RiverTime

by Rae Renzi

  His eyes followed her like a wolf tracking a rabbit.

  He felt a nudge.

  “So she’s the one, eh?”

  Jack smiled, chagrined. His chameleon trick didn’t work on his brother. Nocona could always find him.

  “Yes, that’s Casey, with the gold hair.”

  Nocona was in evening clothes, his long dark hair neatly bound. He fit right into this crowd. “She’s beautiful.”

  “She looks a lot different tonight than she did on the river, but yes, she is. Inside and out.”

  They stood together and watched Casey talk and laugh with her friends.

  “She’s very different than your other women.”

  “How?”

  “The others,” Nocona said, choosing his words, “your other women, they wore their beauty like clothes. They put it on in the morning and shed it at night. Those women, they wield their sexuality like a whip. This one, your Casey, she wakes up with her beauty and goes to sleep with it. And she is no more aware of her sexuality than a bird is its wings.”

  Nocona. The warrior-poet.

  “You’re going to talk to her.” Nocona made it a statement, not a question.

  “Yes. Where’s Justin?”

  Nocona motioned with a nod of his head. “Over there talking with some gorgeous women. They love him.” As if he didn’t have the same effect on women as his twin brother. His eyes strayed back to the ballroom floor. “Who’s with your Casey? The one with fiery hair?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know any of her friends.” Jack paused to scrutinize the woman beside Casey. “She’s a stunner, isn’t she?”

  Nocona didn’t answer, he just kept staring.

  “Nocona? It’s almost time. Are you with me?”

  “Yes. I’ve got you.” Nocona tore his eyes away from the women. “Justin’s on his way.”

  In the past couple of years Jack, like many public figures, had attracted his share of the odd and the disturbed. He’d resisted hiring security because of the infringement on his privacy, but after an obsessed woman made an attempt on his life, he’d decided to compromise. Nocona and Justin had just left the military, so Jack fronted them the money to start their own security business in exchange for their protection at public events like this. It was an agreeable arrangement. Jack had security without the intrusion of strangers, and he got to stay in close contact with his best friends. Nocona and Justin got to do what they did best for one of the people they cared about the most. They liked the fringe benefits, too.

  Justin sauntered up, a self-satisfied grin on his face. Jack brought him up to speed on the situation.

  “I need to talk to Casey. I’ll try to keep it low key, but I might have to talk with some people along the way. I’ll give Casey this note with my cell phone number on it, so she can call me. I want to see her alone. Tonight.”

  “Where?”

  “Her room, if she doesn’t have a roommate.”

  Justin and Nocona exchanged glances. “This could be risky for you, you know. Ramona will have someone watching you.”

  “Yeah, I know, Justin. It’s a risk I have to take.”

  Ditsy nudged Casey, not gently. “Casey, it’s Dylan, or Jack, whatever you want to call him. He’s headed this way.”

  Casey followed Ditsy’s gaze, trying to remain calm. Jack’s approach was not quite oblique, but not direct, either. He stopped and talked to people along the way, a smile here, a handshake there, following a meandering course in her general direction but not pinpointing her as his destination, until the heart-stopping moment when his eyes met hers.

  She suddenly understood at a visceral level the addict’s torment—euphoria and pain, pain and euphoria. For that split second, she would have crawled across shards of glass to be with Jack and joyfully bled to death in his arms.

  After a deep breath and another well-timed nudge in the ribs from Ditsy, she recovered, to a degree. She mentally shook herself out of the trance and moved forward to meet him, her heart pounding. Still some distance away, she held out her hand as if to shake his.

  He took her hand and lifted it to his lips for a long and lingering kiss. Then, in pure Hollywood tradition, he leaned close and planted an almost-but-not-quite-chaste kiss on her lips.

  “Jack,” she managed to murmur. She slid into his heated gaze and the fantasy. It was all she could do to keep from falling into his arms.

  “My love,” he whispered. He transferred a folded piece of paper into her hand. Her heart rocketed around in her chest.

  Pulling herself together enough to be aware of the stares they were collecting, Casey flashed a bright smile and cleared her throat. “It’s good to see you. Let me introduce you to my friends.” She turned around and introduced Ditsy. “Edith Tarkington, may I present Jack, um, Dylan Raines.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Tarkington.”

  Ditsy was undoubtedly having a cardiovascular moment but all that showed was cool, calm perfection. “My friends call me Ditsy. I’d be pleased if you would, too.”

  Casey repeated the introductions for her friends Diane and MaryBeth, and Jack kissed each of their hands in turn. He was up to full wattage by now. Casey was fascinated. She’d never seen this aspect of Jack—the courtly manner and easy charm. Where was the dark, brooding man she knew? This was not her Jack. This was Dylan Raines, the star, working an audience. It was instructive, and a relief.

  A tall gorgeous man—no, make that two tall gorgeous men, apparently twins—sauntered up. One of them distributed a sunny grin across the group and winked at Casey; the other man’s smile was cryptic.

  Jack addressed the women. “Ladies, my brothers, Justin and Nocona Wiley. Guys, this is Casey Lord and her friends, Edith, MaryBeth and Diane.”

  Ditsy turned her regal gaze to Nocona and positively froze in place. Nocona’s dark gaze locked onto hers. They both stared at each other for several long seconds before Justin cleared his throat pointedly.

  Nocona roused himself to shake Casey’s hand and greet the other two women. When he took Ditsy’s hand, he bowed his head to touch his lips to her fingers. He looked like a knight offering obeisance to his lady. “Surely you are a goddess. The goddess of fire,” he said, as he lifted his eyes to look into hers.

  Everyone was speechless, including Ditsy, which was an event without precedence. “Please…” she barely whispered.

  Nocona slowly straightened, his dark eyes now smiling down into Ditsy’s upturned brilliant blues.

  “Edith, eh?” Justin broke the spell. He was clearly not affected in quite the same way as Nocona.

  “Better known as Ditsy,” Casey said.

  Ditsy tore her eyes away from Nocona and extended her hand to Justin, who shook it enthusiastically.

  “Very pleased to meet you.” Justin grinned at her. “I’m a fan of anyone who dents Nocona’s armor.”

  They’d only visited for a few minutes when a tall blonde woman with a microphone approached with a photographer in her wake. Casey’s eyes stuck on the woman—a reporter—and her mouth went dry. Her eyes darted to the left, then the right. Her breath came in short huffs, and she started to feel dizzy.

  “Looks like they spotted you,” Justin said wryly.

  Jack smiled at the group. “It’s been a pleasure ladies, but I’m afraid I have to go. Time to feed the sharks.” He winked at Casey and broke away to intercept the reporter.

  Her hand closed on the crumpled paper Jack had pressed upon her. An explanation? Or was this just another of his devices to reel her in? A smart woman would throw it away without a glance.

  As soon as the men were out of earshot, Casey’s friends jumped on her.

  “You know Dylan Raines?” Diane asked. “Only you would know Dylan Raines and not tell anyone.”

  “He kissed you. Dylan Raines actually kissed you,” MaryBeth said, her voice awed.

  “It’s this film-and-culture thing. You know how these actors are—everyone is a long-lost friend.” Or a lost lover. Or maybe jus
t lost.

  Ditsy snorted.

  “I don’t know,” Diane said. “He doesn’t strike me as that type. And what was the deal with that smoky look?”

  Casey shrugged. “Maintaining his image?”

  “I didn’t know he had brothers,” Ditsy said dreamily.

  “Me either.” The slip of paper was practically burning a hole in Casey’s hand. “Listen, I’ll catch up with you guys in a minute. Ladies’ room.”

  Finding the nearest accommodations, she locked herself in a bathroom stall and opened the folded note. If we can talk, call and leave your room number. Only that. I’ll be there as soon as I can. There was a phone number at the bottom. It was signed Jack.

  Casey slumped against the stall door, struggling with conjoined feelings of joy and despair. How could he do this?

  She told herself all the reasons she shouldn’t call. In the end it was useless. She was like a leaf in a stream, bound to follow the current with no direction of her own. Taking out her cell phone, she dialed and left her room number in a rush.

  Ditsy wasn’t hard to find when Casey returned; she was the 150-watt bulb in a 100-watt room. Casey was sure that by now she’d been mistaken for a star numerous times. She approached her friend and pulled her aside. “Dits, I’m going up to my room. I need some quiet time.”

  “Jack’s going to talk in a minute. Don’t you want to see?”

  “It’s not Jack who’s talking, it’s Dylan Raines. I don’t know him, or care to, really.”

  Ditsy frowned at her. “Okay,” she said finally. “I kind of get that. But not really.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Casey sat on the bed and pulled off her shoes with a sigh, then flopped back and stared at the ceiling, trying to breathe deeply. Wasn’t that a technique for becoming calm and relaxed? It wasn’t working. Either that or she was overdoing it and hyperventilating.

  Nothing would happen. They would have a civilized conversation, no more than five minutes, then go their separate ways. The past was the past, no reason to get in an uproar.

  The knock on the door propelled her upward as if the bed had bitten her. She stood frozen for a few seconds, letting suppressed hopes and wishes wash through her. And then, like a dam creaking shut, she closed them off. Straightening her shoulders, she opened the door…

  …and it was the flash flood all over again. Fear, chaos, pain and the giddy feeling of salvation.

  Jack slid through the opening and closed the door behind him. He leaned against it and looked at her, his eyes soft and questioning. She backed up until the distance between them felt safe, but she couldn’t stop her eyes from roving over him, drinking him in. He wore a pair of blue jeans and a cashmere sweater, exactly as he had half an hour ago, but he was simply not the same person. The man downstairs had been the actor, Dylan Raines. This was Jack. Her Jack.

  After a long, turbulent silence he looked at the floor and said, “I can try to not touch you, Casey, if that’s what you want. But—” he looked up at her, his eyes dark, “—I’ll be honest. It’s not what I want.”

  Casey’s mind and heart were doing battle, again. Just once, it would be nice if they could get together on this guy. It was no contest. Her heart quickly beat her rational mind into submission—rationality didn’t have a chance when Jack was involved.

  She made the smallest of movements, a slight dropping of her hands in helplessness, and his arms were around her, his hands stroking her hair, his lips touching her forehead.

  He tilted her head back and kissed her, long and deep, as if drinking from a spring after a drought. She kissed him back, as thirsty for him as he was for her.

  But it was wrong. The ease, the intensity, the sense of unity—these were indicators of what might have been, not what was. They were each committed, at least legally, if not emotionally, to a different reality. She had to live with that.

  Casey detached from him. “You wanted to talk?”

  She felt Jack’s mood deepen.

  “I know I don’t have the right to ask,” he said, “but I have to know. Why? Why did you marry him?”

  Casey gazed over Jack’s shoulder. She could say it had killed her to see Jack with his wife on television, or that she’d convinced herself the time on the river was an aberration, or that her marriage was the only armor she had against the pain of loving him, but she said only, “It seemed like the right thing to do.”

  “How could it be right?”

  “How could you not tell me you were married?” Casey shot back.

  Jack looked down at his feet for a second and nodded to himself. He knew. “I’d signed divorce papers. I’d hoped Ramona—my wife—had gone through with it. I guess part of me knew she wouldn’t—she’s done this before. So, to be honest, when I met you, I just didn’t want to be married.”

  “And now…?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “I still don’t want to be, but…there’s more at stake than just my marital satisfaction. My daughter…a custody battle would tear her up. In any case, joint custody doesn’t mean I’d get to see her half the time. A lot of fathers only see their kids alternate weekends. I don’t think I could bear that.”

  “I’m not sure this makes it better or worse, but the fact that you’re married was only part of it. The celebrity thing…it was like getting a bucket of ice water in the face.”

  Jack looked at her curiously. “Yeah, I got that you have this aversion to it. You never told me why.”

  Casey took a deep breath and let it out. “My mom…she tried so hard to make a good—a privileged—life for me, but, a single mom, a sales clerk in a drug store? Wasn’t going to happen. When I was in high school I didn’t have a dress for the prom. It killed my mom. She made some bad choices, got caught. The media, such as it was, hounded us out of town. I’ve been a little publicity-shy since.”

  “Shit. Yeah. I guess that’d do it. But we can—”

  “Don’t.”

  Jack’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah. Okay. But it’s hard. I’ve missed you in ways I didn’t even know existed.” He stroked her face again, lightly touched the curls around her ear, as if verifying she was real. “I can live with only one kiss, but I need some time to be with you, to talk and…whatever it was we did.”

  “I can do that. Though, from what I remember, what we did most was save each other’s lives and squeak out of one dangerous situation or another.” She sat on the bed and patted the spot next to her, inviting Jack to sit down.

  “And try to resist each other.” Jack touched her chin lightly. “I should point out, this situation is not without danger, though of a different sort.”

  “True.”

  He referred to the possibility of scandal, and the effect it would have on both of them. If anyone—hotel staff, guests, other celebrities, the media—saw them together like this, the gossip mills would go into high gear. It would get messy. She could imagine the headlines—Dylan’s Illicit Tryst, Homewrecker Scientist Caught with Dylan Raines, Secret Love Nest of Dylan and Mystery Woman.

  “I hope no one saw you?” she asked.

  Suddenly there was a sharp rapping on the door.

  Casey sprang up in alarm. “Jack! You can’t be in here!”

  He surveyed the room quickly and gave her a fleeting kiss at the base of her neck. Catlike, he slipped under the bed.

  Casey rumpled her hair to make it look slept in. “Who is it?” she said, contriving to sound ill-tempered.

  “It’s me,” came the muffled response.

  Ditsy.

  Casey’s relief lasted only long enough for her to realize Ditsy’s discretion depended on how many glasses of champagne she’d had. Her family had been the target of gossip for so long that she was completely insensitive to it. She sometimes forgot that others were not. It was too risky to let Ditsy in on the secret. She hoped Jack was aware of that.

  Casey pulled open the door a crack, just enough to tell her friend to go away. “Ditsy, I’m not…”

  Ditsy push
ed past her, a look of bliss on her face, and flopped on the nearest bed, which luckily was not the one Jack hid under.

  But the scent of Jack lingered in the air.

  “Really, this isn’t a good time.”

  Ditsy remained on her back gazing in the direction of the ceiling, a dopey smile on her face. Casey sat on the edge of the other bed, across from her. She tried to look miserable. Difficult, at this particular moment, since Jack was still here, just beneath her, breathing the same air, filling and warming the space in which she sat. Later, when he left, she was pretty sure no subterfuge would be necessary to appear glum.

  “I’m smitten,” Ditsy reported.

  “Smitten? You?” Casey was so surprised that she forgot she meant to get rid of Ditsy. “Who, uh, smote you?”

  “Nocona,” Ditsy sighed. “Did you ever, in your whole life, see anyone—with the possible exception of Dylan Raines—as perfect as that man? He’s like a god.”

  A barely audible snort sounded from underneath the bed.

  Casey cleared her throat. “Well, you two certainly have the mutual admiration thing going. I guess that’s a step in the right direction.”

  A warm hand slid around Casey’s ankle and snaked slowly down to her foot, gently massaging it. Alarm raced through her. She grabbed the bedspread, still rumpled at the foot of the bed where she’d pushed it earlier, and pulled it across her legs until it tented the side of the bed and thoroughly hid her feet—and Jack—from Ditsy’s view.

  She needn’t have bothered. Ditsy was in a different world.

  Tingling warmth spread around her foot as Jack applied his magic. Casey tried to speak naturally. “Ahhh…um, and, as a bonus, there are two of them, at least it looked like that to me.” Each of her toes was stroked in turn. Long, slow, delicious strokes.