by Sandra Brown
"The hell I do!"
Chief laughed. "You don't resent doing these little extras?"
"Those 'little extras,' as you call them, keep repeat clients coming back and earn me new ones. Word gets around, especially among authors who routinely tour. Of course, we escorts compare notes on the celebs, too. Who's nice, who's weird, who's a terror."
He considered her in profile. He couldn't have been the only man to notice how attractive she was. Riding next to her all day in the confines of a car could prove to be a temptation to a man who was far from hearth and home. "You must draw the line somewhere. To those little extras, I mean."
"Strip joints or topless bars are a no-no. I won't procure a prostitute, male or female. If that's what they're looking for, they're on their own. Anything having to do with controlled substances is out, of course. And..." She glanced at him. "Let's put it this way: I once escorted an actor who copped a feel during the drive back to his hotel. I stopped the car, shoved him out, and let him find his own way back."
"Repercussions?"
"Who was he going to complain to? His wife is his manager. It was she who booked me. Besides, his monstrous ego would never have permitted him to tell about a rejection."
Chief laughed with her. "Give me a hint."
She hesitated a moment, then said, "An over-the-hill stud." "I can think of fifty. Stage, screen, or TV?"
"Screen."
"That narrows it down. What are his initials?"
She shook her head. "Too easy."
"What'd he cop a feel of?"
She shot him a retiring look.
"Above the waist or below? Just tell me that much." "Chief!"
"Okay, then. I'll just have to give my imagination free rein." She glared at him, but it was still all in fun. "Above." "Hmm. Can't blame a guy for trying."
"I did. I'll go out of my way to meet a client's needs and wishes. Within reason."
"Aw, jeez."
"What?"
"Well, I was going to put in a request." When she was looking at him, he added, "I just hope you consider it within reason."
"Jem!"
"Don't be angry because I didn't call first," he said quickly. "I had to see you, Gillian. Especially after our conversation ended on such a sour note."
"I was unhappy about that, too."
"Then can I please come in? Just for a little while. I promise not to stay long."
She wasn't overjoyed to see him, and she resented this unannounced visit. He had a bad habit of dropping in without giving notice, which she secretly considered a violation of privacy. But he was smiling sweetly, beseechingly, and the front door threshold wasn't the ideal spot for a discussion of character flaws. She stepped aside and motioned him in.
"As you can see, I wasn't expecting a gentleman caller." "You look adorable. I prefer you without makeup." "Then you should have your eyesight checked."
Laughing softly, he pulled her against him and kissed her lips gently and noninvasively. He was sensitive enough to her mood not to press his luck with a deep kiss. When he pulled away, his eyes moved up to the towel wrapped around her head. "I even like the turban."
"I'm deep-conditioning my hair."
Although it wasn't even nine o'clock yet, she already had on sleepwear—cotton boxer shorts and a matching top. It was a comfy outfit, but not what you'd call fetching. Another blow to her ego was that Jem looked like he had stepped out of a band box. Even in khakis and a polo shirt, he was, as usual, well turned out.
Taking her hand, he led her into the living room and pulled her down onto the sofa beside him. "I had to come tonight, Gillian. I didn't want to wait and give you the gift tomorrow. It had to be today. On the actual day you were inseminated." He slipped his hand into his pocket and produced a velvet jewelry box.
"Jem! When you said 'surprise,' I thought you meant something like flowers. Chocolates. But this? Shouldn't you wait until after the blood test, until we know I'm actually pregnant?"
"I want you to know that I'm with you all the way. Whether you conceive this time or have to try again, I want to share this event with you. I want to be involved in the baby's life from the very beginning."
She glanced at the box and for one heart-stopping moment feared that he was about to propose marriage. But the box was oblong, not square like a ring box. When he opened the spring-hinged lid, he took her soft cry of relief to be an exclamation of delight.
"You like it?"
"It's beautiful, Jem."
The gold chain was very slender but sturdy enough to hold the small, heart-shaped pendant of clustered rubies. "I thought it would complement your coloring."
"It's lovely. Truly."
He removed the pendant from the box and placed it around her neck, securing it with the tiny clasp. Then, taking her by the shoulders, he turned her back to face him, looking very pleased with himself. "Perfect. Go look."
He guided her to the mirror above the console table. The pendant was indeed beautiful, reflecting ruby sparks of light off her skin. Turning back to him, she struck a glamour-girl pose. "Am I gorgeous or what?"
"You're gorgeous. And sexy. Even if you do have a towel on your head. You're going to be gorgeous and sexy during the pregnancy, too."
"When I'm ballooned out like a blimp?"
He splayed his hand over her lower abdomen and, with his other arm around her waist, pulled her close. "Even then." He kissed her neck, murmuring, "Gillian, I want you tonight. Please let me stay."
When his hand slid between her thighs, she stopped it with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Jem."
"What's the matter?"
"Don't ask to stay tonight, because I don't want to refuse you."
"Then don't," he said, reaching for her again.
She dug her heels in when he tried to pull her against him, but she cradled his face between her hands. "I just can't be with you tonight. It's hard to explain. I couldn't make you understand over the telephone, and I can't now."
"I can explain it," he said curtly. "You had lunch with Melina today."
"What has Melina got to do with it?" she snapped back.
"You tell me. Every time you see her, I coincidentally turn into poison."
"That's not true." "Then what's wrong?"
"I can't put it into words." "Give it a shot."
She took a moment, then said, "It would feel awkward to have sex so soon after the procedure."
"I read that they encourage couples to have sex afterward."
She was surprised that he knew what the experts recommended. He must have been doing his own research on the subject. "That's true. Intimacy soon afterward is encouraged for couples—"
"We're a couple."
"Not a couple who have tried for years to conceive."
"So, we're fudging." Smiling engagingly, he placed his hands at her waist.
"It's a personal thing, Jem," she said, worming free of his hands. "My heart and mind wouldn't be in it tonight, and that wouldn't be fair to you or enjoyable for either of us." When she saw that he was about to offer another argument, she laid her fingers against his lips. "Please? I need you to understand. Indulge me. Let me have a headache tonight."
Grudgingly he kissed her fingertips, then the tip of her nose.
"All right. I'd be a heel not to. I'll go home and take a cold shower. Maybe two. I guess I'll have to get accustomed to these hormonal inconsistencies, won't I?"
"I suppose you will," she replied, smiling with him. "We can see each other tomorrow."
"Lunch?"
"Call me in the morning. I'll check my schedule for lunch. But definitely sometime tomorrow."
She saw him to the door, where he kissed her again lightly on the lips. "The pendant is truly beautiful," she told him as she fingered it where it lay against her throat.
"You're beautiful. I love you."
"I love you, too."
CHAPTER 4
"Tacos?"
The picture of innocence, Chief said, "What'd you think I wa
s going to ask you for, Melina?"
She could tell that he was trying hard to contain a wicked smile. "Not tacos."
"I'm a junk-food junkie. Besides, I'm starving."
"You didn't like your dinner?"
"I couldn't eat it for all the people talking to me and the autographs I ended up signing. Would it be out of our way to stop?"
"Tacos are easy to come by."
"Can you find a place open this late?"
"It's not even ten o'clock."
"You sure?" He checked his wristwatch to confirm the time. "Huh. It seemed like the banquet dragged on forever."
A few minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of a fast-food chain restaurant. Although it was past the normal dinner hour, it was doing a brisk business. "Do you want to drive through or go inside?"
A long line of cars was wrapped around the building awaiting their turn at the window. Inside, the restaurant didn't appear to be as crowded. He said, "I've got nothing to hide, do you?"
She pulled into a vacant parking space. They alighted, and as they moved toward the door, she remarked, "I've got nothing to hide, but we're a little overdressed. I'm sure we'll be gawked at."
"Safety in numbers."
With that he slid his arm around her waist and drew her up against him, so that they were walking hip to hip. Lord, it felt good! Never one to simper and play coy and helpless around men, she now delighted in feeling small, delicate, and intensely feminine. From the instant he stepped through the door of the hotel, she'd been wondering how it would feel to be this close to him. It surpassed her expectations. He was so wonderfully masculine.
Extending the joke, he nuzzled her hair. "I dare anybody to mess with the two of us."
By now they had almost reached the door. At the same time, a man approached it from inside, a take-out order in his free hand. He reached the door first and politely pulled it open for them and stood aside. Chief was still nuzzling her and playfully making aggressive growling noises. Absently, he thanked the man for holding the door.
They had almost moved past when the man suddenly blurted out, "Ms. Lloyd? Gillian Lloyd?" She stopped and turned toward him.
He was dressed in baggy khakis, a sad T-shirt, and rubber flip-flops. His thinning hair was fair and stringy. He pushed a slipping pair of eyeglasses higher onto the bridge of his nose.
He said, "I thought it was you."
Chief looked from her to the stranger and, responding in a territorial male fashion, hugged her even closer against his side.
Smiling helplessly, she stammered, "I-I'm sorry, I don't..."
Suddenly embarrassed by her failure to recognize him, the man swallowed hard, making his knobby Adam's apple appear even more prominent. "Dale Gordon. I work at Waters." "Oh, yes, of course. Hi."
He looked from her to Chief. His myopic gaze took notice of Chief's hand at her waist and stayed fixed there for several seconds. Then he looked back at her with something akin to wounded puzzlement.
The situation was fast becoming awkward, and she had no idea why. Brightly, she said, "It appears everyone's hungry for tacos tonight."
"Huh?" Dale Gordon seemed to have forgotten where he was. She indicated the sack he was carrying out. He looked at it in confusion for a moment, then stammered, "Uh, oh, yeah. I wanted a, uh, snack."
"Well, enjoy."
"You, too."
Chief gave her a slight nudge forward. They continued into the restaurant and joined the queue of people waiting to place their order at the counter. "Friend of yours?" he asked. "And what was that he called you?"
"He obviously mistook me for my sister, Gillian. It happens all the time. In this instance, it was easier to pretend that I knew him than to explain that I wasn't her."
"You look that much alike?"
"Identical twins."
His expression went deadpan. "You're kidding." "No. I'm an identical twin."
He conducted, a visual survey of her hair, her face, settling momentarily on her mouth. Her face grew warm under his frank appraisal. When his eyes came back to hers, he murmured, "How could there possibly be two women with eyes that shade of gray?"
Smiling up at him, she asked, "Is there a compliment somewhere in there?"
"Oh, yeah. And just so there's no misunderstanding of my meaning, let me make it clearer, Ms. Lloyd. You're a very attractive woman."
"Thank you, Colonel Hart."
"I find it hard to believe that... Gillian?" She nodded.
"That she's as attractive as you."
His eyes held hers, and together they sank into a long and evocative stare, which wasn't interrupted until the woman taking orders greeted them. "Hi, folks. What're y'all having tonight?"
Chief seemed to shake off his daze. He cleared his throat.
"What would you like, Melina?" "I'm invited to supper?"
"It was implied."
"Then whatever. I like it all."
While he was placing their order, she glanced back at the door through which they'd entered. The man who'd introduced himself as Dale Gordon was no longer there. But he had left her with a creepy feeling—like she'd walked through a cobweb, like someone with fetid breath was blowing on the
back of her neck.
However, by the time Chief unlocked the door to his suite at The Mansion and motioned her to go in ahead of him, she had forgotten the incident. "I'm glad you suggested this because I just realized that I'm famished, too. I didn't eat much of my dinner, either." Making herself right at home, she stepped out of her heels, then went around the suite's sitting room switching on table lamps. "It smells delicious."
They decided to picnic on the coffee table. While she unwrapped the food and divided it, he poured each of them a drink at the bar, which had been stocked with his brand of bourbon in advance of his visit. "Branch water?"
"And ice, please."
He came to the table with a drink in each hand. He passed one of the drinks down to her, then lowered himself to the floor across the low table from her. He raised his glass. "To fat grams and high cholesterol."
She clinked her glass with his and sipped. "Hmm. Add to that good sipping whiskey."
They dug in and were soon laughing over the ravenous way they were consuming the food. The crunchy taco shells fell apart, so they were reduced to scooping up cheese, lettuce, and spicy meat with their fingers.
"You'd think I hadn't eaten in a month," he remarked. "Or that I'd just completed a mission. Soon as I can after leaving the shuttle, I mow some real food."
"Space cuisine isn't that tasty?"
"It's okay, but... it... you know..."
She'd been involved in what he was saying, so until his voice dwindled to nothing she wasn't even aware that she had been sucking hard on the side of her index finger and licking it with her tongue. That's where his focus was. It was that he was concentrating on, not the food the astronauts ate on the space shuttle.
Flushed and self-conscious, she lowered her hand to her lap. "Paper cut," she said gruffly. "From the sack. I think... salt... or something got..."
Then she stopped talking, too, because he wasn't listening. He was watching her lips move, but he wasn't paying attention to the words, and frankly neither was she. She was watching him watching her mouth, and it made her tummy feel weightless despite the amount of food she had gobbled.
Finally his eyes reconnected with hers. "What were we talking about?"
On his way to his car, Dale Gordon tossed his unopened takeout sack of food into a trash receptacle because he was far too upset to eat.
Verging on nausea, he got into his car and slumped in the driver's seat. Folding his hands over the steering wheel, he rested his clammy forehead against them and gulped in air through his mouth to stave off his gag reflex. Tears trickled from his eyes onto the backs of his clenched hands.
He broke a cold sweat. It was a mild night, but not so warm as to warrant his profuse sweating. His T-shirt was soaked through with perspiration by the time Gillian Lloyd and
the tall, handsome man came out of the restaurant with their order. They were chatting and laughing as they climbed into a Lexus, which she drove away.
Dale Gordon fumbled his ignition key in his haste to start his car and follow them. It was a short drive to the fancy schmancy hotel. He'd heard of it, but he'd never been there. The tree trunks in the entry courtyard were covered with lights, even though it wasn't Christmas. The water in the tiered fountain sparkled and splashed.
The Lexus glided into the circular driveway. Dale Gordon cruised past. He drove to the end of the block, executed a three-point turn, and doubled back. He could see them getting out of the car with the assistance of a parking valet and heading for the discreet entrance beneath the white canopy.
Gillian Lloyd was going into a hotel with a man. A man who'd been publicly groping her as though she were his property. She had permitted his manhandling. No, she had seemed to welcome it.
This shattered Dale Gordon's world.
"What's it like?" Chief had finished eating and was leaning back against the sofa, one knee raised, one hand draped over it holding his highball glass.
She was looking at his hand, at the casual way his strong fingers held the glass by the rim. Great hands. Rousing herself, she addressed his question. "What's what like?"
"Having an identical twin."
She gathered up the last of the paper wrappers and napkins and stuffed them into the empty sack. "You know how you feel when you're asked what it's like in space?"
"Impossible to answer and you get tired of trying?" She smiled. "Something like that."
"Sorry."
"It's a common question. I forgive you."
"Good. Because I would forgive you just about anything when you look at me like that."
She lowered her voice to match the intimate pitch of his. "How am I looking at you?"
"The same way you were looking at me during my speech." "I was being politely attentive."
"You were being pointedly suggestive."
"I wasn't looking at you in any special way."
"Oh, yes, you were."
"Not that I'm conceding the argument, Colonel, but how did you imagine that I was looking at you?"
"Like you knew damn well that I could barely keep my mind on my speech for looking at your legs."