“Hi, Rand,” she murmured huskily. Her gaze swept his broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips and muscular thighs, and a reckless heat pulsed through her. He looked devastatingly sexy in his snug-fitting faded jeans and blue chambray shirt.
Her voice, her smile were infinitely alluring. Rand had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Hello, Jamie.”
Their eyes clung beyond the time frame allotted for the exchange of simple, friendly smiles. Their gazes lingered and grew deeper, escalating swiftly to full-fledged awareness.
Both were oblivious to the watchful stares of Grandma and Saran. The old woman and the teenager exchanged glances of their own.
“Saran, get that box of Maureen’s that we’re supposed to drop off at the community center tonight,” Grandma commanded in a voice that snapped Rand and Jamie out of their sensual daze.
“It’s heavy, Grandma,” whined Saran. “Can’t he carry it?”
“Good idea.” Grandma tapped Rand’s arm. “The box is in the kitchen. Follow me, young man.”
Bemused, Rand followed her into the kitchen, adjacent to the family room boasting two large television sets, sitting side by side. A big cat sat on top of each TV. Their tails were swinging in front of the screens like pendulums. Three more cats were draped over other pieces of furniture in the room.
A flash of black fur streaked by at the same moment that a Siamese cat, distinctly overfed, materialized from under the table. Standing on its hind paws, it dug its front claws into Rand’s leg and let out a long, plaintive meow.
“Seven cats, hmm?” he murmured, striving for an enthusiastic note. He succeeded in sounding incredulous.
“Rand has a kitten,” Jamie told the others with a grin while she shooed the Siamese away. “The two of them went shopping together this afternoon.”
“Reebok rebelled against the shopping cart and nearly got us both evicted from the store.” Rand couldn’t tear his eyes away from Jamie’s face. She had the most irresistibly appealing smile he’d ever seen. “Later tonight, you’ll have to come over and check to see that I bought him the right stuff, Jamie,” he added smoothly.
Before Jamie could reply, Grandma inserted herself into the conversation, pointing out the large brown box in the corner. Rand stared into it. It was filled with—“Dolls’ heads?” he said aloud.
Dozens of vinyl heads, sporting hair of varying styles and colors, were piled on top of each other. Dozens of painted eyes and smiles seemed to leer up at him. “Uh, who decapitated them?” He tried to sound tactful. “And—why?” “You would be amazed at what doll collectors will pay for some of these heads,” said Grandma gleefully. “Maureen, my daughter-in-law, Jamie’s mother, buys old dolls at yard sales, tosses out their broken bodies and cleans up and sells the heads at double and triple the prices.”
“Oh.” Rand stared down at the box of heads. “Interesting hobby, selling dolls’ heads,” he remarked politely.
“Maureen sells dolls, too,” Grandma assured him. “She wants to start setting up for this Saturday’s doll show and sale at the community center first thing in the morning. Would you mind delivering the box, Mr. Marshall?”
“We can stop on the way to the school,” added Jamie. “Mom and Dad had to leave right after dinner with Cassie and the boys. I told Grandma and Saran that we wouldn’t mind giving them a lift to the program.”
“ We wouldn’t mind giving them a lift?” Rand repeated, catching Jamie’s arm to detain her as her grandmother and cousin dashed to the car through the rain. “I don’t recall you asking me how I felt about it.”
She smiled up at him, her eyes bright. “Since I waived my telephone-and-lunch requirements for you, I didn’t think you’d care.”
It really wasn’t funny, an indignant voice inside his head complained. He’d already declared himself the winner of this round, and now she’d turned the tables. But instead of fuming, he laughed. The joke was on him, and somehow he didn’t mind. Not when Jamie was grinning at him, inviting him to share the humor, challenging him to try to best her again. He found himself looking forward to the evening ahead with a heated surge of anticipation.
“This car is, like, totally triumphant,” Saran piped up from the small backseat of the Jag where she sat between Grandma and the box of heads. Her voice was filled with awe.
“One of those fancy foreign models,” Grandma said tartly. “Must’ve cost thousands and thousands of dollars. And you’re an insurance claims adjuster, Mr. Marshall?” Her tone went from tart to sardonic. “I never dreamed it was such a high-paying occupation.”
It wasn’t, of course. Rand felt color stain his neck and spread slowly to his face. Old Mrs. Saraceni was sharp.
“I hope you won’t mind if I ask you a personal question, young man.” From the old woman’s tone, it was obvious that she would ask if he minded or not. “Are you on the take? Involved in something illegal to supplement your income? Because if you are, we’ll just get out now and walk. We Saracenis don’t associate with drug dealers or racketeers.”
He could confess right now to being Brick Lawson of best-seller-list fame, of course, Rand thought. Maybe he should. After all, it was certainly preferable to being suspected of being a criminal! But he hesitated. Jamie was eyeing him warily now. He couldn’t gauge her reaction to the revelation. What if she was furious that he’d been deceiving her and decided never to see him again? He wouldn’t put it past her. She was stubborn and willful and completely capable of making her decision stick.
The prospect chilled him. He gave his head a slight shake. No, he couldn’t risk it; the deception would have to continue. It was for a worthy cause, nearly a medical one: easing the raging fever that Jamie Saraceni had sparked within him.
As much as he disliked mentioning his background, it was safer than revealing his true career. Hadn’t his family been affirming for years that his writing was not something to be proud of? They certainly never mentioned it if they could possibly avoid doing so. Rand automatically followed suit.
“You’re right, Mrs. Saraceni, the salary of a claims adjuster would never cover this car.” He paused. “I—have a trust fund and inherited family money.”
“You come from a rich family?” Saran cried with unbridled enthusiasm. “That’s so cool! My cousin Steve and I want to be rich. We want amazing cars that cost a fortune and Rolex watches and vacations all over the world.” She leaned forward, her dark eyes bright. “Tell us about your life-style, Rand.”
“A person has a life, not a life-style, Saran,” Jamie said quietly.
“ You have a life, Jamie, I have a life. If Rand is really rich, then he has a life-style,” countered Saran knowledgeably. “Life-style depends on money. It’s the clothes you wear and the crowd you run with and the car you drive. It’s the food you eat and the house you own and everything that’s inside it.”
Jamie sensed Rand’s discomfiture, but it was nothing compared to her own. Saran did have a point. There was a difference between a life and a life-style, between earning money and inheriting it, between living in Merlton and living in Haddonfield. All those differences, reaching into every area of life, heralded disparity and conflict to her. They were just more reasons she should keep a safe distance between herself and Rand Marshall, she lectured herself sternly.
“Look, there’s a hitchhiker over on the corner on the left.” Grandma’s voice broke into Jamie’s troubled reverie. “Holy saints, how could he risk his life that way? Do you know how many hitchhikers have been murdered over the years? How many have climbed into cars never to be seen again?”
When no one answered, Grandma launched into an astonishing recital of names, places and dates, garnered from her collection of monthly true crime magazines, dating back decades. “And then,” she continued, “there’s the flip side of the coin. The drivers who were murdered by the hitchhikers they picked up on the road.” She proceeded to elaborate.
“There isn’t one murder or disappearance that Grandma doesn’t know all about,�
� Saran said proudly. “She’s read about them all.”
“I see.” Rand’s lips twitched. The germ of an idea began to formulate in his mind. Suppose the intrepid salesman hero of his latest book had a grandmother with a predilection for reading about grisly crimes and making connections between them? Granny could simultaneously drive the hero, the villain and the police force crazy. After all, it was only fair that his characters should have to endure some of the frustration their creator was feeling these days, courtesy of the just-out-of-reach Jamie.
“And he was walking his dog and discovered the corpse.” Grandma’s sepulchral tones diverted him from his creative musing. “Incredible, the number of bodies accidentally found by people walking their dogs,” she exclaimed with relish. “There they are, minding their own business, walking their dogs, when suddenly the dog bounds off into a wooded area or open field where the owner stumbles over a corpse.”
Rand grimaced wryly. “That does add a whole new dimension to dog walking.”
“I’m glad we have cats, Grandma,” Saran said fervently.
Jamie sat quietly, not really listening. She’d grown up listening to Grandma’s macabre facts; they’d long ago lost the power to alarm her. But she was alarmed by the questions, totally unrelated to homicide, that tumbled through her mind. Such as, who was Rand Marshall?
Admitting that the salary of an insurance adjuster wouldn’t pay for his car was tantamount to admitting that he really wasn’t working as one. So why had he told her that he was? He claimed to have a trust fund of inherited money, which implied a wealthy, privileged background. Was that a lie? Apprehension and anger surged through her. How could you trust someone who lied? When a man was dishonest about small things, a woman couldn’t believe him when it came to more important issues.
Jamie didn’t like this one bit. She withdrew behind a protective facade of silence.
Saran had been right on target about the show, Rand thought glumly as he shifted uncomfortably in the backbreaking metal chair in the Merlton Elementary School gym. The Spring Sing was truly terrible. The gym was packed, hot and humid; the children couldn’t carry a tune, although the loudspeakers broadcast their discordant little voices at earsplitting volume. If there was a hell, this was it, he decided, and contemplated being trapped here at the Spring Sing for all eternity.
Worst of all, Jamie sat beside him, not speaking to him or even glancing in his direction. She’d been aloof and withdrawn during the drive over, and now she seemed to be deliberately ignoring him.
He felt ill-used and sulked a bit, but noted that Jamie didn’t seem to notice, or care. Though she was sitting close enough to him in the overcrowded gym that their shoulders brushed, he sensed that she was far away from him.
“Isn’t that Ashley? The kid from the library, standing on the right in the third row?” he whispered, leaning closer, his lips almost touching her ear. He inhaled the elusive, enticing fragrance she wore, and it went straight to his head like a shot of one-hundred-proof bourbon. He wanted her attention so badly, he would do anything to get it, even feign interest in this abysmal show.
Politeness required Jamie to turn her head toward him to nod. Their faces were close; if each moved forward just a few inches, their mouths would be touching. She stiffened and quickly pulled back, determined not to respond to a liar, no matter how sexy and attractive he happened to be.
Rand felt a stab of desire so strong it was almost painful. His eyes focused on her mouth, memorizing its seductive shape, remembering its sweet taste and passionate response to his kisses.
“Point out your nephews to me,” he murmured, shifting in his chair so that his thigh pressed against hers. The more cool and aloof she became, the more determined he became to get close to her, to win a softly intimate smile, to see her eyes dilate and darken with arousal. Just for him.
Jamie ignored his request the first three times he made it. The fourth time, when he raised his voice above a whisper, she decided she’d better point out Brandon and Timmy, just to shut him up.
But Rand couldn’t seem to spot them in the mob of children. He had to lean closer, to put his arm around her shoulders to better position himself to follow her line of vision. His other hand found her hand and lifted it, ostensibly to admire her blue star sapphire ring. But after studying the ring, he didn’t relinquish her hand, he laced his fingers with hers.
Against her will, a shiver of response streaked through her. She felt surrounded by him. His leg was pressed tightly against the length of hers, his arm was around her, holding her subtly but inexorably against the strength of his big male frame. His thumb began to stroke her palm in that arousing caress that had so unraveled her in the library earlier today.
Jamie let out a shaky breath. All her feminine instincts urged her to close her eyes and relax. But she didn’t dare. She had too many doubts about Rand Marshall to simply let herself go.
More than once Jamie had been told that she had a will of iron. Sometimes it was said with amusement, sometimes with admiration, often with exasperation. But it took every ounce of her famed iron will to make herself move firmly out of Rand’s hold. After she had, she sat tense and stiff on the edge of her chair, her back straight and unyielding.
Her rigid posture should have been off-putting; she’d certainly intended it to be. But before Rand could take offense at her snub, she tilted her head slightly and her shiny black hair fell forward, revealing the nape of her neck.
Rand forgot that she’d just brushed him off like a pesky gnat. He couldn’t take his eyes from her nape. It was sexy, soft and vulnerable, and he knew that she would be very sensitive there. The urge to touch that elegant, silken curve was overwhelming. He felt something hot flicker inside himself.
Leaning forward in his chair, he cupped her nape with his hand and lightly caressed her with his fingers.
Jamie’s heart slammed against her ribs, and she quivered like an arrow in a crossbow. Her surroundings seemed to fade into the background, and she was suddenly impervious to the heat of the overcrowded gym, to the jostling, noisy audience and the children’s cacophony. All her senses were focused on Rand’s touch.
Slowly, his fingers began to trace a light, sensual path down her back, following the fine, straight line of her spine. She felt him pause at the line of her brassiere concealed under her sweater, then carefully smooth over its outline. From his light exploration he would learn that there was no clasp there and could deduce that it was front-fastening. The thought of him acquiring such intimate information about her sent a tremor through her.
When his hand reached the small of her back, he began a slow, gentle massage. Hot ribbons of fire laced her belly. She had to swallow the moan of pleasure rising in her throat.
“Don’t!” she whispered hoarsely.
“Why not?” His husky rasp, both soothing and seductive, made Jamie’s mind cloud. “I like touching you and you like me to touch you.” His fingers slipped beneath the hem of her sweater and touched her warm, bare skin.
Jamie shot out of her chair with the speed of one escaping fire. She felt as if she really was burning from the hot flames Rand’s touch ignited in her. She walked swiftly from the gym to a side corridor leading to an exit. It was cool and dimly lit in the deserted hallway. Pulses racing and knees shaking, she leaned against the tiled wall, trying to regain her equilibrium.
It was a lost cause. Rand had followed her and was striding along the corridor toward her. Jamie’s eyes widened. He was carrying the raincoat and umbrella she’d left behind in the gym.
“Our minds are running along the same track,” he said with a definitely unholy gleam in his light brown eyes. “The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can be alone.”
Her heart seemed to do a funny somersault. “I came out here to get away from you, not to be alone with you,” she said, flushing.
He stared pointedly at the emptiness of the corridor. The two of them were completely alone; even the racket from the gym was muted.
/> “I don’t think I want to believe you.” He smiled a slow, sexy smile of anticipation as he dropped her coat and umbrella to the floor and moved to stand directly in front of her. “I think you’re as hungry for this as I am.”
Curving his hands around her upper arms, he slowly, inexorably drew her to him. His movements were unhurried, his grasp loose, giving her every opportunity to object, to break away from him if she were so inclined.
But she wasn’t. She couldn’t. The newly awakened passion he’d inspired within her conquered her self-imposed course of rectitude. Jamie gazed into his mesmerizing eyes and didn’t move, breathe or utter a word of protest.
Rand slid his hands to her shoulders and massaged them lightly. He used his solid strength to pin her against the wall and fit his body to hers. Jamie felt the cool tile against her back while the masculine heat of his frame warmed her in front. She felt boneless and languid, and a dizzying sense of inevitability swept through her. He was going to kiss her, and she was aching to feel his mouth on hers again.
Her legs felt too rubbery to support her. Reflexively, her fingers grasped the front of his shirt and she held on tight. While their eyes held, he lowered his head and touched his mouth to hers.
For a second or two, he moved his lips lightly against hers, coaxing them to part. And then, as if he could wait no longer, he angled his head to seal their mouths together.
Jamie whimpered as passion flowered within her once more. Her arms slid around his neck and she nestled her body against him, trying to get even closer. She welcomed the velvet penetration of his tongue as it thrust hotly into her mouth. Uttering a soft moan, she kissed him back, gliding her tongue over his, tasting him, drawing him in more deeply.
Rule Breaker Page 7
