His Unforgettable Fiancée

by Teresa Carpenter

  His expression was total innocence. “I didn’t say you weren’t pretty.”

  She scowled, as mad at herself for the surge of pleasure as she was at him for the asinine comment. Shaking a finger at him, she advised, “You may want to stop while you’re ahead.”

  “I’m ahead?” He grinned, flashing his dimple.

  “Better watch it,” she cautioned. “You didn’t care for the consequences the last time you provoked me.”

  Jackson sobered. “You don’t strike me as the type to run from your problems.”

  “I’m not. But I’m not a martyr either, so I do believe in stepping back to cool off. An occurrence that shouldn’t be necessary in a professional relationship. At least not often.”

  “Okay, okay.” He raised his hands in surrender. “Message received. We’ll keep it professional. Now, look.”

  He grabbed her hand and drew her next to him where he stood over an open drawer in the island. She shook her head. The man needed a pamphlet on respecting people’s boundaries.

  She glanced in the drawer. Oh. “It’s a safe.” With a palm plate lock. She looked up at him. “Did you try to open it?”

  “I did. Watch.” He placed his hand on the lock.

  She held her breath.

  It clicked open.

  She grinned around a rush of air. How horrible would it be if he’d only been a Jackson Hawke look-alike? Yeah, it might have been rough explaining their presence in a billionaire’s personal suite to the San Francisco Police Department.

  And then he opened the safe and all thought left her head. She stared at a stack of cash easily equal to a quarter of a million dollars.

  “Good gracious,” she breathed clasping her hands behind her back to keep from touching. “Jackpot for you.”

  “And the cash isn’t all that’s in here.” He pulled out a passport. “This will work for ID right?”

  “Yes, it will.”

  “Good. I had Watkins contact my people in Las Vegas to let them know I lost my wallet. He reported I’d have replacement cards in the morning.”

  “Sounds like you’re all set.” She was right, he had done just fine without her. And she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “DO NOT EVEN think of dodging out on me,” he whispered in her ear. “I know that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “It’s something to consider,” she countered, for her benefit as well as his. “You did all this on your own. And you have people now that can help you.”

  “Which is why I need you now more than ever.” He reached for something deep in the vault. “No need to sell my watch.” He glanced down at her. “It does have sentimental value now. And I’m keeping the provenance papers on my person, just in case.”

  “Hopefully nothing like this will happen to you again.”

  “Hopefully. But I have the stab wound, too. So obviously stuff happens.”

  “I guess. But you can’t live your life based on fear.”

  “I don’t intend to, but there’s such a thing as precaution. I’ll carry the papers for a while. And I got this for you.” He handed her a four-inch square jeweler’s box with the name Sullivan’s scrawled across the top. “For all your help.”

  Again her hands went behind her back. “I can’t take that.”

  “Of course you can. I can afford it. I’m getting the sense that being rich comes naturally to me.”

  She sent him a droll stare. “Being rich and being a jerk are not the same thing.”

  “Ouch. I probably deserve that.”

  “No probably about it.”

  He ignored her. Instead he ran his hand down her arm and pulled her hand around to place the box in her palm. “I want to do this for you. You don’t really understand what your help has meant to me. I’m bad at verbalizing it, and yeah, I’ve messed up a couple of times. I’m nobody to you, a stranger, yet without hesitation you stepped up to help me. Paying my way when you didn’t have a job yourself and there were no apparent means of me being able to pay you back.”

  “There was the watch,” she reminded him. “I didn’t do anything anyone else wouldn’t do.” She set the box on the counter and edged away from Jackson until she stood across from him. “And you are paying me.”

  “You don’t even understand how special you are. Let’s be clear, I’m paying you for your knowledge and your connections. There’s no way to fully pay you for your compassion, your patience, your faith in me. This,” he said, pushing the box toward her, “is a mere token of what you deserve. My hope is you’ll know my gratitude whenever you wear it. And because it seemed right, it’s Cartier.”

  “Jackson.” She stared at him helplessly. A Cartier? It was too much. Of course it was too much. She couldn’t take it. Could she?

  “It’ll go to waste if you don’t take it. I’ll put it back in the safe and it’ll stay there forever.”

  “No.” Her hand moved protectively toward the package before her mind engaged and she curled her fingers closed. But the thought of his gift languishing, forever unopened, seemed wrong. “That would be a waste. You should return it or give it to someone else.”

  “It isn’t meant for someone else. It wouldn’t have the same value. It’s for you, or no one.”

  “Oh, give it to me already.” She held her hand out palm up.

  His eyes lit up. Knowing better than to say anything, he grandly placed the package in her grasp.

  “You are never to tell me how much this cost.”

  “Rest assured it was below ninety thousand.”

  Her gaze flew to his face. “It better be well, well below.”

  “You said not to tell you.”

  “Oh, my gosh. You are evil.” Opening the box, she peaked inside and forgot to breathe. “Oh, my. Oh, JD.” She lifted out a thin rope of diamonds set in white gold. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Let me.” He took it from her, wrapped it around her right wrist and connected the clasp. “It looks good on you.”

  “It would look good on a cat.” She moved her arm, admiring the flash of the diamonds in the light. It really was too much.

  “No going back.” Again he seemed to read her mind. “And it’ll go really good with the little black dress I got you to wear to dinner.”

  “What? Oh, no, nothing more.” She was talking to his back. “I’m not taking anything else from you.”

  “Not even the shower?” he said over his shoulder. “Everything is laid out in your room.”

  “Everything? No. No. No.” She dogged his heels. “Jackson, I’m serious. No more.”

  “I’ll be in the game room when you’re ready.” He stopped and gave her a wink. “Our reservation is at eight.” He turned into the game room leaving the door open behind him.

  Grace dug in her heels determined not to chase after him any farther. She was an intelligent, competent woman, not a witless fool. He had no power over her. She’d wear an outfit of her own choosing.

  Don’t look, she warned herself as she entered her room and headed straight for the bathroom. Pay no attention to the clothes on the bed.

  She might have made it, except the room itself stopped her. Done in white, gold and silver, the decor took her breath away. Decked out all in white, the bed appeared to float. Above it, large gold discs drew your attention up. A silver geometric design in the white carpet was repeated on the ceiling trim. In front of the window a modern sofa and chair in a soft silvery-gold invited her to come sit and relax.

  No way was that possible with the clothes strewn across the bed.

  Of course she looked.

  And her feet betrayed her by taking her closer. Oh, my. He’d gone with the classic little black dress. It lay stretched across the white down-filled duvet. And he nailed her taste to a T. The dress had a boatneck with three horizontal strips of sheer mesh between the neckline and bustline and then again at the bottom of the slightly flared skirt ending with the mesh a few inches above the knee. The dress managed to be bot
h sexy and conservative at the same time.

  A pair of peep-toe heels sat on the floor, and a tiny black patent-leather purse rested next to the dress on the bed, along with a box and a bag from Victoria’s Secret. For a woman who’d spent a good part of her life in uniform, the ensemble was irresistible.

  Still, her resolve may have held except she kept remembering the exotic waterfall shower in Jackson’s bathroom. The devious man had connected the two, making her feel she had to wear the dress to have use of his facilities. Heights had never bothered her, and oh, how she longed for a top-of-the-world experience.

  And by gosh, she meant to claim it.

  If that meant wearing the dress, she’d wear the dress and wear it well. Her legs were one of her best features.

  Shouldering her duffel, she left the lovely room and headed straight for Jackson’s bathroom. She closed and locked the door. Using the control panel on the outside of the shower she keyed in the number of shower panels—all—and temperature—hot—she wanted. Then she checked out the contents of the Victoria’s Secret bag. Shampoo and conditioner and body wash and lotion, all in her favorite orange-blossom scent. Nodding, she stripped and stepped inside.

  Water washed over her from all sides.

  Heaven.

  Well worth a small slice of her pride. For which he’d pay. Oh, yeah, she’d make him sweat for forcing the issue, for stealing kisses and ignoring the rules. And get dessert, as well. Sweet.

  The shower grotto ran about seven feet long and five feet deep. About four feet of it was glass bricks topped by clear glass. The other three feet was a stone wall made up of smooth multisize rocks that curved around to create the side of the grotto. A stone bench followed the curve.

  Water rained down on her, hot and steamy. She stood on smooth rocks while green fronds draped over the top and sides of the glass partition. The glass bricks came to her bust, safeguarding her modesty. Moving up to the glass, she looked down. The magnificent city spread out before her. In the distance the ocean reflected the clear blue sky and rippled with whitecaps. To her left the Golden Gate Bridge spanned the water to Oakland.

  The intoxicating scent of the luxury soaps and shampoos only added to the experience. And made her hair and skin so soft. She never wanted to leave.

  The only thing missing was a man to share it with.

  Immediately a picture of Jackson sprang to mind. Even in their bare feet he’d tower over her. His broad shoulders would shield her from the brunt of the spray as he kissed her neck.

  She turned so the water pulsed against her neck.

  And lower. She imagined his hands smoothing away bubbles and his mouth on her body.

  When her blood heated to the temperature of the water, he moved them away from the glass to the wide bench and his mouth and hands slid lower yet.

  A knock at the door interrupted her fantasy. “Let me know if you need anything.” Jackson called out. “The control panel inside the shower includes a phone feature. I plugged my new cell number in for you.”

  Her eyes popped open.

  “I’m fine,” she nearly snarled.

  Resting on the edge of fulfillment, she glared at the door. What lousy timing. But apropos. She had no business fantasizing about him. Especially after the hands-off speech she gave him.

  In retaliation for her traitorous imaginings, she flipped the hot water off first. An icy blast of water hit her heated body. She shivered and quickly keyed off the cold.

  “Brr.” Outside the grotto she reached for a towel from the stack on a nearby shelf. The thick terry cloth was warm to the touch and the size of a small blanket. She sighed as the warmth enveloped her.

  Using a smaller towel—also warmed on the heating rack—she dried her hair and recalled Jackson’s comment about being accustomed to wealth. Hmm. More likely it was too easy to give in to the seduction of luxury.

  It was okay for him to immerse himself in this world. He belonged here, after all.

  She, on the other hand, needed to take care she didn’t succumb to the temptation of what couldn’t be.

  * * *

  Jackson shot a tiger and swung across the ravine on a tree vine that dropped him short of the opposite side so he fell into a raging river. He caught a ride on a floating log and made it to the other side, but he had a strenuous climb ahead of him.

  “I’m ready,” Grace announced from the back of the room.

  “Me, too. Ah, cagey croc.” A crocodile morphed from a log to attack him. “Just one minute,” he muttered to Grace as his avatar went after the croc.

  “Take your time.”

  He caught sight of her as she rounded the front of the seats. That brief glance he got of her legs demanded a full-blown perusal. He sat back, ran his gaze from the pink-tipped toes peeking out of her black pumps, up smooth, shapely legs. The dress clung in all the right places, and yes, one of the sheer mesh strips perfectly framed a nice view of her cleavage. A pretty sheen highlighted her lips and eyes. And sweet merciful peaches, she’d mussed her black hair so she looked as if she’d just made love.

  “Smokin’.”

  Amusement lit up her blue eyes. “Me? Or the game?”

  “Kak.” The game sounded, then announced, “Raptor, you have lost your first life.”

  “What?” Shifting back to the monitor he saw the croc had eaten him. “Pisser.”

  “Oh, did you die? Hate when that happens.”

  “Humph.” He might be annoyed with her, except damn, smug never looked so good. “Do you play?”

  “Sure. You want to go a round?”

  “I’ll take you on.” The game allowed for a player to play individually or against one or more players. He nodded to the seat next to him, as he reached for the control pad. “Fair warning, I created the game.”

  “Not now, Jackson.” Her hands went to her shapely hips. “We have reservations, remember? Plus, I’m hungry.”

  “Right. Right.” He surged to his feet. “May I say how stunning you look?”

  “No, you may not.” She turned on her heels and headed out. “That would only be bragging. You coming?”

  Following after her, Jackson slowly shook his head. For someone who looked so soft, the woman had no give in her.

  The steak-house restaurant went against the futuristic theme of the hotel, going instead with rich, dark woods, marble counters and fine crystal. They offered their clients privacy and range-fed beef. He saw Grace seated and ordered them each a nice glass of wine.

  She sipped the wine, savored it on her tongue, then set the glass down.

  “Shall I order for you?” He offered.

  “I’m a big girl. I can order for myself.” She opened the menu and began to scan the choices.

  His menu remained on the table. While killing time earlier, he’d checked out the menu online. Better to struggle over the words in his suite than at the restaurant. He hadn’t used the top-of-the-line unit in the office. It was password protected, and his head wasn’t spitting out any clues to what it might be.

  He could not wait until his memory returned.

  He’d bought a new tablet at one of the stores in the attached shopping mall. He applauded his decision to make the mall part of the hotel. Travelers often had unexpected needs. He’d certainly found it handy.

  He’d enjoyed shopping for Grace. Enjoyed seeing her in the things he’d bought.

  The lighting was muted to heighten the sense of privacy, yet as she moved her head to read the menu, light flickered from one spiked tress to the next. She bit her lip in indecision, and he sucked in a breath. White teeth dented plump flesh. It was all he could do to stay in his seat.

  More as a distraction than out of need, he opened the menu.

  He wouldn’t act on his desire. He respected her too much.

  Needed her too much, come to that. No matter what she believed.

  The waiter appeared. Grace surprised Jackson by ordering the rib eye. He would have pegged her as a salad girl. She kept surprising him. He liked
that.

  When they were alone again, he sought for a topic of conversation. Easy. “Tell me what you found in my file.”

  She sat back on her bench seat, and clasped her hands on the table in front of her.

  “You were a foster child. Mother died when you were five. Your father was unknown. There was a note in the file that a friend may have knowledge of who he was, but they were unable to locate the friend so no investigation was lodged.”

  “So I just went into the system?”

  “Yes. From what I read, you were passed around to several homes, longest stay was two years. You were quiet and smart, kept to yourself for the most part, but suffered some bullying. A few incidents of cyber retaliation—quite creative, I must say—got you expelled. So you went to three different high schools.”

  “How many homes overall?”

  “Nine.”

  “Over thirteen years?” It was a lot. He waited for emotions to come—loss, anger, resentment—but he felt nothing. Only the pounding in his head.

  “Obviously you had a tough childhood. I can relate, to a degree. Being a military brat, I know how it feels to be uprooted and moved to a new home every few years. How hard it is to start over again and again. You learn to protect yourself.”

  “I don’t remember any of it,” he confessed.

  She laid her hand over his. “That may be a good thing. With this background, if you lost your memory but remembered your childhood, you would have found it difficult to accept help, however honestly offered.”

  The food arrived, saving him from the need to reply. He’d also gone with the rib-eye steak and paired it with shrimp. His mouth watered at the aroma coming off the plate. He cut into the steak and found a warm, pink center. The meat melted in his mouth. Across the way he watched Grace savor her first bite and bit back a groan at the ecstatic expression on her face.

  She caught him staring and a rush of red rose in her cheeks. She gave a sheepish smile. “It’s good.”

  While they ate, she shared more of what she read in the file. He’d done a stint in juvenile detention for hacking into a school to change grades. Not just his own, apparently, but every student who took English with Mrs. Manning, who he stated was a frigid old crow who got her jollies putting down students to make herself feel superior.