The Name of the Game

by Nora Roberts

  “You really do come here a lot, don’t you?”

  “When I first came to California I had two priorities. Get a job—an acting job—and go to Disneyland. Whenever my family comes out we always spend at least one day here.”

  Johanna looked around as they walked. There were families, so many families. Infants and toddlers pushed in strollers, children with sticky faces riding piggyback and pointing toward the next adventure.

  “I guess it is an amazing place. Everything seems real while it’s going on.”

  “It is real when it’s going on.” He stepped to the back of the line, undaunted by its length. After a moment’s hesitation, he took a chance. “I was Pluto for six weeks.”

  “Pluto?”

  “The dog, not the planet.”

  “I know who Pluto is,” she murmured. Absently adjusting her hat, she frowned at him. “You actually worked here?”

  “In a dog suit. A very hot dog suit—no pun intended. It paid my first month’s rent.”

  “What exactly did you do?” The line shifted up.

  “Marched in the parade, posed for pictures, waved and sweated a lot. I really wanted to be Captain Hook, because he gets to have sword fights and look evil, but Pluto was all that was open.”

  Johanna tried to imagine it, and nearly could. “I always thought he was cute.”

  “I was a terrific Pluto. Very lovable and loyal. I did cut it from my résumé after a while, but that was on Marv’s suggestion.”

  “Marv? Oh, your agent?”

  “He thought playing a six-foot dog was the wrong image to project.”

  While Johanna thought that one through, they were ushered inside. The spiel was camp and full of bad puns, but she couldn’t help being pulled in. The pictures on the walls changed, the room shrank, the lights went out. There was no turning back.

  By the time they were in their tram and starting on the tour she was, so to speak, entering into the spirit of things.

  The producer in her couldn’t fail to be impressed by the show. Holograms, music and elaborate props were blended to entertain, to raise goose pimples and nervous chuckles. Not so scary that the toddlers in the group would go home with nightmares, but not so tame that the adults felt cheated out of the price of a ticket, Johanna decided as she watched ghosts and spirits whirl around in a dilapidated, cobweb-draped dining room.

  Sam had been right about one thing. It was real while it was going on. Not everything in life could be trusted to be the same.

  She didn’t have to be prodded any further, not to visit a pirate’s den and dodge cannon fire, nor to take a cruise up the Amazon or a train ride through Indian territory. She watched mechanical bears perform, ate dripping ice cream and forgot she was a grown woman who had been to Paris and dined in an English manor but had never been to Disneyland.

  By the time they started back to the car she was exhausted, but in the most pleasant way she could remember.

  “I did not scream,” she insisted, holding the small stuffed Pluto he’d bought her in a headlock.

  “You never stopped screaming,” Sam corrected. “From the minute that car started moving through Space Mountain until it stopped again. You’ve got excellent lungs.”

  “Everyone else was screaming.” In truth, she hadn’t a clue whether she’d screamed or not. The car had taken its first dive, and planets had raced toward her. Johanna had simply squeezed her eyes shut and held on.

  “Want to go back and do it again?”

  “No,” she said definitely. “Once was quite enough.”

  Sam opened the car door but turned before she could climb in. “Don’t you like thrills, Johanna?”

  “Now and again.”

  “How about now?” He cupped her face in his hands. “And again later.”

  He kissed her as he’d wanted to do since he’d seen her studiously mopping her floor that morning. Her lips were warm, as he’d known they would be, but softer, incredibly softer, than he’d remembered. They hesitated. There was a sweetness in that, a sweetness that was its own allure.

  So he lingered, longer than he’d intended. He wanted, more than was wise. When she started to back away, he gathered her closer and took, more than either of them had expected.

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Johanna told herself even as she stopped resisting both of them. She was supposed to be strong, in charge, reachable only when and if she chose to be. With him, he only had to touch . . . No, he only had to look and she began losing ground.

  All her careful analysis that morning was blown to dust the minute his mouth was on hers.

  I don’t want this. Her mind tried to cling to that thought while her heart beat out steadily: But you do, yes, you do. She could almost feel herself separating into two parts, one aloof, one almost pitifully vulnerable. The most frightening thing was that this time she was more than afraid that vulnerability would be the stronger.

  “I want to be alone with you, Johanna.” He said it against her lips, then again against her cheek as he trailed kisses there. “Anywhere, anywhere at all as long as it’s only you and me. I haven’t been able to get you out of my system.”

  “I don’t think you’ve been trying.”

  “You’re wrong.” He kissed her again, feeling her renewed resistance swerve toward passion. That was the most exciting, the most irresistible thing about her, the way she wanted, held back and wanted again. “I’ve actually given it a hell of a shot. I kept telling myself you’re too complicated, too uptight, too driven.” He felt her lips move into a frown and was seduced into nibbling on them. “Then I find ways to see you again.”

  “I’m not uptight.”

  He sensed her change of mood but could only be amused by it. Johanna, outraged, was fascinating. “Lady, half the time you’re like a spring that’s wound to the limit and just waiting to bust out. And I damn well intend to be there when you do.”

  “That’s ridiculous. And don’t call me lady.” She snatched the keys from him, decided she’d do the driving this time.

  “We’ll see about that.” He climbed into the car and nearly managed to stretch out his legs and get comfortable. “Going to give me a lift home?”

  She was tempted, more than tempted, to order him out and strand him in the parking lot, right under Donald Duck’s cheerful beak. Instead, she decided to give him the ride of his life. “Sure.” Johanna put the car in gear.

  She drove cautiously enough through the lot. It was, after all, full of pedestrians, many of them children. Things changed when she hit the freeway. She whipped around three cars, settled in the fast lane and rammed down on the gas pedal.

  Drives like she’s ready to bust, too, Sam thought, but said nothing. Her speedometer might have been hovering around ninety, but her hands were competent on the wheel. And she might, he thought, burn off that temper that had fired up when he’d called her uptight.

  She hated it that he was right. That was the worst of it. She knew very well that she was full of nerves and hang-ups and insecurities. Didn’t she spend most of her time fighting them off or blanketing them over? It didn’t do her any good to hear Sam pinpoint it so casually.

  When she’d made the conscious and very calculated decision to make love with a fellow college student, he, too, had called her uptight. Sexually. “Loosen up” had been his sage advice. She hadn’t been able to, not with him, who she’d been fond of, nor with any of the men she’d developed careful relationships with. So she’d stopped trying.

  She wasn’t a man-hater. That would be absurd. She simply didn’t want to be tied to one, emotionally or sexually. Her eyes had been opened young, and she’d never forgotten how those two tools could be used. So perhaps she was uptight, though she detested the word. Better that than loose enough to tumble for a pair of wonderful blue eyes or a lazy drawl.

  Mad as hell, Sam thought. That was fine. He preferred strong emotion. As a matter of fact, he preferred any emotion at all when it came from Johanna. He didn’t mind her being
angry with him, because if she was angry she was thinking. About him. He wanted her to do a lot of that.

  God knew he’d been thinking about her. Constantly. He’d been telling her no less than the truth when he’d said he’d tried to get her out of his system. When it hadn’t worked, he’d decided to stop beating his head against the wall and see where the road would lead.

  It was a bumpy ride, but he was enjoying every minute of it.

  He was going to have her, sooner or later. Sooner, he hoped for the sake of his sanity. But for now he’d let her drive awhile.

  When he saw she was going to miss the exit, he gestured. “You want to get off here.”

  Johanna switched lanes, aggressively challenging traffic, and breezed onto the ramp.

  “How about dinner next week?” He said it casually, as though the interlude in the parking lot had been as make-believe as the rest of the day. When she said nothing, he fought back a grin and tossed his arm over the seat. “Wednesday’s good for me. I can pick you up at your office.”

  “I’m busy next week.”

  “You’ve got to eat. Let’s make it six.”

  She downshifted for a turn. “You’re going to have to learn to take no for an answer.”

  “I don’t think so. Take the left fork.”

  “I remember,” she said between her teeth, though she didn’t.

  She drove in silence, slowing down only slightly when she passed through the gate of his ranch. Sam leaned over casually and tooted her horn. When she stopped in front of his house he sat there a moment, as though gathering his thoughts.

  “Want to come in?”

  “No.”

  “Want to fight?”

  She would not be amused or charmed or soothed. “No.”

  “All right, we can fight some other time. Want to hear a theory of mine? Never mind,” he said before she could answer. “Listen anyway. The way I figure it, there are three stages to a relationship. First you like somebody. Then, if things work out, you start to care for them. When the big guns hit, you fall in love with them.”

  She kept her hands on the wheel because they’d gone damp all at once. “That’s very interesting. If only life worked that neatly.”

  “I’ve always thought it does—if you let it. Anyway, Johanna, I went past liking you last night and went straight into the second stage. A woman like you wants reasons for that kind of thing, but I haven’t got a handle on them yet.”

  Her hands had stopped sweating and were now as cold as ice, though the heat was baking right through the windshield. “Sam, I said before I don’t think this is a good idea. I still believe that.”

  “No, you still want to believe that.” He waited patiently until she looked at him. “There’s a difference, Johanna. A big one. I care for you, and I figured we’d do better if I let you know.” He leaned over to kiss her. A very gentle threat. “You’ve got until Wednesday to think about it.”

  He got out of the car, then leaned in through the window. “Drive carefully, will you? You can always kick something when you get home if you’re still mad.”

  7

  It had been a long day. In fact, it had been several long days. Johanna didn’t mind. The pressure to solve problems and work through a few minor crises had kept her mind off her personal life.

  Her lighting director had chosen Monday, taping day, to have an appendectomy. She sent flowers and wished him—not for totally altruistic reasons—a speedy recovery. John Jay, in the middle of contract negotiations, had decided to have laryngitis. Johanna had been forced to pamper and cajole—and make a few veiled threats—to work an instant and miraculous cure. Her assistant lighting man had proven to be competent and unruffled, even after three technical hitches. Still, the day had been lengthened by two hours.

  Tuesday had stretched even further with meetings to discuss the photo sessions for the ads and the final preparations for the following week’s contest. Security had been strengthened to guard that set of questions. A special safe had been purchased, and only she had the combination. Only she and Bethany knew which five questions had been sealed inside. Johanna began to feel like the head of the CIA.

  A meeting with her father had been draining and difficult. They’d both been professional, executive producer to producer, as they’d discussed the show’s status and plans for expansion. He’d absently mentioned an engagement party and told her his secretary would be in touch.

  And, of course, because she considered it part of her job, Johanna watched Trivia every morning. It was just a nasty trick of fate that Sam’s appearance ran this week. It was difficult enough not to think of him, and impossible when she was forced to watch him every day—long shots, close-ups. By Wednesday they had already received a stack of mail from delighted viewers.

  Wednesday.

  He’d given her until Wednesday to think about it. To think about him. Them. She just hadn’t had the time, Johanna told herself as she turned up the volume and prepared to watch the day’s segment. If she’d allowed herself to think about it she would have come up with a way, a polite and reasonable way, to get out of a dinner she hadn’t even accepted.

  The bright, bouncy opening theme came on, the lights flashed. The two celebrity panelists walked through the arch, then paused for applause before they took their seats. Johanna struggled to look at the big picture, but she kept focusing on him.

  Relaxed. He always looked so relaxed, so confident about who he was. That was something she couldn’t help but admire about him. He was at ease and put his partner at ease while still maintaining that larger-than-life quality people expected from stars.

  So he was good at his job, Johanna told herself as she paced back and forth during the commercial break. That didn’t mean she was infatuated with him.

  When the show came back on, she took her chair again, wishing she didn’t need to have that very small and indirect contact with him.

  It’s my job, Johanna reminded herself. But she lost track of the game as she watched him. And she remembered, a bit too clearly, that after this segment had been taped she had had her first real conversation with him. She’d taken a dare, and had lost. Since that one miscalculation, nothing had been the same.

  She wanted it to be the same. The quick panic surprised her, but she fought it back and tried to think logically. She did want it to be the same as it had been before, when her life had been focused on career and nudged by ambition, both heated and cooled by pride. There hadn’t been any sleepless nights then. Tension and self-doubt, perhaps, but no sleepless nights.

  And there hadn’t been any rides down a mountain on a raft, either, her mind echoed.

  She didn’t need them. Sam could keep his thrills. All she required was peace of mind.

  He was in the winner’s circle, surrounded by lights and the audience’s total support. Johanna remembered that the quick, cocky grin had been for her benefit. The minute the congratulatory applause began, she snapped off the set.

  On impulse, she went to the phone. Rather than going through her secretary, Johanna dialed direct. Such minor precautions were a bit late, since her picture—with Sam—had already been in the paper, and the speculation about them as a couple had already begun. Johanna had decided there was no use adding to the gossip that was already buzzing around the office.

  She was calm, she told herself even as she wound the phone cord around her fingers. She wasn’t being stubborn or spiteful, but sensible.

  A woman’s voice answered. Hearing it gave Johanna all the justification she needed. A man like Sam would always have women around. And a man like that was precisely what she wanted to avoid.

  “I’d like to speak with Mr. Weaver. This is Johanna Patterson calling.”

  “Sam’s not in. I’d be happy to take a message.” On the other end of the line, Mae was digging for the notepad she always carried in her apron pocket. “Patterson?” she repeated, then shifted the phone and grinned. “Sam’s spoken about you. You’re the one who does Trivia Alert.
”

  Johanna frowned for a moment at the idea of Sam talking about her to one of his women. “Yes, I am. Would you mind—”

  “I never miss it,” Mae continued conversationally. “I always keep it on when I’m cleaning. Then I see if Joe can answer any of the questions that night at dinner. Joe’s my husband. I’m Mae Block.”

  So this was Mae, the one who shoveled out the dust and grew the snapdragons. Johanna’s vision of a pretty morning visitor faded and left her more than a little ashamed. “I’m glad you like the show.”

  “Crazy about it,” Mae assured her. “As a matter of fact, I just had it on. Got a real kick out of seeing our Sam on it. Thought he did real good, too. I even put it on the VCR so Joe could see it later. We’re all just crazy about Sam. He speaks real kindly of you, too. Did you like your flowers?”

  Having at last found a space in Mae’s rapid-fire conversation for a word, Johanna managed to insert one. “Flowers?”