Jake stared at the man. “That goes without saying. What about my publisher?”
“That’s taken care of. He doesn’t care where you sell books as long as you sell them. Cruise ship’s the ideal place, and he doesn’t even have to pay the freight.”
The chief had ways of getting what he wanted and did it with integrity whenever possible. But he’d been known to use less than honorable means. So Jake knew that some time within the next two weeks, he would find himself aboard a cruise ship with Allison Wakefield. In such a romantic setting... Shaking his head in exasperation that fate seemed to be running his life, he picked up his guitar and banished thoughts of his book, the chief and the cruise as his fingers danced over the strings. All of it escaped to the archives of his mind...all except Allison Wakefield. Allison and the seat she’d taken in his heart.
Chapter 6
“So you didn’t bother to call me,” Bill Jenkins said when Allison answered her cell phone. She had just returned home after her visit to Mother’s Rest, and his voice dissipated her euphoria the minute she heard it.
“I just walked into my house, Bill. When did you call?” She knew he was referring to his call to her in Boston, the one she deliberately ignored.
“I phoned you at that posh place you stayed at in Boston. Who does that guy think he is, the Prince of Wales? I get ill when I think how much that place costs per night.”
“Come on, Bill,” she teased, “he draws such a crowd, his publisher should be glad to pay it.”
“Really?”
In her mind’s eye she could see his pudgy face break into a grin with a glint of victory in his watery gray eyes.
“Women? I’ll bet they’re all women. You get everything, babe. Everything. Check the inside of his shoes. There isn’t a man on this earth who’s perfect, and especially not one with crowds of females hanging around him.”
His laugh sent shivers through her.
“He’s like the rest of us; he can be had.”
The anger that she immediately felt disappeared as fast as it came, and she let out a laugh. “I’ve never seen him without his shoes, Bill, and as big as he is, I definitely can’t take them off him. I expect we’ll be winding this down in about ten days, at least according to the schedule he originally gave me.”
“Uh...well...”
She sat down, on edge, wondering as to his hesitation. She’d have thought he’d be glad for an end to that tour, considering what it cost him.
“What’s up, Bill?”
“Well, the guy’s publisher called to tell me he’s booked Covington on a cruise, and he’d appreciate it if you could include that in your story. I thought he was a decent fellow to acknowledge that I’m doing him a good turn by having you report on the tour. Not many publishers bother to recognize a thing like this. So...uh...I told him we’d cover it.”
She jumped up, almost jerking the phone from its socket. “How could you tell that man I’d go on a cruise without first finding out whether I could go or wanted to go?”
“Look, babe, don’t get out of joint. I’m paying you to get this story, and if it means getting on a ship, you get on a ship. Maybe you’ll come off your lofty high and mighty and have some fun.”
Her sigh of exasperation sprang not from the idea of spending more time with Jake, but from the recognition that she wasn’t in control of her life, that somewhere, somehow a course had been charted for her and she seemed powerless to move in a different direction.
“When is this cruise scheduled?”
“They’ll let me know, but get ready to spend three or four days, and see that your passport’s in order. You may want to go ashore when the ship docks in some of those countries.”
“Which countries?”
“Damned if I know, but with September coming up, you can bet you won’t be going to Alaska.”
She hung up, took a shower, and lay down for a nap. But as soon as she stretched out, groaning with the pleasure of it, the telephone rang.
“Hey, girl,” Connie said when Allison answered. “Want to go out this evening? According to The Post, Buddy Dee will be at Blues Alley, and Mac will be with him. I’ve had one awful week, and some good jazz is what I need to unwind. Besides, Carly’s in town, and I told her we’d get together and do the old Gamma Delta rah-rah.”
“I’d love to see Carly,” Allison said, “since I’m not going to Howard’s homecoming this year, but, Connie, I’ve been dreaming of this bed I’m lying in. This tour has been tiring. How about tomorrow night?”
“Can’t. I’m flying to Seattle Sunday morning, and I can’t be up late Saturday night. Please. Anyhow, Carly’s leaving for New York tomorrow morning.”
“You’re not seeing Mark the night before you go away?”
“Can’t. He’s at a conference in Los Angeles.”
“All right, but I can’t meet you for dinner. I’ll meet you there at eight. Get a table.”
“Great. See you later.”
Somewhere, someone or something had decreed that she wouldn’t get a nap that afternoon, she decided, answering the telephone on the second ring.
“Hello.” It didn’t sound as if she welcomed the caller, because she didn’t.
“This is Jake. I called several times this morning. Sorry I missed you.”
“Me, too. I was doing errands.”
“Did you get your goose?”
“Yes, but she hasn’t been very friendly. She didn’t even bite me.”
His chuckle, warm and exciting, reached her through the wire. “She’ll come around.”
“I don’t think so, at least not soon. She’s mad at me.” Allison stretched, uncurling her frame and wiggling her toes. “Hmmm,” she said, enjoying the release.
“Are you in bed, for heaven’s sake?” he asked in a tone that was half accusing and half wistful. “Be careful, Allison. I’m not that far from Alexandria.”
“I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”
“No? If I go over there, you will. I never heard a more suggestive sound in my life.”
“Oh, pooh. I was just releasing a little bottled-up stress.”
“Really?”
She imagined that his eyebrows shot up when he said it.
“I can think of a far more enjoyable way to get rid of stress.”
“I’ll bet you can,” she said, “but I’m not going to ask you what that is.”
“Chicken. Are you in bed because you’re feeling bad?”
“I’m fine. I need to unwind. Then, I’m going with my two girlfriends to Blues Alley tonight. My favorite jazz band will be there. Do you like jazz?”
It took him a while to answer, and she wondered at the long silence. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those intellectuals who thinks it isn’t music if it’s not Beethoven?” she chided.
“On the contrary, I love jazz, spirituals, and even some country music if it’s well played. Have a good time tonight. What’re you doing Sunday afternoon and evening?”
“Nothing special. Why?”
“How about picnicking with me in Rock Creek Park? I’ll bring everything.”
“Sounds great,” she said. “Want us to take my car?”
“I’ll rent a car. Let’s see, you’re at Eleven Monroe Avenue? I’ll be there at eleven-thirty.”
“Can’t I bring anything?”
“Just your beautiful self.”
She sat up in bed with her knees up and her arms wrapped around them. If she’d had any doubts that he intended to pursue a relationship with her beyond the duration of his tour, he had just dispelled them. If only she could decelerate the pace of their growing attraction for each other, cool it off until she finished her story on him, she could respond to him as she longed to. She turned over on her b
elly, weary of fighting what she needed and wanted so badly. Maybe he didn’t have any skeletons lurking in his background, waiting to entrap her.
“Oh, Lord, this time let it be. Please let it be,” she whispered, dabbing her teary eyes with the corner of the pillowcase. “I promised myself that if I got another chance, I wouldn’t withhold one thing, not even if I was writing about Sydney. I can’t suffer again the way I did when I protected Roland.” She sniffed to keep from crying. “I can’t. I won’t.”
* * *
Jake stood at the chrome sink in his kitchen, not seeing the yellow curtain that billowed before him, or the expensive double-lined copper pots and pans hanging beside his head, or the blue-tiled floor, blue brick walls, and vaulted ceiling that told him he’d arrived, that poverty was well behind him. He peeled the navel orange mechanically as he pondered his conversation with Allison.
How much had she guessed about Mac Connelly? Had she associated him with the guitar player at Blues alley, and if she hadn’t, why had she told him she’d be there that night? Was she trying to get a reaction from him?
He ate the orange, went to the refrigerator, and got a handful of grapes. How long before she recognized him in Mac Connelly? As he tripped up the stairs, it occurred to him that he didn’t have to play that night. He had looked forward to it all week, but if he didn’t play, it wouldn’t be his first disappointment.
He phoned Buddy. “I have to disappoint you tonight, man, and you know it hurts me to miss a gig with you.”
“I understand, Mac. Let me know when you’ll be back in town. Keep it close to the chest.”
“Right. See you.”
With the letdown came a feeling of hostility. “Damn right I like jazz,” he muttered in reference to Allison’s question. “My life revolves around it. She likes it, but I love it, and she’s the one who’s going to hear Buddy play it tonight.”
He looked around for something to do. He didn’t have a lot of friends with whom he could spend an odd hour or two. When he was an undercover agent, he couldn’t have friends, and after leaving that job, his work was so highly sensitive that he stayed to himself, deeming that the one way to ensure that he didn’t slip up and reveal a secret. Friends asked questions, and they deserved answers. It wouldn’t surprise him if Allison began questioning the abrupt changes in his schedule, to say nothing of the fact that he didn’t make dates with her for Friday and Saturday nights when they were at home.
He took out his guitar, tuned it, and began work on a guitar concerto, something he had postponed for a long time. Thoughts of Allison roamed through his mind, conjuring up the way she reminded him of late spring and the sweet perfume of a flower garden in the moonlight, and the notes came to him so fast that he could hardly write them down. Humming and playing as he composed, the grandfather clock in his foyer chimed twelve times, and he remembered that he hadn’t eaten dinner.
She’s good for me, he said to himself. If I needed proof, this evening confirmed it.
* * *
Dressed in jeans, a yellow cotton turtleneck sweater, leather jacket, and ankle-top leather boots, Allison paced the floor of her living room. Maybe she should have told him that she was busy. After her disappointment the night before when Buddy Dee announced that Mac Connelly was indisposed, she should have realized that it would be a weekend of disappointments. Thirty-three minutes late. Where was he? When the telephone rang, she walked to it as slowly as she could without losing her balance.
“Yes?”
“Hello, Allison. I see you’re annoyed. I’ve been standing in this one spot on the Shirley Highway for the last forty-one minutes. There are ambulances and squad cars inching past, so I presume there’s been an accident. Please be patient. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
“Thanks for letting me know. I...I was—”
“Don’t tell me you thought I’d stood you up? I’ve never done such a thing as that in my life. How was the music last night?”
“So-so. I was disappointed because Mac Connelly didn’t appear, and he’s the star of the show.”
“I’m sorry.”
“How did you spend the evening, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I was home all evening. It isn’t often that I get to do that. The traffic is beginning to move, so I ought to be with you soon. Bye for now.”
Home all evening? She mused over that. So he really didn’t have a special woman friend. “See you soon,” she said.
The doorbell rang in much less time than she thought it would take, so she peeped out the window and relaxed when she saw his long silhouette.
When she swung the door open, his face broke into a smile, warm and...yes, lovable. “Hi,” they said simultaneously.
“Want to come in?” she asked him, realizing at that moment that she hadn’t planned for that to happen.
He moved across the threshold and gazed down into her face. “I don’t know what I expected, but I’m looking at... Well, I like what I see.”
“And it’s a good thing,” she said, tugged at his hand, and closed the door behind him.
“You live here alone?” he asked.
“Yes. It’s tiny, really. Two bedrooms and two baths upstairs and a living room, plus a combination kitchen and dining room, and a powder room down here. Most apartments are probably bigger. I have a real nice patio out back.”
She noticed the way his gaze roamed over everything, slowly and carefully. “I’d like to see it sometime. Upstairs, too.”
Her eyes narrowed, not because she did that deliberately, but out of habit when she became defensive. “Now, look—”
He stepped close to her. “No, Allison, you look. If you don’t trust me, if I have to weigh every word I say to you, we’d better forget this. You’re old enough to know from other things I’ve said to you, and from the way we are in each other’s arms, that I not only want to see your bedroom, I want to be in your bed with you in my arms.”
He tipped up her chin and held her captive with the passion that raged in his eyes. “Is it wrong for a man to want to make love with the woman he cares for? Is it?”
More than his words, she responded to the softness, the tenderness in his voice, and the longing in his eyes, and wordlessly, she raised her arms to him.
“Allison. Sweetheart. I’m—”
He was all she could see, feel, think of. She could smell and taste the man in him as his aura tantalized her, capturing her senses, and her fingers gripped his nape. “Kiss me,” she whispered. “Hold me and kiss me.”
She heard the yearning and the need that her voice projected, but she cared for nothing but that second when he would once more grip her to the warmth of his body.
He lifted her until she fit him breast to chest and center to center. “Jake. Oh, Jake.”
With a groan, his lips sent frissons of heat plowing through her body, and she opened her mouth to take him into her warmth. His big hands clasped her buttocks tightly as his tongue dueled with hers. Frantic for more of him, her hips undulated against him, giving him unmistakable evidence of her need to have him buried deep inside her body. He squeezed her to him until her nipples ached and she thought she would die for want of release.
Not until he pushed her abruptly from him did she realize how close they had come to making love on her living room floor. Embarrassed and annoyed at herself for not using better judgment, she couldn’t look him in the face but he hugged her to him and stroked her back.
“I told you the next time this happened we’d make love, but I spent all morning making those shish kebabs and hamburgers, and by damn, we’re going to eat them.”
Lord. It felt so good to laugh, and she let it out. “Am I ever going to find something about you that I don’t like?” she asked him, knowing it was a backhanded compliment.
“Not if I can help it. Let’s go
, woman. I’m hungry.”
* * *
“Those are the Moses Hepburn home and town houses,” Allison pointed out to Jake as they passed 206-212 North Pitt Street in Alexandria. “Moses built them in 1850 with money he inherited from his white father. Seems Moses’s mother was enslaved to this man, and he provided in his will for the children she bore him. That made Moses the wealthiest black man in Alexandria. Quite a story behind it.”
“I can imagine. What did he do with the money?”
“He went to Pennsylvania, got an education, invested his money, and increased his wealth, none of which sat well with the local whites, and when Moses subsequently educated his son, Alexandria authorities threatened reprisals. The boy had to leave the state of Virginia.”
He shook his head as if mystified. “No other people now living have scratched, scrambled, and fought their way so far up from so far down as we have. When I think of what our forebears endured and the great legacy they left us, I’m humbled.”
He glanced toward her when she patted his hand. She couldn’t resist touching him, for she wanted him to know she thought him the best example of what that legacy produced. But she only said, “I’m glad I know you.”
A grin crawled lazily over his face. “If you aren’t, I may be headed for trouble.”
He found the spot in Rock Creek Park near a stream—a place where he liked to relax and, sometimes, to write. He put kindling and charcoal in the hibachi, lit the fire, and began fanning to make it burn more quickly. From her seat on a nearby boulder, she watched him nurse the coals to readiness, spread a blanket, and place a picnic basket on it. After putting the shish kebabs and hamburgers on the grill, he opened a cooler.
“Madam, I can offer you beer, wine, ginger ale, and coffee.” He bowed from the waist. “What is your pleasure?”
“I’d like a beer, but it will fill me up, and I won’t be able to eat all the other goodies. I’ll take wine.”
Last Chance at Love Page 12