by Helen Conrad
But in the meantime, she was lying to Matt’s aunt. Why?
Because Matt said they had to. But why? Was she too ill to stand shocks? Was Matt only concerned about her welfare? Or was it something less admirable? Was he actually a crook? She had a feeling direct questions weren’t going to give her satisfactory answers.
“Bravo, Vanessa,” Matt was saying as he led her back into the upstairs bedroom. “See? You did a great job. I knew you were made for this part.”
She turned on him, frowning her distress. “I did not do a great job. I was scared to death! I was so sure she’d see that I was lying.”
He shrugged his wide shoulders. “But she didn’t, did she?” Suddenly his hand was on her cheek again, cupping, caressing, and she stared up at him, too surprised to stop him.
“Maybe you were born to lie, Vanessa,” he said softly, “You do it so well.”
Somehow she couldn’t bring herself to push his hand away. “I ... I don’t like to lie.”
His eyes gleamed. “Janet doesn’t like to lie,” he corrected. “Vanessa lies the way a beachcomber turns over rocks, just to see what might happen.”
He seemed to notice his hand on her cheek for the first time. A slight frown creased his forehead and he pulled away quickly. She took the opportunity to step out of his reach, into the room. And then it hit her. She was staying here for the night.
Slowly, she looked from Matt to the huge bed, to the couch, and back at Matt again. “I suppose you expect me to sleep in this room with you, don’t you?” she asked.
He nodded, his eyes hooded. “Most happily married couples sleep together,” he noted dryly.
She moved jerkily into the center of the room. “Sex isn’t part of our deal,” she said bluntly, then flushed, glad she’d made that clear.
“No,” he agreed softly. “But sleep is.” He gestured grandly toward the bed and she edged toward it.
“Where are you going to sleep?” she asked, assuming the bed was hers.
He raised a dark eyebrow. “This bed could accommodate a football team,” he said. “Surely it can accommodate the two—“
“No!” She was adamant. The thought of lying beside this all-too-virile man was horrifying. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
He sighed. “Take the bed,” he said gruffly. “I’ll take the couch.” He opened a cupboard built into the wall to reveal shelves filled with extra bedding.
Janet sat down on the bed as though claiming territory. Running her fingers over the rough, heavy texture of the Navaho blanket that served as a bedspread, she glanced around the room nervously. “What am I going to do about clothes?” she asked.
Matt walked over to the couch and threw down sheets and a thick yellow comforter. “Vanessa lost all her luggage in the revolution,” he mused, making things up as he went along. “You’re stuck in what you’re wearing.” He turned to look at her, frowning. “Though I must admit, I thought Vanessa had a bit more style than to wear jeans on an overseas flight.”
Janet looked down at her denim-clad legs. “Vanessa goes for comfort over fashion,” she said. “Vanessa does what she damn well pleases.” There was a smile in her voice. She was beginning to see there might be aspects of this game that could be fun.
“Does she?” Matt’s tone was, she thought, unnecessarily provocative. “It will be interesting to see what pleases her then.” He tossed her a soft white sweatshirt that said Made in the U.S.A. in big blue letters on the front. “Use it for a nightgown,” he suggested. “Unless Vanessa has other ideas.”
“Vanessa,” Janet said as she motioned for him to turn his back so that she could pull off her sweater and put on the sweatshirt, “has no ideas. Vanessa acts on instinct and whim.”
He turned obediently and began making his bed. “Vanessa is turning out to be a lot more interesting than I’d thought,” he noted. “Instincts and whims are combustible materials.”
Suddenly Janet remembered that Vanessa was a real woman—was, in fact, Matt’s wife. She flushed, wondering why he hadn’t protested when she’d made light of Vanessa’s character. He didn’t seem to care at all if she made fun of his wife. Where on earth was the real Vanessa, anyway?
Perhaps they’d split up and he didn’t want Mavis to know about it. That seemed the most logical explanation. If she really was just missing, as he’d said she was, surely he would be worried. And he didn’t seem worried at all.
Janet might not be able to read the signs, but Matt was worried. Still, his concern had nothing to do with a missing wife. It had all too much to do with Janet.
“Okay, Vanessa,” he said as he finished pulling his bed together. “Got any instincts or whims you want to explore while we’re at it?”
He turned back without waiting for a signal from her, but she’d already gotten into the sweatshirt and was in the process of shedding her jeans. The thick, comfortable shirt hung down halfway to her knees, a perfect coverup. She looked adorable in it, little-girl innocent. As he watched, she pulled the band out of her braid and shook her head. Rich, dark hair spilled about her shoulders in a dusky cloud and suddenly, the little-girl innocence had disappeared, leaving behind a sultry, intoxicating woman.
Knowing he should look away, Matt did just the opposite. He stood and stared, taking in the long, slender legs, the rounded bottom that held the waistband of the sweatshirt hiked up in back, the full, pointed breasts that pressed out against the soft, thick fabric in front. Desire swelled inside him, taking him by surprise, almost taking his breath away. He met her crystal gaze and knew she’d read his reaction in his face. Her eyes were suddenly wary, guarded.
“My name is Janet,” she said evenly, forcefully, setting it up as a barricade. “I’ll be Vanessa tomorrow, in the daytime, when I’m around Mavis. But in here, I’m Janet.”
He nodded. That was the way he wanted it, too. He couldn’t afford to risk tangling up his business affairs with a love affair. But he couldn’t force himself to stop watching her as she bent over the bed to pull the covers back, the sweatshirt riding high and exposing a full length of rounded leg, along with just a flash of silky underwear. Disgusted with himself, he finally looked away.
Once night’s darkness filled the room, the two of them lay in their separate beds, each wide awake and staring at the ceiling, each filled with misgivings.
Janet’s mind hadn’t yet cleared from the whirl it had been in for the last hour. She hardly knew what she was doing or why she was here. It seemed impossible, like a hazy dream.
Her goal, her main objective, was still what she’d come here for in the first place, to find Alexander, and get out as fast as she could. That was the most important thing and the reason she was still here.
But in the meantime, there was this very disturbing man with his very disturbing plans. And when you came right down to it, she really wasn’t sure just what those plans were.
She thought hard about it. Here we have one aunt, ill and elderly. And we have one long-lost nephew who’d suddenly sprung out of the woodwork. Said nephew clinging to aunt obsequiously, overly concerned for her good opinion. What does all this suggest?
She nodded in the dark. Money. She almost said the word aloud. Of course. He wanted her money. What else? And here was Janet, helping him get it!
Listening carefully, she thought she heard him breathing. It was even and steady, but not slow enough for sleep. He was still awake, just as she was. She almost thought she could feel the alertness of the mind which shared the room with her. He was thinking about her just as she was thinking about him.
She remembered the look she’d caught on his face, just before they’d both gone to bed, and as she thought of it, a rippling, breath-stopping shiver ran through her.
“Oh, no,” she moaned, muffling it into her pillow. Matt Jessup was a married man—and very possibly a crook to boot! And here she was, getting chills over a look he’d given her. What a time she chose to suddenly find herself susceptible to the male sex.
“Did you sa
y something?” Matt asked.
She lay very still. “No,” she said softly.
“Good night, Vanessa.”
“Janet.”
He found himself smiling in the dark, enjoying her. Hell, he thought, shifting his position. He had to keep a serious perspective here or risk screwing up the whole thing.
It would be best to get this over with and get her out of here as soon as possible. He’d thought casting Janet Cardona in Vanessa’s role was a good idea at first. He’d told Mavis that Vanessa was coming, and when she didn’t show up, he’d have had to leave in search of her to maintain any semblance of reality. Mavis had already begun to wonder aloud about his casual acceptance of her non-arrival. But he couldn’t leave. He had to stay. He had to finish the job he’d begun here. There would be no second chance.
He mused for a moment on the woman he’d come to visit. Good old Mavis Jessup. She’d fallen so easily—almost too eagerly—for his story of being her long-lost nephew. When he’d called and told her he was Matt Jessup, she’d welcomed him with open arms. He’d expected much more of a fight to get into the house. And he’d expected a much tougher lady when he arrived.
Mavis could have been anyone’s grandmother. She was sweet and generous—hardly the greedy harridan he’d imagined. That made it a bit harder to do what had to be done. But he had to do it. She deserved it.
So here he was, pretending to be Matt Jessup, pretending to be married to Vanessa Jessup. Only, instead of the aspiring actress he’d hired to play the role, the girl who’d taken his money and never arrived, he had this soft, spunky Janet Cardona, who stirred his tired blood and pleased his jaded eyes in ways that surprised him.
Dangerous. Too dangerous. Perhaps Vanessa should receive an emergency call from South America and leave on the next flight.
CHAPTER THREE:
Just One Kiss
Creak!
Janet jumped back hastily. Who’d have thought that the stairs in this exquisite modern mansion would squeak as badly as those in any haunted house? She grimaced and tried the step again, shifting her weight slowly as she stepped over it. The creak wasn’t as bad, but it still seemed to rocket through the early-morning atmosphere of the house. Not too good for sneaking.
This place is falling apart, she thought as she edged her way down. Mavis should do something about it!
Poor Mavis. More to the point, she should do something about her nephew. Janet reached the bottom of the stairs and turned into the hall. The nephew was definitely up to no good. She craned her neck, listening for cat sounds, looking for evidence of cat presence, and decided to explore all the rooms along the hallway whose doors were open.
Matt had still been asleep when she’d left the upstairs bedroom. Dawn had barely broken when she’d found herself staring at the ceiling again, wondering if she’d been asleep at all. Her being here still seemed unreal.
She’d slipped out of bed, not allowing herself to look at Matt asleep on the couch. She’d pulled on her clothes and crept out of the room, hoping against hope to wind up Operation Kitnap without much further ado. If luck had been with her, Alexander should have been sitting on the landing, washing his dark brown face with his chocolate-colored paws. Then she would have snatched him up and made a run for it.
But luck was not hers, so here she was, searching throughout the house. And thinking about Matt Jessup.
One thing was certain, she thought, sticking her head into a room that seemed to be the library and coming back out again without finding anything. Matt was not on the level. His recruiting of her to pretend to be his wife proved that. Should she warn Mavis after she found Alexander? Maybe she’d leave her a note . . .
But no. It really wasn’t any of her business. Her business was to find her cat and get out, run fast and far and never look back.
She went through one room after another, noting the oak trim, the sleek Danish modern furniture, the beautiful wall hangings and expensive-looking graphic art, the Chinese lacquer screens and exotic carvings. Mavis had money all right. And it probably followed that Matt wanted some of it—or why was he here? The question was, did he plan to merely plant the seeds for a future inheritance, or were his goals more immediate?
She shook her head. No, she wasn’t going to worry about that. She wasn’t going to get involved. Where the hell was Alexander, anyway? There was no sign of him.
In the kitchen she found a slim Asian woman preparing breakfast.
“Hi,” she said.
The cook looked at her, wide-eyed, and Janet realized she must be wondering if she were an intruder.
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m . . .” Good grief, what was that name again? “I’m Vanessa,” she remembered at last. “Matt’s wife. I arrived late last night.”
“Oh,” the cook responded, “I’m Gloria.” She waved at the pans on the counter. “The cook.”
Janet smiled. “So I surmised.” She looked around. “Do you know where the cat is?” she asked, hoping she sounded casual.
“The cat?”
“Yes. The big old dark Siamese. He must be around here somewhere.”
Gloria looked perplexed. “I’ve never seen him,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid he doesn’t come out of Mrs. Cadbury’s room.”
“Oh, really?” Janet bit her lip. “Well, maybe I’ll just go up and visit with Mrs. Cadbury in her room.”
Amusement surfaced on Gloria’s friendly face. “Oh, no, you can’t do that. No one goes into Mrs. Cadbury’s room. Not even to clean.”
Janet’s heart fell. “And the cat never comes out?” She was afraid she already knew the answer before it was given. No, luck was not in her corner today.
Gloria shook her head. “Not that I know of.” She gazed at Janet curiously, but Janet didn’t even care at this point.
This job was going to be more difficult than she’d imagined. She was obviously going to have to slip into Mavis’s room when she was out. But how was she going to do that without looking like a thief?
Sadly, she left the kitchen and went back to the hallway, looking for the telephone. It was time she called Howie and Baxter, her partners, and let them know she wouldn’t be in for a while—perhaps for days!—and she’d left her cell back in her car.
She found the phone on a small, lacquer table, picked up the receiver, and dialed. How easy it was to dial out. She felt like a prisoner here, yet she could call out whenever she pleased. She could so easily call home—even call the police . . . She gazed down the hallway, half expecting Matt to jump out at her at any moment, but there was no sign of anyone.
“Hello?”
She laughed with relief. There was still a real world out there after all.
“Baxter,” she said affectionately, “it’s so good to hear your voice.”
“Janet, where are you?” Baxter sounded cranky. “You never showed up yesterday, and Howie and I have been here waiting since dawn. We’ve got that special edition on spores to lay out.”
“I know, and I’m really sorry to leave you two in the lurch, but I might not be in for a while.”
“You mean until after lunch?”
“I mean until after Thursday,” she said, hoping it was an exaggeration.
“What?” His outrage echoed in her head. “Where the hell are you?”
She hesitated. What in the world was she going to tell him? If she told him the truth, he and Howie would be over here in no time, ready to rescue her. She couldn’t have that.
“None of your business, Baxter. I do have a private life, you know.”
She waited for him to laugh. Her indignant speech had certainly sounded phony to her and she expected him to see right through it. But for some reason, he seemed to believe her.
His voice was hushed, incredulous. “Are you ... are you with some guy, Janet?” he asked.
She sighed. At least here she could go with the truth. “Yes, Baxter. As a matter of fact, I am.”
“Oh.”
There was a long silence.
Neither one of them knew what to say next.
“Janet?” Baxter ventured at last.
“What?”
“Don’t . . . Don’t do anything crazy.”
“Of course not.”
“I mean . . . Howie and I . . . You know we . . . well, we care about you and if you need any help or anything . . .”
Inexplicably, tears welled in her eyes. She hadn’t expected that. Since her father had died, those two were all she had left in the world. Except Alexander, of course. But to know they felt that way too touched her heart.
“Thank you, Baxter,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Goodbye.” She put down the receiver and stood for a moment, her hand still on it, blinking away the moisture in her eyes. What great guys.
Matt woke up, wasting only fractions of a second on the puzzle of why he was sleeping on the couch. Raising his head, he looked at the disheveled bed. She was gone. One glance at the sliding glass door told him the drapes were still in the position he’d left them in the night before. Chances were she hadn’t gone out the way she’d come in. Hopefully she was still in the house somewhere.
He leapt from his bed, reaching for his slacks, dancing toward the door on one foot, while he pulled them up the other leg. He didn’t stop to ponder what he was so worried about, whether he was afraid that she’d spilled the beans to Mavis, or whether there was some other reason he wanted to track her down right away. He just knew he had to find her immediately.
The door stuck when he first tried to turn the knob and he pulled at it angrily, cursing. It flew open and he was out and starting down the stairs, still fumbling at his clothes. He came to a sudden stop as he saw her standing in the hallway, her hand still on the telephone receiver she’d just hung up.
