He reached to brush a curl off her cheek. "Tell me. Just Jennifer, do you always say and do such outrageous things?"
"I’m sorry. Have I offended you?"
"Not at all. In fact. I find you most intriguing." He didn’t lie. Despite his suspicions, he couldn’t remember ever being so intrigued with a woman— even though at this particular moment he seemed to have lost her attention. She had turned and was looking out the back window. "Jennifer?"
"Yes?" She shook her hair back and looked at him.
His smile was gently mocking. "As I was saying, you’re intriguing. You’re here beside me"—he curled his hand around the back of her neck—" so close that I can touch you, or . . . " —he pulled her to him and pressed his mouth gently to hers— "kiss you." He put a finger to the full lips he had just kissed, liking the feel of the souvenir of warmth his lips had left on hers. "I admit that I can’t do everything to you that I want here and now, but that will come."
"Jerome, I—"
"Shhhh." He pressed his finger into the softness of her mouth to silence her. "We’re almost at the hotel."
On the one hand, Jennifer decided as she stepped out of the taxi, she was glad that the ride was over. Sitting beside Jerome Mailer in the narrow backseat had been an unnerving experience On the other hand, she definitely was anxious now that they’d reached the hotel and she had a whole new set of problems to face. Jerome’s eyes, pale blue and so intense, didn’t seem to miss a thing. But then, what had she expected?
She had noticed him only moments after entering the bar. There had been a quiet strength and integrity about him that set him apart. Expensively dressed, and with a definite air of sophistication and experience, he had commanded her attention immediately. Quite a feat, considering everything. She had been surprised by her attraction to him because it was so uncharacteristic, not to say inappropriate. Beyond his role in her deception, he should mean nothing to her. But he did. Why this man and why now?
Standing out on the sidewalk while he paid the driver, she noticed once more how good-looking he was, with his sandy-colored hair and self-assured air. He said something to the driver, then quickly pivoted and caught her staring at him. He smiled and she found herself smiling back. What a nice smile he had, she thought.
He came swiftly to her side, took her arm, and guided her through the big glass doors into the lobby. Dear God, she prayed, let her plan work.
"Wait!"
Jerome paused, raising a brow questioningly. "Don’t you like the hotel? It’s an excellent one, but if you would rather, we could always go someplace else."
"No, no, the hotel’s fine," she assured him, at the same time attempting to concentrate on what she had to do. Timing would be everything. But when he focused his whole attention on her, her thoughts veered to the way his gaze danced so intimately over her . . . and the way his mouth curved so seductively. She made an effort to collect her wits. "But there is one more thing."
"Now, how did I guess?" he murmured sardonically.
"When you register, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t use your real name."
A peculiar glint came into his eye. "What name would you like me to use?" he asked carefully.
"I don’t know. Smith would be okay. It doesn’t matter, as long as you don’t use your name."
"Okay," he drawled. "Now that I think about it, I suppose registering us as Mr. and Mrs. Smith does have its advantages. I mean, I would at least have a last name for you. I wouldn’t have to call you Just Jennifer anymore." He studied her for a long, unnerving moment and discovered an almost haunted darkness in the depths of her eyes. He wondered about it. "What do you think? If I called you Jennifer Smith, would you answer?"
"I’d answer," she said, using her low, smoky voice as she would a slow-flowing harmonious melody to touch him, to move him.
"Yes," he whispered, "but how close to your real name would I be?"
"Please. This is important to me."
"What is it, Jennifer? Does it take these things—a cab, a hotel room, a different name—to turn you on? Can’t you get into the mood any other way?"
She flushed, but kept direct eye contact with him. "Just do it for me, Jerome, please. Oh–" Her eyes widened. "Do you have enough money to pay cash?"
He stared at her for a long moment. "What would you do if I didn’t?"
She ran her tongue around her lips, moistening them. "I-I don’t know."
There was an ominous stillness within him as he slid his long finger along her neck. "Lady, I have a feeling you’re the type of woman that a man would do almost anything for."
They were shown to the suite Jerome had requested. In addition to a bedroom and bath, it had an intimate and luxurious parlor area, and a fully stocked bar, complete with chilled bottles of champagne. Surveying it, Jennifer decided that Jerome Mailer was obviously used to the finer things in life. And he had been able to pay cash. She felt cold. She had the feeling she had jumped from one frying pan into another.
Playing for time, she strolled around the sitting room. She fished a cigarette from the pack he’d gotten for her and she’d left in her purse. She lit it as her mind busily turned things over.
Jerome had done everything she had asked and without much resistance. It was just as well, too, because it had been vital that he do so. So then, why did she have the feeling that somehow it was he who was in charge instead of her? She admired him. If only— Abruptly she stopped herself. It was foolish to wish that they had met under other circumstances. She had never been the type to wish for the moon, and she wasn’t going to start now. She had too many realities to deal with at the moment and, at this precise point in time, Jerome Mailer was right up there at the top.
Sadly she shook her head, then turned to find him looking at her with those penetrating eyes of his. She crushed the cigarette out, barely smoked. "Isn’t this suite a little extravagant just for one night?"
With a casualness she envied, Jerome removed his jacket and laid it over the back of a chair. Loosening his tie and the top buttons on his shirt, he sank onto the couch. "Not necessarily. I don’t think I’ll regret spending the money. I plan to get every penny’s worth." He patted the cushion next to him. "Come sit down."
"In a minute," she hedged. Opening the door to the bedroom, she spied a huge bed. She went back to retrieve her purse. "If you don’t mind, I’d like to freshen up."
Jerome gave an agreeable wave of his hand, and she turned toward the door again.
"Jennifer," he called softly.
She paused and looked back over her shoulder. "Yes?"
At least she answered to the name Jennifer, he thought, brooding. Maybe that was her real name. "Have you had dinner?" he asked. "Are you hungry?"
"No . . . that is. I had something earlier."
"Are you sure? How about something to drink?"
"Whatever you’d like," she agreed in a voice that told him she really didn’t care one way or the other. She entered the bedroom and closed the door behind her.
Jerome contemplated the closed door thoughtfully. This was really strange. Something was going on, something other than what this situation appeared to be on the surface—a casual pickup between two people who were mutually attracted. Underneath that smooth, sultry facade that Jennifer presented, her nerves were strung tight, too tight.
He sprang into action, making a quick tour of the room, looking for anything out of the ordinary, bugs or hidden cameras. It was true he had been allowed to pick the hotel, but who knew what she would have done if he hadn’t picked this hotel? She could have suddenly decided she had a partiality to a particular hotel and then remembered the name of the Hotel Randolph. There were any number of ways a scam could be worked. The man at the desk had chosen this suite for them. If it were a big enough operation, the man at the desk could very well be in on the whole thing with her.
How many times had he been told that he was too cynical, too cautious, he reflected mirthlessly as he replaced a mirror that had turned ou
t to be just a mirror. And how many times had he been proven right. However, he could never recall another time when he wished more fervently than he did now that he would be proven wrong.
Through the closed bedroom door he heard another door open and shut. Quickly he reached behind the bar and threaded the fingers of one hand around two glasses. With his other hand he lifted a bottle of champagne out of the small refrigerator. Then he returned to his position on the couch and greeted her.
"I decided tonight deserved champagne."
She gave a throaty laugh as she approached the couch and chose the farthest cushion to sit on. "A magnum! Do you really think we can drink all that?"
"I’m sure we will." He scooted along the couch until he was beside her. "If it’s up to me, this night will last a long, long time."
She started up, but a casual hand on her arm kept her seated. "Please," he whispered with an enticing persuasiveness, "don’t get up."
The warmth of his touch burrowed through her, reaching clear to the ice that had been in her bones for the last two days. It was hard not to relax under his practiced charm. He seemed very experienced in handling skittish women, she decided, although she would be willing to bet that the women who got this close to his bedroom were more than eager to be there.
"Tell me about yourself," he urged softly. Instantly she tensed again, and he cursed silently. She had a way of closing up on him, and he didn’t want that.
"I’d rather not," she said. "I’m not much for talking about myself."
His fingertips found the long column of her neck and lightly stroked its length. "Usually the people who don’t like to talk about themselves are the very people who are interesting."
"Not in my case." The caress was doing the most extraordinary things to her senses. "My story is really very dull."
"I assure you I’d be fascinated." He smiled. "You said you were new to the area. Where are you from?"
"Washington," she answered truthfully before she even thought about the implications. She was so distracted by his smile, and by the way his fingers were absently stroking her neck. His technique was very sure, very smooth, and very effective. Briefly Jennifer wondered if he found the soft skin of her neck especially appealing—if he was touching her because he couldn’t help himself, or because he touched all of the women he was about to make love to in just such a manner. She gave herself a mental shake. It didn’t matter.
"D.C.?"
"What? Oh . . . no. Washington State." She was going to have to do much better than this. Concentrate. Jennifer! Oh, but how? This man completely rattled her. He made her forget, and as nice as that would be, she couldn’t allow that to happen. Her life depended on it, and now maybe his did too.
"Lucky you. I’ve never been there, but I understand it’s a beautiful state."
"Yes, yes, it is."
"How long have you been here?"
"I told you before." She bit her thumbnail. For a man with seduction on his mind, he was asking an awful lot of questions. "I haven’t been here too long."
"No," he corrected her gently. "You didn’t say that. You said only that you were relatively new to the area. What exactly does relatively new mean?"
She would have to be careful what she said to him, Jennifer reminded herself. On top of everything else, he had an excellent memory. Again she asked herself, Why this man and why now? Such damn rotten timing!
The tips of his fingers had settled into the hollow of her collarbone and were moving in slow circles. A shuddering sensation zigzagged up her spine. Worst of all, she knew he had felt it.
"What were you doing in that bar tonight, Jennifer?" he whispered.
Inexplicably her attention centered on his lips instead of on the question. She didn’t answer.
"Whom were you waiting for?"
His bottom lip was slightly fuller than the top, clearly outlined and beautifully shaped.
"Why did you come over to my table?"
His voice swirled into her, deep and warm, reaching to parts of her long untouched.
"And why did you want to come here?"
Still she did not answer, so transfixed was she by the man beside her and the way he looked, the way he sounded, and the way he was touching her.
"You’re an enigma, Jennifer. A beautiful, complicated enigma. I have about a hundred questions I’d like to ask you. But even if I did, I have a feeling you wouldn’t answer." His fingers exerted pressure on the back of her neck, and he pulled her a little closer to him.
Before she could think about what she was doing, she put her hand on his chest, and then immediately wondered why she had done it. Had she placed her hand there to act as a barrier? Or had she placed it there because she wanted to feel the powerful beat of his heart underneath the broad strength of his chest. In the end it didn’t matter, because he took her hand and tenderly kissed the palm. "Relax," he said on a soft breath, "I’m not going to hurt you."
Her lips parted. Deep in her soul there was something telling her to go with this incredible feeling flooding her being. But she knew she couldn’t. . . shouldn’t.
Ever so lightly his other hand skimmed over the pure white cloth that shielded her breasts and began to rub the bare skin just above the neckline. "At this moment I would give a million dollars to crawl underneath this skin of yours and find out what’s going on inside of you."
"You’d be disappointed." she whispered, the words nearly choking in her desire-clogged throat.
"I don’t think so, but why don’t we find out."
This man was a stranger, yet his hands felt so good on her body. And then there were his lips. They curved into a smile and descended slowly to hers, and at their touch the hard cold knots of disquiet inside her began to dissolve.
He was tasting her with his tongue, taking her breath with his mouth, melting her with his hands. She gave way and flowed more fully into him. At her response he lifted his mouth and stared down at her. His eyes were very blue. He hesitated only briefly, and then with a fine mastery and a softly spoken word he once more lowered his lips to hers, rubbing over hers with a velvet abrasiveness, his tongue exploring every sweet soft hollow it could find. Fleetingly it occurred to her that never in her life had she been kissed so thoroughly. Then she heard a little sound of pleasure that she realized must have come from her.
He leaned back into the cushions and willingly she followed, her body lying half on top of his. Her breasts were pressed into the hardness of his chest. But together the material of her dress and the cloth of his shirt were not thick enough to keep him from feeling her firming nipples thrusting tightly into him. He shifted a little, and she felt her whole body quiver as her nipples scraped his chest through their clothing.
Hot excitement, beautifully controlled, was being transmitted from him to her. She had just enough sense left to realize that he was bringing her along slowly, and somehow the thought that he could control her body with such ease, such finesse, made her thrust her tongue more deeply into his mouth.
He responded. With even more force he delved his fingers into the tangled silk of her hair and his lips devoured hers. Then he licked away the hurt.
"Jerome." His name was little more than a sigh, a wish, a dream, against his lips.
He answered by running his hand down her back to her hips and moving the white jersey cloth in hard, pushing circles against the tender skin of her buttocks. Subtly his pelvis began to move against hers, his hand applying a sensuous pressure, keeping their bodies together.
He had a wonderful sense of rhythm and timing. Timing. Vaguely the word came to her. Timing. Then she remembered. Time. It was the wrong time. This man, at this particular time, couldn’t be! She pushed against him and immediately he slackened his hold. She gulped air, managed to steady her breathing, and then said, "I’m sorry, but I’ve got to leave."
"Leave? What’s wrong?" Jerome questioned huskily, his brow creased in concern. "Jennifer, what is it?"
His mind slowly cleared, and as it di
d, he cursed himself. For someone who had intended to proceed so carefully with the evening, he had nearly lost control. But dammit, if he had been affected by their kisses, so had she. He would be willing to bet almost anything that her responses had been genuine.
Something was very wrong. He knew it as certainly as he knew that she was the most softly sensual woman he had ever met. He also knew that he wasn’t going to let her go until he found out what it was. If then.
"Jennifer ..." he began again, but in the next instant Jerome went quite cold and still. He jerked his head toward the quiet muffled sounds of someone at the door attempting to turn the doorknob.
It could be anyone. It could be someone who after a long night in a strange city found himself with a key that wouldn’t fit and hadn’t yet realized he was at the wrong door. It could even be a maid on the late shift who mistakenly had been assigned to clean the suite. It could be, but Jerome’s instinct was telling him that it wasn’t. And his quick glance at Jennifer’s face confirmed it. She had gone as white as her dress.
Quickly he moved to the end table and switched off the light. Dropping to his knees beside the couch, he covered Jennifer’s mouth with his hand. He couldn’t see her clearly, but he could feel her tenseness.
"Be very quiet and do exactly as I say," he whispered.
Only after she nodded did he release his hold. Snatching up his coat with one hand, he grabbed her with the other and soundlessly led her to the door. With his back pressed to the wall beside the doorframe, he could now hear low voices. Damn! There were at least two of them.
His eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness, and they darted about, seeking something that could help him. Before he could act, however, Jennifer lunged for the unopened champagne bottle.
For an instant Jerome wasn’t sure whom she intended using it on, but then she stepped to the other side of the doorframe just as the door clicked open. There was no time to look at Jennifer again, or to try to reassure himself about her as a sliver of hall light was thrown across the floor. Stealthily the line of light became wider and wider.
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