"Iloved your concert. I stand in awe of your talent."
A huge smile split her face. "I stand in awe of yours, too. I still have the dollhouse you gave me."
"You do?" Victoria looked delighted to hear it.
"Yes. It's one of my most prized possessions. I keep it in my bedroom in my house in Aspen." Stopping in front of the suite, she handed Jared the key card and reached to give Gert a hug. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ignore you."
"I don't need entertaining, missy. You had some catching up to do and I was happy to listen. Here." The older woman thrust a foil-covered plate at her. "I brought you some brownies."
"Omigawd." She laughed with delight. "This is perfect. I'll order us up some coffee to go with it."
"Would you mind making mine tea?" Esme asked as they trooped into the suite.
"I'd prefer that, too," Tori agreed. "I'll be zooming 'til dawn if I drink coffee at this hour."
"I'll order a pot of each. And check the minifridge if there's anything else you'd rather have. I know there's a few little bottles of wine in there and there might be beer."
The impromptu party turned out to be so successful it didn't break up until after two o'clock in the morning. After bidding a final farewell to Gert and the Miglionnis, she closed the door behind them, looked at Jared and sighed. "Your family is so great. Do you have any idea how lucky you are to have them?"
He studied her soberly, then reached out to gently grasp her elbow and escort her back into the suite. "Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, I think I do."
She gazed at him a moment, then said reluctantly, "I suppose I ought to look at that artist's sketch now."
Jared extracted it from a folder on the desk and handed it to her.
Holding her breath, she looked down at it. Then she blew it out in a single harsh exhalation. "I've never seen him before." Rubbing her temples between her thumbs and fingers, she stared up at him. "God, Jared. What am I going to do?"
"Tonight?" he asked gently, smoothing a strand of her hair back into place. "Not a damn thing. Come on." He reached for the buttons on her little gauze top, his gaze filled not with the sexual heat she expected but rather a fierce tenderness that squeezed her heart. "Let's go to bed. Things will look better in the morning."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Third Single From Priscilla Jayne'sWatch Me Fly Album Hits Top Twenty. "Designated Driver" Flying High!
"NO, NO, NO, NO. THAT'S wrong." Nell nudged Hank's shoulder with her own to halt his rendition of her song. "That should be middle C, not an octave below."
Her aroma, a pleasant mixture of soap, shampoo and a hint of perfume, drifted through his senses, and he took a deeper breath to enjoy it more fully. When he turned his head to look at her, he discovered that their faces were suddenly very close.
He cleared his throat. Recalled what they were discussing and sat a little straighter. "I'm telling you, it doesn't sound right in middle C. It's not a dramatic enough change. Listen-and this time don't interrupt until I'm done. Keep Peej's voice in mind." Tucking his fiddle back under his chin, he played her arrangement with the change he'd put in. "Now listen to it your way." He played it as written on the sheet music in his lap.
"No,I'm sorry, but you're just plain wr-" She fell silent midprotest, her gaze turning inward as if she were listening to the music again in her head. Then her gaze sharpened on him. "Damn. You're right, it does sound better an octave down. It's unpredictable and more interesting. And with P.J.'s range, that dropping down from second F will probably be the section that ends up sticking in everyone's head."
Snatching the score up off his lap, she reached for her mechanical pencil and erased the half note, replacing it with its lower-octave equivalent. Then, tossing the pencil aside, she curled a soft-skinned hand around the back of his neck, jerked him close and planted a smacking kiss on his lips. She pulled back, turning him loose and giving him a big grin. "You're a genius. Pass me that popcorn."
His brain stalled out like a prop plane with a faulty fuel gauge. Almost instantly, it came roaring back, but as if his life had flashed before his eyes during that lost second, everything suddenly looked brighter, tasted sweeter. He wanted to grab her and pull her back for a deeper kiss. But he froze in his seat, fearing he recognized a friendly peck when he felt one and knowing it would kill him if he had to watch her expression turn from admiration to horror. He held the neck of his fiddle in a death grip and unclenched his fingers one by one until he could set the instrument aside and reach for the bowl of popcorn. He passed it to Nell.
"Thanks."
"Sure." He racked his brain for something to say that didn't have the words "kiss me" and "please, please, please" in it. His gaze landing on the score, he shot her a little sideways smile. "These lyrics crack me up every time I read them. I guess we can safely say you're over Eddie, huh?"Jesus, man. That's it? He could have kicked his own butt around the block.Your big move is to remind her of Faithless Eddie? No wonder women don't beat a path to your door.
Thrusting his hand into the popcorn bowl, he grabbed a fistful of the buttered kernels and stuffed them into his mouth before he could embarrass himself with additional inanities. Lord have mercy, he was one smooth operator. Why his mama hadn't named him Lady Killer instead of Hank remained the mystery of the century.
Luckily Nell didn't seem to notice his pitiful small-talk skills. "I am so over him," she agreed. "I'm embarrassed my crush lasted as long as it did. What am I, twelve?" Shaking her head, she cast a rueful glance down the length of her mature, comfortably plump body. "I'd have a hard sell trying to convince anyone of that."
"I wouldn't beat myself up about it if I were you. Eddie has that effect on women. He's got some crazy-ass charisma that I've never understood." He shrugged. "But then I'm not a woman."
"No, you're definitely not that," she agreed. "And yes, Eddie does come off as charismatic. But it's a superficial charm that only goes so far. Once it wears thin he has zero substance to take its place." She shot him a look from beneath her lashes and reached for another handful of popcorn. "Unlike you, who doesn't come across as magnetic at first glance but has substance to burn." Her gaze locked on his, she opened her fist to allow several kernels to trickle into her mouth.
Was sheflirting with him? He gave the idea a second's thought, then had to stop himself from uttering a skeptical snort. Yeah, right.You wish, pal.
He did wish, even though his logical self knew she was just giving him one of those strokes that friends give friends. Their bare feet were propped on a stool she'd dragged out of the stateroom, and he gave the ball of hers a nudge with his big toe. "So let me get this straight-you don't think I'm just bristling with magnetism? Well, hell. I'm completely demoralized."
She blew a short, pithy raspberry.
"What, you think I'm kidding? Listen." He cupped his fingers behind his ear. "Hear that whizzing sound? That's my ego flying around the room backward like a loose balloon. Pretty soon there's not gonna be anything left but its little eyes bugging out. This is it. My life as I know it is over."
She laughed as if he were the wittiest man on earth. Once she wound down, she slumped against his side, holding her stomach. Tilting her head back, she studied him for a moment, then smiled. "You've got butter on your lips, hotshot."
"Huh?" He found himself staring into her blue eyes. The lamplight picked out tiny flecks of gold around the pupil.
"Butter," she repeated and rolled up onto her hip. "Right here." Leaning into him, she lapped delicately at his bottom lip. She pulled back, looked into his eyes, then rose up onto her knees and swung one leg over to straddle his lap. "And right here." Lowering her head, she sipped his top lip between her own.
He grasped her hips, perhaps just a little too forcefully, and moved her back. Raising her head, she looked down at him.
"Don't mess with me if you don't mean it," he said, his voice a hoarse rasp. "Because I've had a jones for you for a helluva long time now."
"Yeah?" She gave him
a brilliant smile. "You think I'm a red-hot mama?"
"Yes."
"Good. 'Cuz I've been thinking about what you'd look like naked ever since the day you walked into the galley without your shirt."
His heart kicked like a mule against the wall of his chest, and his hands holding her hips lost their fierce grip. "You have?"
"Mmm-hmm." She squirmed to straddle his lap once more and bent her head to nuzzle his lips. Pulling back just enough to gaze into his eyes, she whispered, "You've gotta know you're built, Hartley."
Happiness was a supernova in his chest. "I've been wanting to get my hands on you for what seems like forever." He did just that, smoothing his palms down the swell of her hips until his fingers finally anchored themselves in the full curves of her butt. Only a couple of thin layers of material separated his hands from her lush, warm flesh.
For the first time she looked uncertain. "I'm not exactly Miss America material, Hank."
"Could've fooled me, sweetheart."
"Oh." She blinked. "Good answer." Her lips curved into a pleased smile. "God, I like you. I think I like you more than any man I've ever known." Rising to her feet, she held a hand out to him. "What do you say we take this to my room?"
"Thank you, Jesus," he said fervently. "Well, that and, how did I get this lucky?"
ALTHOUGH THE MAN SATsurveillance outside the bus all night long, Priscilla Jayne never returned. It wasn't until dawn began sending pale fingers of sunlight across the grounds surrounding the amphitheater that he trudged back to the road where he'd left his rental car. This entire night, which had started out as if the light of Heaven itself shone upon it, had somehow gone straight to the devil.
He'd delivered his admonition to Priscilla Jayne without a hitch. Marvin the driver hadn't suspected a thing, as he had known he wouldn't. It was amazing how far the slightest personal knowledge could take an intelligent man.
He would have given a great deal to be a fly on the wall when Priscilla Jayne unwrapped his gift to her. Accepting the impossibility of his wish, however, he'd found a scalper and paid him a small fortune for a ticket to her show. Deeming it money well spent for the opportunity to see at least a residue of her reaction-no matter how diluted-he had looked forward to the moment he could observe the well-deserved look of fear and uncertainty on her face. He'd thought to catch a glimpse of the remorse she should be feeling, as well.
Yet had he seen any of that?
No.
She'd pranced out onto that stage and behaved as if it were the best night of her life.
He didn't understand it. Had she somehow not gotten his message? He couldn't fathom a scenario in which that was a possibility. He'd stood right there and watched her enter the bus. And although he'd had to leave to hunt up his concert ticket before she had come out again, the driver was certain to have told her she had a package. As any man could testify, one mention was all it would take, for women were greedy, grasping creatures by nature. There wasn't a single one of them who had the strength of character to resist the materialistic lure of a present.
No, she had to have opened it. It was inconceivable that she could have left it untouched.
But if that were so, why in the name of all that was holy hadn't she reacted properly? And just where was she?
Well, wherever it was, she was bound to be back fairly soon. She had a concert in Colorado Springs tonight and in the course of tracking her movements he'd come to realize she must attend to other matters before her shows. It was the only thing that made sense, because the bus always deposited her at the next destination with several hours to spare before that night's performance. So, good. He would take an hour to clean this park filth from his body, then he'd come back to resume his vigil. He needed to see her up close and personal before he could allow himself to rest.
He located a truck stop that was within reasonable distance from the amphitheater and drove there to avail himself of the showers. He was certain that grime clung to him with superglue adhesion, but because he feared he might miss something if he lingered too long, he didn't dare scour his body as many times as he ordinarily would to rid himself of it. He had to settle for scrubbing as hard as he could with his rough loofah instead.
It was the best he could do in the time he'd allowed himself, but it didn't feel like nearly enough. At least when he reached for his towel, however, his skin glowed a satisfying cleansed-soul red.
There was so much filth in the world. And while he knew dirt was part and parcel of nature and that it, too, had been designed by his Maker, he couldn't believe it was intended to touch his person.
Otherwise God wouldn't have given him this strong abhorrence toward it.
He arrived back at Red Rocks with ten minutes to spare in the hour he'd allowed himself. He might as well have spent the extra time in the shower that he'd cut short, because for all his rushing not a thing had changed. The singer's bus was still parked right where it had been when he'd left, and it still looked dark and deserted. He settled down to wait.
And he waited.
And waited.
Andwaited.
During the next several hours, the driver came and went a couple of times. The craggy-faced man with the dark hat and darker aspect who he'd seen in L.A. the night he had first tried to deliver the snake left once and returned. He knew from last night's performance that the man played banjo and fiddle in Priscilla Jayne's band. Both times that he'd seen him outside the bus today, the musician's arm had been draped around the shoulders of the woman with the messy hair and overblown body whom he also remembered from Los Angeles.
He didn't see the man with the watchful eyes.
And he did not see Priscilla Jayne. Not once.
When the band's blond guitar player arrived a short while later and the bus took off minus its star occupant, the man stalked back to his car.
This was unacceptable! It flew in the face of all that was right and moral. Priscilla Jayne was an impertinent daughter and no doubt a promiscuous one, as well, if she was sleeping somewhere other than on her bus. Not to mention that he had put a great deal of consideration into the type of lesson he could impart to warn her to mend her iniquitous ways. Yet had she shown the slightest respect for his efforts?
She had not. Women like her were faithless sinners and that was the truth.
Well, God never let sinners win.
At the same time, God helped those who helped themselves. And the man knew how to help himself. He was going to personally see to it that Priscilla Jayne did not get away with her flagrant disrespect. This was a fight for right and he had a zero-tolerance policy for those who persisted in straying.
His daughter, Mary, had been such a person. He had let her slip through his fingers and he'd been paying the price ever since. He was hanged if he'd tolerate another doing the same.
Not when he knew from hard experience that it led to nothing but trouble.
OH, BOY.SHE WAS INtrouble.
Big.
Big.
Trouble.
Settling into Jared's Jeep for the drive down to Colorado Springs, P.J. covertly studied him. How could she have been so dumb?
How could she have gone and fallen in love with him?
Okay, if she were to be completely factual-which in all honesty she would just as soon avoid-she would have to admit that she had probably been working her way toward this very moment ever since, oh, say:the instant she had opened her motel-room door in that hot Texas panhandle town and clapped eyes on him again for the first time in fifteen years. It wasn't until last night, however, that he'd hammered that final nail into her coffin.
Because that was when Mr. Jared I'm-going-to-give-you-a-dozen-screaming-orgasms-before-I-allow-myself-my-measly-one Hamilton had forsworn the joys of putting her through her sexual paces to simply hold her in his arms until she'd fallen asleep.
She sighed as she thought of the way she'd tried to stay awake in order to prolong the sheer pleasure of being the recipient of that heart-melting
tenderness.
"What?"he suddenly demanded.
She jumped, slapping a hand to her galloping heart as she blinked him back into focus. "Holy crap, you about gave me a heart attack!" Not to mention the imminent eyestrain she'd inflicted on herself in her fierce need to watch him from the corner of her eye while simultaneously looking inward at her dilemma. Pulling her knee up onto the seat, she swiveled to face him more squarely. "What d'you mean,what? "
"I mean what the hell was that sigh for? And how come you're staring at me."
"Was I staring?" Hey, when caught flatfooted, lie like a politician, that was her motto. "I was just thinking how different things are in Denver since the last time we were together here." That was actually the truth. She had thought about that more than once-just perhaps not right at this exact moment. "It's kind of surreal."
"I can see how it would be." He glanced over at her. "Especially staying in an uptown hotel just off the Sixteenth Street Mall. How many of our days do you calculate we spent hanging out there?"
"Most of them. I certainly never imagined then that I'd someday stay in a place like the Teatro." A sudden chill passed over her body and she rubbed her bare arms. "And I sure never imagined having the career I have, let alone the stalker to go with it. I guess I really have hit the big time."
He reached over the console to give her knee a rub. Warmth sank into more places than where his hand touched. "I will keep you safe," he stated categorically. "And if the day ever comes when I don't feel I can do that on my own, I'll hire a frigging platoon of bodyguards."
Aw, man. And she was supposed to avoid loving this manhow?
"I've been thinking about the situation quite a bit," he continued. "And it seems to me that this probably didn't come out of the blue."
She blinked at him. "What do you mean?"
"Do you read all your own fan mail?"
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