The Wallflower
Page 22
Nothing she might’ve said could’ve inflamed him more.
“Come inside, Jack. Come home.”
Except that.
His mouth lowered and found hers open, hot and ardent. She tasted of fruit punch and the spicy spitfire he loved. He gulped her thirstily, unable to get his fill, his body and soul parched from two and a half endless months of drought. This petite bundle of energy was all the excitement he needed in his life. His creativity would flourish, his heart would rejoice, his life would be happy with this woman.
He would devote the rest of his days to loving her, the rest of his nights to showing her how much.
Her skin rivaled the silk that clung to breasts he had to taste now, or die. He unfastened the clasp at her neck, peeled down the fabric and drew one pebbled tip into his mouth. Spicy sweet, like her smell. He kneaded the resilient flesh pillowing his mouth and thought about a baby—the one they’d make some day—doing the same. His drive to mate grew indomitable. Her fingers dove into his hair and swam in circles, then clutched and directed his mouth to her other breast.
The small sounds coming from her throat made him crazy. Needing her more than air, he worked the floor-length skirt slowly up her legs. No panty hose, bless her wanton little heart. Only a scrap of silk, which he managed to slide down instead of rip off.
He lifted his head, unbuckled his belt and lowered his zipper. When he sprang free, her fingers were waiting to caress and stroke. Now it was Jack making pleasured noises in his throat. He stretched out his arms, hitting shelving on his left, empty air on his right. Gripping her shoulders, he turned her toward, please God, a wall, and moved her backward. Her spine bumped smooth plaster. Yes!
“Put your arms around my neck,” he ordered, lowering his hands to her backside and lifting. She didn’t need further instructions. Her thighs wrapped his hips and she welcomed him home.
They mixed words of lust and poetic love in a feverish language known to only soul mates. The rise to climax was swift for them both, and shattering in strength. He lowered his mouth and drank in her cry of fulfillment...and was quenched at last.
Darkness. Slow breathing. His body pinning another’s to the wall. In a supply closet, for cripe’s sake. No way to treat the woman he loved. He withdrew and helped her slide slowly down until her feet touched the floor.
What should he say? What was she thinking?
That you’re an animal, asshole.
She reached up and ran her fingernails lightly along his jawline. “Well, Mr. Morgan,” she said, her voice rich with satisfaction and amusement. “I’d say you’ve learned to loosen up since you left. You’re an animal, lover—” one finger tapped his chin twice “—and don’t you ever forget it, either.”
Jack chuckled, gathered her into a bear hug, and rocked her briefly next to his heart. No, he would never feel tied down by this woman. Just the opposite. She set him free.
They restored their appearance as best they could in the dark, then Jack opened the door and peeked around. No one in his line of sight. He ventured farther, and waved that the coast was clear.
She came out warily, looking mussed and sated and so sexy he considered leading her back inside the closet. But she was already heading for the bathroom halfway up the hall.
“I’m going to freshen up a little,” she said over her shoulder.
Jack nodded, admiring the sway of her hips, as content as he’d ever been. He didn’t know what made him look beyond her at a dark-suited man turning into their hallway. A businessman on the way to his car. Nothing remarkable. No reason for Jack’s skin to prickle, his blood to freeze, his sixth sense to shout that something was wrong. Sarah was about ten yards from the bathroom now. His feet moved, cement blocks weighing him down. She was too far away. Too close to the man. The man who reached under his coat jacket in trite slow-motion action. Cut! Jack’s mind screamed to the director.
“Sarah, get down!” he roared, even before he saw the gun.
Oh, God no! She wasn’t reacting. He couldn’t reach her in time. No house, no babies, no white picket fence. He launched himself in a desperate flying tackle. A gunshot exploded. His shoulder hit Sarah. He wrapped his arms around her and twisted, taking the brunt of their impact.
She lay motionless, half on his chest, half on the floor. Too late. Too late. He hadn’t saved her. His life was over.
A sharp little elbow dug into his ribs. “You’re taking this animal thing a little too far,” Sarah grumbled shakily, rising to a sitting position.
Jack whooped, then scrambled up and in front of her on the floor, his gaze riveted on the figure sprawled facedown on the carpet ahead, one hand clutching a pistol with silencer attached.
Fingers pressed against the killer’s neck, a second dark-suited man shook his head grimly and rose.
Jack did, too, then helped Sarah stand. They leaned against each other as their rescuer approached, flipping open his ID.
“U.S. Marshal Walt Stone. You folks okay?” His blue gaze assessed Jack quickly, moved to Sarah and took a lot more time.
Jack frowned. “You want to tell us what just happened, here, Marshal?”
Teens and adults were moving hesitantly into the hallway now, drawn morbidly toward the scene of violence. The marshal glanced toward the gasping crowd and back.
“Security will be here soon. You’ll get a full report later. Basically, we suspected Lester Jacobs had gotten to a second officer besides Mike Clancy. As the trial got closer, I watched to see who sweated the most. See, no one knew whether or not Mike had told you who his accomplice was before he died, Ms. Davidson.”
“Not by name. Mike only referred to ‘an amateur.”’
Her sad tone tugged at Jack’s heart. He ran his palm slowly up and down her bare arm.
“Deputy Marshal Kelch, there—” he jerked a thumb at the dead man “—is a rookie. When he started staking out your apartment in Dallas, I knew he was getting desperate.”
“Donna,” Sarah breathed, looking up at Jack to explain. “Donna went to my apartment and brought back this dress and some other clothes. He must’ve followed her to me.” Sarah turned to the marshal. “And you followed him. But... why did he wait until tonight to make his move?”
“He must’ve spotted me at George Bush Intercontinental,” Marshal Stone admitted, his embarrassment fascinating. “Led me all over Houston. Lost me somewhere in The Galleria. By the time he found out about this shindig, you were already inside. Good thing. It bought me some time to track down where you were.
“When I got to the ballroom,” he continued, “Kelch had just come out of this hallway looking frantic. Like maybe he’d lost sight of you. He would search outside the ballroom a little, and then come back to this hallway. When he saw you two, he practically lifted his leg and pointed.”
Just then two security officers came running up, and everything got hectic.
Jack pulled Sarah aside, his arm locked around her tight, and met the horrified amusement in her gaze. She obviously realized, as he did, that their rendezvous in the closet had probably saved her life.
“Jack, what will we say if they ask where we were?” she whispered urgently.
The enormity of their good fortune hit him. Two disparate personalities forced together by fate, their relationship tested by separation and adversity, strengthened by respect and love. He knew they would both consider this night as binding as their future wedding ceremony.
“If they ask where we were, we’ll tell them the truth.” Jack’s smile spread outward from a full heart. “That we came home.”
EPILOGUE
One year later
SARAH GRIPPED Jack’s fingers, glad he blocked her from the crowd’s view, and rose from the back seat of their limousine. She should’ve worn something more practical. The shimmering white evening gown that molded her figure to advantage also shackled her ankles.
Their stroll down the red carpet to the movie premiere of Free Fall would no doubt show up on Houston’s ten o’clock new
s. Probably in the morning paper, too. And unless Jack cooperated, she would be captured mincing behind her long-legged husband like an obedient geisha.
Before he moved aside, she pleaded, “Go slo-o-owly.”
His gaze swept her from head to toe, and came back up glittering with promise. “Don’t I always?”
His intimate growl conjured memories of warm slick hands gliding leisurely over her skin. Just that morning, she’d noticed a new bottle of peach-scented massage oil in the medicine cabinet.
“Hold that thought until we get home,” Jack ordered.
Tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow, he turned and stood by her side. High wattage camera lights hit their faces, exposing their flushed anticipation. Eight months of marriage had only heightened their desire for each other.
She forced a smile and sensed Jack do the same. Up ahead, about halfway to the movie theater entrance, an attractive blonde waited between velvet swag ropes to intercept them. Her microphone bore the “Entertainment Tonight” logo.
A national audience. Great. Sarah mentally cursed her gown and headed forward, trusting Jack to keep her from entertaining America with a literal interpretation of Free Fall.
Not that the reporter would have noticed. The blonde’s appreciative gaze was fixed on the impressive male specimen who did great things for a tuxedo. The one who was most definitely unavailable.
Jack leaned down and murmured, “Easy, Sarina.”
Duly cautioned by the rarely used nickname, Sarah resumed her false smile, added a beauty pageant wave and reveled in Jack’s deep chuckle.
They slowed to a stop in front of the reporter, now speaking to a nearby remote TV camera.
“Here comes Jack Morgan, the creative genius behind Free Fall, and his lovely wife, Sarah. Jack, I understand you wrote this screenplay while teaching high school English. You’ve come a long way since then. How does it feel to be one of the hottest new screenwriters in Hollywood?” She tipped her microphone his way.
“You’d have to ask a hot new screenwriter in Hollywood. I’ms till an English teacher living in Houston.”
The reporter sent him an arch look. “You’re too modest. Advance reviews on Free Fall are predicting an Oscar nomination for best screenplay. Rumor has it Matthew McConaughey and Claire Danes have been cast as leads in your next movie, Hide and Seek I can’t imagine it’s necessary for you to continue teaching at this point in your career.”
“I can’t imagine anything more necessary or rewarding than teaching our country’s future leaders good communication skills,” Jack countered, his sincerity unmistakable. “I have no plans to resign from Roosevelt High School.”
He’d confided to Sarah that he felt Hollywood could really screw up a person’s priorities, and that teaching kept him humble and true to his values.
“Go, Mr. Morgan!” a contingent of his current students cheered from behind the velvet ropes.
Sarah experienced an upsurge of pride so fierce her chest hurt.
“Well,” the reporter said laughingly, “it sounds as if you’ve made a popular decision. And apparently it hasn’t hurt your writing—or your personal life.” She flicked a sly glance at Sarah before speaking to the camera. “For those of you who haven’t recognized her, Sarah Morgan was the key witness in John Merrit’s murder trial last year. In fact, it was while hiding under cover as a high school student that she met her future husband, and nearly lost her life.”
Only hermits wouldn’t remember the nationally publicized trial and Sarah’s unique participation. Jack’s arm tensed beneath her fingers. Lester Jacobs was safely behind bars, but Jack still battled misplaced guilt over her close call with death in a hotel hallway.
“Tell us, Jack, is it true that the strong female character in Hide and Seek was inspired by your wife?”
“Inspired, yes. But my wife is far more courageous and complex than a hundred and thirty-five minutes of screen time can convey.” He tugged Sarah gently into motion.
The reporter recognized her dismissal and stepped back. “Nicely said. Congratulations on your success,. and enjoy your evening.” She looked toward a newly arrived limousine. “Ah, here comes Gail Powers, executive producer of Swan Productions, with someone I don’t recognize...”
Sarah walked as quickly as her damn dress would allow away from camera lights and into relative privacy. “Slo-o-owly,” she reminded Jack.
He immediately reduced his strides. “Sorry.”
“No problem. And thanks for the compliment. It was nicely said.”
“I had a lot of inspiration.”
Sarah basked in the warmth of his respect. How blessed she was to love—and to be loved by—this man! How perfect that she could share her good news on his night of triumph...wasn’t it?
He cupped her elbow and began the climb up three levels of steps toward the movie theater entrance. “I hate to think that was a taste of what to expect from now on. The school has had its fill of the media spotlight.”
“Bull corn. Everyone from the superintendent on down has enjoyed and benefited from rubbing elbows with a celebrity teacher, and don’t let them tell you differently. They love the attention.”
A year ago, she’d made a point in every media interview to praise the quality of education at Roosevelt High, as well as the heroism of Assistant Principal Kaiser and Mr. Morgan. Firing Donna, or refusing to rehire Jack, would’ve set off a spate of negative publicity the school district could ill afford.
“Donna and Jim called earlier to send their regrets and love,” Sarah remembered suddenly. “She had a false alarm last night and he’s making her rest.” Donna’s confirmed bachelor neighbor had fallen hard and fast. Married seven months, she was seven months pregnant.
“The honeymoon’s really over,” Jack said dryly as they reached the glass doors, held open by a uniformed attendant. “Sarah, what’s wrong?”
Quickly hiding her dismay, she summoned a bright smile. “Nothing. Would you look at this turnout.”
The majority of people milling about the huge lobby had arrived through a side door reserved for guests of the movie executives and celebrities.
“Do you see Mother and Kate anywhere?” Jack asked, scanning the crowd.
Being short was a pain. “Look for the hors d’oeuvres table,” Sarah suggested.
Since starting her small catering business, Vera Morgan never passed up an opportunity to scope out the competition.
Jack tightened his grip on Sarah’s elbow and steered her toward an unseen destination, stopping several times to greet teaching staff or school district officials. Sure enough, they finally found Vera and Kate standing beside a majestic swan ice sculpture, nibbling from plates filled with a variety of hors d’oeuvres.
“Taste this,” Kate ordered Jack without a preliminary hello, stuffing something into his mouth. “Mom’s crab cakes are ten times better, aren’t they?”
“Oh, Kate—” Vera made a shooing motion “—you say that about everything I make.” Obvious pleasure belied her protest.
Jack finished his bite. “Everything you make is great.”
Kate shot her mother a triumphant look before turning to Sarah. “I keep telling Mom it’s time to expand her business—you look awesome, by the way—and go after bigger jobs than the monthly Garden Club meeting. With me handling promotion and sales, she can double her business.”
Sarah raised a brow. “How much commission did Fred tell you to charge your poor mother?”
“Twenty percent,” Kate admitted, grinning. “But I’ll be worth it. I’ve already got her booked for Larry Epstein’s bar mitzvah next month.”
Vera set down her plate and circled an arm around Kate’s waist. “Enough about us, this is Jack’s night. I’m so proud of you, son.”
A year ago Vera wouldn’t have embraced her daughter. A year ago Kate would’ve been wounded by her mother’s words. Watching their easy camaraderie now, Sarah swallowed past a lump of emotion. She reached for Jack’s hand and squeezed.
“See, I told you they’d be next to the food,” Elaine crowed.
Beto scoffed. “Lucky guess. You just wanted some boiled shrimp.”
“My sister found a toenail in her shrimp salad at the country club,” Derek piped up. “She thought is was a piece of shell at first, but then she looked closer and—”
“De-rek.” Fred’s gaze sought Kate’s, his pained expression melting into a silent loving hello.
The lump in Sarah’s throat reappeared.
After the trial, she’d returned to Houston and talked privately with each of her young friends. Apologized for having to mislead them. Asked them to forgive her. Their willingness to do so had reinforced her commitment to change the focus of her career.
Three months later, she’d founded Inside Out, her image consulting and counseling service for adolescents.
“Sarah, you look gorgeous!” Elaine complimented, looking svelte and beautiful herself. “You, too, Mr. Morgan.”
“Jack,” Sarah corrected, amused at everyone’s averted gaze.
“It looks as if they’re letting people in the theater now,” Jack said, breaking the awkward moment. “Sarah and I are sitting in the reserved section, but you all go in so you can get a good seat. We’ll catch up with you again after the movie.”
“I still can’t believe you wrote part of it during my English class,” Beto said. “Thanks again for the invitation, Mr. Mor—um, Mr. Morgan,” he finished lamely.
Jack laughed along with the others. Although the kids had resumed their easy familiarity with Sarah, it would take a few more years before they could address her formidable husband by his first name with any level of comfort.
When the final thanks and excited parting smiles had been given, and the lobby had thinned to a handful of people, Sarah looked up at Jack. “Honey?”
“I’m scared,” he confessed bluntly. “Everybody I care about and respect is in that audience. What if they don’t like it?”