Take that see-through yellow dress she’d worn to the MTV Music Awards. When she stepped out on the stage to present a statue, cameramen had to scramble to keep the shot censor-friendly. She hadn’t told him about the dress she’d changed into just before she stepped onstage because she knew Jarett would never have let her wear it—for her safety’s sake, of course. Sure enough, he’d barely been able to shield her from her mob of admirers when they left the ceremony that night. Taylor had loved the controversy, but she’d created a security nightmare. When he’d chastised her later, she’d pouted, saying she’d only worn it to get his attention. In typical Taylor-style, she’d stripped off the dress and flung it at him, flaunting her breasts with nipples rouged for the occasion. Jarett had kept the dress, in case she was tempted to wear it again, and pressed Taylor’s publicity manager, Sheila Waterson, to find a stylist to make wardrobe decisions for Taylor. Of course, Taylor had already fired two stylists.
Meanwhile, the yellow dress had become a wildly popular subject among the late-night comedians, and, apparently, a staple in transvestite stage shows. He’d counted at least a dozen lookalikes milling in the crowd in front of the hotel, some of them sporting Adam’s apples. The entire scene struck him as exceedingly sordid, and he suddenly regretted dragging Meg Valentine into the situation.
The poor woman didn’t realize what she was getting into. In truth, he hadn’t realized what he was getting her into, although he should have figured that Taylor’s first public appearance since she’d been escorted out of Zago’s restaurant for flashing patrons would attract a lot of media attention. He would have to stick especially close to Meg tonight, to shield her from both the crazies and the paparazzi. It wouldn’t be a chore, he acknowledged, spending time with sweet, sexy Meg. He just wished it were under other circumstances.
Jarett stopped at Taylor’s room door first and slipped inside. She hadn’t moved since he’d last checked in on her, and her buzzing snore was a comfort to him—he’d begun to worry that she’d taken more pills than he thought. But her condition seemed to confirm what the doctor suggested—she’d just have to sleep it off.
Jarett leaned over the bed and pulled the blanket up to cover her exposed shoulder. “You’re going to be the death of both of us,” he whispered. “We need to get you well.”
She didn’t stir, which was good since Jarett harbored a secret dread of Taylor’s reaction when she found out that he’d arranged for a body double, a body double Taylor herself had considered mousy. He sighed and left the room to see what kind of transformation had occurred in his absence.
He knocked on the door to his room, thinking he still had time to call off this entire charade. He could send word that Taylor had the flu. People got the flu all the time, and celebrities were no exception. Taylor would simply have to suffer the consequences of her absence. And Meg would be spared the ordeal of what lay ahead of her tonight.
The door swung open and Taylor stood in the doorway, looking regal in a form-fitting teal gown. Then Jarett blinked. No, not Taylor.
“Meg?” he whispered, stunned at the complete transformation.
“Why, Jarett,” she said in Taylor’s soft Southern voice. “Don’t you know me? It’s Taylor.”
Her white-blond hair had been wound up into some kind of complicated twist that he’d never seen Taylor wear, but it suited her immensely. Very classy. The dress covered a lot of skin, but the form-fitting fabric adapted to every curve.
And did the lady ever have curves!
“Why are you standing in the hall?” She extended her hand, tipped with long red fingernails, and tugged him inside.
Jarett went willingly. When the door closed behind him, Meg laughed, clearly pleased with herself. “What do you think?”
“I’m astonished,” he admitted with a grin. And not completely unaffected, he realized suddenly. Meg Valentine had a figure to stop traffic, as voluptuous as Taylor’s, but with more pleasing transitions. Her shoulders and arms were sculpted versus skinny, her breasts rounded versus jutting, her waist nipped versus cinched, her hips flared versus full. Meg looked the same way that Taylor might look if she took better care of herself.
When he glanced back to her face, he flushed.
“I was staring, I’m sorry.”
A smile curved Meg’s lips. “Since you’re staring at Taylor, I don’t mind.”
Jarett inhaled sharply—there it was again. That little pain in his chest when Meg looked at him as if she could see inside him. And suddenly he realized that no matter how much Meg looked like Taylor, she would always have her own eyes—even behind the blue contact lenses, they sparkled with an intensity that made a person feel important and connected.
Except the only thing between him and Meg Valentine, he reminded himself, was a short-term business agreement. Unfortunately. He cleared his throat and averted his eyes. “Where’s Rosie?”
“She went back to her room to clean up. Don’t worry—I was under strict orders not to open the door to anyone but you.” Then she coughed mildly. “And she said to tell you that she would be staying with Taylor tonight so you could get some sleep.”
Jarett tried not to frown—the woman made it sound as if he stayed with Taylor every night.
“Jarett,” she said softly. “Isn’t Taylor interested in seeing if I look like her? I thought she might want to give her approval, since I’m going on her behalf.”
His gut clenched. Of course she thought she was doing this with Taylor’s full approval, or else she wouldn’t have considered going through with the charade. Because that was the way Meg Valentine with her braided hair and her little stud earrings was wired. He, on the other hand, had apparently become more like the jaded people in the entertainment industry than he realized.
“Taylor is asleep,” he said carefully, avoiding telling a blatant lie. “But believe me, she’ll thank you. Someday.” He hoped.
Meg smiled, satisfied, and her simple trust touched him. He hated himself for deceiving her, but rationalized that she was being paid about fifteen thousand more than the repairs would cost. He had no idea how lucrative the costume business was, but fifteen grand for one night’s work wasn’t a bad paycheck in his book.
“Let me take a quick shower and change,” he said. “Then we’ll be on our way.”
Her smiled wavered. “Okay.”
She felt awkward, he realized, being in a man’s hotel room while he showered. In the no-holds-barred atmosphere of L.A., he’d almost forgotten what modesty looked like—it was very refreshing. “I won’t be a minute,” he promised, knowing the best way to handle the situation was to get through it as soon as possible. For him, anyway.
MEG TRIED NOT TO THINK about the fact that Jarett was taking a shower in the next room. She’d considered bolting when he announced his intentions, but it wasn’t as if he’d hinted that she should join him, or anything. In fact, he was so casual, it was clear he considered their relationship almost asexual. And it was, she conceded. Strictly business. A service in exchange for money. Jarett needn’t know that Meg was hoping to jam a lifetime’s worth of excitement into one night. Because after this, she’d be back to her simple, slightly boring Peorian existence.
The mirror was irresistible to her—she couldn’t stop looking at herself. Nor could she believe that a bottle of hair dye, a pair of contact lenses, skillful makeup, and a dress could make such a difference. Kathie would be eating this up. Especially the dress.
And what a dress. Meg turned sideways to study her silhouette. It was exactly the kind of dress her mother would disapprove of. The kind of dress that would make men’s heads turn. The kind of dress that had made Jarett’s head turn.
Meg frowned. More likely, he’d simply been pleased that she resembled Taylor so closely. She shot a glance toward the door that led into Taylor’s room, and bit into her lower lip.
She really would have liked for Taylor to see her, to give Meg her blessing. And maybe Taylor would tell Meg what she wanted her to say, how s
he wanted her to act. The actress must really be ill if she couldn’t even talk to anyone, Meg mused. Or maybe she just didn’t want to chance being seen next to Meg dressed up as herself—kind of like the Disney World rule about having no more than one Mickey Mouse seen at any time, even though there were always several others on the property. Or maybe it was just embarrassment on Taylor’s part over causing the fire. Meg decided it wasn’t her place to judge the woman, who probably had a million other things on her mind.
True to his word, Jarett was in and out of the bathroom before Meg had time to work up a good case of the jitters. He emerged in a cloud of steam and strong-smelling soap, his hair shiny and damp, dressed again in solid black—newly pressed slacks, long-sleeve button-up shirt, and…socks. He carried a pair of large, low-heeled black boots by the shank and sat in one of the chairs to shine them with a worn brush.
It was a simple act, shining shoes, but the scene seemed oddly intimate to Meg. She’d never seen Trey shine his shoes, although she suspected he preferred the shoeshine stand at the airport. The muscles in Jarett’s arms and shoulders flexed as he moved the brush back and forth in determined strokes. He was a big man, in excess of six feet, and maybe a forty-two across the shoulders. Long arms, large hands, prominent features, including a strong nose. He looked as if he’d come from a robust gene pool, and she wondered idly if Jarett had brothers, or looked like his father and his grandfather.
Unbidden, desire stabbed her, signaling her breasts, which were already sensitized by the uplifting bra. A heaviness settled in her loins, igniting a hum of awareness. Meg’s breath caught in her chest—she’d never been so turned on by simply looking at a man. She didn’t know how to respond, but she willed her body to quiet.
Jarett tugged on the boots one at a time, then pulled down the legs of his slacks. “Do you need anything before we go?” he asked, without looking up at her.
Could he feel her staring at him, wanting him? Of course a man who looked like Jarett Miller was probably used to that kind of reaction from women. “N-no, I’m ready,” she said.
He stood and sighed, then walked over to clasp her shoulders. “Don’t be nervous, you look…wonderful.”
She couldn’t tell him that his touch unnerved her even more than the performance she was about to give. After staring at herself in the mirror long enough, she’d finally decided that she could do this. Everyone would think she was Taylor, and if she ran into any trouble, Jarett would be at her side to intervene. What could go wrong?
“Let’s go,” she said in Taylor’s lilting accent.
He smiled and squeezed her shoulders. “I’ll get our coats.”
She followed him, stepping carefully in the stiletto-heeled pumps dyed to match the dress. Taylor’s foot was the same length, but more narrow, so Meg’s toes were already pinched. Tomorrow, she knew, she’d be hurting.
But when Jarett held open a long black cashmere coat for her and looked at her as if he wanted to say something, her heart quickened.
“Is anything wrong?” she asked.
He wet his lips and she knew he was going to kiss her, just like she knew Chip Everett was going to kiss her in the fifth grade by the water fountain. Chip had had glasses, too, though, and the result had been disastrous. As Jarett lowered his head, she realized that this was the first time she’d ever been kissed without her glasses. No maneuvering was required, and she didn’t have to worry about her lenses getting steamed up. She closed her eyes and inhaled Jarett’s warm breath just be fore his mouth claimed hers.
It was a hungry kiss, but restrained. His lips were firm and warm, his tongue wet and seeking.
The coat served as a barrier to their bodies touching, a safety net. But Meg met him solidly, delving into his mouth with an abandon she’d never exhibited. It was almost as if she was a different person.
Meg’s eyes flew open. She was a different per son—to Jarett, she was Taylor Gee. She pulled away and pressed her lips together, appalled at her lapse. “Why did you do that?” she whispered.
Jarett extracted a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his mouth carefully. The stain of Meg’s red lipstick stood out in relief against the cloth. “For luck,” he murmured, then gave her a casual little smile. “For luck.”
Good-luck kisses obviously varied greatly from coast to coast. She conjured up a matching smile.
“Oh. Well. Thank you.” Thank you? She turned to slide her arms inside the luxurious coat, and closed her eyes, trying to block out what had just happened.
Because everything about this man affected her—his look, his touch, his smile. Just being in the same room with him made her feel as if she could spin out of control at any moment. It was…extraordinary, this thing between them. At least it was to her. And the night was still young.
She had a fleeting worry that come tomorrow, more than her feet would be hurting.
10
JARETT CHECKED the hallway for strangers before signaling Meg to follow him. “The limo is waiting at the side door,” he said, back in bodyguard mode again. He could shoot himself in the foot for kissing Meg back there. Figuratively, he might have done just that.
Despite his growing desire for her, the most foolish thing Jarett could do was to seduce a sweet girl like Meg. He needed her cooperation—now and afterward—to pull off this charade, and he already felt bad enough about not telling her the full truth about Taylor’s condition. Besides, it wasn’t Meg’s fault that he was feeling physically and emotionally deprived by the commitments he’d made. He would not drag her into the mess he was in with Taylor.
Any deeper than he already had.
He tucked his hand under Meg’s elbow as they walked onto the elevator. She was shaking. “If anyone speaks to you,” he said, “just be friendly. Smile and wave.”
“What if someone wants Taylor’s autograph?” she asked, her face pale. She had repaired her lipstick.
He patted the breast of his jacket. “I have a stack of autographed pictures for you to give out. Now, when the elevator door opens, we’ll exit left and walk straight ahead to the side door where the car will be waiting. I’ll be two steps away. Let me get the doors for you, and don’t be surprised if photographers pop up.”
The elevator doors slid open and a crush of people came into view behind the area roped off and flanked by the hotel security Jarett had arranged. When the crowd spotted her, they began to scream, “Taylor! There’s Taylor Gee!” Jarett moved forward, but Meg was frozen in place, her face a mask of apprehension.
“I can’t do this,” she murmured.
“Yes, you can,” he urged. “Remember, you’re Taylor Gee. Smile.”
She swallowed, then took one step forward and emerged from the elevator. Jarett was at her side. The crowd erupted, and cameras flashed like a wave around the lobby. Jarett scanned the crowd, alert for anything or anyone who seemed out of place. Meg did as she was told, walking quickly toward the door, but waving and smiling to the crowd. She pivoted, and played to the cameras, giving them a glimpse of her gown through her open coat. She was something, he acknowledged, floating with a poise that Taylor hadn’t yet developed, gracing everyone with a smile that went all the way to her eyes, with the glib honesty of a woman who wasn’t concerned about laugh lines.
“Let’s see the dress, Taylor!”
She obliged by opening her coat and turning full circle. Catcalls abounded at the sight of her curves, barely contained in the deceptively demure dress, and Jarett was stopped in his tracks by an alien sensation in his chest. Jealousy? Ridiculous. He simply felt protective of Meg for getting her into this.
“Who’s the designer?” someone yelled.
Jarett held his breath.
“Kim Cayo,” Meg called in a perfect imitation of Taylor’s voice. The crowd quieted, seeming to hang on every word. “Kim is a new designer who is donating proceeds from her spring line to the Book in Every Nook Foundation, the cause I’m supporting this evening. Everyone, please take the time to read to a ch
ild you know.”
Jarett blinked. Although Meg had said exactly what the publicist had sent along with the gown, she’d ad-libbed that last part in a heartfelt tone that sounded like Taylor’s voice, but was nothing at all like what Taylor would have said. Unfortunately, Taylor hadn’t yet learned about compassion. She’d agreed to attend charity receptions such as this one only because her contract bound her to a certain amount of public service appearances. It was quite ironic for someone whose brother worked in a mission in one of the poorest parts of the world.
“Hey, Taylor!” a man with a microphone shouted. “Would you like to clear the air about the incident at Zago’s last week?”
Meg slowed, but Jarett touched her arm. “Ignore them and keep moving.”
“Taylor! Did you really flash everyone at the restaurant?” another person shouted.
“What about the rumors that you were on drugs when you took your top off?” someone else called out.
Questions were being fired from every direction, but to Meg’s credit, she looked past them, waving and smiling for the cameras.
“Are you a drug addict, Taylor?”
“Taylor, give us a peep now, how about it?”
Jarett shot that guy a warning look, then ushered Meg out the door, past more paparazzi, and into the waiting limo.
He pressed the lock on her door before closing it. Then, fending off the photographers determined to get another shot of her, he circled around back of the limo. He opened the door, slid inside and closed it behind him with practiced ease.
“To the Royale,” he told the driver, “but take us the long way.” From the look on Meg’s face, he needed a few minutes to calm her down. He buzzed up the driver’s panel, turned on the cabin lights, and poured them both a glass of wine.
“Oh, no,” she protested, but he pressed the glass into her hand anyway. Her red nails clicked against the stem.
“It’ll help you relax,” he insisted. “Although, you were great back there. Everyone believed you were Taylor.”
Two Sexy! Page 8
