by Cara Colter
She shuddered, from her toes to her head, then held out the glass.
Clearly, she wanted more. Clearly, that would be a dumb idea. Still, her hand had stopped shaking and the drink seemed to have dried up the tears.
Besides, who was he, in this age of equality, to tell an adult woman she should not have another drink?
He poured her a second shot, hoping she wouldn’t notice it was not quite as generous as the first one. She downed it, handed him back the empty glass and then leaned deeply back into the seat, tilted her chin up, sighed and solved the problem of distracting her by closing her eyes.
Jessica did not open her eyes for the rest of the ride, even when the driver slammed on the brakes to avoid colliding with a cab that was darting in and out of traffic and blasting his horn.
Apparently, if she’d had interest and curiosity about the sights and sounds of New York, she had totally lost that interest now. Jamie suspected any slight interest she’d had in the job was also gone, and he felt too sorry for her to even be gleeful that pushing her toward getting back on that plane was going to be so easy.
Now what? It occurred to Jamie, even to get through a few days until they got the passport sorted out, she was going to need absolutely everything, from toothpaste to a temporary phone.
He could sense the most curious feeling rising up in him. Panic?
Or maybe it was something else. That old feeling, near the surface anyway, because of the tears, coming now with a vengeance. The weight of the almost unbearable responsibility of becoming the provider for the family way too young, feeling he was totally in charge of the well-being of his mother and sister.
Once his sister was safely through college and then married, and his mother in the apartment that had been his first big purchase to celebrate his business successes, he had sworn he would never feel that way again.
Still, he was glad he had thought of it. Because little sister, Sarah, owed him a favor or two.
He had actually never thought his sister owed him anything, but desperate times called for desperate measures, as the old adage went.
He didn’t realize he’d said it out loud until Jessica, without opening her eyes, said, her voice just a tiny bit slurred, “Hippocrates.”
He was not sure he’d ever met a woman who could pin a quote to Hippocrates before. A woman, who by the way, was going to need everything...including underwear.
Hey, Hippocrates, can it get much more desperate than that?
Casting a glance at her, it seemed like, despite the reference to Hippocrates, she might be sleeping—or at least trying to shut out the world, not that he blamed her—he fished his phone out of his pocket and hit the message icon.
He tapped in the first letters of Sarah, and the box came up. He realized he hadn’t talked to his sister since his nephew, Jared’s, second birthday. A month ago. Now was not the time for guilt, however. He’d already felt guilty once today, and that was his quota for the month. Maybe the year. He didn’t see any point beating around the bush, either.
Hey, I need your help.
There seemed to be quite a long pause, and then:
Who are you and what have you done with my brother?
Don’t be smart. I’m serious.
What’s wrong?
Just leaving JFK. I picked up a...
Jamie glanced at Jessica. Her eyes were clamped tightly shut, like a child pretending to be asleep. Some of her hair, light brown and wispy as an angel’s feather, had fallen out of the clip and was lying across her cheek. But if he was not mistaken, a little purr, almost like a snore, was coming from her.
Maybe he should have given her champagne instead of cognac? This was why he needed his sister. He had a feeling, with an unknown entity like Jessica Winton, he could do everything wrong.
A business acquaintance. Her luggage was stolen. And her purse.
What? Oh, no!
She has nothing. No computer, no phone, no cash, no credit cards, no clothes.
He decided not to put the no underwear part. His sister was clever. She would figure it out.
What do you need from me?
He’d ignored her for a month, and yet, there she was, no questions asked, ready to do what family did. He had thought he was going to have to play his you owe me card but she was volunteering willingly. Really, he wasn’t worthy of her, not that he planned to let that stop him from asking for her help.
But suddenly, he wasn’t sure what he was asking her. He suspected it was to not let him be alone with the burden of Jessica’s distress. He suspected it was to get rid of the terrible sense of failure he felt for not catching on that he was being skillfully distracted and then for not catching the thief. Now, he felt a terrible responsibility for making it all better for the small-town bookstore owner who had just experienced the very worst that New York had to offer.
That was a responsibility he could not trust himself with. At all. His sister he could trust with it.
Maybe you could take her shopping? If we could get her set up with a few basics until we figure out what to do about...
Getting rid of her seemed a touch harsh so he put:
...everything. I’ll pay.
You’re paying? For a shopping trip? I’m in. Is she young or old? Big or little?
Considering he was asking his sister to go shopping with a stranger, these were probably not unreasonable questions, but he felt annoyed by them. Surreptitiously, he snapped a picture of the snoozing Jessica and sent it.
The pause between texts seemed unreasonably long.
What have you done to her?
Nothing! She’s had a long day. And a terrible shock. And a shot of cognac.
She’s cute.
It was his turn to be silent.
In an understated way.
He remained silent.
She doesn’t look like a cognac drinker.
Did that sound faintly accusatory? That was the problem with texting. The nuances of communication were completely missing. He refused to respond.
I’ll get a sitter. Tomorrow morning?
Perfect.
Jamie disconnected, and thought, way too late, it might have been a mistake to involve his sister. Jessica let out a long sigh that blew a tendril of her hair up off her cheek. Her hair was coming out of the clip that held it. He had thought at first her hair was nondescript, a shade of light brown he was pretty sure they used the term “mousy” for. But there in the darkened car, only the lights from the dash and his phone screen for illumination, her hair lying across her shoulder looked as if it had been spun from unrefined gold nuggets. He was aware of that scent, subtle and sweet, a field of lavender, wrapping itself around him.
He suddenly had more misgivings about his plan. Was his sister’s arrival to rescue him tomorrow enough? What about tonight? What was Jessica going to sleep in tonight? Would the hotel have a shop that was open and that sold something suitable?
He could feel a little throb beginning behind his eyes. He realized he didn’t want to think about what she slept in, not tonight or any other night either.
He’d give her his credit card. She could buy something to sleep in. He wouldn’t know what it was, thank God, until the bill came. She could order food, too. It would be nice if he did that for her, but he had a feeling she was the kind of person it could prove dangerous to be nice to.
Mistake or not, he was going to be very glad to turn her over to Sarah.
CHAPTER THREE
JESSICA WOKE SLOWLY. She didn’t open her eyes right away. Momentarily, she had no idea where she was. There was a lovely scent in the air—leather and spice. She wanted to just snuggle down into the deep seat, sleep, shut out the world. She was aware of noise outside, a constant hum, but in here it felt soothing and quiet.
A hand touched her shoulder, and she opened her eyes. There w
as a man leaning toward her. A very handsome man with gray-and-silver hair and sexy stubble and animal-dark eyes. It was his scent that was tickling her nostrils.
She smiled at him. He looked nonplussed.
And then it all came flooding back to her.
Little sleep.
No supper.
John F. Kennedy Airport.
Jamie Gilbert-Cooper.
A robbery.
Two shots of cognac.
And, added to the equation, she was pretty sure her hair was falling out of the clip she’d held it back with, and that she was sporting a pool of drool on her lovely red jacket.
Her smile faltered and then died.
The jacket that she was going to have to wear for days. Since she did not have one other thing. Not even a tissue. Oh, wait. She still had Jamie’s pocket square clutched in her hand. She dabbed surreptitiously at the drool spot.
“We’re at the hotel,” Jamie, her potential new boss, who had now seen her bawl her eyes out, glue herself to him and pass out, told her. “We’ll get you checked in, and you can do what you need to do to rest up. I’ll give you my credit card so you can pick up anything you need tonight. In the morning, my sister is going to take you shopping for a few...ah, necessities.”
Did the faintest wave of color move up those cheeks when he said that?
Oh, necessities.
Somehow it was nice, though, that he was capable of discomfort even though he looked like the kind of man who would handle a woman’s necessities with a certain suave aplomb. It was also nice that he had a sister. A family made him a little less cover-model-for-GQ and a little more human.
Which was actually more dangerous than cover model!
Jessica wanted to protest the shopping trip with his sister, but really? She was not in a position to protest anything, and his sister shopping with her was a relief, given the necessities part of the shopping equation.
She contemplated the plight she found herself in, and the phrase beggars cannot be choosers took on new meaning.
Beggars, like her, who had only the clothes she wore and a borrowed pocket square. The driver held open the door of the vehicle, and the quiet of the car was invaded by the sounds of the city. Jamie exited easily, a man in his element on streets crowded with busy people, even at this time of night.
She wanted to shrink away from the sudden bustle, but Jamie was holding out a hand to her. She hesitated, then took it. His hand closed around hers, and she could feel his strength and his confidence. She also felt a little thrill of excitement that had nothing to do with her first glimpse of Manhattan.
It was in reaction to that sensation that as soon as she was free of the car, she pulled her hand out of his, unfortunately staggering a little bit when she did so. She couldn’t possibly be drunk. Could she?
To her utter embarrassment, Jaime was looking at her as if he was wondering the same thing!
When was the last time she had had anything to eat? She remembered soggy eggs on toast at a hotel—that was not at all in the same league as this hotel—early this morning.
She looked past Jamie, and the streams of people enjoying a warm summer night, to the hotel. The sandstone was lit up with a floodlight and glowed like polished marble. A black awning stretched out. A uniformed doorman already held open the door in anticipation of them stepping through it.
Jessica’s legs felt suddenly wobbly, and when Jamie offered his arm, she had no choice but to take it. Again, she could feel strength and confidence radiating off him.
The hotel lobby was refreshingly cool and relatively quiet after the warmth and activity outside, and it was jaw-droppingly posh. Soaring ceilings were plastered with a motif, and lit by gorgeous chandeliers, dangling crystals dancing with light. Deep rugs lay over highly polished dark hardwoods, and there was inviting furniture groupings in subtle, elegant neutrals. Under different circumstances she might appreciate it more.
Now, she wanted to say goodbye to Jamie. It would be too easy to get used to leaning on him. Jessica was not a leaner! She needed to collect herself. She wanted to go to her room and shut the door. She’d call her parents and not let on that a single thing was amiss. She’d act breezy and happy and as if she was having the adventure of her life. She’d take advantage of being in the big city and order room service. She’d have a bubble bath.
When she was feeling solid again, she would email Aubrey and Daisy. Or maybe, depending on the time differences, call one of them on WhatsApp.
They’d make her laugh about it. They’d let her know it was not the end of the world. They’d encourage her to see a fun side of it.
Then it hit her.
Email.
WhatsApp.
Part of the life of someone who owned a little something more than the rumpled clothes they wore and a damp, borrowed pocket square.
She and Jamie approached the main desk. Ever sensitive, she felt the look on the desk clerk’s face seemed to change ever so slightly when he saw them. Did his nose tilt toward the air, just a tiny bit?
No luggage, she realized. And a splotch on her jacket. Her hair spilling out of the clip in an untidy mess. Her walking was just a little wobbly, despite the solid strength of the man beside her. Good grief, the desk clerk thought—
She stopped dead, and Jamie stopped beside her and looked askance at her.
“I think he thinks we’re, um,” she lowered her voice to a whisper, and stood on her tiptoes, “having an evening...er...tryst.”
“A what?” Jamie lowered his ear to her lips.
She had a horrible temptation to nibble it. Which would confirm the clerk’s worst suspicions. She wasn’t drunk. She wasn’t. But had the two shots been enough to lower her inhibitions? Was she looking at Jamie with the same naked avarice as Debbie had?
She could feel herself blushing thinking about it. “We don’t have any luggage. And I might look a little come-hither.”
“Come-hither?”
“You know what I mean.”
Clearly he did not.
“He thinks we’re having a dalliance,” she whispered.
Jamie reared back from her and stared at her. “Who thinks that?” he asked, a warrior look on his face like he wouldn’t mind knocking some sense into someone.
She nodded toward the clerk. Jamie scowled in that direction, but didn’t, apparently, reach the same conclusion as her. He looked back at her.
“Look,” he said, his tone very quiet and obviously aiming for a patience and failing somewhat, “this is not the opening chapter of a Brontë novel, filled with dalliances and come-hithers and trysts.”
She frowned at him, and said stiffly, “You obviously are not familiar with the opening chapters of any novel by either Charlotte or Emily.”
“And thank God for that,” he returned. “I’m just trying to make the point this is the big city. I’m sure in Lumber Falls people might be making note of who is checking into the local hotel with whom, but people here don’t really take that kind of interest in each other.”
“It’s Timber Falls,” she said, correcting him on the only point she could, as the other was very accurate.
He lifted a shoulder with insulting indifference to the nuances between Lumber and Timber.
And the snooty clerk was still watching them.
“He takes that kind of interest,” Jessica said stubbornly.
Jamie apparently didn’t care what the desk clerk thought. With a formidable expression on his face, he took her elbow, guided her up to the desk and presented a business card. She saw the attitude shift again as the clerk skimmed the card. He glanced at her again.
Like she was the main character in Pretty Woman. Pretransformation. Not that she looked anything like Julia Roberts.
“He’s an evil little person,” she said, standing on tiptoes to whisper that information into J
amie’s ear. Too late, she realized to the clerk, it may have looked like a love nibble.
I am drunk, she decided. No, not drunk. Tipsy.
“Mr. Gilbert-Cooper, how may I assist you?”
“This is Miss Jessica Winton. You have a reservation made for her by my company?”
“I’ve lost my luggage,” she said, as way of explanation, to erase the possible perception of a nibble of Jamie’s ear and any remaining tryst thoughts from the clerk’s mind. It occurred to her, as the clerk tapped furiously on his computer, that her breath might be boozy, and the word lost might have been a trifle slurred. Those facts probably overrode her explanation for her lack of luggage.
Still, how she envied him that computer! On the other hand, the hotel would have one, wouldn’t they? A business center, with computers in it? Or was that old-school? Did everyone travel with their own computer now?
“Here you are,” the clerk crowed, as if he was surprised to find her. “Miss Winton, if I could just have your credit card and a matching photo identification, I’ll complete the booking.”
“There’s been an incident,” she said. “I’m afraid I don’t have that.”
Did the clerk smirk? His every suspicion confirmed?
Jamie’s tone brooked no nonsense. “The room is confirmed already on the JHA credit card. As for ID, I’ll have to show you mine. Miss Winton experienced an unfortunate event at the airport. Her luggage and purse were stolen.”
“I just said lost for the sake of expediency,” she added. Jamie shot her a look that suggested she might not be being helpful.
“Oh,” the clerk said, and his discomfort in the face of Jamie’s tone seemed genuine enough, “that is very unfortunate, but I have to see the identification of everyone who stays in the hotel. It’s mandatory.”
“I just told you I would show you mine instead.”
“Are you staying in the hotel?”
“Are you being deliberately obtuse?” Jamie asked dangerously. “She’s had her identification stolen.”
“Sir,” the clerk’s voice was actually trembling, but Jessica could not help feel he was secretly pleased by this turn of events. “I can’t. Check her in. Without ID.”
