The Name of the Game

by Nora Roberts

  She lowered her hand, flustered because he’d caught her petting him. “Good morning.”

  It was there, even after their incredible night together. The trace of shyness he found so appealing. So exciting. Because he didn’t want to give her time to layer it over with composure, he rolled on top of her.

  “Sam—”

  “It occurs to me,” he began as he drew longer, lazier kisses from her, “that we never made love in bed.” He ran his hand down her side, from shoulder to hip, from hip to thigh. “I’m feeling traditional this morning.”

  She didn’t have time to analyze what she was feeling. Even as she tried to say his name again, her breath caught. This morning he wasn’t so patient—or perhaps she, knowing what could be, was more sensitive.

  She curled around him and let herself go.

  ***

  Time had gotten away from her. Everything had gotten away from her, Johanna corrected as she stepped out of the shower and began to towel off quickly. If she threw on her clothes, let her hair air-dry on the way to work and pushed the speed limit, she might just make it.

  She grabbed a few basic cosmetics out of her purse. The effort would be sketchy, but it was all she could afford. In the bedroom she ripped the plastic off the first suit Sam had brought up from her car. Yesterday’s blouse would have to work with it. Cursing herself for not having planned properly, she zipped the skirt and ran down the hall carrying her shoes.

  “Where’s the fire?” Sam asked her as she rested a hand against the wall and struggled into her shoes.

  “I’m running late.”

  He lifted a brow. “Do you get demerits for being tardy?”

  “I’m never late.”

  “Good, then you can afford to be. Have some coffee.”

  She took the cup he offered, grateful. “Thanks. I really have to run.”

  “You haven’t eaten anything.”

  “I never eat breakfast.”

  “Today you do.” He had her arm. To prevent the contents of the cup sloshing all over her freshly laundered suit, she kept up with him. “Five minutes, Johanna. Catch your breath, drink your coffee. If you argue, it’ll take ten.”

  She swore, but downed more coffee as he pulled her into the kitchen. “Sam, you’re the one who’s on vacation, not me. I’ve got a full day scheduled that might, if I’m lucky, end before six.”

  “All the more reason you should have a decent breakfast.” He couldn’t remember ever having felt better in the morning, more alive or full of energy. Briefly he wished he was in the middle of filming so that he could pour some of that energy into a part. “Sit. I’ll fix you some eggs.”

  Because her temper was beginning to fray, she drank more coffee. “I appreciate it, really I do, but I don’t have time. We’re shooting ads today for the home viewers’ contest, and I’m the only one who can handle John Jay.”

  “A dubious talent.” The English muffin he’d dropped in the toaster popped up. “You can at least eat this.”

  Annoyed, she snatched it from him, ignored the butter and jam on the table and bit into it. “There,” she said, and swallowed. “Satisfied?”

  Her hair was still dripping around her face, and she’d forgotten her lipstick. Eyes still shadowed from the long night glared at him. He grinned and flicked a crumb off her chin. “I love you, Johanna.”

  If he’d drawn back and planted his fist on her chin she would have been no less shocked. She stared at him as the muffin slipped out of her boneless fingers onto the table. Her step back was instinctive, defensive. Sam lifted his brow at it, but that was all.

  “Don’t say that to me,” she managed at length. “I don’t need to hear that. I don’t want to hear it.”

  She needed to hear it all right, he thought. She might not have wanted to, but she needed to. He was going to see that she did, at regular intervals, but right now she’d gone pale again. “All right,” he said slowly. “It doesn’t change the facts one way or the other.”

  “I—I have to go.” She ransacked her purse almost desperately for her keys. “I’m really running late.” What was she supposed to say? What was supposed to be said on the morning after the night? With her keys clutched in her hand, she looked up. “Goodbye.”

  “I’ll walk you out.” His arm went around her shoulders. She tried not to tense. She tried not to lean against him. She could feel the tug-of-war as they walked. “There’s something I’d like to tell you, Johanna.”

  “Please, it isn’t necessary. We agreed even before—before last night—that there wouldn’t be any promises.”

  “Did we?” Damned if he remembered that, but if he had agreed, that was one agreement that would have to be broken. He pushed the front door open and stepped onto the porch before turning her to him. “We’ll have to talk about that.”

  “All right.” She would have agreed to almost anything if it had meant he’d let her go. Because she wanted to stay. More than she’d ever wanted anything, she wanted to toss her keys over her shoulder, throw herself into his arms and stay as long as he’d have her.

  “In the meantime, I want you to know that I’ve never had another woman in that bed.” He saw the flash of doubt in her eyes before she was able to mask it. And before he could stop himself, he’d hauled her up by the lapels. “Damn it, a man gets tired of having everything he says dissected in that brain of yours. I didn’t say there haven’t been other women, Johanna, but there’s never been another woman here. Because here’s special to me. It’s important. And so are you.” He let her go. “Chew on that for a while.”

  ***

  Johanna thumbed another antacid tablet from the roll. She’d told Sam no less than the truth when she’d said she was the only one who could handle John Jay. It just so happened that today she wasn’t doing a good job of it. The two-hour photo session had stretched into three, and tempers were fraying. If she didn’t have the crew, equipment and two cars out of the studio in another forty-five minutes she was going to have the producer of Noon with Nina on her back.

  Resigned, Johanna chewed the antacid and prayed it did its job better than she was doing hers. She signaled for a halt and hoped the five-minute break would keep the photographer from strangling her host.

  “John Jay.” She knew the game. Johanna pasted a smile on her face as she crossed to him. “Can I have a minute?” Her voice was calm, her touch light and friendly, as she took his arm to guide him to a corner. “Sessions like this are so annoying, aren’t they?”

  He literally pounced on the sympathy. “You have no idea, Johanna. You know I want what’s best for the show, darling, but that man . . .” He glanced over at the photographer with loathing. “He has no conception of mood or image.”

  “That man” was one of the tops in his business and was being paid by the incredibly expensive hour. Johanna bit off an oath in time to have it slip out as a sigh. “I know, but unfortunately we have to work with him. We’re running behind schedule, and the last thing I want is to have him take shots of the cars only.” She let the threat hang until she was certain it had sunk in. “After all, there are three stars here. The cars, the show itself and, of course, you. The teasers went beautifully, by the way.”

  “I was fresh.” He fussed with the knot of his tie.

  “I understand perfectly. But I have to ask you to keep the energy up for just a few more minutes. That suit’s very becoming, John Jay.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” He held out an arm, turning it over to study the sleeve.

  “These shots are going to make quite a statement.” If she didn’t strangle him herself first. “All I want you to do is stand between those two cars and flash the smile America loves.”

  “For you, darling.” He squeezed her hand, ready to sacrifice himself to the masses. “You know, you’re looking a little dragged-out.”

  Her smile didn’t fade, only froze. “It’s lucky I’m not having my picture taken.”

  “It certainly is,” he agreed, patting Johanna’s head. He a
lready knew his producer could grow fangs if he patted her elsewhere. “You have to try to relax more, Johanna, and take those vitamins I told you about. God knows I couldn’t get through the day without them.” He watched the photographer come back on the set. With a sniff, John Jay signaled for makeup. “Johanna, there’s a rumor running rampant that you’re seeing Sam Weaver.”

  “Is there?” Johanna ground her teeth as John Jay got a dusting of powder. “It’s amazing how these things get started.”

  “What a town.” Satisfied that he was perfect, John Jay strode over to do his duty.

  It took only twenty minutes more. The moment she’d sent her host on his way, Johanna apologized to the photographer, offered him and his assistant lunch on her and handed out tickets to Monday night’s taping.

  By the time she drove from the studio in Burbank back to her offices in Century City, she was two hours behind schedule and had consumed almost half the roll of antacids in her pocket.

  “You’ve got a half-dozen messages,” Bethany told her the moment she walked in. “Only two of which require answers yesterday. I contacted Tom Bradley’s agent. He’s interested in doing the pilot.”

  “Good. Let’s set it up.” In her office, Johanna dropped her briefcase, accepted the cup of coffee Beth was already offering and sat on the edge of her desk. “I’ve thought of twenty-seven ways to successfully murder John Jay Johnson.”

  “Would you like me to type them up?”

  “Not yet. I want to wait until I have an even thirty.” Johanna sipped her coffee and wished for five minutes, five full minutes to be completely alone, so that she could take her shoes off, put her feet up and close her eyes. “Bradley has a reputation as being very professional.”

  “A veteran. Did his first show in ’72, when he was still wet behind the ears. It ran for five years, and he slid right into the old classic Word Bingo. That was on the air from ’77 to ’85. Pretty amazing. He retired as sort of the guru of game shows, but his face is still recognizable from occasional appearances on other daytime shows and grand-marshaling parades. Luring him back to the fold would be no small accomplishment.”

  She stopped because Johanna was drinking coffee and staring out the window. There were shadows under her eyes, Bethany noted, and a definite look of melancholy in them. “Johanna, you look terrible.”

  Taken aback, Johanna set her coffee aside. “So I’ve been told.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Everything’s fine.” Except that Sam said he was in love with her and she was so terrified she wanted to get in her car and keep driving. She drew out her roll of tablets.

  Frowning, Beth eyed it. “Was that a new roll this morning?”

  “It was, before I spent most of it with John Jay.”

  “Have any lunch?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  “Johanna, why don’t you take the rest of the day off, go home, take a nap, watch the soaps?”

  With a small smile, Johanna rose to move behind her desk. “I’ve got to answer those questions yesterday. Beth, let’s see if we can set that pilot up for the week after next. Be sure to notify Patterson Productions.”

  Bethany shrugged and stood. “You’re the boss,” she said, and set the stack of messages on Johanna’s desk.

  Absolutely true, Johanna thought as Bethany closed the door behind her. She was the boss. Johanna rubbed at the headache behind her temple and wondered why she felt as though someone else were pulling the strings.

  * * *

  He didn’t know what he was doing there, sitting on her front steps like a lovesick teenager. Because he was lovesick, Sam told himself as he crossed his booted ankles.

  He hadn’t felt this stupid about a woman since he’d fallen like a ton of bricks for Mary Alice Reeder. She’d been an older woman, sophisticated, wise and like most sixteen-year-old girls, not very interested in a fourteen-year-old pest. But he’d loved pretty little Mary Alice with a kind of worshipful devotion that had lasted nearly nine months.

  Calf love, his mother had called it, not unkindly.

  Since then he’d fallen into the second stage, the care-for stage, with a number of women. But he hadn’t loved anyone else since Mary Alice Reeder. Until Johanna.

  He almost wished he could go back to that calf love. However painful it was, it passed, and it left a man with sweet and rather filmy memories. Hearts and initials carved surreptitiously in a tree trunk, daydreams that always ended with him saving his girl from some horrendous disaster that opened her eyes to his charm and bravery.

  Sam laughed at himself and looked at a spiky blue flower that was just beginning to bloom in Johanna’s garden. Times changed. Mary Alice had slipped through his shaky fingers. But he wasn’t fourteen anymore, and Johanna, like it or not, was going nowhere.

  He wanted her. Just sitting there in front of her quiet, empty house, with a basket beside him and her flowers sleeping in the evening sun, he wanted her. For good. It wasn’t a decision he’d made with a snap of his fingers, though she might think so. It was something that had happened to him, and not entirely in a way he liked. The only plans he’d counted on, the only pressure he’d expected, had been career-oriented.

  If he’d had his choice, he would have cruised along for another few months, a year. Ten years. Time didn’t have a damn thing to do with it. He’d looked at her, he’d touched her, and the decision had been made for him.

  Hadn’t he sat right here not so long before and told her they should get to know each other better? Companions, with no strings. He’d meant it, every bit as honestly as he’d meant it when he’d told her he loved her.

  She’d accepted the first—warily, but she had accepted it. The second had been met with pure panic.

  What was it that made Johanna so skittish? Another man? She’d never mentioned one, never even hinted at one. Unless he was completely obtuse, the woman he’d made love with the night before had been almost frighteningly innocent. If she’d been hurt, he felt it must be buried deep in the past, and it was time for her to let it go.

  Time. He didn’t have much of that, he thought as he lifted the lid of the basket to check on his gift. Any day he could get the call that would send him three thousand miles away. It would be weeks before he could be with her again. He could handle that. He thought he could handle that, but only if she gave him something to take with him.

  When he heard the car he set the lid carefully back in place. Lovesick, he thought as his stomach knotted and his nerves began to jangle. It was a very apt phrase.

  Johanna pulled in behind his car and wondered what the hell she was going to do. She’d been so sure she would be able to come home, close herself in, maybe dive into bed and sleep for hours without thinking at all. But he was here, invading her privacy, stealing away her quiet hours. The worst of it was, she was glad, so glad to see him.

  “You put in a long day.” He rose but didn’t cross to her.

  “A lot of things are coming to a head at once.”

  He waited until she stood in front of him. “I know what you mean.” He touched her then, just a light stroke down her cheek. “You look tired.”

  “So I’ve been informed, with annoying regularity.”

  “Are you going to let me come in?”

  “All right.” He hadn’t kissed her. Johanna had expected it this time, had been prepared for it. As she turned toward the house she suspected that was exactly why he hadn’t done it. She spotted the wicker basket and paused as he scooped it up. “What did you do, bring sandwiches in case I was late?”

  “Not exactly.” He followed her inside. It was precisely as it had been the last time, neat, homey, smelling faintly of potpourri and fresh flowers. They were peonies this time, fat red blooms in a dark blue jar.

  Johanna started to slip out of her shoes, caught herself and set down her briefcase.

  “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Why don’t you sit down and I’ll fix you one?” He set the basket down next to the
jar of flowers. “I’m the one on vacation, remember?”

  “I usually just get some coffee, but—”

  “Fine. I’ll get it.”

  “But—”

  “Relax, Johanna. It’ll just take a minute.”

  He strode off as she stood where she was. As far as she could remember, no one had ever cut her off in the middle of so many sentences. Well, he’d invited himself, she decided. He could heat up the coffee as well as she. And she did want to sit down, for just a minute.

  She chose the corner of the sofa and thought she might rest her eyes until she heard Sam coming back. Johanna stifled a yawn, shut her eyes and was asleep in seconds.

  She awoke the same way, instantly. Somehow she’d snuggled down and had pulled an afghan up to her chin. Sitting up, Johanna dragged her hands through her hair just before she spotted Sam sitting across from her drinking coffee.