Mysterious (2 page)

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.

Outside Charlie’s, Jerome motioned a cruising taxi to the curb.

"Evenin’, folks," the cabdriver greeted them. He was a young man with a rough face and a nose that appeared to have been broken many times. His license said his name was Phil Waznoski. "Where to?"

"Just start driving," Jennifer ordered shortly.

"Yes, ma’am." The young man touched his cap and pushed down the flag. The cab lurched away from the curb.

With his arm on the window beside him and his face resting in the cradle of his thumb and forefinger, Jerome looked at her thoughtfully. What kind of game was she playing? Even though he didn’t want to give the thought credence, he knew very well that he could be walking into some kind of setup.

He was well known in the state, and he had a law partner who was an adviser to the President of the United States. There could be any number of reasons why someone would want to try to discredit him, or through him, Daniel. He asked, "Do you have a preference?"

She started, as if her mind had been miles away. "As to what?"

"As to a hotel."

"No, I’m afraid I’m relatively new to the area, so I’m not familiar with the names of hotels here. But perhaps we could go to one of the bigger ones. One that’s not too close to where we are now."

A little of his wariness receded. Without taking his eyes off her, Jerome spoke to the cabdriver. "Hotel Randolph, please."

"Yes, sir," the young cab driver replied.

At least she was letting him pick the hotel, he thought. So how could there be someone waiting for them with a rehearsed scam or hidden cameras? Yet he suspected that she was perfectly capable of carrying out a plan on her own, without help. After all, she had gotten him this far, hadn’t she?

There were all sorts of ways he could look at this—and all of them were interesting. A woman who could easily be the center of any man’s dream had walked into his life and asked him to take her to a hotel for the night.

Well, he wanted her and he was going to have her. But at the same time it wouldn’t do to let his guard down. If there was a person or a group of people who meant him or Daniel harm, he needed to find out about it.

Jennifer spread long, delicate fingers through her rippling brown hair and laughed. "I suppose you’re not used to a woman having such definite preferences. I mean a hotel room instead of your apartment, a cab instead of your car."

Jerome gave her a long, enigmatic smile and watched as a myriad of expressions chased across her face.

"On second thought," she whispered, "I bet women tell you all the time exactly what they want, and I also bet you have no trouble giving it to them."

He reached to brush a curl off her cheek. "Tell me. Just Jennifer, do you always say and do such outrageous things?"

"I’m sorry. Have I offended you?"

"Not at all. In fact. I find you most intriguing." He didn’t lie. Despite his suspicions, he couldn’t remember ever being so intrigued with a woman— even though at this particular moment he seemed to have lost her attention. She had turned and was looking out the back window. "Jennifer?"

"Yes?" She shook her hair back and looked at him.

His smile was gently mocking. "As I was saying, you’re intriguing. You’re here beside me"—he curled his hand around the back of her neck—" so close that I can touch you, or . . . " —he pulled her to him and pressed his mouth gently to hers— "kiss you." He put a finger to the full lips he had just kissed, liking the feel of the souvenir of warmth his lips had left on hers. "I admit that I can’t do everything to you that I want here and now, but that will come."

"Jerome, I—"

"Shhhh." He pressed his finger into the softness of her mouth to silence her. "We’re almost at the hotel."

On the one hand, Jennifer decided as she stepped out of the taxi, she was glad that the ride was over. Sitting beside Jerome Mailer in the narrow backseat had been an unnerving experience On the other hand, she definitely was anxious now that they’d reached the hotel and she had a whole new set of problems to face. Jerome’s eyes, pale blue and so intense, didn’t seem to miss a thing. But then, what had she expected?

She had noticed him only moments after entering the bar. There had been a quiet strength and integrity about him that set him apart. Expensively dressed, and with a definite air of sophistication and experience, he had commanded her attention immediately. Quite a feat, considering everything. She had been surprised by her attraction to him because it was so uncharacteristic, not to say inappropriate. Beyond his role in her deception, he should mean nothing to her. But he did. Why this man and why now?

Standing out on the sidewalk while he paid the driver, she noticed once more how good-looking he was, with his sandy-colored hair and self-assured air. He said something to the driver, then quickly pivoted and caught her staring at him. He smiled and she found herself smiling back. What a nice smile he had, she thought.

He came swiftly to her side, took her arm, and guided her through the big glass doors into the lobby. Dear God, she prayed, let her plan work.

"Wait!"

Jerome paused, raising a brow questioningly. "Don’t you like the hotel? It’s an excellent one, but if you would rather, we could always go someplace else."

"No, no, the hotel’s fine," she assured him, at the same time attempting to concentrate on what she had to do. Timing would be everything. But when he focused his whole attention on her, her thoughts veered to the way his gaze danced so intimately over her . . . and the way his mouth curved so seductively. She made an effort to collect her wits. "But there is one more thing."

"Now, how did I guess?" he murmured sardonically.

"When you register, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t use your real name."

A peculiar glint came into his eye. "What name would you like me to use?" he asked carefully.

"I don’t know. Smith would be okay. It doesn’t matter, as long as you don’t use your name."

"Okay," he drawled. "Now that I think about it, I suppose registering us as Mr. and Mrs. Smith does have its advantages. I mean, I would at least have a last name for you. I wouldn’t have to call you Just Jennifer anymore." He studied her for a long, unnerving moment and discovered an almost haunted darkness in the depths of her eyes. He wondered about it. "What do you think? If I called you Jennifer Smith, would you answer?"

"I’d answer," she said, using her low, smoky voice as she would a slow-flowing harmonious melody to touch him, to move him.

"Yes," he whispered, "but how close to your real name would I be?"

"Please. This is important to me."

"What is it, Jennifer? Does it take these things—a cab, a hotel room, a different name—to turn you on? Can’t you get into the mood any other way?"

She flushed, but kept direct eye contact with him. "Just do it for me, Jerome, please. Oh–" Her eyes widened. "Do you have enough money to pay cash?"

He stared at her for a long moment. "What would you do if I didn’t?"

She ran her tongue around her lips, moistening them. "I-I don’t know."

There was an ominous stillness within him as he slid his long finger along her neck. "Lady, I have a feeling you’re the type of woman that a man would do almost anything for."

They were shown to the suite Jerome had requested. In addition to a bedroom and bath, it had an intimate and luxurious parlor area, and a fully stocked bar, complete with chilled bottles of champagne. Surveying it, Jennifer decided that Jerome Mailer was obviously used to the finer things in life. And he had been able to pay cash. She felt cold. She had the feeling she had jumped from one frying pan into another.

Playing for time, she strolled around the sitting room. She fished a cigarette from the pack he’d gotten for her and she’d left in her purse. She lit it as her mind busily turned things over.

Jerome had done everything she had asked and without much resistance. It was just as well, too, because it had been vital that he do so. So then, why did she have the feeling that somehow it was he who was in charge instead of her? She admired him. If only— Abruptly she stopped herself. It was foolish to wish that they had met under other circumstances. She had never been the type to wish for the moon, and she wasn’t going to start now. She had too many realities to deal with at the moment and, at this precise point in time, Jerome Mailer was right up there at the top.

Sadly she shook her head, then turned to find him looking at her with those penetrating eyes of his. She crushed the cigarette out, barely smoked. "Isn’t this suite a little extravagant just for one night?"

With a casualness she envied, Jerome removed his jacket and laid it over the back of a chair. Loosening his tie and the top buttons on his shirt, he sank onto the couch. "Not necessarily. I don’t think I’ll regret spending the money. I plan to get every penny’s worth." He patted the cushion next to him. "Come sit down."

"In a minute," she hedged. Opening the door to the bedroom, she spied a huge bed. She went back to retrieve her purse. "If you don’t mind, I’d like to freshen up."

Jerome gave an agreeable wave of his hand, and she turned toward the door again.

"Jennifer," he called softly.

She paused and looked back over her shoulder. "Yes?"

At least she answered to the name Jennifer, he thought, brooding. Maybe that was her real name. "Have you had dinner?" he asked. "Are you hungry?"

"No . . . that is. I had something earlier."

"Are you sure? How about something to drink?"

"Whatever you’d like," she agreed in a voice that told him she really didn’t care one way or the other. She entered the bedroom and closed the door behind her.

Jerome contemplated the closed door thoughtfully. This was really strange. Something was going on, something other than what this situation appeared to be on the surface—a casual pickup between two people who were mutually attracted. Underneath that smooth, sultry facade that Jennifer presented, her nerves were strung tight, too tight.

He sprang into action, making a quick tour of the room, looking for anything out of the ordinary, bugs or hidden cameras. It was true he had been allowed to pick the hotel, but who knew what she would have done if he hadn’t picked this hotel? She could have suddenly decided she had a partiality to a particular hotel and then remembered the name of the Hotel Randolph. There were any number of ways a scam could be worked. The man at the desk had chosen this suite for them. If it were a big enough operation, the man at the desk could very well be in on the whole thing with her.

How many times had he been told that he was too cynical, too cautious, he reflected mirthlessly as he replaced a mirror that had turned out to be just a mirror. And how many times had he been proven right. However, he could never recall another time when he wished more fervently than he did now that he would be proven wrong.

Through the closed bedroom door he heard another door open and shut. Quickly he reached behind the bar and threaded the fingers of one hand around two glasses. With his other hand he lifted a bottle of champagne out of the small refrigerator. Then he returned to his position on the couch and greeted her.

"I decided tonight deserved champagne."

She gave a throaty laugh as she approached the couch and chose the farthest cushion to sit on. "A magnum! Do you really think we can drink all that?"

"I’m sure we will." He scooted along the couch until he was beside her. "If it’s up to me, this night will last a long, long time."

She started up, but a casual hand on her arm kept her seated. "Please," he whispered with an enticing persuasiveness, "don’t get up."

The warmth of his touch burrowed through her, reaching clear to the ice that had been in her bones for the last two days. It was hard not to relax under his practiced charm. He seemed very experienced in handling skittish women, she decided, although she would be willing to bet that the women who got this close to his bedroom were more than eager to be there.