Mad About You (boxed set of beloved romances)

by Stephanie Bond

  His expression suddenly turned serious. "Stick with me, Jasmine, and we'll go to the top. I need you. The public loves the idea of us being together. That's why this thing with Sanderson has gotten so much press."

  She understood perfectly, because she also loved the idea of being with Trey. They made a great couple: youthful, successful, photogenic. They looked as if they belonged together. What she felt had to be akin to what Jacqueline Bouvier felt when she met the young Jack Kennedy. A life with Trey McDonald would be filled with glamour, travel, money, and power.

  And love? Love took years, she told herself. He was a good man with a kind disposition—successful unions had been built on much less.

  He snapped his fingers. "I don't know why I didn't think of it before. Go with me!"

  She blinked in surprise. "On the campaign tour?"

  "Sure—what better proof that all is well between us?"

  "Well," she said, hesitating. "I hadn't planned on being away from my office for so long, but..."

  "Great! Let's hurry so you can go home and pack. I'll send a car for you."

  "But what on earth will I do?"

  "Just smile and court the press," he said, then paused significantly. "I hope this will be the first of many road trips."

  Jasmine smiled tremulously. "Right."

  * * *

  "Be careful what you wish for," she said to her reflection as she packed, "it might just come true."

  Leaving with Trey was for the best, although she couldn't quite put her finger on why spending the next several days with him and his entourage left her feeling so displaced. Scant hours ago she'd been contemplating spending a lifetime with him.

  She finished packing in record time. After lugging her bags to the front hall, she performed a quick walk-through to check appliances and thermostats, then settled in an armchair in her living room to wait for the car Trey was sending. Her gaze kept roving to the copper lamp, one of the few bits of color in the otherwise stark room, made more vivid by a single red-winged butterfly that seemed determined to roost on the spout. With her limited knowledge of insects, she presumed the luster of the polished metal provided the attraction. Finally, unable to resist the pull herself, she rose and walked over to pick up the lamp.

  The butterfly seemed content to remain, as long as she handled the piece carefully. Once again, she studied the Arabic symbols, surprised when more of the symbols clicked in her memory. Squinting at the etchings, she tried to translate the words. "Something, something, dwell, no, house... or home. Something, something, home. Maj... majesty. Majesty home?" Jasmine frowned. "Majesty's home? Not majesty... magic? Magician!" she squealed, causing the insect to take flight. "Magician's home!" Then she frowned again. "Magician's home?"

  Ladden's words came back to her in a rush. This homeless guy says he lived in the copper lamp you bought and is going to grant me three wishes for releasing him from bondage.

  The air suddenly felt cold. She shuddered, hurriedly returning the lamp to the mantel. A magic lamp? Rubbing her bare arms briskly, she laughed. More likely the words of a clever souvenir salesman, she decided, then shrugged into her suit jacket and checked her watch. The driver was late. At this rate, she'd be sprinting through the terminal, if she made it at all.

  Purposely turning her back on the copper lamp, Jasmine refused to let the nagging thoughts of Ladden Sanderson materialize. All his talk about genies and wishes and migratory rugs had seemed enchanting last night, but today it sounded just plain... well...

  "Enchanting," she ruefully admitted, then massaged her temples with a groan.

  Her phone rang, startling her. She connected the call, again checking her watch. "Hello?"

  "Ms. Crowne?" asked a man's voice.

  "Yes."

  "My name is Jorrie—I'm supposed to deliver you to the airport." His tone was agitated.

  "Is everything all right?"

  "My limo stopped on the bypass."

  She would miss the flight, but she could catch up with Trey later this evening or tomorrow. "I hope it isn't a serious repair," she offered, feeling sorry for the man who was probably worried about what the governor would say.

  "I've been around cars all my life," Jorrie said, his voice shaking, "but this is the strangest thing I ever did see."

  "What's wrong?" she asked, a finger of premonition tickling her spine.

  "Butterflies... hundreds of 'em—maybe thousands—all over the engine, coming out from under the hood like colored smoke."

  In her stunned silence, the driver apologized over and over. Jasmine mumbled something about putting in a good word for him with Governor McDonald, then hung up slowly. Had a strange butterfly pestilence descended on the city? In a daze, she called Trey's cell phone to explain, but to her surprise, Joseph Elam answered.

  "Joseph, this is Jasmine Crowne."

  "Yes?" His voice sounded pinched.

  "May I speak to the governor?"

  "He's indisposed," he said without elaboration.

  "The car broke down on its way to pick me up. Tell Trey I'll have to catch a later flight."

  After several seconds' pause, Elam asked, "Do you really think that would be wise, Ms. Crowne?"

  "Excuse me?"

  He sighed dramatically. "When the governor told me he had invited you along, I had my doubts about your presence on the tour."

  A seed of anger took root in her stomach. "Could you be more specific?"

  "The governor's political career hinges on the events of the next few days. He needs to be focused on the campaign, with no distractions."

  "I want what's best for Governor McDonald, too," she reminded him.

  "Then may I suggest that you stay in Sacramento, and stay out of trouble."

  She pressed her lips together, then asked, "Anything else?"

  "Actually, yes. You can give reporters a personal tour of the refurbished mansion, including the governor's personal quarters. I'll make the necessary phone calls to the media." He paused, as if in thought, but she prepared herself for a final dig. "Showing what you do for a living might help the public swallow the story about your business relationship with that Sanderson fellow,"

  "It's not a story," she said through clenched teeth.

  "For the governor's sake," he said, his voice grim, "I hope not."

  Realizing that Elam was simply doing his job—watching out for the governor's best interests—she retreated gracefully. "Make those phone calls. I'll tie up the loose ends at the mansion and schedule the tours for tomorrow afternoon. Please inform the governor of your—I mean, our change of plans."

  "Very good," he said. "Ms. Crowne, I hope you understand how important this election is to all of our futures."

  Jasmine was silent a moment, then said, "I do, Mr. Elam. Believe me, I have dreams, too."

  "Then you'd better perform magic for those cameras tomorrow."

  * * *

  "Jasmine," Ladden said happily, squeezing the phone. "How are you feeling today?"

  "I'm fine," she said, although she didn't sound fine. "Ladden, I want to apologize for my behavior at the party last night. I have no excuse for leading you on like that and Trey doesn't deserve the way I treated him."

  His heart fell. It wasn't the conversation he'd hoped for, but he had begun to understand the delicate position in which they'd put themselves. He'd spent most of the afternoon trying to get through to McDonald and tell him to call the dogs off his family's tavern. His call had finally been passed to a fellow named Elam. A mistake had been made, the man informed Ladden. The tavern would be reopened within the hour. But, he added, did Mr. Sanderson understand that he was to keep his relationship with Jasmine Crowne on a professional level? Yes, Ladden had conceded—purely professional.

  "You're right, Jasmine," he said, his stomach churning. "Things were much simpler before we... before." He cleared his throat. "So from now on, it's strictly business."

  "Good," she said, her voice flooded with relief. "Now then, do you have a price on th
e rug? I'm prepared to buy, and I need it first thing in the morning."

  His life had been nothing but turmoil ever since he found that stupid rug. If Jasmine wanted to give the misbehaving carpet to Trey McDonald, she was welcome to it. He pursed his lips and made a split-second decision. "I'll make you a deal."

  "What kind of deal?"

  "If you can help me figure out a way to get it down, I'll sell it for what I paid for it."

  "You're kidding," she gasped, then stopped. "Did you say 'get it down'?"

  "You heard me."

  "Where is it?"

  "The last time I checked, it was on the ceiling."

  Her laughter rolled over the phone line. "You're joking, of course."

  Knowing she'd have to see it to believe it, he relented. "Of course I'm joking. But I want you to inspect it very carefully before you decide. When can you come by?"

  At her silence, he knew she worried about being seen at his place.

  "You could wear a disguise," he said, only half-joking.

  She laughed. "I think I'll simply bring my assistant, April."

  He hoped the woman wasn't faint-hearted. "Sounds safe. When?"

  "It's four-thirty now, how about six?"

  "Broad daylight, blinds up, doors unlocked—I'll see you then," he said, his heart already thumping in anticipation.

  Since he'd had such a profitable day, he decided to close early and get a haircut. Afterward, he walked down to Tabby's, relieved to see they were back in full swing. His Cousin Joey and Uncle Ernie sat at the bar. He joined them and signaled Malone for a beer.

  "The drink's on me, cuz," Joey said. "I can't thank you enough."

  "Huh?"

  "Ah, don't play dumb. After the health inspector closed us down, I was so mad, I didn't know what to do. Then a few minutes later, I got a call from the governor's office."

  The beer tasted especially bitter as it slid down Ladden's closed throat. "What kind of call?"

  "Some guy who said he'd checked into the inspection as a personal favor for you. Said the inspector had made several errors and it would be taken care of, pronto." He lifted his hand in a little wave. "And it was."

  Ernie grunted. "Sounds like the governor's mighty appreciative of what you did for Ms. Crowne."

  "Something like that," Ladden agreed.

  "Maybe McDonald could help with your insurance claim."

  "I have a feeling we've collected our last favor from Trey McDonald," Ladden said dryly. "I need to call Saul and see where the adjuster stands."

  Ernie shook his head. "It don't look good, son, considering you nearly strangled your only witness today."

  Just the thought of Gene made his head hurt.

  "You must have a date," his aunt Silvie said as she walked up.

  Ladden frowned. "What makes you say that?"

  She pointed to his ears. "Haircut."

  "Ahh," Ernie said, nodding. "Those are fine looking ears, aren't they, Joey?"

  "Gorgeous," Joey agreed. "Going to see Jasmine for a little private mouth-to-mouth?" The men laughed uproariously.

  "Very funny. You two should go on the road."

  "You'd make beautiful kids, you and Jasmine," Silvie told him.

  "Wait a minute," Ladden said, holding up his hands. "For the record, Jasmine Crowne and I were never dating and never will. Period."

  They were quiet for a few seconds, exchanging glances. "What happened?" Silvie asked.

  "She's dating the governor. Isn't that self-explanatory?"

  "But I already told my friends to start thinking about wedding gifts. Wouldn't you like a cappuccino maker?"

  He sighed. "Aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself, Aunt Sil?"

  She wagged a finger at him. "I saw the way you two looked at each other."

  "We're just friends."

  "Whatever you say," she sang. "But it looked like magic to me."

  Ladden downed the beer, then set the empty bottle on the bar. "Thanks for the brew, Joey."

  "Ah, don't leave," Ernie said when Ladden stood.

  "He's got friends in high places now," Joey reminded Ernie with a jab.

  Silvie gave him a knowing smile. "Say hello to Jasmine for me."

  Ladden shook his head and made his getaway. The beer had gone to his head quickly on an empty stomach, and the events of the last few days still didn't make sense. In less than a week he and Jasmine had gone from acquaintances to nearly intimate, then back to acquaintances. Only now it was worse—now they would be awkward acquaintances.

  Every time he replayed their encounter at the party, he changed the ending. In his favorite version, they made passionate love in the changing room and twice again on the way home, then Jasmine chose true love in Glenhayden over fame and fortune as the state's first lady, and they lived happily ever after.

  In the second version, they didn't have sex, but Jasmine came to him later to admit she loved him instead of the governor. Then they made love on the spot, and lived happily ever after.

  In the third version, they made passionate love twice in the changing room and once by the pool, and although Jasmine admitted she loved him, she simply couldn't pass up the life of a statesman's wife.

  He frowned. Only in real life did they not have sex and not live happily ever after.

  At the store he showered quickly in the cramped bathroom, then changed to clean jeans and a red T-shirt. On the way to unlock the front door, he checked the storeroom ceiling and found the rug still hovering there. Scratching his head, he once again tried to come up with some reasonable explanation. Was it possible that something in the ceiling pipework had attracted the static-charged carpet? Or that a friend or relative had schemed to hang the carpet as a practical joke? Perhaps with the tallest stepladder he owned, plus a hook on the end of the longest pole he could find, he might be able to pull it down.

  Or maybe the ladies would have a better idea, he thought as he approached the front door. Hell, he'd shoot a harpoon up there if he had to. He simply wanted the thing out of his store and out of his life.

  When he looked out the door, Jasmine was climbing out of her car, much like the day she'd come in after the earthquake. Had it been only three days ago? It felt like a lifetime. God, he wanted to get to know her better, to find out if she was as wonderful as he suspected. Lithe and leggy in a loose pantsuit and her hair pulled in a high ponytail with a wide silver clasp, she looked like the princess Gene had dubbed her.

  Ladden’s mouth flattened. He hadn't meant to hurt the old man, just scare him a little. Indeed, Gene hadn't been back to the store. He'd have to ask Jasmine if she'd seen him hanging around.

  She stopped on the sidewalk, glanced at her watch, then scanned parked cars on both sides of the street. Looking for her assistant, he presumed. How ridiculous that they had to resort to a witness just to transact business after hours. He grabbed a broom, opened the door, and stepped out on the sidewalk, hoping to have a word with her before their chaperone arrived.

  Wheeling toward the door, she shielded her eyes from the slanting rays of the late sun. The wind had picked up suddenly, an almost certainty they would see a storm before morning. The light fabric of her pantsuit whipped around her, molding to her slight curves. "Hi."

  He kept both hands around the broom handle and fought the urge to drag her into his arms for a very hot—and very public—kiss. "Hi, yourself."

  "April isn't here yet," she explained, her voice unnaturally high.

  After a few seconds of awkward silence, he said, "You look better than the last time I saw you."

  At last she smiled. "So do you."

  They stood staring at each other, and Ladden wondered if she would avoid him after today—after she'd obtained the only thing of his that she'd ever really wanted, he realized with sad clarity. Forget his heart, his soul, his body... the rug, a gift for her boyfriend's bedroom, was what she desired most.

  The sun went behind a dark cloud and a stiff gust of wind blasted over them, staggering Jasmine. "Le
t's go inside," he shouted over the whistling noise. After glancing up and down the street again, she nodded and followed him into the store.

  The bell clanged noisily when he pulled the door closed behind them. "Whew! Must be a storm blowing in from the coast."

  Smoothing a hand over her hair, she nodded. "That wind feels weirdly familiar—like that blast that threw me off balance last night."

  Ladden discarded his broom but crossed his arms to keep his hands occupied and off Jasmine. "Are you sure you weren't pushed?"

  Her dark brow crinkled. "I'm certain."

  "You were completely alone?"

  "Absolutely. Why?"

  He shook his head. "Gene came in the store today and said something about arranging for you to fall into the pool. I was afraid he had pushed you."

  "No." She tilted her head, her green eyes dancing. "He's filling your head with more fairy tales."

  "Um, actually, Jasmine, I think you should take a look at the rug before your assistant arrives."

  "I don't know—"

  "I'll stay right here," he added quickly.

  "Well, the storm will probably delay her for a few minutes," she conceded.

  At that moment, it darkened noticeably outside, as if the sun had simply dropped from the sky. Streetlights flickered, then glowed, and a driving rain began falling in great, slashing sheets.

  "Where did this come from?" Ladden asked, peering out the windows. "I can't even see your car from here."

  When a dull peal sounded, Jasmine extracted a phone from her purse and slid up the antenna. "Hello?... April, where are you?" Concern cluttered her face. "I'm just glad you're okay.... Don't worry, I won't drive in this mess.... I'll see you tomorrow." She punched a button, then returned the phone to her bag.

  Ladden had pulled a dusty radio from beneath the counter. With one eye on Jasmine, he searched for a weather report. "Is your assistant all right?"

  "She hydroplaned off a shoulder, but she's fine, just a little shaken up."

  "Good... good that she's fine, I mean."

  Her smile was tremulous, and she didn't make eye contact. "I guess I'll just wait out the storm here, if you don't mind."