebrity memorabilia—props from movie sets, scripts, even a lock or two of hair from famous people. And she lived for every outrageous headline the tabloids could deliver.
“Those people live in a different world,” Sharon, another teacher, offered, pointing her fork at Kathie. “And I’ll bet it’s not nearly as rosy as you think.”
“Right,” piped in Joanna from the corner, who spent her lunch hours knitting scarves for Christmas gifts. “Those people have problems, just like the rest of us.”
“But they lead such exciting lives.” A faraway expression came over Kathie’s face. “Wearing gorgeous clothes, having men fall at your feet. Wouldn’t it be grand to live in a celebrity’s shoes for just a few days?”
Meg shook her head. “Kathie, you’re such a dreamer.”
“Yeah,” Sharon said. “Face it—we’re elementary school teachers in Peoria, Illinois. We gave up ‘exciting’ when we made our career choice.” The women laughed.
Except for Meg, who bit into a pickle, digesting the bittersweet truth of Sharon’s words. She truly loved teaching and working with children, but sometime during the last few years, her life had fallen into a serious rut when she wasn’t looking. Cabin fever, hormones, early-life crisis—she couldn’t explain her sudden restlessness. All she knew was that lately she was easily distracted from her evening routine of grading math papers, and ready to come out of her very proper skin. Perhaps she’d sensed Trey’s impending proposal, something she still wasn’t sure she knew how to handle.
Kathie scooted to the edge of her seat, her hazel eyes dancing. “This weekend I’m going to Indy for a fan festival. They’re supposed to auction off some wardrobe items from the set of Many Moons.”
Kathie’s favorite show. She’d even managed to get the three of them hooked on the weekly melodrama. Every Wednesday night they congregated at Kathie’s apartment and munched popcorn while watching the beautiful people make multi-million dollar deals, stab each other in the back, and steal each other’s lovers. Most of the scenes took place near or on the beach, which meant the costumes were one of two types—scanty or nonexistent.
Sharon scoffed. “What will you do with clothes from Many Moons? Wear them to the PTA potluck?”
They all laughed again, but Kathie shook her finger. “You just wait, my collection is going to be worth something someday.”
She turned to another page in the magazine that featured The Sexiest Outfits of the Season. Kathie pointed to a picture of Taylor Gee, the actress who played the curvaceous blonde vixen on Many Moons, wearing a transparent yellow gown. “This dress is my next conquest.”
“Is she wearing underwear?” Joanna asked, the knitting forgotten as she craned her head in for a look.
Meg pushed up her glasses and squinted at the telltale dark areas beneath the dress, stretched to the limit of its seams by the actress’s remarkable curves. “I don’t think so.”
“Ewww,” Sharon said. “You want to buy a dress she wore with no underwear?”
Kathie made a face. “I’ll have it drycleaned, idget. The point is, it’s going to be a collector’s item.”
“What makes you think so?” Meg asked.
“Taylor Gee is the closest thing to Marilyn Monroe this generation has ever known. And similarly, from the glazed look on her face, she’s going to burn up before she burns out.”
They all leaned in for a better look, but Meg saw only an impossibly beautiful woman in an impossibly scanty gown. Her head was turned and she was smiling at someone—the man who was cropped out of the photo? Only the sleeve of his black jacket remained, emblazoned with some kind of crest. Probably someone famous. The woman had been linked with every international bad boy there was, from rock star to rebel prince.
“I can’t believe she would go out in public wearing something like that,” Sharon said, shaking her head. “She’s already gorgeous. Why does she need to be so over the top?”
“So she’ll make the Sexiest Outfits of the Season list,” Meg pointed out.
“And so pathetic people like us will spend our lunch hour talking about her,” Joanna chimed in.
“Deep down, we all wish we could wear a dress like that,” Kathie insisted, tapping the page. “And turn every person’s head when we walk into a room.”
At times Kathie sounded more like a psychology teacher than a science teacher. She had a knack for zeroing in on people’s deepest, darkest urges. Meg had picked up the phone a couple times this week to talk to her friend about her general state of unrest, but she’d changed her mind at the last second. She couldn’t seem to zero in on what was wrong with her. Spring fever? Cold feet?
“Even if that was true,” Joanna said, flipping her head of carrot-orange curls, “we don’t all look like Taylor Gee.”
“Meg is beautiful enough to pull it off,” Sharon insisted, and to Meg’s chagrin, all eyes turned to her. Her neck and cheeks warmed, and she pushed her glasses higher on her nose. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Take off your glasses,” Kathie urged.
“What? No.”
“Come on, humor me.”
Meg slipped off her glasses and sighed.
“I can’t believe I never noticed.”
“What, the hump on my nose?”
“No—you’re a dead ringer for Taylor Gee.”
Meg squinted in Kathie’s direction. “Maybe you should borrow my glasses.”
“Am I right, girls?”
Sharon hummed. “Well, if your hair was blond—”
“—and if your eyes were blue,” Joanna chimed in.
“—and if you painted a mole near the corner of your mouth,” Sharon continued.
“—and if you were coming out of your clothes,” Joanna offered, “then yeah, you’d be a dead ringer for her.”
“See?” Kathie asked.
Meg laughed and jammed the black rimmed glasses back on her face. “You three watch too much TV.”
Kathie grinned. “You have the face, but those baggy dresses would not get you on the Sexiest Outfits of the Season list.”
Meg frowned and looked down at her gray crinkle cotton dress. “I like my baggy dresses. They’re comfortable. And washable.” An important feature when working with seven-year-olds.
“Meg probably wears something more sexy for Trey,” Joanna teased.
She squirmed. In truth, Trey Carnegie liked the fact that she didn’t flaunt her body. You dress like a lady—you always make me proud to stand next to you. Too bad Meg wasn’t sure she wanted Trey to always treat her like a “lady.” She cleared her throat. “Speaking of Trey, I have an announcement.”
The room fell silent.
“Last night after the benefit dinner…Trey proposed.”
Sharon and Joanna squealed their congratulations, and even Kathie managed a little smile.
“Well, Mr. Three Piece Suit finally got around to it, eh?”
There was no love lost between Kathie and Trey, but Meg had stopped trying to figure out why her closest friend didn’t gel with her longtime boyfriend. Trey said Kathie was jealous because she didn’t have a boyfriend. But Meg couldn’t disagree with her friend on one point—Trey had taken his sweet time asking for her hand—five years. And Meg still wasn’t sure why she waited.
“What did you tell him?” Kathie asked.
“What do you think she told him?” Sharon asked a little sarcastically.
“I don’t see a ring.”
Sharon glanced at Meg’s bare left hand, then gasped. “What did you tell him?”
Meg looked at the three curious faces, and the familiar weight of expectation settled in her stomach. Meg the good girl. Meg the straight-A student. Meg the model employee. Meg the proper girlfriend. God, she wanted to break free from it all. She inhaled. “I said I needed some time to think about it.”
Kathie slapped her knee. “Good for you.”
“She’s just paying him back for making her wait so long,” Joanna said. “Aren’t you, Meg?”
She wished. Her mother was practically frantic about her sister Rebecca’s broken engagement, then her rebound romance with Michael Pierce that seemed to be moving way too quickly. Once again, the pressure was on Meg to do the right thing. So to be honest, she had no idea why she hadn’t told Trey “yes” on the spot, except for the underlying feeling that there was something missing. Like romance. Passion. Excitement. Still, Joanna’s explanation seemed good enough for now. “Right. I’m going to let him cool his heels for a while.”
“And who knows?” Kathie said with a sly grin. “In the meantime, maybe you’ll meet some one who’ll make you forget all about Trey Carnegie.”
“Kathie,” Joanna chided, “Trey is a catch, especially around here.”
That was odd. Did Joanna mean that if they weren’t in Peoria, Trey wouldn’t be as good a catch? But she knew what her friend meant—young, successful men from prominent wealthy families did not grow on trees in their quaint city.
“Did he offer you a ring?” Sharon asked, a wistful look in her eyes.
“He wants me to pick it out when I’m ready.”
“Did you tell him when you’d give him an answer?” Joanna asked, equally starry-eyed.
Guilt twinged low in Meg’s stomach—both Joanna and Sharon would change places with her in a split-second, and here she was stalling. “I told him we’d talk about it when I get back from vacation. I’m taking off all next week.”
Kathie whooped. “You’re finally taking the five-day bonus they gave you for being Teacher of the Year?”
That was a source of pride and embarrassment.
In fact, maybe some of the disquiet she’d been experiencing could be posttraumatic stress over the wave of statewide publicity she’d received the past couple of months. More expectations. Meg nodded sheepishly.
“Well, it’s about time.”
“Where are you going?” Sharon asked.
“Somewhere exciting?” Joanna asked.
“A cruise?”
“The beach?”
“Vegas?”
Meg folded her napkin and patted her mouth.
“I’m going to Chicago to run my sister’s costume shop.”
In the ensuing silence, she got the feeling her friends were a little underwhelmed.
“Oh.”
“That’s nice.”
“Er, yes, very nice.”
Meg sipped on her straw. The end of her fountain soda greeted her with a great sucking noise.
“That doesn’t sound like much of a vacation,”
Kathie said finally.
“No, it doesn’t,” Sharon agreed.
“Not at all,” Joanna said.
“No, but I’m glad to do it,” Meg said. In fact, she’d been counting the days. She needed a change of scenery, time to think. “It’ll be fun.
And Rebecca needs me.”
“Really, Meg,” Kathie said dryly. “One of these days you’re going to have to live a more sedate life.”
Meg stuck out her tongue and the girls laughed. Then the bell rang. They groaned and gathered the remnants of their lunch.
“Do you ever have the feeling that your life revolves around bells?” Meg asked.
Kathie frowned. “I hear that darn thing in my sleep.”
Meg sighed as they walked out into the clattering hall, once again gripped by a quiet fear she couldn’t put her finger on. Miles of battered lockers, acres of scuffed floors, the din of hundreds of little voices, the lingering odor of paper and paste. Was this really where she belonged?
“Depressing, isn’t it?” Kathie asked, taking in the same scene.
“No,” Meg said too quickly. “I love my job.”
“I love my job, too,” Kathie said with a wry smile. “But I can’t say that I love the fact that all the men in my life are Cub Scouts.”
“You could date if you wanted to,” Meg said. “What about your neighbor, the doctor?”
“Oh, right—I’ve seen the man twice. The first time he said hello, I closed my hand in the car door. The second time, I walked into the mailbox. I think I’ve burned my bridges where he’s concerned—even a doctor doesn’t have that much insurance.” She sighed dramatically. “No, I’ve resigned myself to spinsterhood.”
“We’re only twenty-seven, Kathie. We won’t be spinsters for at least another three years.” Three short years…
She smirked. “So what’s the real reason you didn’t say yes to Trey? Having second thoughts?”
“No, I told you—”
“You’re making him pay.” Kathie shook her head. “I don’t buy it, Meg. You don’t have a vindictive bone in your body.”
Meg sunk her teeth into her bottom lip, surprised at Kathie’s sudden gravity.
Then her friend sighed. “Whatever the reason, make sure you take as long as you need to decide whether or not Trey is the man for you.”
At a loss for words, Meg simply nodded.
Then her friend grinned again, and elbowed her in the ribs. “I still can’t believe you’ve got an entire week away from this place, and you’re going to spend it working.”
“I won’t be working the entire time,” Meg protested. “I’ll have my evenings free, and two Sundays.”
Her friend wagged her eyebrows. “Oooh, maybe I should come with you to keep you out of trouble.”
Even Meg had to laugh—she’d never been in trouble in her life. “Have fun at the fan festival—I hope you find that naughty dress you’re looking for.”
“Shhhh!” Kathie looked around, then moved in close. “If Principal O’Banion even hears the word ‘naughty,’ she’ll start digging into my personal life.”
Meg scoffed. “You’re exaggerating.”
“Tell that to Amanda Rollins.”
“The art teacher? What about her?”
“Well, no one is supposed to know this yet, but she was fired yesterday.”
“What? Why?”
“Apparently someone saw her renting an X-rated movie at a local video store.”
Meg’s jaw dropped. “Can they fire her for that?”
“They did. She was ‘supposedly’ violating the ‘moral behavior’ code of our employment contract.”
“That’s a pretty loose interpretation.”
Kathie shrugged. “But it’s the school board’s interpretation to make. Me, I get my X-rated movies through the mail.”
Meg blinked.
“I’m kidding,” Kathie said.
Meg shook her head. “Poor Amanda. The kids love her.”
“That kind of scrutiny comes with the territory. Not that you have anything to worry about, Miss Teacher of the Year.” She gave Meg a nudge.
Meg managed a smile despite the tightness in her chest. It was supposed to be a compliment—the honor, the title—but honestly, some days she felt like an Osmond.
Her friend patted her arm. “Hey, if I don’t talk to you before you leave, have a great time in Chicago. And if you see anyone famous, get their autograph for me?”
Kathie covered every angle. “Okay, but the only celebrity I’ve ever met was a distant Kennedy relation at one of Trey’s father’s fundraisers.”
“Keep your eyes open. And try to cut loose a little, okay? Enjoy what may be your last week as an unfettered woman.”
Meg wet her lips, but the bell rang again, so she simply manufactured a little smile that matched her expression in those Teacher of the Year posters plastered everywhere. “I’m just looking forward to not hearing a bell ring for an entire week.”
And to a few days where nobody knew how perfect she was.
2
“SHE WON’T OPEN THE DOOR,” the hairdresser said, his hands jammed on his slim hips. “Do something.”
Jarett Miller closed his eyes and counted to ten. If only he could open them and be somewhere other than Los Angeles, in the ostentatious home of the most spoiled woman in the world. He opened his eyes, but the irate hairdresser still stood there, his toe tapping.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Jarett tossed aside the tabloid that featured the latest exploits of his charge, then dragged himself up from the overstuffed, overpriced sofa. His chest filled with dread with each step he took across the great room, through the hall, and up the sweeping stairs—red-carpeted, of course. Nothing less for Taylor Gee, the toast of Tinseltown, sex kitten of the hour.
As his hand slid over the garish gold-tone banister, he marveled at the differences between the lavish home she’d bought for herself and the modest home Taylor Jean Gumm had grown up in in rural West Virginia. “Bought” was a generous term, since she’d mortgaged herself into old age for the monstrosity, against his advice. But then, Taylor didn’t take advice well when it meant she couldn’t have everything she wanted.
Rosie, Taylor’s personal assistant, stood in front of the door to Taylor’s suite, hopping from foot to foot. “Please, Miss Gee, unlock the door!”
Rosie was a little round-faced woman who had plenty of nervous energy to do Taylor’s bidding. She reminded Jarett of a small dog that had gotten its tail stepped on so many times, it remained in perpetual motion. She moved aside as Jarett approached, visibly shaking. “Oh, good. She’s been asking for you.”
“Is she high?” he asked.
Rosie sighed. “I don’t think so, just depressed.”
Jarett bit down on the inside of his cheek. Taylor was beautiful, famous, and rich—from where he was standing, she had little to be depressed about. But what did he know? He was just a country boy, trapped in a town he hated as a result of a promise he’d made.
He rapped on the door sharply. “Taylor, it’s Jarett. Open the door.”
A few sniffles sounded on the other side. “No.”
He swallowed a string of curses. “You’re expected at the cast party in an hour.”
More sniffles. “I don’t want to go.”
It was a game she played that Jarett called Beg Me. He opened his mouth to play out the situation, then changed his mind. “Okay, I’ll call Peterson and ask him to make your excuses.”
He counted to three.
“No, wait,” she said, her voice plaintive, but amazingly stronger.
“I’m waiting,” he said.
“Are you alone?”
He nodded to Rosie. “Take a break. I’ll find you if she needs you.”
The woman scampered away, and Jarett pulled his hand down his face, making a mental note to have the door keyed, and to keep a key on his ring. “I’m alone, Taylor.” And nearly at the end of his patience.
After a few seconds, he heard the deadbolt turn. When the door didn’t open, he turned the knob and entered her suite.
Taylor stood in the pink-and-gold living room near a window, facing him and smoking a long cigarette. Her mane of blond hair was mussed and her mascara smudged. She was wearing high-heeled mules and a short transparent robe. And nothing else. Her limbs were long and lean, her breasts voluptuous and taut. The hair at the juncture of her thighs had been reduced to a tiny triangle to accommodate the scanty swimwear she wore on the set. A cultivated tan covered every square inch of her body. Taylor smiled lazily.
Jarett set his jaw and turned his back. “Put something on.”
“Why?” she purred. “Does seeing me like this do things to you, Jarett?”
He’d seen her naked a hundred times—Taylor was an exhibitionist who delighted in shocking people. “It only makes me wonder what’s going on in that head of yours.”
He heard her muted footsteps on the thick carpet, then she was in front of him, lifting her arms around his neck, pushing her body into his. “You know what’s in my head, Jarett. I want you.”
Taylor used to be an incredible beauty, but a year of hard partying had taken its toll, and the daylight wasn’t kind to her unmade face. Her eyes were slightly glazed, and her lips pouty. She reeked of stale smoke and perspiration. He itched to yank the cigarette out of her hand but considering her other vices, this one was relatively harmless. Sadness welled in his chest at the cliché she had become.
Jarett clasped her wrists gently, and turned her around. “Taylor, stop this childish routine.” He shrugged out of his standard black jacket and put it around her slender shoulders. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care about you, but not in that way.”
“You’re just afraid David will be mad at you if you sleep with me,” she said as she walked away. “But David knows his little sister is all grown up.”
Jarett pursed his mouth. “Let’s hope that David doesn’t get the tabloids at his missionary camp in Haiti. And it’s a good thing that your folks don’t own a television.”
She flounced down on one of the twin pink sofas. “Isn’t that a gas? I’m one of the biggest stars on TV, and my own parents have never seen my show.” She took a drag from the cigarette. “Really, sometimes I can’t believe I came from such a hick family.”
Anger sparked low in his stomach. “Don’t talk about your family that way. They’re good people.”
Her laugh was dry as she looked up at him from the couch. “I know—salt of the earth, God-fearing people. And I’m glad they took you in, Jarett, really I am. I just wish you’d stop thinking of me as your little sister. There are thousands, maybe millions of men who’d love to sleep with me, you know.”
He refrained from mentioning that a good number of them already had. She opened her knees slightly to give him another glance at what she was offering, but Jarett had developed a rather clinical attitude toward Taylor’s nudity. “Put your legs together, and act like a lady.”
She scoffed, but complied. “A lady? Is that what you’re holding out for, Jarett—a lady? You’re in the wrong town, old friend.”
Don’t I know it. And his lack of female companionship the last year or so had proved it. “I’m only here to look out for you,” he said finally, crossing his arms. “Although I don’t believe I’m doing such a good job.”
She grinned, took another drag, then smashed the cigarette butt into a lead crystal ashtray the size of a dinner plate. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Jarett. You follow me like a goddamned bloodhound, and you keep the freaks at bay.”
He walked over to the wet bar and picked up an empty bottle of vodka. “Those freaks don’t pose nearly as much of a threat as the things you do to yourself.”
“Booze loosens me up,” she said with a sigh. “You ought to try it sometime.”
He opened a drawer that held drinking glasses and reached in the back to pull out a handful of prescription bottles. “And what do the pills do?”
She blanched, then recovered with a glib smile. “The pills give me a boost of energy when I need it, that’s all.”
“You’ve been needing a boost a lot lately.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You have been keeping an eye on me.”
He set the pills aside, then walked over and eased down on the couch opposite her, hoping that some part of the small-town girl he remembered remained to reason with. “Taylor, I think after the trip to Chicago, you should check yourself into a rehab clinic.”
She frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not like I’m an addict or anything.”
“Good. Then it should be easy for you to give up the pills and the booze. You’re on hiatus from the show, so it’ll be a good time to get some rest and to get clean.”
“No way—the tabloids will have a field day.”
“You haven’t seen today’s headlines—they’re already having a field day. That stunt you pulled at Zago’s restaurant the other night has everyone speculating about what you’re hooked on.”
She scoffed again. “Can’t a girl dance on a table without everyone thinking she’s on drugs?”
“But you were on drugs.”
“Jarett, for heaven’s sake, you make it sound like I’m a coke head or something.”
“Or something,” he said, nodding.
“The doctor gave me those pills,” she said, her eyes bright.
“Some of the doctors you’ve been dealing with are little more than drug dealers,” he said quietly.
“Peterson called this morning, and he said the network is getting concerned about your behavior.
He said one more stunt, and your career could be on the line.”
“Peterson isn’t the only agent in town,” she said lightly.
“Taylor, listen to yourself. You jumped through hoops to sign with Peterson’s agency—he’s one of the best and you know it. He’s the reason you got the part on Many Moons.”
She sat up, scowling. “I got myself that part.
No one could play Tess Canton the way I do.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. But you’re letting the character take over your life.
And it’s not pretty.”
Her face screwed up in anger and she bounced up from the couch, his jacket swinging around her. “Oh, so now you don’t even think I’m pretty?” She started crying.
Jarett sighed and held up his hands. “I didn’t say that. Of course you’re pretty. You’re beautiful, Taylor.”
She managed a smile through her tears. “You think so?”
“Yes,” he said levelly. “Now, are you going to the cast party, or are you going to disappoint your fans?”
She inhaled, then sighed prettily. “I’m going to the cast party.”
“Good.” He stood up.
“Do you have to go, Jarett?” Her face crumpled, and his chest squeezed at her desperate tone.
He wished he could help Taylor, but his sympathy didn’t extend to having an empty physical relationship with her. He’d promised his best friend, David, that he’d take care of his sister until David returned from Haiti to step in. In addition to the bond they’d forged when David and Taylor’s parents had taken him in as a teenager, he and David had joined the Air Force and trained side by side for four years. They were closer than most brothers, and Jarett would gladly have put his life on the line for David. Although some days, he thought the two-year promise he’d made to his friend would be the death of him.
“I have to get a car lined up for tonight,” he said with the best smile he could muster. “And another guard to help me keep the, um, freaks at bay.”
“Okay. Do you want your jacket back?” she teased.
“I’ll get it later,” he said breezily, backing away before she could take it off and offer it to him.
She sighed. “What would I do without you, Jarett?”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” he said sincerely, then handily changed the subject.
“Your hairdresser is downstairs ready to have a stroke.”
She drove her hands into her wild, white-blond hair. “Okay, send him up—tell him I’m jumping in the shower.” A yawn overtook her and her entire body seemed to deflate with fatigue.
“No pills tonight,” Jarett said with a pointed look.
“No pills,” she agreed, although her voice was less than convincing.
He left her suite and found Rosie to let her know that Taylor was back on track for the time being, but as he walked downstairs, Jarett’s booted feet were heavy. He had a bad feeling that Taylor was going down the same path many ill-fated starlets had taken before—drugs, alcohol, and ultimate destruction if she didn’t get help soon.
He felt guilty as hell that her infatuation with him seemed to be driving her closer to the edge.
In reality, he knew Taylor struggled with low self-esteem. She craved approval, especially from her intensely religious family. At times, it seemed as if she behaved so outrageously just to get their attention.
He also suspected that her preoccupation with him was rooted in the fact that she couldn’t have him. She knew her family would be scandalized if the two of them became involved. But he wasn’t willing to sleep with her just to prove his theory. Instead he held out hope that someday she’d meet a decent guy who would make her feel good about herself. To date, however, all her boy friends had been first-class losers.
But the worst part of the entire situation was that, at one time, he had fancied himself to be in love with Taylor. When he and David had joined the Air Force to travel the world, Taylor had been a gangly girl of twelve. When they returned to Wheeling, West Virginia, she was a voluptuous woman of eighteen. He’d been enchanted by her, and Taylor had made no secret about the fact that she’d waited for him. But the Gumms had trusted him completely, so he’d set aside his feelings and discouraged her advances.
When Taylor announced that after graduation, she was going to L.A. to become an actress, Mr. and Mrs. Gumm were horrified, especially since they’d tried to shelter their daughter from the ways of the world by banning TV and rock and roll music from their household. But when they realized their stubborn little girl was not to be denied, they agreed to let her go, as long as David and Jarett went along to look after her.
From the get-go, Jarett had hated L.A., but he was more worldly than either David or Taylor, so he’d stayed to make sure nobody got into trouble. The three of them had shared an apartment. He and David had gotten work in the security business, and took turns accompanying Taylor to auditions. She’d landed enough modeling shoots and commercials to keep her spirits high. David, on the other hand, was miserable. So when his father had presented him with a two-year missionary opportunity in Haiti, David had happily left Taylor to Jarett’s charge.
Nobody knew that Jarett had been miserable, too. Taylor was coming into her own as a woman and tempting him at every turn in the close quarters they shared. At the same time, some of the less pleasant aspects of Taylor’s personality were also coming to light—she had a cutting tongue, a dirty mouth, and was prone to outlandish tantrums when she didn’t get her way. And when Jarett had made it clear they wouldn’t be lovers, she’d retaliated by bringing a string of bozos back to their apartment.
But she’d continued to perform well, and on one of Jarett’s security jobs, he’d had the occasion to do a favor for Mac Peterson, a first-class talent agent. The man had agreed to interview Taylor, and had taken her on. When she’d landed the role of Tess Canton on Many Moons, Taylor became an overnight sensation. Publicity agent Sheila Waterson came on board to manage Taylor’s public appearances, and Jarett had taken over her personal security. Her photo was now one of the most downloaded images on the Internet, and one of her swimsuit posters was the number five bestselling poster of all time.
They had created a monster, it seemed.
Jarett signaled the flustered hairdresser to go on up to Taylor’s suite, then walked to the phone to call Peterson. “Taylor’s going to the cast party,” he assured the man on the line.
“Thank Gawd,” Peterson said, his British accent seemingly more pronounced today. “Do you think you can keep her away from the booze?”
“I’ll try.”
“And everything else?”
“Again, I’ll try. But I can’t be with her every second.”
“Seeing as how I’ve been on the phone for the last hour covering her tracks for that nasty little table dance she did at Zago’s, I think you’d better stay as close as possible. Ditto for the Chicago trip, Jarett. She’ll be under the network’s microscope. No more see-through frocks.”
He sighed. “Fine time for Sheila to be out of town.”
“Sheila’s managing too many high-maintenance personalities. I’m counting on you to handle Taylor until Sheila returns from Mexico with her kleptomaniac rock star.”
“You know I’ll do my best.”
“Yes, I do, Jarett. Taylor’s bloody lucky to have you.”
He thanked the man, then hung up. An ache had set up at the base of his skull. He walked to the window of the opulent living room and looked out over the cramped, arid landscape—houses sat on every possible inch of ground, and crisscrossed power lines ruined what might have been a passable view. The only color relieving the sea of red tile roofs were dots of blue—swimming pools. The people in this neighborhood preferred concrete to grass.
It was selfish he knew, but he was practically counting the days until David returned. By then Taylor would be almost twenty-one and he could walk away with a clear conscience. He was tired of fake people and big crowds and loud parties. He planned to find a cabin in some remote part of the country and hole up with a fishing pole for an extended period of time. No TV, no telephone, no women.
Because if he’d learned nothing else the past couple of years with Taylor, he’d learned he was better off alone than to be tangled up with a woman who messed with his head. At times he wondered if he and Taylor had gotten together when he returned from the Air Force, things would’ve turned out differently. The electricity between them had been palpable in the beginning, and he had to admit, he’d never been so affected by any other woman. But Taylor was Taylor, and everything and everyone in her life paled next to her quest for stardom. He was being arrogant if he thought a relationship between them would have helped matters. If anything, it would have made matters worse. And probably splintered his bond with the entire Gumm family.
It was a shame that Taylor couldn’t have been satisfied with the love of one man instead of millions of men. A shame that instead of possessing the generous disposition shared by the rest of her family, that Taylor was like poison to the people who came in contact with her. Love was wasted on her.
Jarett laughed at his preposterous musings. What he dreamed about was a woman who had a face like Taylor Gee, but had a heart of gold—absurd. She didn’t exist. And if she did, he didn’t want to meet her, because he’d be a lost man.
3
A FEW DAYS LATER Meg descended the stairs leading from her sister’s tiny apartment down to the workroom of the costume shop. Rebecca’s Murphy bed had been comfortable enough, but Meg hadn’t slept well—too many thoughts spinning in her head, too many decisions to make. One minute marrying Trey made perfect sense, the next minute she wondered if marrying him would be selling out, the path of least resistance.
She flipped on lights as she moved through the workroom cluttered with sewing machines, costumes, and dress forms, marveling over Rebecca’s design talent—and laughing at the abundance of yellow sticky notes, some in odd locations. On the coffeepot: “Err on the weak side.” On the bathroom door: “Jiggle the handle.” On the drafting-table lamp: “You’re the best, Sis!”
Swinging doors led to the glorious showroom and dressing rooms of Anytime Costumes. A shiver of excitement slid up Meg’s spine at the new setting, eerily quiet and orderly compared to the start of a school day. The seclusion was downright liberating. She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed her own company.
She hadn’t told Rebecca that Trey had proposed. At first she’d convinced herself she didn’t want to steal Rebecca’s thunder. Meg’s sister was obviously infatuated with her new beau, Michael Pierce—they couldn’t take their eyes off each other.
But last night when she’d waved goodbye to Rebecca, Meg acknowledged that she wanted to keep Trey’s proposal to herself in order to sort things out on her own, without anyone else’s advice, no matter how well-intended. Kathie’s parting remark about making sure Trey was the one for her had stuck in her mind like a trendy song. Not to mention the hurt in Trey’s voice when she gently refused his offer to accompany her to Chicago.
If she was making a checklist of qualities she was looking for in a husband, Trey would score high. Handsome, polite, successful. They had similar tastes in books, films, politics. He was dependable—no, she would not say “boring”—and was always prompt for their Saturday-night dates and their Wednesday lunches. Friday evenings he usually spent with his father and two brothers in Mr. Carnegie’s home office, smoking cigars and catching up on family business—real estate, transportation and petroleum.
On Sundays she joined his family for brunch at their vast home—Trey’s brothers were both married, and everyone treated Meg as if she were already part of the family. The Carnegies had an opening, and she fit the mold—passably photogenic, suitably reserved and demurely successful. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that Trey had picked her because of some real or imagined checklist, and not because she moved him. And worse—that she’d allowed herself to be picked.
She pushed aside her troubled thoughts, and her spirits rose as the colorful showroom became illuminated. Rebecca’s costume shop was such a happy place, one couldn’t help but be transformed—the perimeter of the showroom was lined with racks of costumes ranging from blue dinosaurs to Frankensteins to medieval maidens. Meg walked around, stroking the rich fabrics and exotic trims, admiring the more detailed costumes displayed on mannequins—a suit of “armor,” characters from the Wizard of Oz, and an alien. The most elaborate costumes—an iridescent mermaid, an Indian chieftain, and many others were on dazzling display above the long counter.
Rebecca had also added a wall of performance costumes—spangled bodysuits, sequined halter tops, slinky pants, sheer skirts, high-slit gowns, and an array of showy accessories—shoes, hats, scarves. Even though she was alone, Meg looked all around before gingerly holding a blue sequined bikini up in front of her. She angled her head, smiling mischievously. Wouldn’t everyone be scandalized if the Teacher of the Year showed up wearing something like this? Then she sighed and rehung the bikini—some women were born to wear sequins and some women were born to wear cotton.
Mirrors abounded. She knew her sister enjoyed dressing up to entertain customers. Although Meg couldn’t bring herself to do the same, she had foregone her normal “baggy” dress in favor of jeans, T-shirt, and green V-neck sweater, all loose enough to conceal the curves her mother had convinced her eons ago would attract the wrong kind of attention. Since she’d inherited her mother’s figure, she assumed her mother was referring to the type of man her father had been—the type of man who would love, then leave a woman with two small children. Maybe that’s why she’d been drawn to Trey, to his…stability. And his relative indifference to her curves.
Unsure what the day would bring, she’d opted to French braid her fine-textured light brown hair into a single plait down her back to keep it out of her way. She squinted at her reflection—maybe she’d get a new hairstyle before she returned home, or even a complete makeover. Contact lenses? A new outfit? The more she thought about it, the more she wondered if she was simply bored with herself, and was allowing that boredom to overflow into other areas of her life. Somewhat cheered at her revelation, she turned her attention to opening the store.
Following a list of instructions Rebecca had left, as well as the numerous yellow sticky notes, Meg counted cash into the register, turned on the stereo beneath the counter, and flipped the sign on the door to Open. When she unlocked the front door of Anytime Costumes, she was startled by the ringing of the overhead bell.
“No bells,” she muttered, vowing to tie up the brass clanger as soon as she found a ladder.
Humming to the oldies tune playing over the speakers, she pressed her nose against the window until her glasses bumped. The street was studded with cars. Two policemen rode by on horseback. The shops across the street—a bakery, a drycleaners, and an old-fashioned barbershop—were already open for business. A rounded woman sweeping the sidewalk took a good-natured swat at a kid going by on a scooter.
It was a cool, blustery Saturday in Chicago, but the sky reminded her of a child’s drawing—clear blue with white fluffy clouds and a radiating bright sun, still hanging low. Meg grinned and stretched tall on the toes of her tennis shoes, effused with a heady feeling of freedom, like the first day of summer vacation.
But the tinkle of the bell on the door cut short her reverie. She turned, blushing guiltily at being caught in the throes of giddiness. She was, after all, representing Rebecca’s business.
“Hidy-ho!” A dark-skinned deliveryman walked in bearing a stack of packages and a friendly smile.
“Hello.”
His smiled widened. “You must be Rebecca’s sister from Peoria. She told me to expect you.”
She smiled and stuck out her hand. “Meg Valentine.”
“Hello, Meg Valentine. I’m Quincy Lyle. Welcome to Chicago.”
“Thank you.” She wasn’t sure why, but she suspected the delivery man was gay. Maybe because he was so approachable—there was no filter of sexual attraction.
“Mighty good of you to look after the shop for Rebecca while she enjoys a few days away with Mr. Pierce.”
“You know Michael?”
He pushed back his cap. “I know almost everyone around here. They make a great couple, don’t they?”
“Yes, they do.” Meg signed the clipboard he extended.
He gestured vaguely. “You know your way around the costume shop?”
“I’ve spent time here with Rebecca, but never on my own.”
“Have you met Harry?”
She frowned. “Who?”
He gave a little laugh and a dismissive wave. “Never mind.” He pulled a card from his pocket. “If you need help getting around town, or if you need anything at all, just call my cell phone number.”
Meg smiled. “Thanks.”
He nodded toward the street where more policemen on horseback had gathered. “I guess you heard about the local commotion.”
“No.”
“Big splashy benefit in town, lots of celebrities around.”
Meg made a rueful noise. “I have a friend who’s a celebrity hound—she’ll be disappointed she missed a chance to spot someone famous and get their autograph.”
“Do you have friends here in Chicago?”
“Not really.”
He rooted in his back pocket. “I have an extra ticket to a reception tonight if you’d like to come. The hotel is just a couple of blocks from here. A lot of my friends are coming—it’ll be fun.”
She smiled. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll do that.”
“Bring your camera—with luck, you can bring your friend back a souvenir.” He flashed a grin. “See you later.”
Meg felt a rush of gratitude for Quincy’s generosity, and his upbeat visit seemed to set the tone for the rest of the morning. The shop was a whirlwind of activity as customers returned costumes, and others came in to try on garment after garment looking for just the right one. Michael Pierce’s restaurant, Incognito, had become a popular spot for dining in costume—according to Rebecca, every night was a masquerade party, and business was booming. The bell on the door rang incessantly, and Peoria seemed like a million miles away.
An attractive middle-aged woman named Mrs. Conrad came in with a tin of cream candy. She appeared to be a regular customer since she was familiar with the store layout. She rented a sexy cowgirl outfit, complete with a little rawhide whip. Just putting the items in a bag sent a blush to Meg’s face.
Around lunch time, she got a breather. Meg sighed and sank onto a stool behind the counter, marveling at the business her sister had grown. She pulled off her glasses and massaged her temples, then used the hem of her sweater to clean the smudged lenses. The ringing of the bell on the door startled her and she dropped her glasses on the counter. While she fumbled for them blindly, the customers approached the counter—bright blotches of color, a man and a woman from the sound of their voices, and they seemed to be bickering. A hot flush climbed her neck and cheeks as she searched the counter in vain—she felt like Mr. Magoo.
“Are these what you’re looking for?” the man asked, placing her glasses in her hands. He had a warm, pleasing voice.
“Thank you,” she murmured, then jammed the glasses on her face. But just as her vision returned, her speech fled. Her helpful customer was tall, dark and exotic looking, tanned with dark hair and eyes, high cheekbones and a prominent nose. Around thirty, she guessed, although he had the carriage of a more mature man. Or maybe it was his sturdy build that made him look older, or the fact that he was dressed in black from head to toe. Regardless, she was sure she’d never seen anyone more handsome in her life. Quincy’s comment about celebrities being in the area came back to her, and she wondered if he was someone she should recognize. Of course she couldn’t ask him, because she couldn’t speak.
“You’re welcome,” he said with a little smile, and he squinted at her, as if something weren’t quite right. Were her glasses crooked? Her hair falling down? Drool spilling over her chin? Meg was paralyzed.
“Could I get some help, please?” his companion said in a high-pitched voice. The woman sounded annoyed.
Meg jumped up, an apology on her tongue. Until she got an eyeful of the blond bombshell. She blinked. “You’re…Taylor…Gee.”
The woman gave her a tight smile. “Smart kid. I’d like a private dressing room, please. And an ashtray, pronto.”
4
KATHIE WOULD NOT BELIEVE this, she simply would not believe this! Feeling a little light-headed, Meg carried an armful of show costumes to the dressing room where she’d taken Taylor Gee. The brawny guy in black, some sort of bodyguard she now realized, stood outside the curtain, his hands clasped behind him. He made it a point to be alert every time the door opened, but he didn’t appear menacing. Still, she wondered what weapons he harbored under that jacket—a woman who looked like Taylor Gee probably attracted all kinds of weirdos. From the looks of him, though, he could probably handle just about anything….
He smiled as she approached and her throat went dry. “Should I knock?” she whispered.
“Go on in.”
Oh, that voice. Meg swallowed and cleared her throat loudly before she opened the curtain a fraction of an inch and peered inside.
“Come in and close the curtain,” the starlet said without looking up. She was punching in a number on a tiny purple cell phone with a pencil. Those three-inch-long nails had their limitations, Meg guessed.
She hesitated, hoping another customer didn’t need her help right away. Rebecca hadn’t left her cheat sheets for what to do when a megacelebrity stopped by. Maybe she should have put an Out To Lunch sign on the door.
“I’ll let you know if you’re needed out here,” the man in black said.
She nodded gratefully, then entered the dressing room and closed the curtain behind her in one quick motion. She stood frozen, her arms full, while she waited to be acknowledged. Taylor Gee had made herself at home in the large red dressing room, scattering the contents of her purse—makeup, brushes, a bottle of water, coins, dollar bills, prescription bottles—over the upholstered cushions on the three benches that formed a U. She appeared to be conferring with a thick schedule book that lay open in front of her. A long thin cigarette dangled from her mouth. She took a drag and leaned her head back to exhale straight in the air just before she spoke into the phone.
“Jules, this is Taylor. I’m in town for a benefit, and I need the benefit of a facial.”
The woman was too beautiful for words. Between her tangle of white-blond hair and her golden tan, she fairly glowed. She wore a pink suit with flowing pants and a matching sweater with a feather boa collar. Her shoes were black and pink zebra print stilettos. Everything about her oozed sensuality and femininity. In contrast, Meg felt like peeling wallpaper.
“Oh, I knew you would work me in! I’ll see you around three-thirty. Love you, too, sweetie.”
The offhand way the woman tossed around endearments made Meg feel backward. She didn’t even have a pet name for Trey, the man who had proposed to her.
Taylor pushed down the antenna and bounced the phone on a cushion toward the pink leather bag that Meg assumed had cost a small fortune.
She stood and kicked off her shoes as if they were discount knock-offs and took another drag on her cigarette. This, Meg realized, was when she should have told the woman that the fire marshal frowned upon smoking in retail businesses. But she didn’t say anything because she suspected that even the fire marshal would make an exception for Taylor Gee.
“Did you bring everything I selected?”
Meg nodded, marveling that they were nearly eye-to-eye without Taylor’s stilettos. Taylor Gee just seemed so much larger than life that Meg assumed she was taller than her own five feet seven inches. “Yes, and a few extra.”
Taylor smiled, displaying a dazzling array of white teeth, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Good girl. Now hang those up and help me out of these clothes.”
Meg did as she was told, although she hoped that the woman didn’t expect her to, um, watch.
Taylor removed her jewelry and tossed it in a pile on a nearby cushion. Meg prayed nothing got lost.
“Unzip me, please.”
Taylor turned her back and held up her glorious hair with one hand. Meg swallowed hard, then stepped forward to slide down the pull of the fine zipper. The feather collar and the cigarette smoke tickled her nostrils, but she would have imploded before she would have sneezed on the starlet’s back.
The sweater came off—not an easy feat with Taylor still holding a lit cigarette—and landed in a far corner. She wore a sheer pink bra that was a little short of modest. Then she leaned over and stepped out of her pants. They landed opposite the sweater. Taylor turned and stood before her, a miniscule bra and a pink thong away from full disclosure.
Meg turned quickly and reached for the first outfit, a body-glove dress made out of blue iridescent fabric. “My sister designs most of these pieces—” She stopped when the filmy pink bra when flying past her to land near the sweater.
Busying herself with removing the gown from its hanger, Meg turned her back and kept her eyes averted. But Taylor snatched the dress from her, and Meg couldn’t help but get an eyeful of what had every man in America drooling.
Meg was no prude…she grew up with a sister, for heaven’s sake. She’d seen other women naked. Sort of. At the shower room in college, in the steam room at the YMCA, in National Geographic. But there was a difference in nudity for the sake of practicality and nudity for the sake of, well…being seen.
The woman was well-endowed, all right. And perky. Incredibly perky.
Taylor bent over to step into the dress, and Meg was exposed to yet another angle of the woman’s incredible body.
“I, um, think I hear another customer,” Meg said, gesturing toward the curtain.
Taylor pulled the form-fitting dress over her breasts and snapped the straps into place. She frowned toward Meg. “Well, go if you must. But come back quickly.” She reached into the neckline of the dress, grabbed her left breast and hefted it higher. The binding fabric of the dress held it in place. When she reached in to adjust her right breast, Meg fled.
JARETT TRIED NOT TO STARE at the young woman who emerged from the dressing room, but he had to satisfy his curiosity—was his imagination playing tricks on him, or did this bespectacled shopgirl bear a striking resemblance to Taylor?
It wasn’t just the large eyes or the high cheekbones or the chiseled nose that had struck him when he first walked in and saw her without her glasses. But throw in the full-blown mouth, the height, and the slender build, and she could be Taylor’s cousin. And if the loose jeans and baggy sweater concealed what he suspected they concealed, she could be her sister.
At the moment, though, she was looking a little shell-shocked from her brief encounter with Taylor, and he could guess what had transpired in the dressing room. Taylor simply didn’t understand the concept of modesty, while this poor girl looked as if she might have been valedictorian of her private Catholic school. Indeed, she was tugging at the neckline of her T-shirt, as if she could stretch it into becoming a turtleneck.
“I, um, thought I heard another customer,” she said, scanning the vacant shop. She stabbed at her glasses in what he had observed, in the short time he’d been here, to be a nervous habit.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Taylor can be a little…overwhelming.”
She tugged on her neckline again. “I’m still trying to adjust to the fact that she’s even here. I mean, I thought celebrities had people to shop for them. And this isn’t exactly Rodeo Drive.”
“Taylor does what she pleases. Your display windows caught her eye. She won’t mind if you say she was here if it will help your business, but I have to ask that you not say anything until she’s gone. The press has been relentless lately.”
She nodded, wide-eyed, as if the idea of revealing Taylor’s whereabouts hadn’t even occurred to her. Her naïveté was refreshing.
“I’m Jarett Miller,” he said, for no other reason than he wanted to banish that deer-in-the-headlights look from her face.
“M-Meg Valentine,” she said. “I assume you’re Miss Gee’s bodyguard.”
He smiled at her formality. “And longtime friend.”
A genuine smile curved her mouth. “I’m sure Miss Gee is glad to have someone close to her who she can trust. Would you like a cup of coffee, Mr. Miller?”
He’d been up most of the night with Taylor on one of her crying jags. “That would be nice, thanks.”
The intriguing sway of her retreat convinced him that, curve to curve, she could hold her own against Taylor. Funny how one woman with spectacular looks wound up on television, while another woman with spectacular looks wound up tucked away in a little retail shop.
Meg returned with one cup of black coffee.
“None for you?” he asked with a nod of thanks.
Her smile lit her beautiful green eyes, veiled behind the black-rim glasses. “Not on an empty stomach.”
He checked his watch. “We’re keeping you from your lunch.”
“No, that’s fine,” she said with a musical laugh. “I’m grateful for the business. And flattered. My friends and I are big fans—we never miss Many Moons.”
He couldn’t explain the effect her quiet voice had on him. Everything about her was simple and elegant—her hairstyle, her clothing, the way she moved her hands, the carriage of her shoulders. Her precise enunciation told him she was scholarly. In fact, nothing about her demeanor lent itself to the kind of woman who would own a costume shop, but neither did she seem like the kind of woman who would settle for being a clerk in a costume shop.
Her hands were bare except for a ring on her right hand, a single pearl mounted in a simple gold setting. The type of ring a girl might receive as a graduation present from her parents. She wore an inexpensive, practical watch. It was hard to guess her age—maybe twenty-four or twenty-five? The fussy braid in her light brown hair added to her ethereal appearance. At first glance, Meg Valentine was almost…mousy, and the fact that he knew better made him feel as if he were in on a wicked secret. Explicably, he wanted to know everything about her, and for once, he wished his time was his own so he could ask her to dinner.
From inside the dressing room came an impatient sigh. “Is that girl out there finished with whatever she left to do? I could use some help.”
At times he wanted to wring Taylor’s neck for her rudeness, but she was like a tall, difficult child with no respect for anyone else’s feelings. And a reprimand from him would send her into a downward spiral that he’d spent hours trying to cajole her out of. So, much like a weary father, he made excuses for her.
“She’s tense about an appearance tonight for a children’s benefit,” he said in an apologetic voice. It wasn’t far from the truth—as promised, Taylor hadn’t taken any pills over the last twenty-four hours so she could be in top form tonight. But the lack of a mood-booster had left her irritable—more so than usual.
Meg nodded, her face soft with understanding. “I can’t imagine how stressful it must be to be in her shoes for even one day.”
“Am I talking to myself in here?” Taylor shouted.
Jarett gritted his teeth while Meg dashed back inside the dressing room. From the murmur of their voices, Meg’s soft, pleasing one and Taylor’s high-pitched grating one, it appeared that Taylor was delighting in bossing Meg around. In between customers, the poor girl left and returned to the dressing room a half-dozen times, her arms full of glittering clothing. Every time the curtain opened, a cloud of cigarette smoke billowed out.
An hour later, Meg left the dressing room for what he hoped was the last time. Taylor stuck her head out and gave him a sly grin. “Want to see?”
He opened his mouth to decline, but she grabbed his arm and yanked him inside. To prevent a scene, he set his jaw and humored her as she posed in a long red dress with a neckline that plunged to her navel, and a front slit that hit mid-thigh. “What do you think?”
“It’s…nice,” he agreed, coughing mildly into his hand. The cigarette smoke was as thick as fog.
She narrowed her eyes and with a wrenching twist, ripped the slit higher, high enough to reveal that she wasn’t wearing panties. “What about now?”
He summoned all his patience. “I hope you have something more demure in mind to wear to the children’s benefit tonight.”
She frowned. “My publicist committed me to wearing a gown by a new designer, and it’s absolutely horrid—it has sleeves, for heaven’s sake.”
His mouth twitched. “Imagine that. Are you ready to check out?”
She nodded to a pile of clothing on the cushions. “I’ll take those. Would you take care of it for me, darling? And remember to buy every size in the shop.”
To minimize the chance of someone else showing up in the same outfit. Taylor was nothing if not predictable.
“Sure,” he said, picking up the clothes.
“Wait,” she said, then lifted the red dress over her head. “I’ll take this one, too.” She tossed the garment on top of the pile, then stood in all her naked glory, a challenging light in her deep blue eyes. “Looks comfy enough in here to lie down, doesn’t it, Jarett?”
Every now and then, he was reminded of Taylor’s penchant for dangerous sex. Jarett’s stomach turned. “Behave, Taylor. And get dressed.”
He exited the dressing room and approached the counter where a young girl and her mother were buying pink satin gloves. Meg was smiling and talking to the girl, chatting about school and little-girl things. She seemed like a natural with children, and he wondered if she had any of her own.
“Goodbye,” she said as her customers walked away. “Have fun at the dance.”
He piled the clothes on the counter.
“Is Miss Gee finished shopping?”
He nodded, enchanted by her smile, and by the tiny stud earrings in the lobes of her ears. With as much diplomacy as possible, he explained about Taylor wanting to purchase every size available of the garments she’d picked. Meg blinked.
“That’s going to be expensive.”
“I’ll be paying in cash.”
She swallowed. “Okay. Give me a few minutes to wrap everything.” She worked quickly, and when the total was tallied, she looked up with a little wrinkle between her eyebrows. “That will be f-fourteen th-thousand, one hundred and twenty-five dollars. And thirty-nine cents. Sir.”
He withdrew a thick wallet and counted out the money in large bills. “Thank you for your hospitality to Taylor. And to me.”
She nodded, placing the bills in the cash register tray with shaking hands. “You’re very welcome.”
“Good luck, Meg Valentine.”
She looked up, and pushed her glasses higher.
Her green eyes widened slightly and something…electrical passed in the air between them.
Her lips parted, and a flush made her cheeks grow pink. She blinked rapidly and her chin jerked to the right, as if she were startled, or taken back.
“Jarett,” Taylor said behind them, sounding irritated.
He turned. She had emerged from the dressing room, dressed, thank God, in her pink suit.
“Jarett, I need to be zipped up.” She sighed and stomped up to him like a sulky teenager.
He complied, aware of Meg’s eyes on them as he fumbled with the small zipper key. From the way she averted her gaze, she thought he and Taylor were lovers. And even though it wasn’t the first time someone had thought as much, the fact that chaste little Meg Valentine with the braided hair and the big green eyes thought so suddenly mattered to him.
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