Jared

by Lori Wilde

  Her ardor doused by the delay and her curiosity piqued further by the unexpected sight, Kimber moved forward and propped herself on her elbows. It was another package, probably from that home shopping channel.

  Technically, the contents of the package were none of her business, but considering the spendathon Jerry had previously conducted, she figured she had a right to ask.

  “What’s that?”

  He smiled and leaned across her to retrieve the box. When he handed it to her, she pondered what useless, overpriced item Jerry might have ordered this time. He practically radiated his enthusiasm as he waited for her to open it.

  “I know you didn’t want me to buy anything else I saw on TV, but I couldn’t resist this.”

  She didn’t want to burst his bubble, but she also didn’t want him to continue his foolish spending habits. “It’s addressed to me,” she said suspiciously. “You didn’t use my credit card again, did you?”

  “Nope, bought it with my own money. When they asked me who it was for, I gave them your name.” With one arm still draped across her midsection, he idly stroked her bare stomach. “I guess they must’ve wanted to know who to ship it to,” he said sheepishly.

  Raising herself up, she leaned her back against the pillow and put a scant few more inches between them. Turning the small box in her hands, she hesitated a moment, then tried to hand it back to him.

  Suddenly, it felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. She didn’t know what the package contained, but something—her survival instinct, perhaps—told her not to open it.

  “I don’t think I should accept this.”

  “Why not?” Jerry sounded offended by the very thought. “Maybe it’s a birthday present for you. Besides, I think it’s something we’ll both appreciate.” She slanted a look of disbelief at him.

  “Or maybe it’s full of sea monkeys,” she guessed and studied the box more closely. “Judging from the plain wrapping and the post office box number as a return address”—not to mention his timing or his unbridled enthusiasm, she thought—“it’s probably more of a present for you.”

  She had thought their spontaneous—though perhaps foolhardy—encounter just now had been their natural response to the attraction that had grown between them these past several weeks. She would never have believed he could be so underhanded as to deliberately seduce her. Maybe Gerald hadn’t changed that much after all.

  She pushed the package back at him. “Mark it Refused by Addressee—Return To Sender.”

  Jerry took the box. It appeared as though he was about to open it for her. If he did, someone would have to pay to return the unwanted item.

  Quickly rising from the bed, Kimber smoothed her clothes. If she’d been unthinking a few moments ago for allowing him to initiate such physical contact, she’d have to be insane to continue it now. She grabbed the parcel away from him.

  Kimber bolted, but he chased her across the room and cornered her near the closet before he reclaimed the so-called gift. Jerry blocked her escape with his large frame.

  “Send it back.” Her statement would have been a command if it hadn’t sounded so breathy.

  “We’ll keep it.”

  “No, we won’t.” She was ready to clobber her soon-to-be-ex houseguest. Lunging toward him, she tried to take the package away, but he caught her around the waist and pulled her close.

  She could feel him tighten his grip, and she wriggled within his arms. When she realized how she might be making matters worse for both of them, Kimber ceased trying to escape. Instead, she struggled to maintain her composure.

  Taking a deep breath as if to fortify himself, Jerry turned his attention to the box and a moment later lifted out a small, shiny object for her to see.

  It was a miniature angel with gold filigree wings and a tiny halo perched above her head. The sight disarmed her, and Kimber let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Oh, Jerry, it’s beautiful.”

  “Not half as beautiful as you,” he said, surprising her with the depth of conviction in his voice. “This, of course, is no substitute for the real thing, but after your recent near disasters with Muffin and then with the shoe rack, I wanted to give you a little reminder that you don’t walk alone.”

  She flinched when he touched her. As he pinned the brooch to her pocket, his knuckles grazed her collarbone. Kimber gave herself a mental scolding for enjoying the sensations he elicited in her.

  “I’m here for you, Kimber, and I will do whatever is in my power to keep you from getting hurt.” Then he lowered his head to seal his promise with a kiss.

  As she gave in to the tender gesture, she felt tears of self-reproach sting her eyes. What about the disaster area that was her heart? How was she to keep it safe?

  All too soon, the kiss ended. Kimber could see the concern in Jerry’s eyes when a tear spilled over, leaving a salty trail as it slid down her cheek.

  But the dam was broken, and she couldn’t hold the water back. It was obvious she was making Jerry even more concerned, but she couldn’t turn off the flow. It seemed as though the stress of the past few weeks and the foolishness of the feelings that were growing inside her for Jerry had finally taken their toll.

  “Did I stick you with the pin?” he asked. “Tell me what hurts, honey.”

  She rested her cheek against his chest. His voice was soothing and his arms comforting, but they only served to feed the self-pity that came over her.

  But what could she say to his question?

  My heart hurts?

  I want you no matter how wrong you are for me?

  Instead, she hiccuped loudly. Jerry squeezed her closer to his chest, and she tried not to notice the wonderful scent of him.

  If she didn’t get him out of this house soon, she would give him her heart. But much more fully than she ever had before. And once that happened, she would never get it back.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jerry paced the condominium that had once been Gerald’s. He’d tried to persuade Kimber to let him stay at her place, but she seemed convinced that he needed to regain his independence and that she’d be safer with him gone.

  Then she’d muttered something about her heart being safer, too.

  Maybe she had a heart condition. He would have to ask her when he saw her at work the next day. Even so, he doubted that’s what threatened the early emptying of her hourglass. Heart attacks were almost always a part of the Master Plan.

  Whatever was threatening to shorten her time here on Earth was an external force. Of that, he was certain.

  He would have to approach this in a more organized manner to find the source of her problem. He couldn’t continue leaving her safety to chance. By skimming the surface and looking only for obvious dangers, he could be putting her in more jeopardy.

  Jerry sat on the plush white sofa. At Kimber’s place, he would have put his feet up. But not here. He liked the mostly white color scheme of Gerald’s apartment, but the rest of the stark glass-and-brass decor was too formal for his taste.

  Unable to sit still, he got up and paced some more. A public service announcement he’d heard on television popped into his mind.

  Knowledge is power.

  Perhaps the more he knew about Kimber, the better he’d be able to protect her. And since Gerald had once been engaged to her, there might be some mementos or other clues about her in his apartment.

  He went into the kitchen and began opening cabinets and pulling out drawers. After finding nothing other than a note to “buy some champagne to celebrate,” he tucked it into his pants pocket and made a sweep through the dining and living rooms.

  Celebrate what? he wondered as he picked up a photo of Gerald and Kimber kissing. Wiping the crystal frame over the front of his shirt, he dusted the photo and studied it.

  Even though it looked posed—as if both Kimber and Gerald were self-conscious about kissing for the camera—the permanently frozen gesture tormented him with its suggestion of intimacy. They
were his own physical lips that touched hers in the photo, but it was Gerald she was kissing.

  When Jerry had kissed her today, had she been thinking of the man in this photo, or had she been responding to Jerry himself? She had told him that their engagement was called off because Gerald wasn’t ready to get married. Had Gerald broken things off, leaving her pining for the man she couldn’t have?

  No, if that were the case, she wouldn’t have tried so hard to resist Jerry’s advances. He could tell she liked kissing him as much as he enjoyed kissing her. It was as if, after a few moments of heady forgetfulness, she would suddenly remember her former relationship with Gerald and call a halt to their caresses.

  Maybe she thought she was doing the honorable thing by waiting until Gerald’s “memory” returned before becoming involved with him again. He would have to keep searching the apartment in the hope of finding the answers he needed.

  The bedroom didn’t turn up anything of interest. Just some stock reports and information about the company Barnett’s Bakery was trying to acquire. And another photo of Gerald and Kimber, this time posing with her father and stepmother.

  It wasn’t until he got to the spare-bedroom-turned-office that he hit pay dirt. The problem was, most of the notes and scraps of paper didn’t appear to mean much.

  A pile of unopened mail sat in the center of the desk. Mostly advertisements, but there were also a few bills and a bank statement.

  He skimmed through the file detailing the proposed merger, hoping to familiarize himself with the situation before going to work tomorrow.

  At the back of the folder was a handwritten note in neat script reminding him to call Mr. Hoskins, the comptroller at Goode Foods. He tucked that into his pocket, too, and made a mental note to contact him tomorrow.

  Perhaps Mr. Hoskins would be a good source of merger information, thereby freeing up more time for Jerry to keep an eye on Kimber.

  In the bottom desk drawer he found Gerald’s checkbook and credit card statements. Van Claude Clothiers apparently was a favorite.

  Jerry let out a low whistle at the exorbitant sums. And judging by the grocery-to-restaurant ratio, Gerald obviously preferred eating out. At expensive restaurants, no less.

  Scanning the papers, he was surprised to see a number of charges to an inexpensive in-town motel. Hmm, maybe he stayed there on the nights he worked late.

  No, that didn’t make sense. Kimber had told him the condo was no more than a twenty-minute drive from the office.

  He could drive home more quickly and easily than checking into a motel. And with his expensive tastes, why would he stay at such a cheap place?

  He had hoped to find some answers at work the next day but, to his chagrin, more questions were raised than resolved.

  Kimber had given him a ride to the office since his car had been totaled in the accident and she wasn’t sure whether he’d understand the bus schedule. But if he’d thought her generosity would extend to letting him loiter near her desk, he was mistaken.

  “Your office is on the next floor down,” she said when he tried to make himself comfortable on the couch in her office.

  “Couldn’t I move my desk up here?” He ran a hand over the polished teak paneling. “I wouldn’t mind working on this floor.”

  She slanted him a cautious gaze. “Maybe you haven’t changed as much as I thought,” she said. “For the three years you’ve worked here, you’ve had your eye on the senior vice presidency.”

  “Oh, I don’t care about that. I just want to be near you.”

  She looked like she didn’t quite believe him. He considered telling her why he needed to stay close but decided against it when her assistant interrupted by placing a heavy accordion file folder on Kimber’s desk. “Here’s the information you asked Donna for.”

  “Donna?” Jerry asked Kimber after the other woman had left. “My secretary?”

  Kimber nodded. “When I asked for this yesterday, I didn’t realize you’d be back at work so soon. Since we’re nearing the point where we need to make an offer or pull out altogether, I thought I’d start wrapping up your loose ends.”

  “I vote to forget about the whole deal.”

  Her eyebrows formed perfect arches above deep-set brown eyes. There was no mistaking her opinion on the matter. Even so, it was all Jerry could do to keep from reaching out to run a thumb over one dark brow or brush back the fringe of bangs that fell over it. Instead, he busied himself by picking up the thick file stuffed with a computer printout that appeared to be a duplicate of the one at Gerald’s condo.

  “I’ll take this. There’s no sense in you working yourself to death.”

  She tried to argue with him, but Jerry refused to return the papers. On his way to the elevator, he stopped in to say hello to Maxwell Barnett.

  A few minutes later, on his own floor, he paused at the water cooler for a drink. When he straightened up and wiped a hand across his mouth, an older man in a wrinkled shirt stood beside him.

  “It’s all yours,” Jerry said, gesturing toward the cooler.

  The man made no move, either to take a drink or to get out of Jerry’s way. “You think you can go around doing whatever you please, however you please.” His eye twitched as he tried to stare Jerry down. “Well, you’re not so high and mighty. I’m onto you, so don’t assume you can go around making up your own rules.”

  With that dour expression, the fellow reminded him of Mehrdad, who was a stickler for following procedures. Jerry guessed this guy must work in accounting.

  He scanned the wall behind the cooler, checking for a ticket dispenser before addressing the stranger. “What? Was I supposed to take a number or something?”

  The peculiar man merely wagged a warning finger at him and left without another word.

  Jerry brushed off the incident and turned his attention to finding his office. Kimber had told him it was on the east side of the building. But when she had started talking specifics, he had tuned everything out as he focused on the sweet, floral scent of her.

  Hers wasn’t a single flower’s fragrance, but it seemed more like a delicate bouquet of assorted wildflowers. As she talked, he had moved closer, taking in not only her fresh smell, but the beauty of her large brown eyes, the smoothness of her skin, and the rise and fall of her soft voice. When she had finished and asked him if he understood her directions, he didn’t have the heart to ask her to repeat them.

  So now he stood here, facing the east wall of the building, wondering which of the three women stationed in the reception area might be Donna.

  Since the staff hadn’t been told about his so-called amnesia, he couldn’t very well ask one of them the way to his office. Kimber had feared that some of the employees might mistakenly equate his “amnesia” with mental instability.

  He found it touching that she didn’t want such feelings to undermine their confidence in his ability to perform his job.

  Buying a little time, he started flipping through the Goode Foods printout. After a moment during which he found himself engrossed in the columns of figures, a fourth woman walked up to him.

  Dressed in a crisp beige skirt and jacket, she appeared to be a little older than Kimber. Thirty, possibly. Her blond hair, though worn down, was carefully turned under at the ends and sprayed so efficiently that he was certain not one hair dared leave its assigned position.

  “Welcome back, Gerald. I was beginning to wonder if you had decided to quit your job and become a house-husband.”

  “A house-husband?” He tucked the printout back into its folder. “Why would I want to marry a house?”

  She laughed and quickly settled down to business. “I have a stack of letters awaiting your signature. What do you want me to do with them?”

  Perfect opening. “I have my hands full right now. Why don’t you put them on my desk?”

  She nodded, and he followed her to Gerald’s office. Although it looked different from the condo, Jerry could tell the room had been inhabited by the same man.
Rich brown leather covered the sofa and desk chair; the desk sported a smoked-glass top, and all around on the desk, credenza, and bookshelves were brass lamps, brass picture frames, and various other brass accessories.

  “This place needs a fish tank.”

  Donna cast him a curious glance and set the papers on his desk. “You used to say they’re for daydreamers and that you were too busy to sit and stare at fish swimming in circles. Did the accident give you a change of heart?”

  “Oh, no,” he assured her, thumping his chest for emphasis. “It’s the same heart that’s always been in this body.”

  She laughed again. “Sounds like the time off did you good. I’ll be back in a few minutes to get those letters.”

  After she left, Jerry quickly signed the letters. One was a memo reminding employees of the company picnic in two weeks. “All right!” he declared and marked the date and time on his calendar.

  Then he proceeded to snoop through the desk and credenza drawers. Most of what he found appeared to be files of supporting data for projects already completed. In the top desk drawer sat a stack of non-urgent business to take care of as time permitted. The bottom drawer, however, refused to open.

  Jerry fished through his pants pockets for the ring of keys that had been among Gerald’s possessions at the hospital. The first two he tried didn’t work, but the third one turned with a satisfying click.

  The drawer opened to reveal a small bottle of mouthwash, a spare shirt and tie, a bottle of aspirin, and a package of condoms.

  The first few items could very well be work-related, he deduced. But the last? He tried not to think about Kimber being with Gerald in that way. It had been bad enough finding that picture of them kissing.

  But if they were for intimate moments with Kimber, why did he keep them locked in his desk drawer? Wouldn’t it have been simpler to keep them at her house or his condo?

  Then Jerry remembered the motel receipts. Perhaps she met him for midday trysts? Personally, he didn’t think that sounded like Kimber’s style. And even if it was, why wouldn’t Gerald just stash his supplies in his wallet?