#
For over two hours Jerome had been sitting at a small table, drinking Scotch alone and wondering why. He wasn’t unaware of the interested looks he had been getting from various women around the bar the last couple of hours. Without conceit, he was aware that women were attracted to his good looks. Tall, with thick sandy-colored hair and light blue eyes, he wore the aura of success and power as easily as he did his expensive clothes.
Women were no mystery to him. He knew they were drawn to what they could see, but he also knew that they stayed because he understood beautiful women and how to give them what they wanted.
Tonight, however, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was in a mood that he could put no name to. Earlier in the evening Jerome had met with his friend and law partner. Daniel Parker-St. James. The bar was near their office, and they occasionally dropped in to have a drink and an uninterrupted conversation. Yet Daniel had left long ago to go home to his wife and family and to get ready for his trip to Washington, where he served as Special Adviser to the President on Domestic Affairs.
Maybe, Jerome mused, he was still here because he had no family to go home to. Nothing special was happening in his life. Not that he was complaining. At thirty-five he had accomplished more than most men ever dream of. He had come from the streets, a scared, hungry kid. Back then, there had been days when he had had to steal just to stay alive. Normal treats that most young boys enjoyed, such as strawberry jam, were unknown to him. Today he was a partner in one of the most prestigious law firms in the country and he had a cupboardful of strawberry jam.
Unconsciously he shrugged, and the imported English cloth of his jacket tautened across his broad shoulders.
Bored. It was a pretty strange word to use for a life that was as full as his. Yet the lack of challenge in his personal dealings sometimes left him feeling a little flat.
Flat. Maybe that was the word to describe how he was feeling tonight. He needed something different to happen.
And then she walked in.
#
The beautiful, mysterious woman swept her long dark lashes down over her eyes. "I was wondering if you would like to take me to a hotel for the night," she repeated softly.
Disregarding her question for the moment, Jerome stared at her. She was utterly bewitching. The white fabric of her dress draped from padded shoulders to cross over her high, full breasts. He held out his hand and slowly smiled. "I’m Jerome Mailer."
She took his hand. "I’m Jennifer." As she spoke, a tiny dimple appeared and disappeared in her left cheek.
"Jennifer … ?"
Pulling her hand away, she responded, "Just Jennifer," and her mouth curved into a smile. This time the dimple stayed a little longer. Some men might make it a lifelong occupation to watch for that dimple, he decided.
#
It was her perfume that he had noticed first. Odd that he could, in the crowded and smoky atmosphere of the bar. It came from behind him, and it was the scent of spring. Strange, since outside in the cool night air of St. Paul it was most definitely fall.
The soft material of her dress whispered against his arm as she brushed past him. The fabric was ice-white, and just for an instant he had to fight the wild impulse to close his hand around the silken cloth.
He frowned. How peculiar. The impulse had been one that was totally out of character for him. But there was no time to ponder the impulse, because then she was in his line of vision, moving away from him through the shadows and smoke of the bar.
And he was even more intrigued. Dark brown hair waved to just below her shoulders: and the white dress clothed a straight back, a narrow waist, and gently swaying hips. The hem of the dress ended at her knees, where tinted hose with a dark seam took up and drew a perfectly straight line down shapely legs to a pair of ankle- strap heels.
#
"Well, then, Just Jennifer, would you like something to drink?"
She shook her head, causing her hair to fan across one eye and down one side of her cheek. Looking at him through a shimmer of brown hair, she said, "I would like a cigarette, though, if you have one."
The small lamp in the center of the table cast a soft glow on to her face, and he felt an answering glow low in his body. He signaled a waitress over and handed her some money. "A pack of cigarettes, please." He switched his gaze to Jennifer. "Do you have a brand?"
"No." She combed her hair back with red-tipped nails and watched the waitress hurry away, then turned to him with a truly marvelous, smiling movement of her lips that somehow appeared flirtatious and self-deprecating at the same time. "I hope you don’t mind my forcing myself on you like this."
#
She chose a booth in a corner that wasn’t too far away from his table, out of the line of traffic, and slid into it. Placing her small flat purse on the table and her black raincoat on the banquette beside her, she crossed her legs and looked around. Now he could see her profile. She was beautiful—but then somehow he had known she would be.
A waiter approached and she gave her order. He wondered what her voice sounded like. He thought it might sound rather low and husky.
#
"There was no force involved," he assured her. "I had been watching you."
"I noticed," she admitted with a velvety little laugh that skipped along the nerve endings of his spine. "But there were a lot of other women trying to catch your attention. I thought perhaps one of them ..." She cast a quick glance around the room and ran her tongue over her lips. Her lips were red, moist, and very inviting.
"I never saw anyone but you," he murmured, thinking he had been right about her husky voice. It was like smoke-pervaded darkness.
#
The waiter had returned with her drink. From this distance he couldn’t tell what it was, and she didn’t seem to care. She only sipped at the drink, while she constantly scanned the occupants of the bar.
The idea that she might be waiting for someone didn’t bother him overmuch. As long as a woman wasn’t married, he considered her fair game, and he could see that this woman wasn’t wearing a ring.
He wondered what color her eyes were. They looked very dark.
#
Her brown eyes glinted with something unspoken. She smiled again, and he waited for the elusive dimple to appear. It didn’t disappoint him.
The waitress returned with the pack of cigarettes and Jerome struck a match for her. Cupping her hand intimately around his, Jennifer guided the match to her cigarette. It was a gesture that managed to convey an exciting earthiness and a tantalizing worldliness. The cigarette caught fire, but when Jerome went to pull his hand away, she drew it back and extinguished the flame herself by gently blowing. Her hand felt cool and soft on his, but Jerome found himself growing hot and hard. He dropped the match into an ashtray.
Inhaling deeply, she raised her eyes to meet his pale blue gaze with the seductive darkness of her own. "You know," she murmured, "I don’t really smoke."
"No?"
"Well, what I mean is, I used to, but I stopped."
"So what made you start up again?"
She swept her hand through the air, leaving a ribbon of white smoke hanging between them. "The excitement of the night. Can you feel it?"
"Yes." he whispered. "I can feel it."
#
I wish she would look at me. Even from this distance he thought he could detect an entrancing vulnerability about her.
The woman was beguiling him, casting out a spell of fascination through the slow-moving rhythm and smoky shadows to him, and she hadn’t even looked at him. The piano player had switched to another Duke Ellington song, "Sophisticated Lady." The lyrics about romance and a burning flame rang in his head.
#
She looked away from him for a moment, so that only half of her face was lit by the shaded lamp, the other half remaining in deep shadow. Then she looked back. "About what I said earlier ..."
He took a long drink of his whiskey, letting the stinging liquid glide down h
is throat. There was no decision to be made.
"We don’t have to go to a hotel. I have a perfectly nice apartment not too far from here."
She took another long drag on the cigarette, then snubbed it out. He noticed that she hadn’t even smoked half of it. "If you don’t mind, I’d really prefer a hotel."
"A hotel," he repeated thoughtfully.
#
Jerome couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the woman. She was rummaging through her purse, looking for something, or putting something away. No, she must have been looking for something, because after a time she pulled out a credit card and began to study it, lightly running her finger over it.
He wondered what her fingers would feel like on a man’s skin? On his own skin. Would they stroke him as lightly as they were touching the plastic card, or would they bite into his flesh in uncontrollable passion?
#
Jennifer spread her hands on the table and lowered her voice. "It’s a little hard to explain, but I’d be more comfortable in a hotel."
He tried to push his sudden wariness away. Why was he hesitating? Wasn’t this what he had been wanting since he first laid eyes on her?
Suddenly he found himself amused. He found himself fascinated. And he found himself wanting her very badly. He reached for her hand and brought it to his mouth.
"I would like that very much, Jennifer. Shall we go? My car is just outside."
"Yes." She started to get up, then sat back down again. "I mean, no."
#
Jerome swirled the whiskey in his glass, then abruptly set it down. Damn! The woman was obsessing him and he didn’t even know her name. He glanced back at her. She was looking at him! Looking at him in a way that was surprisingly calculating when he put it together with the vulnerability that he had previously sensed.
Then her expression altered, tensed. Her eyes had locked on to someone behind him. He twisted in his seat to trace her line of vision. She could be looking at either one of the two men standing side by side at the bar. One was a slightly built man of medium height. He had a European look about him, and he was leaning back against the bar with a beer in his hand. The other man was taller. He wore a three-piece suit with a lightweight coat thrown over his shoulders. Jerome turned back to find the woman looking at him again. This time he didn’t mistake the calculation. She broke the gaze.
Minutes passed while Jerome stared down into his drink. The lady was definitely tempting. These days, if he wanted something, he usually got it. Yet there was something about her. . . .
Once again he succumbed to the urge to look toward her booth. She was gone! How could she have vanished like that? He knew she hadn’t passed him. She couldn’t have without his knowing it. He would have sensed her movement. Would have felt it in his every cell. Damn. How could someone he had never even met, never even talked to, never even touched, affect him so? But she had. And now she was gone, and curiously he felt as if a part of him were gone too.
Then suddenly she was beside him and it had begun.
#
"No?" he asked curiously.
"Well, what I mean is, I think it would be better if we took a taxi."
A finely tuned instinct, one that had been with him since he had been a lonely, scared kid on his own, fought forward through his aroused senses. "May I ask why?"
Jennifer’s voice lilted provocatively. "Would you believe I enjoy riding in cabs?"
He smiled charmingly at her. "Is there a reason why I shouldn’t believe you?"
"No, of course not." Abruptly she rose. "Let’s go."
"Certainly." Jerome threw some bills down onto the table. He grabbed his own heavy, all-weather trench coat, threw it across his shoulder, then reached for her raincoat and held it for her as she slid her arms into it. It was really nothing more than a black shell that would provide protection against little except rain. "I’ve been in here all night. Is there rain threatening?"
She looked up at him through her lashes and parted her lips slightly. "Storms can come up at any time. Especially on a night like this. Don’t you agree?"
"I think I do," he murmured.
. . .
Want more? Purchase Mysterious and Fayrene’s other ebooks at www.FayrenePreston.com
. . .
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
For the Love of Sami Page 15
