by Jan Freed
“I’m sorry, Did you say something?” Jack asked Gail.
She arched a penciled brow. “I said you really should try one of these peach daiquiris. And then—poof!” She made a little exploding motion with her hand. “You were gone.”
Jack’s neck heated. The strong scent of peaches was a torment he tried to ignore. “Sorry.” He reached for his Corona beer. “I’m back now.”
But not totally. Each week that passed, he learned his way around the city a little more, felt a little more of himself drift back to Houston.
Gail looked at him thoughtfully over the rim of her daiquiri glass, leaned back in the wrought-iron chair and crossed her legs. At sixty-something, she still had great gams. “Daniel said you haven’t been sleeping well. You do look tired.”
Jack shot the silver-haired director a startled glance.
Daniel shrugged. “Consuela’s bedroom is next to the kitchen. She hears you moving around. Plus, you look like death warmed over, son.” His dark eyes twinkled. “I wouldn’t notice. Except everyone in L.A. but you has a tan.”
“What’s this really about, Daniel?” Jack leveled a don’t-bullshit-me look. “I thought you were happy with my work.”
The director lifted his palms placatingly. “Hey, you’ve done a terrific job. That last scene you knocked out is gonna blow the audience away. I was telling Bob DeNiro just last week you’re a real corner. He’s anxious to read the revised script.” Daniel reached for his martini, toyed with the skewered olive. “You’re a decent guy, Jack. There aren’t many of those left in this town. Something’s been eating at you. I mentioned it to Gail. She suggested we all do lunch. No nefarious motive. We get so caught up in the business sometimes, we forget people have personal lives.”
Gail picked up the cue. “How’s your family? You have a mother and sister in Houston, right?”
A sharp twist of homesickness burrowed in Jack’s chest. “Yeah. They’re fine. My baby sister is going to her first prom tonight.” He smiled and shook his head. “I’d give anything to be a fly on the wall. But Mother will take a whole roll of film, I’m sure.”
“Why don’t you take half the roll?” Gail suggested.
Jack’s gaze snapped to hers.
She smiled. “I’ve heard Houston has an airport. You could be there in time if you hustle. Take the weekend off.”
“I need Monday, too.” The minute Jack said it, he realized he’d made the decision long before today. He simply could not let Sarah go to that murder trial alone. He had no special training, but no matter. He would give up his life to protect her, if necessary.
Daniel snorted. “Well, that didn’t take much armtwisting. Sure, take Monday off. Actually, I don’t need you back here until Wednesday, at the earliest.”
“You look better already,” Gail said. “Who is she?”
Jack paused in the act of lifting his beer. “My sister? Her name is Kate.”
Gail rolled her eyes. “Who’s the woman in Houston you’re in love with?”
He nearly choked on his beer. His insomnia, his distinct lack of enchantment with the freedom he’d been given, the sights and scents that triggered memories more vivid than reality... they all led to a conclusion he’d be a fool to deny.
“Her name is Sarah Davidson. But some people call her Sarina.”
“O-O-OH, DONNA. My clothes. You brought my clothes.” Sarah opened the guest house door and welcomed her garments like beloved friends.
Donna swept through with her arms full. “I told you I would get them, didn’t I?” She’d flown to Dallas yesterday to attend a continuing education seminar and had offered to dash into Sarah’s apartment for a few items.
“Did you see anyone?”
Donna walked into the bedroom and dropped her load on the bed. “At five o’clock in the morning? Nope. I didn’t bring all that much. Theoretically, on Monday you’ll have access to all of your clothes. Is this the dress you were talking about for tonight?”
Sarah looked at the sleek fire-engine red halter dress, floor-length with a slit to the thigh. “That’s the one.”
“It’s hot. You’ll look fabulous.” Donna spread the silk carefully on the bed. “Sorry, but your ficus tree and spider plant are history. You’d think as long as the justice department pays your rent, they’d send someone in to water the plants occasionally. Nice apartment, by the way.”
“How did it look?” Sarah asked piteously.
“Lonely. A little dusty. Nothing Molly Maid can’t handle when you get back.” Donna peered closer at Sarah, who’d pressed a hand to her throat. “Hey, don’t fall apart, now. You’re so close to being home free.”
Sarah nodded. “I know. It’s just...you’ve done so much for me already, and now this.” She gestured vaguely to the clothes.
Donna caught Sarah’s hand in midair and squeezed. “You’ve done so much for Roosevelt High, Sarah. Getting Alan Chaney for the prom, taking the kids under your wing and making some positive changes in their lives. We’re all going to miss Sarina when she leaves.” Donna’s eyes lit with mischief. “How would you like to send her out with a bang, tonight?”
What in the world?
Releasing Sarah’s hand, Donna rummaged through the purse half buried among the clothes on the bed. “I picked up one more thing for you before I left Dallas.” She pulled something out. “Catch!”
Sarah snatched the rectangular box of hair color. Not Outrageous Red, but Midnight Black. She broke into a slow and increasingly delighted grin. To be Sarah Davidson again, from the top of her head to her floor-length Givenchy gown!
“You really think I should?” Sarah asked.
“Go for it, kiddo. I’m tired of that ho-hum hair you’ve got now.” Donna wriggled her fingers and breezed to the front door. “See ya at seven. Don’t make me wait. And don’t expect a corsage.” The door closed on the sound of her chuckle.
Sarah made the most of the next six hours. The first task was a no-brainer. Oh, the glorious moment she toweled dry her Midnight Black hair! But when she stared at her reflection, she was a little freaked. Her old self seemed like a stranger. Sheesh, she’d be lucky not to come out of this experience seriously schizophrenic.
Moving on, she painted her nails a bright red to match her dress. She shaved her legs, ate a late afternoon sandwich, then pulled a Gone with the Wind fragile Southern belle act and took a nap before the night of magic and dancing.
Not that she would dance, Sarah thought groggily two hours later. But she was eager to see all her young friends hit the floor. Oh, God, what would they think of her hair? A little late now for second thoughts.
Shrugging, she splashed her face with cold water, then began applying her makeup. For the first time as Sarina, she used a full arsenal of cosmetics. When she finished, she looked twenty-seven. On prom night, it didn’t really matter.
Most of the teenage girls there would look twenty-eight.
She spent more time than usual on her hair, experimenting with mousse and a curling iron. Blowing her hair dryer in short spurts to tousle the curls. The end result was a sophisticated just-got-laid look she had to admit was pretty great.
When she realized she would have to go braless—her halter style bra was in a dresser drawer in Dallas—Sarah began to get a little nervous. There was a fine line between too much, and not enough. But Sarah was a pro at creating images.
When she checked herself out in full war paint, she looked exactly like what she’d planned: a very classy slut dressed to kill.
Her “date” agreed. On the drive to the hotel, Donna kept sneaking peeks.
“For Pete’s sake, watch the road,” Sarah finally scolded.
“I shouldn’t let you loose around all those raging teenage hormones tonight. You look illegal,” Donna muttered.
“Did you get dressed without a mirror tonight? Assistant principals do not wear strapless gowns and look like you.”
Donna had the grace to blush. “You remember that tall dark neighbor I mentioned? The
one who keeps late hours? Well, he might stop by to check out the magic act. I sort of said there would be a ticket for him at the entrance.”
“Ahh.” Sarah grinned. “Love the dress.”
The rest of the drive passed in harmony. They valet parked and caused quite a few male heads to turn on the way to the ballroom. Inside, it truly was magical. A girl’s dream.
Silver and black helium balloons clustered everywhere. Table centerpieces featured silver-and-blacksequined top hats and chocolate bunnies, the latter to be eaten or taken home as souvenirs. Silver stars of all shapes and sizes dangled from the ceiling. And a photo setup standing the girl in a magician’s open black box, with her date outside holding a magic wand.
The faces of all the arriving teens at their first glimpse of the room was worth every hour of planning, gluing sequins and haggling with an agent. Sarah’s altered appearance caused a sensation, as well.
Wendy’s dropped jaw, followed by a venomous gaze was particularly gratifying. Especially when it turned on Tony, who was sending Sarah a rakish grin.
“Her kids” first gaped, then heaped praises—the girls more than the boys. Beto, Derek and Fred hovered around her like three glowering big brothers.
“Guys, what’s going on?” she demanded. “Your dates are getting irritated.”
“Well, hell, Sarina, we can’t leave you alone looking like that,” Fred spoke for them all. “The stag line is pawing the ground already.”
Sarah glanced at a group of obviously dateless boys. She wouldn’t have been human not to preen a little.
“I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself. Now go have fun. Oh—has anyone seen Elaine?”
No one had, and Sarah’s stomach twisted. Had something gone wrong? She spent the next fifteen minutes anxiously watching the door. And then—boom! There they were, causing quite a stir. As well they should. They looked spectacular together.
Greg’s blond good looks set off by formal black. Elaine’s beauty at last striking her classmates, who’d only seen her in baggy clothes. Greg had College Man written all over him, which raised Elaine’s social status considerably. Best of all, he appeared truly besotted with his “bargain” date. When Elaine caught Sarah’s eye across the room and broke into a happy belle-of-the-ball smile, she counted the evening a complete success.
Alan Chaney’s act brought on the TV cameras, which in turn brought out the best in Alan. Press would be good. Another worry put to rest. She noticed Donna’s tall dark neighbor had showed up. Yep. He earned the full cliche—he was handsome, too.
Sarah’s euphoria lasted through the first of the dancing, which was fast and fun. She accepted a few invitations to the floor, but declined when the mood began to shift. Things got slower. More mellow and romantic.
And suddenly it wasn’t fun.
There were Fred and Kate, locked in a gentle loving sway. Wendy and Tony were in bed standing up. Prince Charming held Elaine as if her glass slippers would break. And if that wasn’t Ms. Kaiser being extraordinarily neighborly on the floor, Sarah was a pumpkin.
Chained to her post by the punch bowl, where she’d volunteered to make sure it remained pure, she felt a powerful tide of melancholy rise. Was there anything worse than being alone in a crowd of couples? Anything more heart bruising than knowing your perfect mate existed, but had chosen not to be with you? If there was something more painful, she hoped never to experience it in her lifetime.
A magical night to remember became an occasion to be suffered.
She wanted to leave, but asking anyone right now to take her home would spoil the poor devil’s fun. Like an idiot, she hadn’t thought to bring cab fare. She would have to wait. And watch. And hurt.
Turning her back to the dance floor, she poured herself a glass of punch. Pretended to admire the decorations. Endured the crooning music. Yearned for a man thousands of miles away. She set down her cup and strolled to the wall, drawn by the perverse irony of everything being different, yet everything being the same. She would always be a wallflower.
Slowly, reluctantly, she faced the dance floor again. Her gaze wandered in search of solace. She looked at the stage where Alan had performed, found proof of her professional savvy. Looked toward the kids she’d helped gain confidence, found deep gratification. Looked around the ballroom, found the satisfaction of a job well done. Still... it wasn’t enough. The clawing emptiness remained. Until she glanced at the door.
And found her mate.
“Ah!” her involuntary cry matched the leap of her heart. It was Jack! Jack, standing just inside the door! Everything in her thrummed to life. He wore faded jeans, a black T-shirt and black biker boots. And he outshone every formally dressed male in the room.
His gaze roamed intently. Searching... searching... connecting.
The electrifying bolt of awareness struck. Harder than ever. Fueled by ten weeks of yearning. Crackling with an additional element Sarah dared not analyze, for fear she might be wrong.
He walked slowly toward her.
She listened to her rampant heartbeat. The world fell away. There was only this man. There would only be this one man. Forever. He stopped a foot away. Handsome, hardworking, honorable, and one hundred and fifty percent heterosexual.
His hand stretched out palm up. “May I have this dance?”
She placed her palm in his, and her heart exulted. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Mr. Ruler-Up-His-Ass Morgan walked through his tuxedo-clad students wearing ragged jeans, heedless of the whispers and avid glances, leading an “eighteen-year-old” girl onto the parquet wood floor. Clasping one of her hands to his chest and draping the other over his neck, he pulled her into his arms and the swaying dance. And he made them a couple, in front of God and Roosevelt High.
Questions and answers could wait. For right now, the feel of his muscular arms around her was enough. The woodsy male scent of his skin was enough. The sight of his swirling green-gold eyes was enough. She believed that with all her heart.
Until he lowered his mouth to her ear and said, “I love you, Sarah.”
JACK SIPPED the last of his punch and set his empty cup next to the crystal bowl. Another forty-five official minutes were left on the prom clock, but when Sarah finished her drink, Abracadabra--they were outta there!
He turned to Donna, who was containing the buzz of his scandalous conduct to manageable levels by her hovering presence and tacit support. When the entire story came out on Monday, she would be a heroic part of a school legend.
“Sarah said she came with you,” Jack said. “I’ll see her home. I think it’s best we leave now and let things settle down here.”
Donna huffed wryly. “I don’t know if that’s possible at this point, but I agree you should both leave.” She moved forward and grasped his forearm, her gaze fierce. “But if you haven’t learned any more about women since you left the first time, Jack Morgan...I’ll come after you with a shotgun. Is that clear?”
As a bell. “I was an idiot. Thank you for keeping her safe. I’ll take over from now on. If she’ll let me.” Donna’s obvious relief dissolved a little of his guilt over hurting her in the past. He leaned forward, bussed her cheek and pulled back, grinning. “You’re quite a woman.”
A tall dark-haired man appeared out of nowhere to lay his palm briefly on her naked back. The barest touch only, but Jack recognized the male-to-male signal—and Donna’s immediate flustered pleasure.
He backed away with a lighter spirit. Suddenly everything he’d experienced since leaving the restaurant in L.A. swelled to a breaking point.
The frantic packing at Daniel’s house, the crazy rush to the airport, the building frustration as his flight was delayed. The insistent beat of his pulse drumming come-on-come-on-come-on throughout the endless hours until touchdown.
The urgent compulsion to see Sarah propelling him straight to the hotel instead of home, pushing him into the formal ballroom wearing jeans and his heart on his sleeve.
When
he’d spotted the stunning raven-haired woman standing alone by the wall, no power on earth or in heaven could have kept him away.
He turned now and moved to take Sarah’s empty cup. “Do you mind too much if we leave early?”
“If we don’t, I’m going to drag you underneath there—” she indicated the skirted table “—and have my way with you,” she threatened, her voice and gaze sultry.
When his eyes uncrossed, he set down her cup, gripped her elbow, and steered her forcefully toward the exit. Whispers followed their progress, but he was past hearing, much less giving a damn.
They entered the wide hallway outside the ballroom at a near jog. She stumbled and he caught her up against his side, the feel of her a sweet torture.
“Slow down,” she gasped, straightening. “I can’t walk that fast.”
But he grabbed her hand and pulled her on at the same pace, unable to slow his ramming heart, his frenzied need to get her alone, anywhere alone. His rental car was outside where conference visitors parked. He veered from the valet entrance and strode down a narrower side hallway.
“Jack,” Sarah pleaded, stumbling again.
He stopped, his gaze searching up and down the empty hallway, landing briefly on the women’s bathroom door, dismissing it and spotting another alcove near the exit outside. Insane. But he was wild for her. He hauled her forward and tested the door marked Supplies. Abracadabra!
The door opened under his yank. He thrust Sarah inside, followed and closed them into complete darkness.
He couldn’t see her. But he could hear her quick, arousing little breaths, smell her warm peaches-andwoman scent. He closed his eyes in near pain.
“Sarah,” he said raggedly, a plea for forgiveness, a plea to absolve him by making the first move.
Fingertips, advanced probes in the dark, touched his chest lightly. Two small palms settled firmly. A vibrant feminine body pressed into him full length. “I changed my mind, Jack. I want the babies and house surrounded by a white picket fence. It doesn’t matter where—as long as you’re inside, too.”
