by Karen Rigley
“Just normal stuff. You know, Grant and you kissing.”
“I will not kiss Grant.”
“Don’t be juvenile, Jami.” Sierra sounded exasperated. “Pretend you’re kissing the man for the pictures. I’m certain Mike isn’t into bedroom photography. We just want some romantic shots to make singles drool and flock to CupidKey for their own perfect mate.”
“Well the candlelight dinner is off, anyway.”
“It can’t be off. I talked to Mike an hour ago, and he said everything was set to use the Garden Room at the lodge.”
“Toby ruined my only suitable dress,” Jami began to explain.
“Toby?” Sierra shrieked, hurting Jami’s eardrum. “I should have known it had something to do with your little monster.”
“He didn’t mean to stain it, but the dress is ruined, and I have nothing to wear for a fancy dinner.”
“Why didn’t you drive into town and buy a new dress?”
“I don’t have any transportation, and I can’t afford to buy an outfit every time my son ruins one.”
“This time, we would have reimbursed you for the expense. And I’m positive Becca would have gladly loaned you the van, but it’s too late now. You’d never make to town and back before the dinner,” Sierra concluded with a sniffily sob.
Jami suffered a burst of guilt. “Grant did buy me a dress, but naturally I can’t accept it.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t believe you’d asked that,” Jami sputtered, her insides knotting at old memories ripped open by Grant’s action. “Men like Grant buy expensive presents to get what they want from a woman, or to cover-up their other affairs.”
“Wait a minute! Are you and Grant having an affair?”
“No,” Jami choked.
“And what do you mean men like Grant? Don’t you dare lump my brother-in-law into the same rotten mold that your ex-husband fit. They’re nothing alike.”
“A womanizer is a womanizer.” Jami pressed her lips together and squeezed her eyes closed to shut out the pain.
“Doug cheated on you and showered you with expensive gifts to keep you from guessing what was really happening, but that has nothing to do with Grant.” Sierra’s voice grew reflective. “I think it’s sweet of him to replace your dress.”
“Sweet?” Jami grumbled. “It’s a sexy slinky number that’s about as sweet as a jalapeño pepper.”
“Wow! He’s hot for you. Why didn’t you tell me that’s how it is between you two?”
“That’s not how it is,” Jami protested, a blush heating her cheeks as she recalled his kiss—the kiss he regretted.
“Well, I don’t see a problem, Jami. Grant bought you a suitable dress, and now the dinner can go as planned.”
“That dress is not suitable.”
“Sure it is. Live dangerously.” Sierra’s excitement crackled over the wires.
“It’s silk, for heaven’s sake,” Jami stormed into the phone.
“Sounds luscious.”
“Silk,” Jami ranted, tearing her hand through her hair and pacing the carpet. “Expensive and impractical! You know I only wear Toby survivable fabrics like denim and cotton.” Even though the silk had tempted her for the briefest moment. How long had it been since she had owned such a beautiful dress?
“That silk dress is a gift for a special occasion, not something for your child to use for survival gear.”
“Grant had the gown delivered from Saks Fifth Avenue. It must have cost him a fortune.”
“He can afford it.” Sierra’s voice firmed. “Don’t you dare offer to reimburse him for it, either. The man gave you a present, so accept it gracefully.”
“I don’t want presents from men. You know that!”
“Tough. Make an exception tonight. What color is the dress?”
“Aqua,” Jami spluttered, frustrated that her long-time friend failed to understand her turmoil. “What there is of it.”
“Aqua? Jami, that’s a divine color on you. Maybe we can blow up a poster-size photo of you and Grant dressed to kill. Clients will be beating down our door,” Sierra raved. “Oh, thank you. You’re the greatest.”
“Sierra, I can’t wear the dress Grant gave me.”
“Forget your false modesty–remember, I was there when you wore that string bikini at Galveston Beach.”
“For heaven’s sake, Sierra. I was sixteen!”
“You have an even better figure now.”
“I gave the dress back to Grant,” Jami admitted, knowing she had no intention of reclaiming the thing.
“You what?” There was no missing Sierra’s alarm.
“Ah, yeah.”
“You really gave it back?”
“Threw it,” Jami clarified, feeling a bit childish as she re-examined her actions. What did Grant think of her? She cringed at his likely opinion.
“Retrieve that dress immediately,” Sierra said, an uncustomary order coloring her words.
“I can’t.”
“You can, and you will.”
“No way.” Jami’s hand tightened on the phone as Toby padded into the room, barefooted and clad in his cartoon underwear.
“Get Grant on the line,” Sierra persisted. “I promise to make this as painless as possible.”
“Here, Toby,” Jami said, taking the chicken’s way out and thrusting the receiver at her son. “Tell Grant that he has a call from Sierra.”
“Sure, Mom.” Toby threw open the door to yell, “Hey, Grant, Sierra’s on the phone for you.”
Jami heard Grant muttering—possibly cursing.
Toby grinned and hung up the phone. “He got it.”
“My turn for the bathroom,” Jami informed Toby with forced cheer. She needed a temporary reprieve. Still not ready to face the man she had maligned, Jami dashed into the bathroom and sought the sanctuary of a shower.
“What?” Grant barked into the phone, his sister-in-law not exactly on his favored list at the moment.
“You sound like a wounded bear,” Sierra answered with a tinkling laugh.
“It’s been a bad day,” he growled. “What can I do for you, Sierra?”
“It’s what I can do for you, C.G.”
He disliked it when his brothers teased him and called him C.G., and now Sierra had adopted the annoying initials. He scowled at the phone in silence.
When he didn’t respond, she continued, “When you gave Jami that dress, she misunderstood your intentions.”
“I noticed.” Grant raked a hand through his hair and wondered where this conversation was headed. With his dingy pixie of a sister-in-law, he could never be certain.
“That dress,” Sierra teased with her voice full of laughter, “Sounds like a sexy number.”
“I just told the store what I thought would be attractive on Jami and appropriate for our Cupid dinner. I never saw the dress until it hit me in the face.”
“Just be glad you gave her something soft.”
“The box wasn’t soft,” Grant grumped, rubbing his chin. “Neither were the shoes.”
“You gave her shoes?” Sierra giggled, and Grant was sorely tempted to strangle the telephone.
“Sandals to match the dress. Spike heels and thin straps. Very nice.”
“High heels for Jami?” Sierra was hiccupping giggles now.
“Women like heels,” Grant protested, desperately searching for escape.
“Men like high heels on women. Women tolerate the foolish things.”
“I just wanted to give Jami a present, something to wear tonight.”
“Jami’s not into presents.”
“Obviously.” Grant hesitated, then added, “I intended to replace the dress Toby ruined. I certainly didn’t attempt to buy her favors.”
“Her ex-husband used to,” Sierra confided, a wealth of meaning underlying the statement.
“I see,” Grant replied, suddenly understanding what had triggered Jami’s emotional explosion. “What should I say? How can I repair the situation?”
“Don’t say anything. Just lay the dress out on her bed and threaten Toby with his life if he so much as breathes on it.”
“I hope Ty appreciates what I’m going through for him,” Grant groaned, thinking his baby brother owed him big.
“We both do.” Sierra’s tone dropped. “Jami’s been burned, Grant. She may act fiercely independent, but most of it’s armor.”
Grant replaced the telephone, pondering this new facet to Jami Rhodes. He gathered up the dress and sandals, then tapped on her bedroom door, breathing a relieved sigh when Toby opened it.
“Mom’s in the shower.”
“Good. We have to talk,” Grant said, striding into the room to deposit his gifts onto the quilt-covered double bed.
“What about?” Toby asked warily.
“This,” Grant replied, arranging the dress carefully. “I don’t want you to sneeze around this outfit.”
“Okay.” Toby cocked his head. “I’m hungry. What time is it?”
“Nearly six. Can’t you tell time?” Grant asked, trying to recall at what age kids learned such things.
“On some clocks.” Toby pointed to the old-fashioned alarm clock on the nightstand. It had gold dashes in place of numbers. “That one’s hard.”
“I see.” Grant wavered, not convinced that it would be advisable to leave Toby and the silk dress together. “Didn’t Becca tell you to be in the kitchen by six?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t get to tell Mom.”
Grant winced, recalling why Toby hadn’t found the opportunity to inform Jami. “What if I write your mom a note and take you downstairs to Becca?”
“All right!” Toby whooped.
“Keep it down, partner. We don’t want to set your mother off again.”
“We sure don’t,” Toby agreed, sharing a conspiratorial grin with Grant.
Jami came out of the bathroom and stepped into an empty bedroom. She immediately focused on the bed where a large piece of paper lay atop the silk dress. Now what? She cinched the sash of her terry robe and picked up the note to read Grant’s bold scrawl:
Jami,
Toby got dressed, and I’m taking him down to the kitchen. He’s eating dinner with Becca, Nell, and Homer, then playing checkers with Homer. Nell promises to tuck your son into bed afterwards and wait here in your room to keep an eye on him while we’re at dinner. She says not to worry if we run late, since she’ll bring her knitting.
Later, Grant.
Recalling the awful things she’d said to Grant, Jami let his note flutter onto the quilt. He hadn’t mentioned a word about their fight or the cocktail dress. What had Sierra told him? Jami thought of calling Sierra back, but a glance at the clock reminded her that she needed to get ready for the photo session of the candlelight dinner with Grant. Sierra wanted romance on film, but Jami was sure romance was the last thing her tantrum had put Grant in the mood for.
Jami took a fortifying breath as the exquisite, daringly cut, aquamarine silk reclaimed her attention. Oh, for some of the naïve brazen courage she had once possessed to parade the beach in a string bikini at sixteen.
Chapter 7
“Stupid contraptions.” Jami teetered on the delicate-strapped, spike-heeled sandals and tried to master walking, feeling like a child trying on Mommy’s pumps. Though pumps she wouldn’t have minded. Too bad her coral pumps didn’t match the new dress. She nearly tripped, her ankle buckling just as she reached the full-length mirror. This is exactly why I don’t wear anything higher than two-inch heels, she mentally scolded, regaining her balance.
Her glance raised from the troublesome sandals up to the mirror, where she met the answering stare of an elegant stranger. Even her hair was different with her wild mane of waves swept up in a style that allowed only a few untamed copper tendrils to escape.
Jami had spent the last five years avoiding male attention instead of seeking it. To see herself undeniably displayed in her curvy and glamorous reflection shocked her as though she’d swapped bodies with a space alien. She skimmed her palms over the silk hugging her hips and the image in the mirror duplicated the action. She blinked, and so did the sexy lady in the glass. “This really is me.”
A knock sounded on the bedroom door. “Come in,” Jami called, still staring at her own reflection.
Grant, GQ gorgeous in his Armani suit, stepped into the room and into the reflected vision. Their gazes locked in the glass. Jami’s breath caught as she suddenly saw why Sierra had selected them as the perfect couple to represent CupidKey. They appeared made for each other. Grant Carrington’s debonair, cosmopolitan Adonis complemented this seductively elegant new Jami Rhodes. A perfect match. Poster material, just as Sierra had predicted.
“Hi,” Jami breathed, still staring at into the mirror, almost afraid to turn around and discover that Cinderella had broken her glass slipper, and the magical spell along with it.
“You’re lovely,” Grant replied huskily, fidgeting with the knot of his tie.
Their eyes met again. The mirror served as neutral territory, one in which they could take one step closer. But as the heat of their attraction rippled over the reflective surface, neutrality disappeared, and awareness took its place. They were no longer merely an arranged match. No longer hidden behind the masks of Sierra’s brother-in-law and Toby’s mother. Stripped down to man and woman, male and female, they watched each other and desire kindled.
Nervously, Jami touched the sensuous silk of her gown. “Thanks for the dress.”
He moved a fraction closer. “I’m glad it fits.”
Mouth suddenly dry, Jami, too, was glad the dress fit. The feeling that she was Cinderella grew stronger. She even wore the glass slippers in the form of the shoes Grant had presented with the dress. She reluctantly turned to face him. “The sandals fit, too. Thanks.”
“My pleasure.” The heat in his eyes deepened, smoldering as those gorgeous lips of his curved into a devilish smile. “I hope you’re feeling romantic tonight.”
“What?” Jami gasped, instinct nudging her to clutch the plunging neckline of her dress where Grant’s conspicuous gaze had dropped to linger upon her exposed cleavage. She avoided the panic move and straightened her spine, unintentionally jutting her bosom forward, then glared at him. “Don’t get any ideas, Carrington.”
“I meant romantic poses for the camera. Sierra expects dynamite professional shots.” His deep, playful chuckle vibrated through Jami, sorely tempting her to fling one of her spike sandals at his handsome head.
Grant pushed his cuff up to glance down at his Rolex watch. “Mike will be waiting for us down in the Garden Room. Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll get,” Jami mumbled.
She made it three steps before tripping on the spike heels and lurching into Grant’s arms. Her cry of surprise was swallowed by his lapel, suddenly crushed against her mouth as his hard form absorbed the slam of her soft curves.
“This wasn’t what I had in mind, but I’m not complaining,” Grant said, holding her tight, his chin against the top of her head. A tidal wave of desire swept through her. Don’t trust him, Jami reminded herself as she stood entwined with him mere inches from her bed. No way would she let another man shred her heart as her ex-husband had done. Grant could find another victim. She tried to channel her feelings into righteous anger.
“Please, let me go,” Jami whispered forcefully, still cradled against his massive chest.
“Mmm. You smell heavenly,” he whispered, his minty breath warm against her ear, sending delicious shivers down her neck and arm.
Jami moved to separate their bodies, disgusted with herself for letting him send her sensations into a tailspin every time they were close. She nearly stomped Grant’s toe, but was afraid her deadly footwear would cause permanent damage. “I can’t walk in these stupid heels.”
“Then take them off.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Grant raised a brow in question.
Lips pressed togeth
er, Jami mutely stared back at him.
“We’re not going out in public. Carry your sandals,” he explained in a reasonable, business-like tone. “You can slip them back on if Mike needs you to wear them for a shot.”
“Stocking footed in a cocktail gown?”
“Regardless of footwear, you’re beautiful.”
Jami slipped off the stiletto sandals, one at a time, a sigh escaping her lips. “Those heels are torture.”
“On the phone tonight, Sierra told me you dislike high heels.”
“That high I do,” Jami replied earnestly. “What else did Sierra tell you?”
Grant smiled down at Jami. “Not nearly enough.”
As they entered the Garden Room, Jami nearly dropped the sandals dangling from her fingers. “I feel like we stepped outside, but we’re still indoors.”
Directly across from them stood partially open, arched French doors flanked by floor to ceiling windows to bring the outside inside. That window design continued around the room to form three of the four walls, which gave the impression of a room of glass, set in the mountain woods.
“It’s always been a favorite spot of mine,” Grant said proudly. “In the winter when snow frosts everything, it’s unbelievable.”
“It’s unbelievable now,” Jami gasped, charmed by the intrinsic blend of nature with the interior decor in the romantically old-fashioned room. Muted strains of saxophone music floated from stereo speakers hidden somewhere behind the greenery.
She spun around to appreciate the way strategically placed indoor plants of climbing ivy, trailing gardenias, and hanging ferns teamed with six-foot umbrella trees, split-leaf philodendron, and potted trees to enhance the wilderness effect. The room’s cool, inviting terrazzo tiled floor blended well with natural wicker furniture, but the center crown was a lace-covered dining room table. Ivory taper candles cupped in antique brass and a goblet holding a floating lily blossom graced the tabletop, along with twin crystal champagne flutes and rose-rimmed, gilt-edged china.
Grant led her to the table, then pulled out a floral cushioned wicker chair to seat her. “Becca went all out for us.”
