“Now it’s time that I be committed to my own heart and to the woman I love. If that’s going to damage my political image, then so be it. I wouldn’t ask a single one of you to marry for any other reason than love. I hope you won’t expect any different of me.
“We all find love unexpectedly, in all kinds of odd places. Some people find love in high school or college. Some find it next door. Others find love on a train, a flight or a whole other continent. I happened to find love in a hair salon. Is that so hard to believe? I wasn’t in a bar, with alcohol clouding my judgment. I wasn’t a kid in my teens or early twenties. And I wasn’t looking for a woman deliberately through some kind of match service or blind date.
“Marly walked into the room, and I didn’t care what kind of room it was, or what time of day, or if my political advisors would think it was a good idea. I took one look at her, and I was gone.” Jack stopped speaking for a moment and looked down, tightening his hands on the edges of the podium.
“I wish that I could announce my engagement to Marly Fine right now, this minute. But there’s one little hitch—I haven’t been able to ask her a simple question. So I may as well ask her right now, in front of God and everyone. Marly, will you marry me? It doesn’t have to be next week or next month or even next year. We could have the longest engagement of all time. Just say yes. Please.”
Miss Turlington dabbed at her eyes with a lace-trimmed handkerchief while Marly stared stupidly at the television screen, at the governor baring his soul in front of the entire state…for her.
Jack pulled a small, black-velvet box out of his pocket. “I’ve got the ring right here.”
She gasped, along with the entire audience at the press conference, her parents and Ms. T., who said, “I can assure you that I did not choose that for him, like Carol Hilliard’s birthday present.”
A glow began inside Marly’s heart. Jack wasn’t a liar. He wasn’t a cheap opportunist. He probably was crazy, but he was a good kind of crazy….
“Size six and a half. But I’m not opening this box until I’m in front of you, down on one knee.”
Ohmigod. He even knows my ring size. Even though the rat must have gone back to that security file to get it.
“Aw, come on, Jack!” yelled a reporter. “Show us the rock!”
“Yeah! Give us a look!” called another.
He shook his head. “Nope. Sorry, guys. She has the right to see it first.”
“Show us the darn ring!” shrieked Ma, bouncing up and down on the sofa. “I wanna see the ring! That tease.” She shoved the ancient rotary dial phone at Marly. “Call him, Marlena! Tell him he’s killing us, here, already.”
“Ma, he’s not going to answer his cell phone while he’s on live television.”
“You don’t know that until you try, do you? Call him!”
“And say what?”
Ma stared at her. “What, are you stupid? Say yes! And then tell him I want to see the ring. Ohmigod, Herman, wait until my bunko group hears that our daughter is marrying the governor….”
Heart in her throat, Marly dialed Jack’s cell phone number. Embarrassing to admit she knew it by heart, but she did. Amazed, she watched the television screen as he reached inside his jacket and pulled out the phone. He looked down at the origination number and gave a huge, young-Dennis-Quaid grin. “Excuse me, folks, but I have to take this call. I believe it’s from the lady in question.”
He flipped open the phone. “Hello?”
“Jack? It’s me.”
“Hi, honey. You’re not calling to break my heart, are you? Anything but that.”
“Um, I don’t think so. But I was hoping we could talk about this face-to-face? A little less publicly?”
“I understand. Can I pick you up in an hour?”
“Yes.”
“Can I tell them there’s hope?”
“Yes.”
“That’s all I need to hear, then. I love you.”
“I—” Marly swallowed hard. “I think I love you, too. But I’d make a horrible political wife.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Ma screeched, “The ring! Tell him we want to see the ring!”
Jack said dryly, “Your mom sure sounds excited.”
“Yeah, well, I think she can wait an hour to see it. I kind of agree with you that I’d like to see it first. It’s a girl thing.”
“Being the prospective bride, and all.”
“Prospective. Keep that in mind.”
“Marly, honey, are you still gonna play hard to get?”
“It’s just my nature.” But she smiled.
Jack groaned. “Be there before you know it.” He flipped his phone closed and stepped back to the podium. “Marly,” he informed everyone, “says she’s thinking about it.”
The crowd went nuts.
21
JACK WAS ACTUALLY nervous as the limo, followed by a Lincoln containing the ever-present Jimmy and Rocket, pulled up to a modest little house with a dolphin mailbox and a door wreath dotted with pink flamingos and green gators. He grinned.
They weren’t Marly’s style at all and she was probably mortified by them. But then again, wasn’t it some kind of law that parents existed to embarrass their children? He figured he’d have his own explaining to do next time the senator closed his tie in an ice bucket after a few too many bourbons. Or pinched Marly’s ass.
News vans and reporters lined the narrow street and correspondents converged on the limo, shouting questions and waving microphones and generally making a nuisance of themselves. They weren’t camped in the yard, though, probably due to the six yellow tractor sprinklers shooting water everywhere. He grinned. That’s one way to handle ’em.
He exchanged a look with Mike, who’d flown with them on the Gulfstream to Fort Myers. Jack had even helped him arrange a couple of pages in the latest scrap-book. He had personally chosen the pink gingham border and the cut-paper tulips that surrounded the photos of Mike’s daughter. He’d also served as a consultant on the white picket fence and the smiley-faced sun in the top right-hand corner. Damn, he was good.
Jack pulled off his tie and left it with his jacket in the car. Then he slid out of the limo, shoved his hands into his pockets and made his way up the sidewalk, flanked by Frick and Frack. Despite his security detail, the reporters swarmed around, but he ignored them, other than saying, “Hi, I had a feeling you guys would be here.”
“Are you here to propose to Marly?”
“Governor, what do you mean, she’s thinking about it?”
Jack reached the flamingo and gator wreath, knocked on the door and begged them all for twenty minutes of privacy. Then he promised he’d make a statement and answer questions.
The door opened about four inches, and an angular old face adorned with a thatch of silvery hair peered out at him. “Good God Amighty, it’s really him, Betty Jo!”
“Lemme see! Move out of the way, old man.” A woman’s face ducked under the man’s arm. Wide blue eyes set in deeply tanned skin registered Jack’s presence. Her mauve lips opened and she squeaked with excitement.
“Hi, I’m Jack Hammersmith. You must be Mr. and Mrs. Fine. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Jack stuck out his hand, half-afraid that they might close it in the door. But the man opened it farther, and the woman locked onto the gubernatorial hand and yanked him inside. Jimmy and Rocket remained outside, one in the front and one circling to the back of the house.
“We are right delighted to meet you, Mr. Governor,” said Marly’s mother. “Please come on in and have a seat.”
“Thanks.”
“Would you like a glass of iced tea? A corn muffin?”
“No, thank you…”
They tried to install him in what was clearly the king of the castle’s La-Z-Boy, but Jack looked up and saw Marly standing there, taking in the scene with amusement. “Hi,” she said softly. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
He moved toward her, taking in her bare feet, l
ong sea-foam-green cotton gypsy skirt, and simple white tank top. Around her neck she wore a shell that dangled from a brown leather band. Her eyes shone a deep, clear blue-green and her skin was freshly scrubbed. Her hair was in its regulation braid, which she’d pulled over her left shoulder. He’d never seen anyone so beautiful.
He clenched his hand around the box in his pocket, and her eyes followed the movement. Then she looked meaningfully at her father, and Jack picked up on the clue.
“Mr. Fine, may I speak with you privately for a moment?”
“Why, yes sir.”
He followed the man into his formal dining room, where they had a seat at the table. Marly’s mother suddenly discovered something that she urgently had to do in the kitchen, right next to the dining room’s open door.
“I’ve never really, uh, done this before,” said Jack. “So I guess I’ll get right to the point. I was hoping for your blessing, sir, since I’d like to marry your daughter.”
Mr. Fine sneezed twice in quick succession, and so Jack felt obliged to bless him. Then he sat hoping for his turn.
“You love her, do you?”
“Yes, sir, I do. I said it right on television.”
“You’ll treat her right?”
“Always and forever.”
“You think I could, uh, borrow her back every once in a while?”
Jack put his hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezed. “I think we could probably arrange that.” He smiled. “Not that she’ll ask my permission about anything.”
“No, that she won’t.” Mr. Fine looked down at his worn, callused hands, seeming to hesitate. Then he said, “She ain’t a fancy dinner party kind of gal. Don’t go trying to change her, you hear?”
Jack said quietly, “I love her just the way she is. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
Herman Fine met his gaze squarely and then stuck out his hand. “Well, then, you got my blessing.”
MARLY GUESSED she was her mother’s daughter, after all, since she wasn’t too proud to eavesdrop, either—from behind the other doorway. Tears filled her eyes at her father’s words and at Jack’s responses. And they continued as Jack shared the story of his great-great-grandfather and the cameo of his Italian bride.
They caught her red-handed when she sniffled and they both stuck their heads around the doorway.
“What?” she said defensively. “Like you wouldn’t have done the same thing?”
Her father shook her head at her and disappeared into the kitchen, saying that he and Betty Jo were going to take a run to the grocery store.
Jack grinned and admitted that he’d have had a cup to the wall. “So,” he said, sidling up to her and nudging her with his hip, “have you been thinking?”
The hip in question was covered with a pocket, in which there was some kind of box. Marly had a feeling she knew what the box might contain.
“Yes. I’ve been thinking.”
Jack got down on one knee. “Have you been thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Jack, wait.”
“Nope, I can’t wait anymore. I’m all waited out.”
“But I have some questions! Serious questions.”
“Okay.” He sighed. “Shoot.”
“As the governor’s wife, could I still wear blue toenail polish?”
“Yep. You’ll be a trendsetter.”
“And rubber flip-flops?”
“Anywhere but the White House or a formal dinner, babe.”
“Can I still disagree with you politically? Because I will, you know.”
“I count on you to disagree with me. Life would be boring if you didn’t. Just do me a favor and don’t call the Republican Party the Dark Side in public.”
“That’s a lot to ask, you know.”
“Yeah, I’m a real demanding sonuvabitch. Now can I get on with the proposal?”
“No. I still have questions.”
“Jeez,” he said. “You sure are hard on a guy’s kneecaps!”
“Sorry. But this is important. As the governor’s wife, could I still cut hair?”
Jack ruminated. “As long as disgruntled clients can’t sue the state government for damages, I think it’d be okay.”
“Jack, I’ve never had a disgruntled client. Well, maybe one. But that was back in beauty school, and her hair didn’t stay purple for more than a couple of hours, I promise.”
“What a relief…I have a thought, though. You can definitely still cut hair if you want to, but here’s the thing—I’m not the poorest guy you’ve ever dated. So if you want to keep your partnership in the salon but only work a couple of days a week, you have that option. The other few days a week you could either be a devoted gubernatorial wife or you could paint.”
“I think I’d paint,” she admitted. “Not that I’m saying yes yet or anything.”
“Look, my kneecaps are cracking under the weight of my body, here. You either have to agree to marry me, or you have to break up with me for good. I insist.”
“Well, I don’t want to break up with you,” Marly told him. “I’ve kind of gotten used to you, and if you want to know the truth—” she leaned forward and whispered in his ear “—I’m really horny.”
Jack brightened and fished out the black-velvet box. “Marry me, honey, and we can take care of that right away. Your parents are out, and there’s a guest room here, right?”
The ring was gorgeous: a two-carat pear. Marly took pity on him and said yes. But when he kissed her and wrestled her tenderly down the hallway to the guest room, it was occupied. Fuzzy stared at them balefully from the center of the bed.
“Oh, boy,” Marly said. “This is going to take a lot of ham.”
KAREN KENDALL
Midnight Touch
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
With thanks to all my Florida friends who have
brightened my new life here! And especially to
Sandra, Adolfo, Hugo, Carla and Stany for helping
me get the cultural details/Spanish straight.
I couldn’t have written this book without you.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
1
IF WORD GETS out, I’m a dead man.
Alejandro Torres looked furtively behind him to make sure he wasn’t spotted; then ducked into the backroom of After Hours. A real man wouldn’t live this way, slipping into the darkness, blending with the shadows, unable to reveal to anyone what he did for a living.
He told himself that CIA operatives were in the same boat, but unfortunately there was one key difference: ops guys carried concealed weapons and cool gadgets. Alejandro carried a concealed pumice stone and very uncool purple foam toe separators.
CIA agents—in theory—sought to protect truth, justice and the American way. Alejandro sought to protect his machismo: keep his cojones from shriveling to the size of peas and dropping off into the dust.
His code name was Señor Manos. Not quite 007, but then, this wasn’t MI6—After Hours was an upscale salon and day spa in Coral Gables, one of the ritzier sections of Miami.
It was way too hot for a cloak, and he’d never needed a dagger yet, but the secrecy was urgent. Alejandro shuddered. If any of his buddies on the soccer tea
m found out what he was up to, things wouldn’t be pretty. He should never, ever have filled in for that MIA nail technician!
It was one thing to be a financial partner in a spa. It was quite another for a six-foot-four Peruvian male to be a closet manicurist. But there seemed to be no turning back now: he was in demand, even at the outrageous prices he’d begun charging to dissuade appointments.
“Señor Manos,” said a high, breathy female voice. “I’ve been waiting all week for this.”
The voice came from the shadows of the pedicure chair, from behind a pair of tanned, candlelit knees that were not pressed firmly together.
In fact, the knees were a foot apart from one another, which was alarming, since they wore a short skirt. Not that Alejandro hadn’t spread his share of female knees in his thirty-four years—he certainly had. But he didn’t wish to spread this pair, not even a little bit. Those were married knees. Knees of a three-time mother.
Nevertheless, as a salon and spa owner, he was accomplished at lying to women. Just part of doing business. “And I, mi corazon, have also been waiting all week. You have toes to melt a man.”
The client giggled. “Oh, honey. Do I really have man-melting toes? I don’t believe anyone’s ever said that to me.”
“Then you have obviously been with the wrong men.” He smiled and seated himself on the low stool in front of the basin area of her pedicure chair. “How’s the water temperature?” He dipped his hands in.
“It just got hotter, thanks.” She giggled again, and then sighed with pleasure as he took her left foot in his hands and tried not to stare up her skirt, which was quite difficult.
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