by Cara Colter
Jessica emerged in a dress that was light blue, a confection of gauze and spiderwebs. The dress clung in all the right places, and it made her seem mysterious and alluring.
“I certainly don’t need the cocktail dress. I don’t even know why I tried it on.”
But the expression on her face belied the words she had just spoken. She loved that dress.
“You’re in New York City!” Meredith said. “Surely you’re going to go out for a gorgeous dinner at Le Bernardin and take in a Broadway show.”
Jessica cast him an uncertain look. “I don’t think there’s anything like that on the agenda, is there?”
Jamie could hear the wistfulness in her tone, and just like that, Le Bernardin and a Broadway show was on the agenda. He was being bewitched!
He had to stop it, though. He’d turn her over to an assistant for the rest of the day. Get his head on straight—and the boundaries back in place—before he took her out for dinner and a show.
Jessica cast a glance at herself in the bank of mirrors. “It’s going to be impossible to decide what to take. Not this, obviously.”
“That one, especially. You should take it all,” he said.
“I couldn’t possibly. You think this one? Really?”
“Absolutely that one,” he said.
“I guess find me the price on this one,” Jessica said. “And the white-and-red sundress. I’ll figure out from there if I can afford anything else.”
“Let me figure out what it would cost if you took it all,” Meredith said smoothly, “and if you can’t handle it, we’ll start editing.”
“But—”
Meredith swept up all the clothes and left them.
“I feel like Cinderella,” Jessica said, sinking into the chair beside him. The dress hitched up on a slender leg. He tried not to look. Failing in that, he tried not to be obvious about looking.
“But it’s just about midnight. The glass slipper falls off, and I see what it all costs. I probably can’t even afford one thing from here.”
He looked at his watch so she wouldn’t see the pleasure in his eyes that he was going to play a part in her fairy tale.
Not the prince part, of course. Though something about seeing her in all those clothes could tempt any man to play that role, even one as cynical about fairy tales as him.
Meredith came back. She held out a piece of paper to Jessica.
Jessica took it, looked at it, and blinked. “Oh,” she said. “It’s so much less than I expected. Still, I don’t need two skirts. So, I should probably take out the pencil-line one and keep the navy pants.”
Meredith snatched the paper back from her. “I forgot to add Sarah’s preferred customer discount.”
Jessica took back the paper with the adjusted price. Her mouth fell open with shocked surprise.
“All right,” she cried, beaming, “I’ll take it all!”
As Meredith handled the transaction—giving the one bill to Jessica and putting the real amount on Jamie’s credit card, Jamie realized this was probably the most duplicitous thing he had ever done. But Jessica was absolutely radiant.
“I’ll pay you back, of course. The insurance representative said I’ll have some money by this afternoon.”
How could something feel both so very wrong and so very right at the same time?
When they left the store, Jessica was wearing the brand-new sundress. Jamie couldn’t help but notice that, in a city where no one paid any attention to anyone else, Jessica was receiving subtle—and deeply appreciative glances—from the men of New York.
A man on a construction site whistled at her. Jamie threw him a warning glance, and then noticed Jessica was blushing as though she had been propositioned.
How could he turn her over to an assistant when it was so complicated? Jessica now looked like a sophisticated woman of the world. But she was the furthest thing from that. He couldn’t just cast her out on her own. A still small voice, somewhere in the region of his heart, whispered to him, Admit it, pal, you don’t want to.
CHAPTER SIX
WALKING DOWN FIFTH AVENUE, with Jamie beside her, his arms laden with the parcels he had refused to let her carry, Jessica felt amazing. Like a sleeping princess who had been brought to life.
Not with a kiss, of course, though the thought made her take a quick look at the sensuous turn of his mouth and realize that kissing Jamie Gilbert-Cooper was not as impossible as it had seemed just this morning. Their worlds were intersecting.
The funny thing about the impromptu makeover, her astonishing new look and awesome new wardrobe was that she hadn’t felt out of her element.
As Meredith had expertly applied that makeup—making Jessica’s eyes look huge and dark, her cheekbones look amazing, her mouth look sensuous and faintly sultry—Jessica had not felt like Cinderella, dressing up as someone she was not. She had felt more like duckling to swan.
With each stroke of Meredith’s hand on the makeup brush, and with each outfit she had tried on, something about herself, that had always been there, was being revealed. When she had stood before Jamie in that final outfit, the cocktail dress, Jessica had felt as though she had become who she really was.
At that time she hadn’t known what that dress was worth—still didn’t know the prices of individual items for that matter—but the look on his face had made her decide it was worth its weight in gold.
“So,” Jamie suggested, as they exited Hennessey’s, “let’s go look after things at the Canadian Consulate office, and then I’ll surprise you for lunch.”
Jessica was not really sure if it was Jamie’s presence, or her own growing confidence, but things went far better than she had anticipated. Though they could not replace her passport immediately, they would treat her case as urgent, and contact her through Jamie as soon as they had temporary documents available so she could travel.
Unfortunately, until they had completely verified her identity, they could not give a photo ID.
Which meant she still could not get a hotel. It meant she would be staying with Jamie one more night, at least. She was appalled at how thrilled she was by that!
After that, the rest of the day was a whirl of delight: the Russian Tea Room for champagne high tea, a stroll through Central Park, where they paused and watched little boys—and one little girl—race remote control boats on the reservoir. The little girl kept ramming the boats around her, and then giggling fiendishly.
“Was that you as a little girl?” Jamie asked.
“No, I’m afraid I’ve always been the good girl.” Then she realized how it sounded and she blushed.
He took in her blush, and the smallest smile, just a touch wicked, crossed his features, as if he were having wayward thoughts about rectifying that.
It occurred to her she would let him!
“What were you like as a little boy?” she said, to ease some of the sudden tense awareness of each other that tinged the warm summer air around them.
“Pick one,” he said, nodding toward the boys.
She studied them for a moment, and then pointed to a solemn-looking boy who appeared to be dismantling his boat to diagnose a problem. Jamie laughed. He was one of those men who threw back his head to laugh. A light came on in his face, making him—impossibly—even more attractive. His laughter was so deep and rich and genuine, that Jessica noticed it brought smiles to the faces of those passing by, New Yorkers generally famous for being oblivious to one another.
“Maybe more like that one,” he said, pointing to a lad whose hair was going every which way, and who had his pants rolled up and was in the water up to his ankles. “If he catches a frog, tomorrow it’s going in the desk of the girl he secretly loves.”
The thought of Jamie secretly loving someone sent tingles up and down her spine. “You don’t seem like that at all,” she said hastily, not sure if she was
talking about the little boy, or the ability to secretly love someone. She remembered when they had looked at that expensive ring together she had wondered if he had a secret romantic side. It was dangerous—and thrilling—to be thinking of him in such a personal way.
“Like most boys, I’ve outgrown my desire to put frogs in girl’s drawers.”
The way he said drawers made her think of her sexy new underwear, and from the wicked look on his face, that was exactly what he intended. Jessica was fairly certain that the only part of that equation he had lost interest in was the frog part.
“My mother claims every gray hair on her head was caused by my shenanigans—her word not mine—between the ages of two and eighteen.”
“Ha! I think gray hair may be hereditary in your family.” He rewarded her with a smile, but then she remembered what he had told her last night. “The shenanigans stopped at eighteen because of the death of your father, didn’t they?”
He hesitated, and looked off into the distance. “I was suddenly the man of the family. It was a role nothing in my life, to that point, had prepared me for.”
Unlike her, shrinking away from life when Devon had died, she had a feeling he had handled it differently.
“You rose to it, didn’t you?” she asked softly.
She laid her fingertips on his forearm, where his shirt was rolled up. She thought he might pull away, but he didn’t. If anything, the touch connected them at a deeper level.
“I think I pretty much sucked at it,” he said, some emotion in the sudden hoarseness of his voice.
“I don’t believe that,” she said firmly.
He looked at her, deeply, as if there was something in those simple words he wanted to hang on to. “It was just a tough time. Along with the shock of sudden loss—he had a heart attack—I was suddenly plunged into the world of adult responsibility. He left some insurance and savings, but for a while I wondered if I could find a way for my mom to have a home again and let my sister go to college as she had always dreamed.”
“You did find a way?”
“I did,” he said.
“You don’t sound as proud of yourself as you should.”
He lifted a shoulder. “I managed the things that they needed. But I couldn’t take the pain away.”
“You’re very hard on yourself,” she said softly.
“I had a sense of failing them almost every day.”
She could tell a man like him would not like anything he perceived as failure. She knew it was probably uncharacteristic for him to reveal something like this of himself, and she could feel his trust in her trickle warmly down her spine.
“I think you held yourself to an impossible standard.”
“Do you, now?” he asked softly.
She nodded, and he seemed to take that in, before he shrugged it off, as if it was absolution he felt he was undeserving of.
“If you ask my sister, it soured me.”
“You don’t seem sour!” She finally, reluctantly, took her hand away from his arm.
He smiled at her. “Thanks. Sarah thinks everyone should be happily married and producing children, like her, otherwise it is not a life well lived. She says all that shouldering the family responsibility so young killed that for me.”
“And did it?” Jessica whispered.
“Oh, yeah. She has gone as far as to call me hedonistic.”
“That seems mean. After all you’ve done for her.”
“We like to tease each other. I call her DD for Domestic Diva.”
Jessica liked these little glimpses into who Jamie was. She liked it that he and his sister teased each other. Still, she felt a need to defend him. “Anyway, you are not! Hedonistic.”
“Yes, ma’am, I am. Self-centered and selfish. I work hard. I play harder. I’m allergic to domestic activities and responsibilities, hence the reason no turkey has ever filled my oven.”
Despite the lightness of Jamie’s tone, it was a warning to her, that was clear. He had already told her he saw her as a picket fence kind of girl, and he was letting her know he did not fit that kind of dream.
He was painting a picture of himself as the quintessential playboy.
And yet, looking at him, his shirt open at the throat, his sleeves rolled up, the sun on his silver hair and the exquisite lines of his face, she didn’t feel he had shown her one sign that he was selfish or self-centered. Still, she was aware a girl could change her dreams to fit his.
A girl could loosen her hold on the concept of forever and be willing to just take whatever he offered. It might actually be fun to not be the good girl, for once. She was in New York. She was a long way from home. Who would ever know if she had a little fling with a sexy man? She experienced a shiver of pure wanting when she thought of Jamie in those terms, when she thought of his lips claiming hers, his hands...
Stop it! She ordered herself.
Given their circumstances—his potential to be her boss, her forced stay in his quarters—she was entertaining very perilous thoughts, indeed.
When they turned away from the young boaters to walk again, she went over on her ankle ever so slightly because of the unfamiliar shoes. Despite the fact she knew she was flirting in general and flirting with danger in particular, when he reached out to steady her, she did not return his steadying arm to him when she should have.
No, she looped her arm though his—felt the surge of delight at being linked to him—as they moved along the pathway toward his building.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I’m not used to the shoes. I’m going to skin my nose if I don’t have you to lean on.”
He looked down at her for a long moment. He looked as if he wanted to warn her not to play with fire. Instead, he took a deep breath. “We wouldn’t want you to skin a cute little nose like that,” he said.
Cute. He thought she was cute. Or that her nose was. Cute was a long way from pretty. Or gorgeous. Or beautiful.
And yet she liked it very much that he thought her nose was cute.
And then he started humming, lean on me, and Jessica was glad she had silenced her good girl because she was not sure she had ever experienced a more perfect moment than that one, walking through Central Park on a sun-drenched day, in her new dress, with a gorgeous man on her arm.
One perfect moment was determined to follow another. She wore her new cocktail dress for the most exquisite dinner she had ever had. Whether it was the food, or Jamie’s company she wasn’t sure. He was so at ease in every situation, radiating confidence and good humor. Maybe his sister was right about him! He certainly seemed practiced at entertaining the opposite sex. Conversation with him seemed so easy. They talked about everything: books, recent movies, music they liked, travels they had experienced. Her travels were limited—only Copenhagen—but Jamie had been many places, both professionally and personally.
His anecdotes revealed him as a man with a rich sense of humor and a great verve for life.
He had gotten tickets to The Phantom of the Opera, which he told her was the longest running show in Broadway history. She was thrilled. But somehow, just as thrilling as going in to the show was standing in line with him at the Majestic Theatre, and seeing the admiring gazes he garnered. Jessica realized she was very much enjoying being mistaken for a couple.
She was also enjoying the sheer variety of the crowd. There was everything here from elderly couples to families, and even a school group.
“The variety of what people are wearing is amazing,” she whispered to Jamie. It was true, there was everything from men in tropical print Hawaiian shirts and shorts, to women in evening gowns.
“The really dressed up ones are tourists,” he whispered back.
“Am I overdressed?” she asked, feeling a bit of the magic slip away. “I haven’t had on anything this fancy since my prom.”
He cas
t an appreciative look over her, long enough and male enough that she felt herself starting to blush.
“You,” he said, softly, “are perfect. Ravishing.”
Just like that, the magic was back. Jamie Gilbert-Cooper thought she was ravishing!
When she shivered from the gruesome makeup on the phantom, Jamie assumed she was cold, and she found his suit jacket settling around her shoulders. It felt so nice that she did not correct him.
Jessica was not sure what she had been expecting from the show, but it was incredibly sensuous in places, and terrifying in others. When the chandelier “fell” into the audience she shrieked very unbecomingly. Jamie’s hand found hers and then he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her wrist.
Jessica was pretty sure her heart stop beating. She turned and looked at him, and very deliberately, he lifted her wrist to his lips again and kissed it.
It was not, to be sure, a wildly passionate kiss. It was more a reassurance: See? Nothing to be afraid of. I’m right here beside you.
And nothing felt frightening after that except maybe the wild beating of a heart going down a pathway it had never been down before.
* * *
Jessica Winton was not his type, Jamie told himself, for the umpteenth time. She was a small-town girl in a big-city world. Even dressed up in that dress, even with her makeup applied expertly, even with her hair piled on top of her head in a sophisticated bun, there was a quality about her that was wholesome. It was not exactly naive, and yet it was not worldly either.
Whatever that quality was it had coaxed him to tell her about the death of his father, and to confide in her the effect that event had had on him and the course his life had taken.
He wasn’t accustomed to sharing confidences, so he told himself he’d intended it as a kind of warning to her, probably because he could feel the attraction lighting up between them.
I am not the settling down kind of guy.
And yet, no matter what reason he had confided in her, after he had felt oddly lighter, as if he had been carrying a burden he didn’t even know he carried. The way she had looked at him, the way her hand had rested so lightly on his arm, had made him feel as if the power of the sun had intensified.
