Space in His Heart

by Roxanne St Claire

  “We can get you a pass for the launch, Paul,” she offered brightly. “Can we expect a response today from your editorial board on this story?”

  “I’ll give you a call before eleven and let you know what’s happening. Thanks again, Commander Stockard. Jess, thanks for handling the arrangements.”

  “You bet,” she responded. “Here’s my cell phone. Call me as soon as you know what the editorial decision is.”

  While giving him the number, she leaned her elbows on the table and pulled the sides of her hair up, revealing fine bones and creamy skin. As she hit the speakerphone button, her gaze moved to Deke, relief shining in her deep brown eyes.

  “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

  Wordlessly, he stood, knowing the daggers he shot at her had to be felt. She dropped her hair and it fell around her face, hiding her expression before turning to Colonel Price and Skip Bowker. “Do either of you have any idea who could have sent something to the media? Any unhappy ex-employees?”

  “My guys are clean,” Skip responded. “We haven’t had any problems, and I don’t have a clue who would talk to the media.”

  “Whatever piece of paper he claims to be looking at is a fraud,” Colonel Price added with certainty.

  The conversation stopped when Jessica’s cell phone rang. As soon as she answered, her face brightened and she gave a thumbs-up to Colonel Price.

  Into the phone, she lowered her voice and turned from the group watching her. “What do you think of Stockard? He’s the best story on the Cape. Can I call you next week? I have an idea for a feature.”

  When she snapped her phone shut, Deke started to leave the room, avoiding her smug smile of triumph.

  “Commander.” He hadn’t made it out the door before she called him. He stopped, but didn’t turn.

  “I just wanted to thank you,” she said from behind him.

  He spun around with such force that she literally backed up. “I’ve already had enough of your fluffy little assignment and your bulldozer approach. You have no idea—none—what kind of fire you’re playing with.” He forced his mouth closed before he told her that a man’s life depended on getting that shuttle up on February thirteenth. She didn’t need to know that.

  Colonel Price stepped into the hallway.

  “Excellent work, my man.” He gripped Deke’s shoulder in congratulations. “And good thinking on your part, Miss Marlowe. I’m happy to have you on our team.”

  Great. Price was supposed to kick her out, not welcome her aboard.

  “I’m sorry I blindsided you,” she finally said, a gentle truce in her eyes and voice. She reached out and, for the second time that day, burned his arm with the warmth of her soft fingers.

  His gaze dropped to her hand and traveled back to her face. Her lips parted slightly and she attempted a smile. “Couldn’t we just try and work together?” she finally asked.

  An unfamiliar twist seized his gut. He took a shallow breath and leaned closer to her. “You are naïve and relentless.” Her eyes widened in surprise. “In my opinion, sweetheart, that is a dangerous combination.”

  He turned and followed Colonel Price. He didn’t trust himself to stay that close to her for one minute longer.

  Chapter Seven

  Bill Dugan killed time logging his billable hours and reading email while he waited for Jessica to call him back. Hell. He billed sixty hours this week alone, he noted as he logged out of the TimeSheets program. He ran a hand through his thinning hair and stood to stare at the wintry gray waters of the Potomac outside his office window.

  Some adventurous sailors were out, trying to take advantage of a sunny, if chilly, November Saturday. He, of course, was stuck at his desk, racking up time so that Tony Palermo could get even richer when the British conglomerate that owned Ross & Clayton handed out year-end bonuses.

  He mentally calculated how much Tony would make this year. Too damn much, that’s what. A digital tone on his desk phone interrupted his math. The readout flashed one of the KSC phone numbers. Jessica must have finished with Newsweek.

  “How’d it go?” he asked without preamble.

  “Fine. Perfect. We deflected the story and I planted a feature.”

  Naturally, he thought with a rueful smile. Did he really think Jessica Marlowe could possibly fuck up? He smoothly congratulated her.

  “What was your strategy?” Bill asked as he uncapped his Montblanc pen. Better take notes so he could give Tony every detail. She rattled on about circuit inspections and something called a PLIC while he scratched notes.

  “Whoa. You’re getting technical on me, Jess.”

  She laughed. “It’s in the water down here.”

  “Well, it sounds like you put Zimmerman off for now, but do you think we should worry about a bad seed being planted at Newsweek?”

  “This reporter totally owes me for IBM. I’m thinking cover story. I’ve got his headline. America Falls in Love with Space Again.” With a start, he realized she was serious. He heard that ring of confidence he’d noticed in think-tank sessions. “Give me a few weeks and Paul Zimmerman will be putty in our hands.”

  “That a girl,” he said, adding a measure of warmth to his own voice so that she wouldn’t be insulted by the politically incorrect usage of the “G” word.

  He had to be careful. He couldn’t actually say what everyone knew. Women owned the PR field, so it really didn’t matter what you called them. It was a female’s business. Unless, of course, you owned the shop.

  “Now you go enjoy that barbeque tonight, Jess. You earned it.”

  “Did you hear about that?” She sounded surprised. “Nice of Stu, isn’t it? He’s a good guy.”

  Stu? Didn’t take her long to cozy up to his client.

  “Congratulations, again, on the good work. I’ll put a memo in your file.”

  He heard her hesitation. “Sure. Thanks, Bill.”

  He didn’t even put down the receiver after he disconnected her call, but punched in Tony’s home number from memory. A terse voice mail only frustrated him.

  Flipping open his PDA, he typed three letters into the digital phone book. Would Carla be at home on a Saturday or the office? The office, he decided, as he dialed it.

  He’d promised to keep her informed on Jessica’s progress. After all, Jessica would be working for her when this was all over.

  It was all quid pro quo in this business.

  * * *

  The cars were lined up for blocks in the neighborhood of Canaveral Groves where Stuart and Wendy Rosen lived with their seven-year-old twins, Adam and Jake. Jessica arrived nearly a half hour late, but knew Stuart would understand. After the Newsweek interview, she’d gone into her office to debrief the account team back in Washington and mentally unwind from the roller-coaster ride she had taken that afternoon.

  The last part had been the hardest. She didn’t like doing NASA’s damage control. They had to figure out how to make the damn things safe to fly. She had to turn the astronaut into a celebrity and get home.

  Which wouldn’t be too hard if he could only do to the camera what he did to her with one intense look. Like the one he’d given her in the hall a few hours earlier. What had he called her, naïve and relentless? Oh, and sweetheart. Called her that a lot, she noticed.

  Jessica dabbed on a little lip gloss using the rearview mirror for a final check. A bulldozer. An overachiever. She’d been called them all. And when faced with such a tenuous hold on her hard-earned position, she couldn’t care less. Ever since a grade-school-aged Jessica realized that bringing home straight A’s erased the sadness in her father’s eyes, she’d done whatever was necessary to succeed.

  She tucked her yellow silk shell deeper into the top of her white jeans and took a deep breath as she started up the walk to Stuart’s house. She didn’t have to explain her motives to Deke Stockard or anyone else.

  “Hey, it’s ‘No News is Good News’ Marlowe!” Stuart waved from his patio and stepped out the door to greet her. “What a day,
huh? Come on in and meet Wendy.”

  A petite woman with short sandy hair and a quick smile arrived a second later. “We’re so glad you’re here. Even more so after today. Stuart tells me you were masterful.”

  Jessica held out a bottle of Chardonnay and laughed self-consciously. “I don’t know about that. I didn’t do the interview.” She leaned forward in a half-hug. “I’m delighted to meet you, Wendy. Stuart talks about you incessantly.”

  “Stuart talks incessantly about everything. That’s why I love him.” She returned the hug and led Jessica back into the kitchen.

  “I appreciate the chance to get to know everyone like this,” Jessica said, taking the glass of wine that Wendy offered.

  “Always better to see your crew away from the office and meet their better halves,” Wendy said, lifting a tray of stuffed mushrooms. “Come outside with me while I feed the hungry mob.”

  They stepped through a doorway that led to the patio where torch lamps cast a shimmering golden tone on the pool and outside speakers carried Bonnie Raitt’s blues through the air. A boisterous group of familiar colleagues gathered poolside.

  Too familiar.

  Deke Stockard held a longneck in one hand and pointed the other toward the sky, punctuating a story with the animated gesture. They all broke into laughter and he lowered his arm to rest it casually on the shoulder of a stunning blonde in a tight denim skirt and low-cut crop top.

  The girl laughed heartily at whatever Deke had said and gazed up at him with admiration. He responded with a relaxed smile, something Jessica wasn’t sure she’d ever seen before. Then he raised the bottle to take a sip of beer just as he caught Jessica staring at him from across the patio. The bottle froze.

  “Oh, there’s Deke and, um, Caryn.” Wendy turned to Jessica, interrupting the dance in her stomach at the sight of him. “She’s his girlfriend. Sort of. I guess.” She guided Jessica to the group. “Okay, stop all the tall tales from Stockard and Clark and meet our guest of honor, Jessica Marlowe.”

  “I’ve already had the pleasure, Wendy,” Jeff Clark jumped in. “It’s nice to see you again, Jessica. This is my wife, Debbie.”

  Jessica made her way through the introductions, ending with Deke’s sort-of girlfriend. Who was sort of gorgeous.

  A giggle lilted in the breathless voice that matched a nearly flawless face. “We’ve heard all about you. I’m Caryn Camden.”

  Jessica looked away from Caryn’s perfectly made-up blue eyes to Deke’s navy ones. He took a sip and swallowed, studying her with the same intensity he had earlier in the afternoon. Jessica’s nerve endings tingled with the same response.

  Caryn leaned just a little closer to Deke, so Jessica turned to Debbie Clark. “Did your husband tell you he’s been media trained, Debbie?”

  “He talked about it for two days. I think he secretly wants to be on the Today show. By the way, great work today.” Debbie touched her arm in congratulations.

  “It was a team effort.” Jessica glanced at Deke.

  His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Guess it depends on whose team you’re on.”

  “Does your agency represent actors?” Caryn interjected.

  Appreciating the distraction, Jessica nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, sure. We have a division in L.A. that handles quite a few big names. Are you an actress?”

  “I’d like to be. Right now I’m a hair stylist, but I go on a lot of auditions. I worked for Disney for several years.”

  Jessica brightened. “Disney used to be a big client of our firm. What department were you in?”

  Caryn beamed. “I played Cinderella and Snow White.”

  Cinderella and Snow White. Dear God, she was a living, breathing fairy-tale princess. “What a—a wonderful experience that must have been.”

  Caryn laughed and let her head touch Deke’s shoulder in a comfortable, intimate gesture. “I think he’s heard about it a little too often.”

  “Not at all. It must be every little girl’s dream come true.” No condescension. No mocking her determination or enthusiasm, Jessica noticed.

  Maybe he loved this blond beauty. The thought formed a little black hole in the pit of her stomach. Not because she cared, but because he needed to be seen with movie stars and celebrities, not princess hair stylists.

  For the rest of the evening, she avoided Deke and his ravishing date and enjoyed dinner with a group from the Public Affairs department. Afterward, she leaned against a wall in the living room, half watching the college football game and also listening to the conversations around her. Two women seated on the sofa whispered heatedly.

  “Well, it doesn’t seem to matter what they do this time,” a woman Jessica recognized from administration whispered. “Price won’t even talk about a delay in this launch.”

  “Probably has something to do with the funding,” the other offered.

  “I don’t know. Pat D seems to think it’s more than that.” Jessica knew that Pat D referred to Pat DiMensini, Colonel Price’s secretary. “But Safety and Logistics isn’t coughing up the inspection logs with their usual speed.” As in most companies, the assistants were the best informed.

  One of the women glanced in Jessica’s direction, smiling awkwardly. Without a word, Jessica decided to find the powder room and slipped down a hallway off the dining room.

  Closing the bathroom door behind her, an exhausted sigh escaped. Running a hand through her hair, she wondered again about the reliability of the information she had given to Newsweek. Information she had offered with certainty.

  She rubbed her temples to ward away the first beat of a headache and decided to thank Stuart and Wendy and say good night. Tugging the door open, her breath caught in her throat as Deke blocked her way.

  “Oh! Excuse me.”

  “I want to talk to you.” He put a hand on the wall, effectively blocking her. Swallowing hard, she stopped and stared up at him.

  “What is it?”

  “Don’t you ever pull a stunt like you did today again.” His voice was low and menacing. “Is that clear?”

  The doorknob of the bathroom pressed into her back. She considered feigning ignorance but knew it would never work.

  “Yes.” The intensity of his stare caused a shudder of intimidation to threaten her stability. She refused to give into it. “That’s clear, Commander.”

  “We will agree before I do any interviews and you will not spring surprises on me in public.” He paused and she felt his gaze travel over her face and settle on her mouth. “Or private, for that matter.”

  Every nerve in her body fought the war of needing to escape and wanting to move closer. The scent of him, the sheer masculinity of him, drew her like a magnet.

  “No more surprises. I promise.” She heard the strain in her voice. “Only if you promise that you’ll unload your resentment and help with this assignment.”

  “I don’t have a choice.” He moved an inch closer to her. “I just hope you can handle complications as they arise.”

  Handle complications? She couldn’t breathe.

  “Can you?”

  Heat shot through her at the demand in his voice. “It depends on what kind of complications you mean.”

  He refused to move, refused to give her a reprieve from his proximity. “The kind you cause. Public relations complications.”

  “They’re my specialty,” she said, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, aware that his hand was centimeters from her face. “I’m not worried about complications, Commander. Just follow my suggestions and you’ll be very good at PR.”

  An unexpected and devilish grin slowly broke his serious expression. His knuckles lightly grazed her cheek. “I’m good at everything, sweetheart.”

  The hallway closed in on her, tight and airless.

  She managed to find her voice. “Regardless of the complications, I plan to be successful.” She tilted her head up. One inch, one tiny inch, and their lips would touch.

  His navy blue eyes flashed like the
electrical current that zapped between them. “But you need me to succeed.”

  She took a single breath. “As soon as I succeed, I’ll be out of your life. Think of it that way.”

  “Excellent motivation,” he whispered and dropped his arm, freeing her. “Good night.” He kept his gaze steady on her face, then stepped back. “Jessica.”

  Her senses seared at the sound of her first name on his lips and the touch of their shoulders as she passed.

  “Good night. Deke.”

  * * *

  As Caryn turned the key of her apartment door, a sinking sensation rolled through Deke and he willed it away. Her inviting look matched the warm hand she’d kept on his thigh all the way home from the party. The door opened and he saw her cat jump off the sofa, making room for them to start a long session of grappling before moving into the bedroom.

  “It’s pretty late, Caryn,” he said, pausing at the door. “I don’t want to wake your roommates.”

  She turned, disappointment making her eyes even wider. “It’s okay, Deke. They’re asleep.”

  She reached one hand around his neck then pulled him closer to her mouth. Instinctively, he bent and kissed her, liking the sweet taste and responding immediately to the pressure of her feminine curves against him.

  He let the excitement grow for a minute longer, then squeezed his eyes shut. Desire stirred and the release would have been welcome.

  “Caryn, you are sexy as hell and I know you’re not teasing me,” he whispered into the blond silk over her ear.

  She cooed and moved her hips into a painful sweet spot. Her intentions were clear and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d taken what she’d offered. But the looks he got all night from her were clear and she’d gone past just giving her body. Caryn really wanted to give him her heart.

  And he just wasn’t the one to take it.

  He eased out of her tangled arms and hair and planted a platonic kiss on her forehead. “I’ve got to hit the OPF early again tomorrow,” he whispered. “I better not get too attached to how good this feels.”