by Gina Wilkins
“A good time? Did I seem to be having a good time, Blake?”
He reached out to place his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
She lifted her chin and looked defiantly at him. “Two weeks ago, I lost a job I’d been working toward my entire life. A little over seventy-two hours ago, a man died at my feet. Someone tried to shoot us. Someone invaded my apartment. You tell me that we’re going to break into the home of one of the most powerful men in the state to find evidence that he has committed insurance fraud, that he might be behind the murder in the gallery. We’ll probably be arrested—if, that is, we don’t get shot like poor Mr. Botkin. Oh, yes, Blake, I’m having a very good time.”
Guilt crashed through him, nearly prompting him into making rash promises that he had to bite back with an effort. He knew in that moment that he would have offered her anything she wanted—his very life, if necessary.
He loved her. There was no reason to continue to deny it. Calling it by any other name didn’t change the truth. He was in love with her, and he had been for quite some time. And look what he had done to her, . what he had no choice but to continue to do to her for another few days.
How much more proof did he need that he was all wrong for her?
He tugged her into his arms. She didn’t resist, but buried her face in his shoulder for a moment. And then she drew a deep breath and lifted her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take my frustration out on you.”
He spoke forcefully, guilt weighing even more heavily on him. “You have no reason to apologize. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“No. I would still be sitting in my apartment sulking and staring at the television,” she replied with a wan smile.
“You would be safe.”
She shook her head. “Blake, no matter what I said, I don’t blame you. I suppose I was angry with myself.”
“Why?”
She ran a hand through her red-dyed curls, in a weary gesture. “Maybe because I was having a good time today. In the theater, at dinner. I suddenly felt...I felt so guilty for enjoying myself after—” She groped ineffectively at the air with her right hand, unable to finish.
“How often do you allow yourself to really have a good time, Tara? And I’m not just talking about the last three days.”
She flinched, and he knew he’d struck a nerve. “I know how to enjoy myself,” she said, her tone defensive.
“Oh? What are your hobbies?”
“I—” She stopped, biting her lip, then shrugged. “I like to read.”
“What else?”
“I work,” she answered simply.
“And now that you have no job?” he asked gently. “What will you do with your time?”
Her arms tightened, her hands rubbing her forearms as though to ward off a sudden chill. “I don’t know,” she whispered.
He loosened her fingers and tugged her icy hands into his, holding them tightly, sharing some of his warmth with her.
“If there is one thing I’ve learned during the past twenty years, it’s to take your pleasure where you can find it,” he said. “The situation we’re in is serious, there’s no denying that. And what we’re planning to do Friday night will not be fun. But there is no reason for you to feel guilty because you enjoyed yourself for a few minutes today.”
He lifted her hands to his mouth, kissed one, and then the other. “You’ve been amazing during the past three days. Don’t fall apart on me now. I need you.”
Her face softened a bit, but she shook her head. “You don’t need anyone. Especially me.”
“Now that,” he said, leaning over to brush her mouth with his, “is the first really foolish thing you’ve said all evening.”
He kissed her again. And then again. And, finally, she began to respond.
Her hands slipped out of his to go around his neck. She pressed closer. “Blake?”
Already he could feel himself responding to her, aching for her. Maybe he’d believed—maybe he’d even hoped—that making love with her last night would blunt the edge of his desire for her. Maybe he’d thought he could keep his emotions under control once he’d satisfied that first urgent hunger.
He’d been wrong. He wanted her as much now as he had before. More. Now that he knew just how spectacular it could be.
His hands slid down to her hips, holding her against him. “Mmm?”
Her lips moved against his cheek, her breath warm and arousing against his skin. “What you said about taking pleasure where you can find it...”
He smiled. “Yes?”
“I’d really like to find some now.”
“I’d be more than happy to oblige, ma’am,” he murmured. “What would you like me to do to entertain you?”
“Well...I suppose you could juggle.”
He laughed softly. “I suppose I could.”
“Or...you could take me to bed.”
He kissed her flushed cheek, and then her mouth. “That would certainly be my choice.”
There were still shadows in her eyes, but she was smiling when she drew back to take his hand and walk with him toward the bedroom.
11
SOMETIME during that night, Tara made a decision. It was becoming obvious that Blake wasn’t going to open up to her. That he intended to keep his past an enigma. She suspected that there were also things about their current situation that he was keeping from her, things he learned during the mysterious forays he took while leaving her with Stephanie and Jeremy.
Something was going on that he hadn’t told her, she realized. Whether he was trying to protect her, or whether he simply didn’t trust her, his reasons didn’t particularly matter to her. The very fact that he wasn’t being entirely honest with her was enough to let her know that any foolish fantasies she might have been harboring about him were just that—impossible daydreams. It was time to snap out of them. Long past time for her to get a grip on the precarious emotions that had controlled her since she’d lost her job.
She was an attorney. A good one. Though she would probably encounter some awkwardness, she would find another position, and she would make full use of the education she’d worked so hard to attain. Blake had helped her see that, and she was grateful, even if he had come dangerously close to breaking her heart in the process.
All her life, she’d attacked every challenge with determination, intelligence and a refusal to be anything but the best at what she did. It was past time she remembered how to do that, too. She had never in her adult life relied on anyone to take care of her.
As for Blake—well, she could handle him, too. As long as she kept in mind that it ended Friday night, one way or another, she could keep her feelings in perspective. He was the one who’d advised her to take her pleasure where she could find it...and she planned to follow that suggestion.
She would relish the few days they spent together, and then she would put them behind her and move on—Blake’s own personal philosophy, she suspected. Tara McBride had always been a quick study. And in the area of guarding her heart, she suspected Blake had quite a bit to teach her.
DURING THE NEXT three days, Blake tried and failed to figure out what was going on in Tara’s head.
She’d changed since their talk Monday evening, in ways he couldn’t quite define. She seemed more confident, more determined, more self-reliant—more like the woman he’d first met at the law firm. And yet, different. She smiled at Blake’s jokes, held up her end of their conversations, went willingly into his arms at the end of each day...but she held back some private, important part of herself, which was becoming increasingly frustrating for him.
Sometimes he looked at this cool, copper-haired, sexily dressed woman and he wondered what she had done with the real Tara McBride. And he wondered a bit wistfully if he would ever have a chance to be with her again.
She was probably going to hate him by the time this was all over. He’d kept too much from her—his past, his
relationship with Stephanie, the things about this case that he still hadn’t told her. Things she would have to find out, eventually. And she was likely to go for his throat when she learned the truth. She would probably never want to see him again.
Maybe it was for the best. He’d known all along that, their time together was only temporary. He wasn’t the staying-around type. He was following his usual routine, he thought with grim humor. Rush to the rescue, use whatever means necessary to solve the problem, then quietly fade into the sunset when he was no longer needed. It was a satisfying life, on the whole...but a lonely one.
It was the only life Blake knew. The only one he deserved.
ON FRIDAY EVENING, exactly one week after Blake had shown up on Tara’s doorstep, Stephanie stepped back from Tara with a smile of satisfaction. “I’ve done it again,” she bragged. “You look fantastic.”
Tara glanced into the full-length dressing-room mirror to see how she looked in the glittering, colorful costume Stephanie had provided for her. “Is it really necessary for these costumes to be so skimpy?”
From the doorway of the dressing room, she heard Blake’s voice. “Don’t you know why magicians’ assistants are traditionally beautiful women in sexy costumes? It’s a distraction—so the men in the audience will pay more attention to the women’s legs than to the magician’s sleight of hand. Makes it less likely they’ll figure out the secrets.”
Tara turned, and then had to clear her throat. Blake had dressed the part of the stage technician he was pretending to be, wearing faded jeans, a Jeremy Kane T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up on his biceps, and heavy work boots. His hair was tousled more than usual, and a red bandana was tied around his forehead to hold it out of his eyes when he worked. The small tattoo on his right wrist was visible, as was the intriguing scar on his forehead. He looked tough, unpolished, a bit disreputable, far different from the stylishly dressed man who had so often visited the law firm of Carpathy, Dillon and Delacroix.
No matter how he dressed, Tara still thought he was the most spectacular man she’d ever seen.
“And what keeps the women in the audience from watching too closely?” she asked, trying to hide her reaction to him.
“Honey, when Jeremy Kane’s on stage, there’s not a red-blooded woman alive who can concentrate on his hands,” Stephanie quipped. “Especially when he wears those tight black pants.”
Tara laughed. “I suppose I can understand that.”
Blake gave a disgusted snort. “Would you two like me to leave the room so you can discuss this in more detail?”
Stephanie’s grin was wicked. “Not necessary. I’d be perfectly happy to discuss Jeremy’s attributes in front of you. Wouldn’t you, Tara?”
“Please,” Blake cut in. “Spare me.”
“I think my brother’s feeling insecure, Tara. Maybe you’d better tell him how pretty he is to make him feel better,” Stephanie teased, earning a glare from Blake.
“Oh, I think Blake knows well enough how pretty he is,” Tara answered lightly.
Stephanie laughed. “Blake, have I mentioned that I really like her?”
Blake had been looking at Tara with a slight frown. He erased it with a smile that seemed a bit forced when he glanced at his sister. “I like her, too.”
Stephanie glanced at her watch. “Almost show time. Everyone else is already dressed and waiting backstage. Any last questions, Tara?”
Tara shook her head. “I think I’m ready.”
Stephanie looked at Blake again. “Jeremy would love to hire her full-time. He told me she’s one of the hardest workers and quickest learners he’s ever worked with. I might have gotten my feelings hurt, except that I happened to agree with him.”
Tara felt her cheeks warm. “Jeremy’s a tough boss,” she said lightly. “I don’t dare make a mistake.”
Stephanie laughed. “He’s a major perfectionist when it comes to the act—but that’s why he’s the best. And under all that tough talk, he’s a sweetheart.”
Blake scowled. “Saint Jeremy,” he muttered.
Grinning, Stephanie patted his cheek. “Jealous?”
“Stuff it, Steph.”
Tara tried to smile at their nonsense, ignoring the butterflies that fluttered in her stomach.
They’d driven through the massive gates of Willfort’s estate an hour earlier. Blake had come in one of the prop trucks with Jeremy’s road crew. Tara had ridden in a limousine with Paula, Monica and Stephanie. Jeremy would arrive in a celebrity limo with some of the other honored guests of the evening.
Jeremy had utterly forbidden Noelle to join them that evening, though Tara had been told Noelle usually coordinated things backstage before a performance. He’d put Stephanie in charge of Noelle’s usual tasks.
Stephanie glanced at her watch. “I’d better go check on everything. Blake, you’re sure everything’s okay?”
“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”
She kissed his cheek as she passed him on the way out. “Be careful.”
“Always.”
Stephanie rolled her eyes skeptically, and then left Blake and Tara alone in the dressing room.
Tara turned back to the mirror. Her reflection still startled her. The red hair. The overly dramatic makeup. The costume that was little more than a sequined bathing suit. Her legs looking longer than usual in dark stockings and spiked heels.
“I look like a tart,” she said wryly, trying to imagine her parents’ expressions if they could see her like this. Or, worse, her brothers’.
“You look stunning,” Blake corrected her. “How are you feeling?”
“A little nervous. Stage fright, I guess.”
“Perfectly understandable. But you’ll do fine. And, most importantly, you’ll be safe with Jeremy.”
Tara turned away from the mirror. “Can you believe this place? I’ve never known anyone who had a theater in his backyard.”
“Willfort likes to consider himself a connoisseur, of the arts. He stages summer stock and musical performances here, as well as other charity fund-raisers like this one tonight. He had this theater built about ten years ago.”
“He sounds like quite a pillar of society.”
“Does he?”
Blake crossed his arms and Tara couldn’t help noticing the bulge of muscle beneath the short sleeves of his T-shirt. He usually wore long sleeves, she realized. The loose-fitting clothes he generally preferred camouflaged the sheer strength of his slender body.
Tara, for one, would never underestimate him again.
“Blake.” She reached out to place a hand on his arm. “Promise me you’ll be careful tonight. I’m worried about you. What if you get caught looking for...well, you know.”
“I won’t get caught. Don’t worry.”
“The security guards...”
“One of them works for me.”
She blinked, looking up at him in surprise. “For you?”
He nodded, his expression grave. “Willfort hired a couple of extra guards to help out with the crowds tonight. One of them reports to me. So I have backup.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Um...is there anything else you haven’t told me about tonight?”
The look of guilt that flitted across his expression was answer enough. Tara sighed.
“When this is over,” Blake said, “we’ll talk.”
She nodded and drew back. “I’d better hurry. I’m supposed to meet the others backstage.”
“Is your lipstick the smudge-proof kind?”
She automatically glanced at the mirror, focusing on her bright crimson mouth. “Yes. Is something wrong with it?”
“No. Just didn’t want to mess it up when I did this.”
With only that warning, Blake smothered her lips beneath his for a long, thorough kiss. Tara was clinging to him by the time he drew slowly away.
“Tara, I—” He bit off whatever he might have said. “We’ll talk later,” he promised instead.
She nodded, her voice
temporarily gone.
He took a step backward. “C’mon. I’ll walk you backstage.”
Taking a deep breath for courage, Tara fell in beside him.
SOMETIMES DURING the next hour, Tara found herself fighting the urge to pinch herself to see if she was dreaming. How many tax attorneys had the chance to perform with an internationally famous magician? Jeremy’s act was a spectacular one—pounding music, flashing lights, elaborate sets and, of course, his breathtaking illusions.
She saw Blake only once after the performance began, just long enough to whisper to him that she didn’t see the big man from the gallery among the enthusiastic audience in Willfort’s private little theater. And then Blake disappeared, presumably to execute his own plans for the evening, and Tara went back to work.
She took the performance seriously, giving it her full concentration. She’d only been half joking to Stephanie about being afraid to make a mistake—Jeremy Kane truly was a demanding taskmaster when it came to his work. She identified with that trait well enough not to complain. She’d always been a perfectionist herself when it came to work. It was that determination to have everything done correctly that had made it impossible for her to give in to the senior partners’ demand that she knowingly do something she knew was wrong.
She had worked as hard learning this act as she ever had researching a tax question. And it had paid off with Jeremy’s praise and her own confidence that she wouldn’t make a total fool of herself this evening.
Tara’s big act—the one that justified her presence there—came close to the end of the production. She was ceremoniously locked into a large fiberglass ball, which was then rolled playfully around the stage in time to driving rock music. At the end of the number, Jeremy would open the ball, only to reveal to the audience that Tara had been replaced by a beautiful, well-trained Irish setter.
The entire cast—with the exception of Tara, of course—would be on stage for that dramatic unveiling. She would be hiding alone in the wings after slipping from the hidden trap, waiting for her cue to take her bow. She almost looked forward to the thunderous applause she was certain to receive after Jeremy’s clever performance.