by Beth Bolden
For the first time since they’d sat down, she looked straight at him and the quiet confidence in her eyes was real, not the fake bolstered-up version she showed to the rest of the world. “I can’t pick you, Jack, you know that. This job is too important. But I can’t not pick you, either. For the first time in…” She paused, searching her memory, “in probably forever, I want both. My job and a life, too, but we have to be patient. We can’t just leap before we look.”
While he hadn’t exactly been afraid she’d reject him, the certainty and emotion in her words reassured Jack. He was secure. She wasn’t going to leave him. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said, wishing he could reach over and hold her hand again.
“I think I might have fixed your problem,” Foxy announced as Jack let him into the house.
“My problem?” Jack asked, detouring into the kitchen to grab two beers, eying the plastic bag his best friend had in his hand. “I’m not sure that’s the solution to anything.”
“No, no, this is great,” Noah insisted. “You’ll love this, and so will Izzy. You said you wanted to invite her to the All Star Game—now you can.”
“I’m listening,” he said, because while they’d agreed on compromise and patience, compromise was hard when you didn’t know what to compromise on.
Losing Izzy wasn’t an option. Not her. Not now. Jack scrubbed a hand over his face and fought against the inclination to actually apologize to Foxy for being so damn hard on him last year, when he’d gone through his own relationship issues. It didn’t matter that Izzy was nothing like Tabitha. He felt bad for the guy because Noah was living, walking proof of what happened when you actually lost the girl. Jack didn’t want to know what that guy felt like. Ever.
Noah whipped a mass of cherry-red hair from the plastic bag and Jack tried to keep his jaw in place.
“What the fuck is that?”
“This,” Noah said, with way too much glee in his voice, “is the solution to your problem.” He righted the hair and it fell into a much more recognizable form.
“You want Izzy to wear a wig.” Jack was kind of astonished at how calm he sounded. He paused. “Specifically, that wig.”
Noah glanced down at the offensive object. “Honestly, I thought about blonde, and well, with everything, decided you might not take too well to that, so I decided red wasn’t a bad idea. She’s got the right coloring for it. And the best part: nobody will recognize her.”
That much was certainly true. The red hair dangling from Foxy’s fingertips wasn’t a naturally occurring color.
“You actually think Izzy will go for this?” Jack asked.
Noah just shrugged. “I think Izzy would do just about anything you asked her that wouldn’t jeopardize her career. And I mean that in the best way,” he finished lamely, before sending an apologetic look Jack’s way.
It wasn’t Noah’s fault, Jack reminded himself, he was only speaking the truth. And this undoubtedly would make her much harder to recognize. In a dark Miami restaurant, nobody would guess that the beautiful, flamboyant redhead was also the quirky brunette from Portland.
Seeing Jack’s hesitation, Noah added, “Do you have any better ideas?”
He didn’t. Not really. Foxy’s solution was potentially problematic, but he knew it had a better chance of success than doing nothing.
“No,” Jack said decisively, plucking the wig from Noah’s hand. “Thanks. I think we’ll give it a whirl.”
“You should come out with me, after the Home Run Derby,” Noah said, switching gears as easily as breathing. “A bunch of us are going to this great new club in South Beach.”
When Jack had envisioned asking Izzy to go with him to Miami and the All Star Game, he’d thought of a quiet, romantic evening. Dinner out by the water, candles, champagne. He’d planned to really pile on the romance to convince her to give dating a go. Now he thought back to his plan and realized the red wig wouldn’t exactly work in any of the scenarios he’d pictured.
“Sure. Count us in.”
Noah didn’t bother trying to hide his shock. “You’re going to ask her to go?”
Jack nodded. “I hadn’t before only because I knew she’d say no. She won’t like this idea, but I think I can convince her.” He hesitated. “And why are you even going? Any reason to come to Miami?”
“I was a handful of spots down on the backup roster,” Foxy said casually, turning toward the door, “but I wouldn’t miss your All Star debut for the world.” He grinned and Jack flashed back to all the times he’d been a good friend this year, and how little credit he’d given Noah for taking his side, even though he hadn’t reciprocated nearly enough last year.
“Thanks,” he said. “I appreciate it.”
From: Jack Bennett
To: Isabel Dalton
Date: July 1, 2012 @ 10:46 PM
Subject: all star game
I know you said you couldn’t go because you couldn’t risk being seen at the game, but I’ve come up with a solution that I think will work. Say you’ll come. I want you there.
———
From: Isabel Dalton
To: Jack Bennett
Date: July 2, 2012 @ 3:07 AM
Subject: re: all star game
What’s this solution?
———
From: Jack Bennett
To: Isabel Dalton
Date: July 2, 2012 @ 3:10 AM
Subject: why aren’t you asleep? It’s 3 AM
A damn good disguise. So good I might not even recognize you.
———
From: Isabel Dalton
To: Jack Bennett
Date: July 2, 2012 @ 3:15 AM
Subject: you’re not sleeping either
You had nowhere to go but up after the Red Wings hat.
I’m in. Booking flight now.
———
From: Jack Bennett
To: Isabel Dalton
Date: July 2, 2012 @ 3:17 AM
Subject: official story is jet lag. Truth is shadier
I’m sending Foxy to pick you up at the airport.
Share a room with me?
———
From: Isabel Dalton
To: Jack Bennett
Date: July 2, 2012 @ 3:28 AM
Subject: I’m pleading the fifth.
Okay . . . and yes.
When she staggered into the Miami heat, Izzy figured feeling like crap was inevitable. Cross-country flights were a real bitch, and while first class did help, there was no amount of booze or leg room or comfy free pillows that could alleviate seven hours in the air, punctuated by one long rush down three concourses.
Noah texted her that he was waiting in a taxi circling the airport. Izzy glanced to her left at the gigantic line to catch a taxi into downtown Miami and was really grateful that he’d thought ahead. The truth was, she’d done so much thinking about this weekend and so little thinking all at the same time that logistical planning had kind of gone out the window.
A taxi pulled up right in front of her and the door popped open, revealing Noah sprawled out in the darkened interior.
“Get in, James Bond,” he called out.
“A little circumspection,” she said under her breath as she stepped into the cab with her carry on. He just grinned at her, his teeth so white and even she wondered if he had added Crest to his many endorsements.
“You worry way too much.”
/>
“I’d worry less if you’d sprout a zit or have a bad hair day once in a while,” she grumbled.
“Bad mood?” he asked as the cabbie merged them onto the freeway. “You know, it’s okay to admit you’re nervous.”
That made her glance over at him, his arms crossed over his chest, an infuriatingly smug expression on his face. Like he knew just the way she felt and found it an amusingly human emotion that he’d just passed by.
She almost snapped back at him, but then remembered what Tabitha had done to him. She hurt him, she reminded herself, and he still feels it.
“Okay, I’m a little nervous,” she finally admitted with a wry smile. “I keep telling myself this was a huge mistake, but then here I am, despite everything.”
“Don’t push him away,” Noah said a lot more seriously than she’d ever heard him speak before. “He needs you.”
And I need him.
She’d never known just what to make of Noah Fox—the carefree, playboy exterior obviously hid something, but she’d never gotten underneath it to see exactly what it was that made him tick. Because Jack didn’t tolerate fools, she’d always assumed he had a heart, hidden underneath that ridiculous smile and those brown-sugar eyes, but today was the first time she’d ever seen it.
It was right there, shining in his eyes now, and she wanted to thank him, because he’d clearly known she needed it, but her throat suddenly felt thick.
“I know,” she said quietly but fiercely. “I won’t lose him. Not now.”
Even if I’m afraid.
Noah dug in his pocket and pulled out a room key. “This is yours. And there’s something else in the room that belongs to you. Wear it tonight and you won’t have to worry about anybody recognizing you.”
She took the key and nodded, more than a little intrigued, but even after she pressed him, he wouldn’t say what the disguise was. Finally, the cab pulled up the hotel, and she got out first, not even glancing behind her as Noah took his time counting out the cash.
The walk through the lobby to the elevators seemed to last forever, a million-mile trek across several acres of marble floor, every inch seemingly filled with someone who could ruin her career. She tried to tell herself that paranoia was less of a factual reality and more of a state of mind. It didn’t work.
Finally, Izzy reached the bank of elevators and hit the up arrow, thumbing it compulsively before tilting her head down and hastily brushing her hair over her shoulders in what was probably a ludicrous attempt to cover her face.
She rode up to the fifteenth floor surrounded by men who were all glued to their phones, a fact only a few months ago she might have bemoaned, but today was one she was pretty damn grateful for.
Even luckier, the fifteenth floor was completely empty as she walked toward Jack’s room. It was only after she’d slid the key card into the lock and was safely inside that she realized why that probably was.
For security reasons, the hotel had placed all the athletes on the same floor.
Great.
She would deal with that later, Izzy decided. No point in freaking out before there was anything to actually freak out about.
Dropping her bags, Izzy surveyed the room, which was not nearly as impressive as it should have been, considering the feat that Jack had managed. A year ago, he’d been practically unknown outside of Oregon, and now he was a household name, with a couple million All Star votes under his belt. In her mind, that should have rated a little bit roomier suite.
She saw the pile of painfully red hair the same moment she remembered what Noah had said earlier, and while a garble of four letter words ran through her head, she could only stare.
This was the freaking magical solution? Izzy crossed to the desk and picked up the nylon hair between two fingers and examined it. She’d never worn a wig before and she didn’t exactly want to start now, but as she stared at it, she could begin to see the high points of the plan.
First off, Isabel Dalton wouldn’t be caught dead with cherry-candy-floss hair. Gingerly, she settled it on top of her head and peeked out of a half-closed eye at the result in the mirror.
Logically, it should have looked terrible, and it almost did. The neon red epically clashed with the austere white linen dress she was currently wearing. Also, she hadn’t bothered with much makeup at five this morning and what she’d actually put on had long since melted off in the heat. But Izzy looked at her reflection and imagined herself as she might look tonight—definitely a generous slick of smoky shadow and eyeliner and maybe lipstick to match the wig and that insanely tight, short black dress that she’d packed. With a sudden jolt, Izzy realized she wasn’t going to look terrible at all.
She was going to look hot—and even better, she was going to look nothing like herself.
Izzy unpacked the one bag she’d brought, but that only took a few minutes, and left her with palms sweaty from nerves. Finally, she went into the bathroom and attempted to don the wig. She’d finally managed to get the damn thing on, but then she’d taken one look at the mirror and recoiled at the image confronting her.
She looked like she’d just rolled out of a few beds.
Maybe it was just her nerves over sharing Jack’s, but the very sexually confident creature in the mirror was not going to work. Not tonight, anyway. Izzy dragged out her curling iron and plugged it in on the lowest setting, hoping that she wouldn’t melt the plasticky-feeling hair.
It’s just like riding a bike, she told herself. No big deal.
She knew what he wanted—and she wanted it, too. Really. She just wished they could skip all these nerve-wracking preliminaries and get on with it.
Really, she should have just jumped him that first evening in the hotel room, way back in April, and none of this would be happening. They’d be old hat now, lovers and friends and she wouldn’t be so mixed up about it.
Maybe it was just too late to have sex with him. It was definitely too late to have sex that didn’t involve feelings, because she had so many of those her body couldn’t seem to contain them.
She was so tired of being afraid. Her entire life she’d just forged ahead, and fear had never even entered her vocabulary, but now she couldn’t seem to escape it’s slippery hold on her heart. All she wanted was to just let it all go, but it was wound so tightly around her she couldn’t seem to shake it.
Even with the sex-goddess hair, her eyes were all soft and mushy in the mirror. Vulnerable, she realized, I look vulnerable.
Her thought was barely complete before Izzy heard the unmistakable sound of a key card being slid through the door slot. She whirled around to see Jack standing in the doorway to the bathroom, grinning at her.
Her eyes met his, and the thrilling, terrifying truth that coasted through her was unmistakable: she wasn’t just vulnerable to him, she was in love with him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“You’re back early,” Izzy barely managed to push the thought out of her suddenly uncooperative lips.
His blue eyes seem to darken as they grazed over her body, barely clothed in a short blue silk robe. She’d always worn the friendlier tank tops and yoga pants around him. She’d packed the robe because at the last minute, the idea of him stripping her flannel pajama pants off had seemed too ridiculous for words.
“I couldn’t wait to see you,” he said, bluntly honest as always. His gaze skimmed over the wig and the corner of his mouth twitched. “You look good in red, Red.”
“It was your idea,” she said, finding herself smiling in spite of the nerves jumping around in her belly.
“Actually, it was Foxy’s idea,” he said, reaching out to wrap a hand around her waist. His hand felt hot through the silk and her mouth dried at the sudden curl of lust deep in her belly. She’d almost forgotten what it felt like to have his hands on her, and how much she liked it.
&n
bsp; Izzy tilted her head and reached up to cup his cheek with her palm, her thumb caressing his skin, feeling each individual prickle of his two days of scruff. She moved closer, just a millimeter at a time, until it seemed like time and distance could be measured only by the pull of his blue eyes. They didn’t speak, but Izzy knew what she was asking and what he was answering. It was a truth too evident, too brightly consuming to ignore. His pupils dilated, and Izzy knew she was falling in deep, further in love with him each moment, but she was too far gone to ever want to step back.
She only wanted him now; the fear evaporated so completely, it was as if it had never existed—and he was so close now that it would only take a minute adjustment of position for her lips to brush his.
Jack’s fingers tightened on the silk of her robe, tracing the curve of her waist and sending ripples of sensation across her skin, answering her silent question.
Izzy reached up with her other hand and framed his face, and finally tugged him down the last inch to her lips, pushing him up against the bathroom wall. Jack upped the ante by pushing up her robe, his calloused fingers tracing up ten distinct, but all spine-tingling, paths up her thighs to her stomach to her breasts. He did something horrifically wicked to her nipple, and Izzy couldn’t help the gasp-moan that escaped her mouth into his.
He smiled so big it crinkled even the corners of his eyes, that seemed to light him from within. “I’m going to make you feel so good, baby,” he whispered in her ear as he nuzzled her ear lobe and his hands continued to have their wicked way with her body.
It wasn’t her fault; she could only give him another breathy moan in return. He might have actually transported her beyond speech just then. And they’d barely just begun.
“I’ve been dreaming about doing this to you for months.”
“Doing what?” she gasped, her lungs suddenly not getting enough air in to compensate for regular breathing. She thought he might be turning the air in her blood to liquid fire.
