Chapter Three
A bright light went off in her eyes, blinding her. Another light went off, then another.
“Great!” a cheery voice enthused. “Great shot! You’re a fabulous, unusual couple!” The man holding the camera was tall, rail thin, dressed in a very tight lizard skin jacket with a crimson red satin shirt underneath. That Mick Jagger vibe, only in a young guy.
Lauren’s knees buckled, the lights in the room dimmed and all sound was cut off, gone. She couldn’t breathe; she was choking. It was exactly as if a huge invisible hand caught her around the chest and squeezed. Hard. She wheezed but no air came.
She couldn’t stand. Her legs wouldn’t hold her.
But she wasn’t falling either. Something strong, around her waist, was holding her up.
A sound, close to her ear.—ren? She couldn’t make sense of it. The world was frozen, she was frozen, right down to her core.
And then the world came back—brightly, painfully—in a nauseating rush.
The kid taking shots looked at her as if she were a specimen in a zoo and walked off.
No!
Her lungs unlocked; she drew in a deep gasping breath. Jacko was holding her up but she needed to be able to stand on her own two feet. Now. Grabbing Jacko’s tuxedo lapels she leaned into him, keeping her voice low.
“The photos,” she gasped. “Oh God. Get rid of those photos of me, please! Destroy them! All of them!” Her voice was shaking badly; her lips felt numb. Was she getting the words out right? She gulped in a deep breath, to explain—to find some kind of explanation that didn’t make her sound insane—but it wasn’t necessary. Because Jacko walked up behind the young Mick Jagger, took him by an elbow and in a second they disappeared from view.
Lauren searched the crowd frantically, turning as she heard a cry. There they were, behind a pillar. Jacko’s big hands were quickly and efficiently manipulating the camera, eyes on the view screen, completely oblivious to the squawking of Jagger Junior. Jacko handed the camera back, leaned in close, and whatever he said must have been forceful because the photographer paled and nodded his head jerkily.
Jacko watched Jagger Junior’s face for a long moment then he nodded and made his way back to her. Jacko had such a...presence. Partly because he was such a big man—not tall so much as immensely broad—and partly because he had the kind of face you don’t argue with, the crowd just parted for him again. Not scrambling to get out of his way but just making an opening for him to come back to her in the straightest, quickest line possible.
Lauren stood, shaking, watching him.
What had she done? Foolish, foolish woman. She’d let her ego and her heart get away with her. No matter that she knew it was a bad idea to exhibit her drawings and watercolors, that it could cost her everything. Suzanne had pleaded with her, and let’s face it, her ego had been stroked.
And it had cost her everything.
Jacko was beside her and she tilted her head back to look into his dark eyes. He wasn’t as tall as Suzanne’s husband or the man they called Senior, Allegra’s husband. But she was in flats and he was a head taller than she was.
She looked around, mentally saying goodbye. It was an eclectic gathering, a good Portland mix of professionals and creatives. Friendly and welcoming, just like the city. She could feel the good vibes, feel the friendliness almost beating against her skin like a warm tide.
The process that had begun with Suzanne—tying her to this place with silken ropes of pleasure and affection—began to unwind, spool out. It felt as if she were in some kind of experimental movie where alienation was shown by the camera zooming out.
In the space of minutes, there was a wall between her and the happy crowd so thick she could barely hear their voices.
Home. She had to get home fast.
Then get out of Portland fast.
But first—home.
She placed her hand on Jacko’s arm. She rarely touched him. He froze whenever she touched him so she made sure she did it rarely. Now was one of those times. She needed his attention.
“Jacko...”
It was only when he bent low to her that she realized she’d practically whispered his name. She cleared her throat. Breathed out the pain. “Jacko.” There, her voice was almost normal. “Did you—”
“Every single one, all the ones with people. The only photos left on the card are of the buffet tables.”
She stiffened her knees. Thank God. She wanted to sag with relief but that could wait until she got home.
She leaned into him. “Thank you, Jacko.” She hadn’t had to beg him or convince him in any way. For that she’d be eternally grateful because she’d have ended up sounding insane. She’d probably have followed young Mick around, trying to steal his very expensive camera with about a yard of lens, hung by a leather strap around his neck.
“I, ah, I have—” Her mind shorted. What did she have? What was best? Sudden onset of blinding headache? Stomach flu? Uncle Elmer just passed away? “A headache. Migraine. I think I’ll say goodbye to Suzanne and grab a taxi—”
“No,” Jacko said. His deep voice, his dark eyes were calm.
Lauren blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“You’re not taking a taxi, not if you don’t feel well. I’ll drive you.”
“But...” Lauren waved her hand at the scene in front of her. The show was in full swing. Everybody who was coming had arrived and nobody had left yet. It was the best moment of any successful exhibit, people talking, eating, drinking. Happy. “I can’t take you away from the show. That wouldn’t be fair.”
“I’m driving you home.” It was as if he hadn’t heard her. He was impassive, as if stating some kind of universal law. The only sign that there was some emotion was the slight Texan accent that became stronger. Draaaah-vin.
Fighting him required more energy than she possessed. And a tiny part of her was glad. She was walking away from a life she loved. Her world had flipped in the space of a minute. It would have been almost more than she could bear to cut all the ties to her life here in the time it took a taxi to arrive.
At least on the drive home with Jacko she could pretend she still lived here, just a little longer.
“I need to say goodbye to Suzanne.” Lauren looked up at him, trying her best to keep her face expressionless when the idea of it was ripping her insides. “Then we can go.”
He nodded and this time took her elbow instead of offering his arm. Thank God. Her legs felt rubbery, her head light. Her heart was pounding so hard it was a miracle nobody heard. She felt as if the noise should be bouncing off the walls.
Suzanne was near the north wall, which contained Lauren’s sketches of Suzanne’s corporate interior designs, including the Lo Corporation’s glass lobby. Lauren had loved sketching it—all grace and light.
Her heart gave another huge painful thump when she realized that she could never do this again. Never draw public buildings. Never, ever have a show, not even anonymously. That door had suddenly closed shut with a bang.
She swallowed. Saying goodbye to that and to Suzanne suddenly seemed like too high a price to pay. Like saying goodbye to life itself.
But it was what it was.
Suzanne was talking to the corporate spokesman for the Lo Corporation, a young, spiky-haired woman dressed in black, head to toe. The woman said something and Suzanne threw her head back and laughed. Even her husband, who was standing with his arm around her, smiled.
John Huntington, smiling. Wow. He was another one of the grim-faced brigade, the founder of Alpha Security and, like Senior and Jacko himself, a former SEAL. He was tall and broad and good-looking, in a slightly dangerous way, his dark hair silver at the temples, making him look like a distinguished pirate.
Lauren had been astonished when she first saw the Alpha Security International website with its photograph of a dark-haired John, without a trace of white in his hair. John never spoke of his military service, but presumably as a SEAL he’d been in battle many times, which he’d apparently taken in his stride. He said that all the white hair came from being a husband and father.
Oh God. Suzanne’s little girl, Isabel. The most beautiful baby on the face of the planet, absolutely adorable. She gave a huge toothless grin every time she saw Lauren.
Lauren would never see Isabel again. Never watch her grow up. Not get to watch John freak when she started walking. He’d be snow white by the time Isabel started dating. It would have been so much fun to be a part of all that.
But she’d be far away. In another world, another life. Mourning this one.
Suzanne held out a hand to her, smiling, as she walked up. She held out an arm. “Lauren. There’s someone I want you to meet. I was just telling him what a talented artist you are. He wants to see your portfolio.”
Suzanne was visibly quivering to tell whoever this guy was the truth. Not letting Lauren take the credit for the artwork was driving her crazy.
Sweet, sweet Suzanne. Funny, smart Suzanne. Loyal, affectionate Suzanne. She shimmered in the bright light of the exhibit space as Lauren blinked back tears. She looked at her friend, absolutely stunning in a pale peach satin gown, dark blond hair drawn back in some kind of complicated bun that on any other woman would have required three hours at the hairdresser’s. Suzanne had an innate style, a natural elegance. She probably scooped up her hair after the shower and styled it herself in two minutes.
She was classy and smart and warm, a woman in a million, a friend in a million—and Lauren would never see her again.
This was breaking her heart.
Suzanne’s eyes honed in on Lauren’s face and her smile faltered. Oh God, Lauren had forgotten how incredibly perceptive she was.
“Is something wrong, Lauren?” Suzanne looked around, as if there could be muggers lying in wait among the petit fours, ready to spring out and do Lauren harm. Her husband, who was rarely far from her side, picked up on the vibe and moved even closer to his wife.
Lauren hesitated for a second. John—known for some reason as Midnight to the men he worked with—was frowning too as he studied her face. It was a characteristic of the Alpha Security men—John, Senior, Jacko—and their friend, Portland PD detective Bud Morrison. Most men didn’t notice much outside themselves but these men did. And being noticed was dangerous.
Lauren found herself leaning heavily against Jacko, against that reassuring warm wall of muscle. She straightened, brought a hand to her head. “Suzanne, honey, I am so sorry, but I have this killer headache.”
Suzanne frowned. “I can see that you’re not feeling well. You’re very pale. I’m so sorry.” She looked up at her husband. “Do you think you can drive Lauren home?”
“Sure,” he answered easily, as if leaving right in the middle of his wife’s successful show were nothing. Just driving my wife’s crazy friend home, all across town. In terrible weather. No biggie.
“Oh no!” Lauren was appalled. “I was going to take a taxi but as it happens, Jacko offered to drive me home.”
Suzanne’s frown didn’t change. If Lauren didn’t love her so much she’d hate her. Even frowns looked good on Suzanne. “I don’t know.” She looked from Lauren to her husband and to Jacko. “I don’t like the idea of leaving you home alone if you’re not feeling well.”
The music from heaven had stopped and Allegra appeared at Suzanne’s side, one graceful musician’s hand reaching for Suzanne’s shoulder. Senior trailed behind her. “Is something wrong? I saw Lauren looking pale. Are you okay?” she asked Lauren.
“Metal’s a medic,” Senior said in his rumbling bass. He pointed a big thumb at another one of Alpha Security’s men in a bespoke tuxedo, the only kind that could accommodate his massive shoulders, scarfing down smoked salmon on toast points. “Can he help?”
As if operating on an invisible signal, Metal raised his head, toast point in hand, and looked at Senior, then at Lauren, ready to come over and help.
This was getting out of hand.
The whole group had simply adopted her, welcomed her into their fold, and Lauren had no doubt that if her headache were real instead of an attack of stark raving terror, and she asked for help, she’d be accompanied home in an ambulance. Suzanne and Allegra and Claire would start sending along gallons of chicken soup. Knowing them, they’d probably come in to fluff her pillows for her. Put a mint on the bedside table. Rub her feet.
Friends like these were priceless and she was losing them. Had already lost them—they just didn’t know it yet. Lauren was a walking ghost, already gone.
Oh God.
She coughed to loosen up her throat enough to be able to speak. “It’s nothing serious, don’t worry.” She coughed again. “I think I might be coming down with the flu, so it’s best for me to get home.” Now.
Suzanne looked troubled, but nodded. “Okay. But I hate to see you go.” She cocked her head, a sudden mischievous gleam in her eye. “Because there was this guy I wanted you to meet. He’s the new head of PR at the Isabel and—”
“Another time,” Lauren choked. Meaning—never.
That was another thing, Suzanne and Allegra’s endless attempts to pair her off with a suitable man, not realizing that she couldn’t be paired off. Ever. It would be like a death sentence for the man, whoever he was.
Suzanne and Allegra and Claire were walking advertisements for wedded bliss. Though their guys looked rough and tough—and from what she could see they genuinely were rough and tough—they made their wives very happy.
It hurt, just a little, to be around them when their husbands were around. They were such—such couples. Devoted to each other, counting on each other, helping each other. She’d never actually lived that in her life, had never even seen it before. Her father had been devoted to his collection of first editions and her mother had been devoted to his money until it ran out, and then she’d been devoted to Alfonso’s money. No one in Alfonso’s family had been devoted to anyone but themselves, including Jorge, of course. Being around Suzanne and Allegra and their friend Claire she’d discovered something, something about that whole man-woman thing, that she’d never seen before and that made her yearn, just a little.
As long as Jorge was alive, she’d never have it. Couldn’t have it.
Her knees were trembling. She had to get out of here. Fast.
She stepped toward Suzanne and hugged her. Suzanne hugged her back. “Take care of yourself now,” Suzanne said.
Lauren was shorter and was wearing flats, so she could bury her face against Suzanne’s shoulder, hiding the sudden rush of hot tears that pricked her eyes. For an instant she gave in to her emotions and clung to Suzanne. Soft, soft perfumed Suzanne. Loving friend, wife, mother. Who was a buzz saw when it came to business.
Lauren clung too long. She could feel Suzanne’s bewilderment when the moment to pull away came and went. Lauren simply couldn’t let go, not for the life of her.
Because, well, this was it. Her life was over.
If anything this past disastrous half hour had taught her, it was that she had to stay far away from everyone. The nicer they were, the farther she had to run.
What yawned before her was a friendless future of complete solitude. Keeping her head down, surviving. Relentlessly alone.
This might be the last time she hugged a friend. Maybe in her entire lifetime.
She squeezed more tightly. Suzanne understood that something was going on. Damn it, she was perceptive as hell.
This had to stop. Lauren forced herself to open her arms, step back, before the temptation to just cling forever overwhelmed her.
“Hey.” Allegra smiled, put a hand on Lauren’s shoulder. “I get one of those hugs, too, right?”
Oh, yeah.
This time Lauren was disciplined. The hug lasted the exact right space of time. When she stepped back, Allegra kept her hands on Lauren’s shoulders and frowned. “Is something wrong?”
Lauren swallowed, nodded. “Headache.”
“No.” Allegra shook her head. “Besides that.”
Damn. She was so freaking perceptive, too. All that harp playing. Messed with her, allowed her to tune into more frequencies than most people.
“No, no.” Lauren shook her head, gave a shaky smile that they would put down to a massive headache. “I just need to lie down in the dark for a while.”
Suzanne looked at Jacko, beautiful face serious. “You’ll walk Lauren to her door,” she said, “and see her in.” It wasn’t a suggestion.
“Yes, ma’am,” Jacko replied. Suzanne acknowledged that with a hard look and a nod.
Suzanne turned to smile at her. “It’s going to be a busy weekend, but I’ll call on Monday. Maybe we can have lunch together.” She shot a look to her right. “Allegra’s practicing for a concert but I think we can bribe her to take some time off.”
“Alcohol and food? I think I can be bribed.” Allegra laughed and Lauren did her best to laugh, too. All that came out was a sick croak.
She would give years off her life to make that luncheon.
Suzanne mimed a telephone with her hands. “So I’ll call on Monday, then.”
“Sure,” Lauren wheezed. On Monday she’d be in Denver or Cheyenne or Cleveland. Or North Dakota or Utah. If her mysterious friend who provided her with documents was able to swing a passport, maybe she’d be in Toronto or London.
Lauren took a second, just a second, to mentally say goodbye to her friends in Portland. This was becoming her old life with every breath she took. She had an artist’s eye and she wanted to keep this picture in her head, take it out when the loneliness overwhelmed her in her next life. Right here, right now, she had a little living tableau of friendship and community in front of her.
Suzanne and Allegra with their husbands, looking at her carefully in case she needed something they could give her. Willing to do that with every breath they took.
Oh, damn. This hurt so much! I have to go, she thought. Right now. Before I break down.
She smiled, turned around and walked away before she said something dangerous. Jacko was right by her side.
It was a crowded room but, again, walking with Jacko meant no jostling, no having to sidestep. He stuck out his elbow again at that odd angle and she slid her hand into that warm space between his huge biceps and his powerful forearm.
It made her feel a little better. She was walking out of a life she loved, but it was in style, with an escort.
She needed that support. Each step felt like her feet were made of lead, carrying her uphill where she desperately did not want to go—into a sere and barren new life, wherever that would be.
She got her coat from the coat check, though Jacko didn’t seem to have checked any coat in. He had only the tuxedo jacket.
They stepped outside and Lauren would have been nearly knocked over by a sudden gust of wind if she hadn’t still been clinging to Jacko. It was so cold her breath froze in her lungs.
They were outside on the white ultramodern marble porch that had turned slippery in the icy wind. Shivering, Lauren started picking her way to the steps, but stopped, snagged on Jacko’s arm.
“No.” Jacko hadn’t moved and Lauren turned to him in surprise. “It’s too cold out here.” He shrugged off his massive tuxedo jacket and put it around her shoulders. It was like being enveloped in a warm blanket.
“What about you?” He was dressed only in a blindingly white shirt and black satin bow tie.
“Not a problem.” Jacko turned her around, put a hand to her back and gently pushed her back into the warm lobby. “Wait here and I’ll bring my vehicle around to the front. Don’t move.”
Her eyes widened. “Aren’t you going to be cold without your jacket? It’s warm here in the lobby. I can give you your jacket back.”
“Nah.” Amazingly, he smiled. It was brief, really brief. A flash of white teeth in his dark face and it was over, but it had definitely been a smile. The first smile she’d seen on his face in the four months she’d known him. “I don’t mind the cold. Now don’t go anywhere.”
She shook her head. No, she wasn’t going anywhere. Where would she go?
Jacko disappeared around a corner. The second he was lost to sight, Lauren’s anxiety level rose. She was so exposed here.
The vestibule was a glass-enclosed space with white marble floors, like a movie version of heaven. There was no one in the vestibule and the glass must have been thick because it was soundproofed. It was as quiet as a cathedral. She glanced over her shoulder at the sight of revelry in the huge exhibit space behind two-story glass doors. Everyone looked like they were having a really good time. Only Lauren and Jacko were leaving.
There was something heartbreaking about watching the huge throng inside, laughing, chatting, eating, drinking, like a movie with the sound turned off. Before, in her previous life, it was the kind of party she’d have loved. If you were there, it meant you had some kind of interest in interior decor or at least a passing acquaintance with art. It meant you enjoyed beautiful things and you belonged to Lauren’s tribe. She’d loved exhibits like this, where everyone was dressed to the nines and really intent on enjoying themselves.
Take a good look, she told herself. Because it was the very last time she would ever voluntarily be in a crowd. Crowds were dangerous in these times of Facebook and Pinterest and Twitter. Crowds shared.
Inside, everyone was spotlit, colors more intense, clothes fancier, smiles brighter than in ordinary life.
Inside everyone was enjoying life, their greatest care whether shoes matched purses. No one was running for their lives inside.
She was cut off from them by more than thick plate glass walls.
As long as her life was under threat, events like this were forbidden. As was rising in a career, any career. As was friendship or marriage or—God!—motherhood.
The thought of her life as it was now, continuously on the lookout, on the run, with a child in tow to protect—well that thought made her slightly nauseated
From now on it would be all about solitude and staying indoors and working through a computer under her assumed name for her book cover art. Working as Fabiola Chenet, who lived in France.
Nothing but work and solitude, for the rest of her life. Or for the rest of Jorge’s life.
The external doors suddenly opened. She hadn’t even seen Jacko arriving. For such a huge man, he was extraordinarily fast and light on his feet.
He was by her side in an instant. He pulled the lapels of his tuxedo jacket tighter around her neck. “It’s really cold. I’ve got my vehicle right outside with the engine running and the heater on. Watch your step outside—it’s slippery.”
Lauren wanted to roll her eyes and answer “Yes, mom.” Except it was really cold and the marble steps were really slippery.
There was no question of her slipping though, because Jacko had a big arm around her waist and he wasn’t going to let her fall. Her feet barely touched the marble stairs. Before she knew it, she was sitting in Jacko’s huge SUV, enjoying the heated cabin.
The backseats were all turned down and a big gleaming thing was back there, a mass of shiny steel and chrome, glinting in the darkness.
“What’s in the back?”
“My bike.”
Oh. The famous motorcycle everyone talked about. She turned her head and studied it. It was huge and looked more like a rocket than a bike. A car turning around in the driveway shone the headlights into the back and she could see it was lacquered a bright red. It looked dangerous, powerful. Sexy.
Jacko was looking at her, big hands dangling over the top of the steering wheel.
“Home?” he asked.
She nodded, throat tight.
Home. Not for very much longer.
He seemed to understand that she didn’t want to talk. Couldn’t talk, actually. If she opened her mouth, the words choked in her throat would come tumbling out. So she turned her head and watched the landscape go by as he drove her back to her house, blinking back tears.
Such a pretty city, Portland. Cool, in every sense of the term. Less overwhelming, less snooty than Boston. And a million times better than the hot, money-soaked Florida her mother had wallowed in.
The snow that had been threatening all day started drifting down. Damn. Even the snow, on her last night in Portland, was pretty, turning the parks and lawns into a fairy-tale world like Narnia.
Enjoy it, she told herself. She’d loved her time here, loved the vibe of the dynamic yet laid-back city. Portland offered tons of cultural opportunities while remaining friendly and walkable. She’d sketched in all corners of the city, not just the wealthy homes Suzanne decorated—skateboarding parks, the tiny gate to the tiny Chinatown, and she’d even followed the changing light in Pioneer Square, though for that she’d worn a big floppy hat that hid her face.
She’d felt instantly at home here and it hurt so much to know she could never return. Not only that, it would be best to go to another kind of city entirely, so Seattle was out. Certainly the entire Pacific Northwest was out, maybe even the whole West Coast.
She should go to one of those Sunbelt places where old people lived and iguanas roamed the earth. Or maybe somewhere up north in one of those empty states where winter lasted eight months.
Somewhere where she would finally heed what her rational mind had been telling her all along. Make no connections. Make no friends. Stay home as much as you can.
At least she had Felicity. Anonymous, faceless, virtual. But a friend.
She watched the neighborhoods go by, memorizing the buildings, knowing she could never come back. And knowing that her life would be an empty shell from now on.
It occurred to her that she would never have a love affair, ever again. The past two years had been of necessity chaste—though she’d never had a wild sex life anyway. Time to face the fact that sex and love were out of her life, possibly forever. Like most women, she’d had it in the back of her head that someday her Prince, or if not her Prince at least a really nice guy, would come.
But that was crazy thinking. She had to stay unattached. If nothing else, she’d put the man in mortal danger. Unless...she sneaked a glance at Jacko, handling driving in the snow with ease. He handled most physical things with ease. She’d heard Suzanne and Allegra talking about him. He’d been a sniper in the military, was a superb shot. Apparently he was also an expert in several martial arts.
He’d be a hard man to kill, even for Jorge’s thugs.
Jacko...Hmm.
Well, why not? Her last night in Portland, spending perhaps the last night of her life in a man’s arms. Jacko was attractive in an unhandsome kind of way. He was certainly sexy. And though he was stiff and formal around her and acted almost as if he were scared of her, which was ridiculous, something told her he wouldn’t say no.
When he started hanging around her all the time, she thought maybe he would make a play, and the idea of sex with Jacko had flared up in her head, lodging there. But he hadn’t made a play. He’d actually avoided touching her unless he absolutely had to, so clearly he wasn’t interested in her that way.
Maybe she could interest him now, though.
Oh God, yes. A night of heat and passion when she felt so cold and alone. Who would it hurt? If Jorge’s goons showed up for some reason having somehow tracked her down here, she’d be long gone. And Jacko knew how to handle himself.
Could she do it? Could she seduce him? Did she have the nerve?
And...how? Well, start by inviting him in for coffee. Or better yet, alcohol. She had a nice bottle of aged whiskey a grateful student had given her. Would it be hard to seduce him? She definitely didn’t have the nerve to strip and curl her finger at him, but maybe that wouldn’t be necessary. Perhaps they could talk a bit, sitting close together on the couch and...
Jacko pulled up in her driveway, much too soon. She still hadn’t fully planned her mode of attack, thought it through. If he said this, she’d say that...
He unlocked the doors with a whump, put his hand on the driver’s side door.
She was taken by panic. Suzanne had asked him to walk her to the door, and he would. And then he’d turn and drive back. The thought of watching through her living room window as his vehicle drove away, the thought of never seeing him again, was almost more than she could bear.
She wanted sex with him, so she had to man up, fast.
“Wait.” Her voice came out a hoarse whisper. Her throat was almost vibrating with emotion. “Would you—”
“Yes.” His voice was so deep she almost felt it in her diaphragm more than hearing it.
Lauren gave a half laugh. “What?”
“Whatever you were going to ask, the answer is yes.”
“Yes?” She blinked in surprise. He’d taken her aback. “No matter what? Suppose I asked you to paint my house? Or—or to give me a million dollars?”
Jacko turned his head to look at her full in the face. His dark eyes were steady on hers. “I’d paint your house, no question. I don’t have a million dollars but if I did, I’d give them to you if you asked.”
Her heart gave a huge thump. She smiled shakily. “Then it’s a good thing I was just going to ask if you wanted a coffee or a nightcap. My headache’s better.”
“I guess you know the answer, then.”
He got out in the snow in only his shirt, rounded the front of the vehicle and opened her door. He held out a huge hand and she took it gratefully. The ground was a long way down.
He looked down at her, still holding her hand in a warm, strong grip. His face was sober, even grim.
“Yes,” he said.
* * *
Lauren trembled as they walked up to her front door. Okay. Jacko had basically already said yes, to anything she proposed. So how hard could this be?
Very hard, it turned out. Because that rush of conviction in the SUV driving over here had dissipated, leaving her feeling sad and foolish.
She’d heard the stories about him from Suzanne and Allegra, though they’d tapered off lately. But still, they’d been plenty colorful.
How he was a player and he liked them young and super sexy. Biker chicks, mostly. That wasn’t her. She wasn’t very young anymore and she was anything but sexy. A B-cup at best, in her more optimistic moments.
She wasn’t even that good in bed, or so she’d been told. What did she know? It all seemed so very mysterious, right now, walking up to her porch, with a light snow falling around them. That whole Sex Thing seemed alien, something Martians did.
Another woman would know precisely what to do and would be a firecracker in bed. Firecracker. That was the term one of her stepfather’s goons had used to describe a wannabe model-du-jour he’d bedded. What did firecrackers do? Sex was such a basic activity, what room was there for improvement?
And yet there had to be room for improvement because Lauren knew, without a shadow of doubt, that no one would ever, ever call her a firecracker in bed. Not even a sparkler.
Oh God. This was a really really bad idea. They were at her door and the whole Sex Thing loomed behind it. And really, in her experience sex wasn’t that great. Maybe it would leave a bad taste in her mouth, cloud up her happy memories of Portland.
Had Jacko realized that for a brief moment of lunacy she’d contemplated dragging him to bed? Because though he always looked impassive and impervious, he was actually pretty observant. How humiliating if he realized it, shuddered at the thought, politely accepted a shot of her whiskey and made a fast escape.
And, and even if he did throw her—what was it called?—a mercy fuck, what would that gain her? She’d never see him again. She was going to embark upon a long trip tomorrow with no idea of the destination. She’d need a good night’s sleep, not a night faking orgasms.
Thoughts buzzing in her head like angry hornets, she scrabbled uselessly in her tiny evening purse for the key. She was close to a full-blown anxiety attack and her hands were numb. Ah, there the key was, on her silver paintbrush fob. But her hand was trembling; she couldn’t fit the damned key into the lock, one of those fancy ones Jacko had bought for her and had installed himself.
Something big and warm and hard enveloped her hand, stilling it. His hand, gently removing the key from the crazy lady’s hands and opening the door himself.
Lauren looked up into that hard, expressionless face, wishing she had a clue what he was thinking. How to make a quick getaway, probably. So he could go home, change out of his formal clothes, hop onto his massive bike that all the men at Alpha Security International envied and go to a biker bar. Where he’d pick up a biker chick.
Who’d be young and sexy and fantastic in bed.
“Breathe,” Jacko said, that deep voice heard in organs other than her ears.
She wheezed in a breath. At the same time, Jacko opened her door, ushered her in, then closed it behind them.
She didn’t have time for any more anxious thoughts because a second after the door closed, her back was against it, Jacko’s considerable weight pressing against her, and he was kissing her.
And kissing her.