"I was thinking more along the lines of a Diet Coke or springwater."
"I wouldn't mind a splash of either."
"In the bourbon," they said in unison. Then they laughed
together.
When the laughter waned, he looked at her
with a direct and serious gaze.
"Is there someone waiting at home for you?"
She didn't immediately acknowledge the question. Not until she came to a stop sign did she turn her head. He locked gazes with a pair of gray eyes that turned out to be her best feature of all—and they were all damn near spectacular.
"Why?"
"Because I'd like to invite you to join me for a drink. Any reason I shouldn't?"
She shook her head, then returned her eyes to the road and put the car in motion again.
"Okay, then, would you care to join me for a drink?" "Chief, you do understand the difference between a media
escort and the other, more prurient type, don't you?"
He would have feared that he'd overstepped his bounds and
offended her, except that her question was accompanied by a
teasing smile.
He laid his hand on his heart.
"I didn't mean to
imply that you are anything o
ther than a professional."
Winc
ing, he said, "Oh, jeez, that didn't come out right, either, did
it?"
"No, it didn't," she said, laughing.
Relaxing, he said, "Explain your job to me."
She gave him the condensed version, then expanded. "Most of the time is spent in the car traversing the metropolitan sprawl, seeing to it that the client gets to all his appointments and media engagements on time, relaxed, and in a positive frame of mind. I try and protect the client from any inherent chaos that might arise at any point along the way."
"Like what?"
"Stalled traffic. Last-minute cancellations. Last-minute
additions to the schedule. Illness. Just about anything your imagination can conjure up. Sometimes the schedule is tight and I'm barely allowed travel time. That's why I carry all this stuff with me," she said, tipping her head back to indicate the supplies in the floorboard of the back seat. "I even have a first-aid kit, a sewing box, and Handi Wipes."
"Handi Wipes?"
"I once escorted a TV diva who had a phobia about shaking hands with the general public. She washed after every contact."
"Who?"
She cocked her head and looked at him askance. "Do you
want me to divulge your secrets to my other clients?"
"I don't have any secrets." But the mischievous grin he gave
her belie
d
the claim.
"Right," she drawled. "Anyway, the Handi Wipes are also good for wiping TV makeup off dark fabrics."
"No kidding? Huh. You learn something every day."
"I've learned by improvising. It's also my job to see that my clients are given their due just for being who they are, and that they receive—whether they deserve it or not—the red carpet treatment everywhere they go."
"I can attest to that."
She smiled at him. "Then I get a gold star for tonight. You were supposed to feel free of all responsibility except for making your speech."
Because he was enjoying listening to her, he continued asking questions. He learned that her job didn't always end with chauffeuring and orchestrating a news conference.
"Say a client wants some company—I provide it. I've become a very good listener. I take them anyplace they want to go. Restaurant, amusement park, concert, movie theater. One repeat client, an author who goes on a book tour every spring, loves to play pool. It's his way of unwinding and clearing out the cobwebs. We play each time he's in town."
"And I suppose you always let him win."
"The hell I do!"
Chief laughed. "You don't resent doing these little extras?"
"Those '
little extras,' as you call them, keep repeat clients coming back and earn me new ones. Word gets around, especially among authors who routinely tour. Of course, we escorts compare notes on the celebs, too. Who's nice, who's weird, who's a terror."
He considered her in profile. He couldn't have been the only man to notice how attractive she was. Riding next to her all day in the confines of a car could prove to be a temptation to a man who was far from hearth and home. "You must draw the line somewhere. To those little extras, I mean."
"Strip joints or topless bars are a no-no. I won't procure a prostitute, male or female. If that's what they're looking for, they're on their own. Anything having to do with controlled substances is out, of course. And..." She glanced at him. "Let's put it this way: I once escorted an actor who copped a feel during the drive back to his hotel. I stopped the car, shoved him out, and let him find his own way back."
"Repercussions?"
"Who was he going to complain to? His wife is his manager. It was she who booked me. Besides, his monstrous ego would never have permitted him to tell about a rejection."
Chief laughed with her. "Give me a hint."
She hesitated a moment, then said, "An over-the-hill stud." "I can think of fifty. Stage, screen, or TV?"
"Screen."
"That narrows it down. What are his initials?"
She shook her head. "Too easy."
"What'd he cop a feel of?"
She shot him a retiring look.
"Above the waist or below? Just tell me that much." "Chief!"
"Okay, then. I'll just have to give my imagination free rein." She glared at him, but it was still all in fun. "Above." "Hmm. Can't blame a guy for trying."
"I did. I'll go out of my way to meet a client's needs and wishes. Within reason."
"Aw, jeez."
"What?"
"Well, I was going to put in a request." When she was looking at him, he added, "I just hope you consider it within reason."
"Jem!"
"Don't be angry because I didn't call first," he said quickly. "I had to see you, Gillian. Especially after our conversation ended on such a sour note."
"I was unhappy about that, too."
"Then can I please come in? Just for a little while. I promise not to stay long."
She wasn't overjoyed to see him, and she resented this unannounced visit. He had a bad habit of dropping in without giving notice, which she secretly considered a violation of privacy. But he was smiling sweetly, beseechingly, and the front door threshold wasn't the ideal spot for a discussion of character flaws. She stepped aside and motioned him in.
"As you can see, I wasn't expecting a gentleman caller." "You look adorable. I prefer you without makeup." "Then you should have your eyesight checked."
Laughing softly, he pulled her against him and kissed her lips gently and noninvasively. He was sensitive enough to her mood not to press his luck with a deep kiss. When he pulled away, his eyes moved up to the towel wrapped around her head. "I even like the turban."
"I'm deep-conditioning my hair."
Although it wasn't even nine o'clock yet, she already had on sleepwear—cotton boxer shorts and a matching top. It was a comfy outfit, but not what you'd call fetching. Another blow to her ego was that Jem looked like he had stepped out of a band box. Even in khakis and a polo shirt, he was, as usual, well turned out.
Taking her hand, he led her into the living room and pulled her down onto the sofa beside him. "I had to come tonight, Gillian. I didn't want to wait and give you the gift tomorrow. It had to be today. On the actual day you were inseminated." He slipped his hand into his pocket and produced a velvet jewelry box.
"Jem! When you said '
surprise,' I thought you meant something like flowers. Chocolates. But this? Shouldn't you wait until after the blood test, until we know I'm actually pregnant?"
"I want you to know that I'm with you all the way. Whether you conceive this time or have to try again, I want to share this event with you. I want to be involved in the baby's life from the very beginning."
She glanced at the box and for one heart-stopping moment feared that he was about to propose marriage. But the box was oblong, not square like a ring box. When he opened the spring-hinged lid, he took her soft cry of relief to be an exclamation of delight.
"You like it?"
"It's beautiful, Jem."
The gold chain was very slender but sturdy enough to hold the small, heart-shaped pendant of clustered rubies. "I thought it would complement your coloring."
"It's lovely. Truly."
He removed the pendant from the box and placed it around her neck, securing it with the tiny clasp. Then, taking her by the shoulders, he turned her back to face him, looking very pleased with himself. "Perfect. Go look."
He guided her to the mirror above the console table. The pendant was indeed beautiful, reflecting ruby sparks of light off her skin. Turning back to him, she struck a glamour-girl pose. "Am I gorgeous or what?"
"You're gorgeous. And sexy. Even if you do have a towel on
your head. You're going to be gorgeous and sexy during the pregnancy, too."
"When I'm ballooned out like a blimp?"
He splayed his hand over her lower abdomen and, with his other arm around her waist, pulled her close. "Even then." He
kissed her neck, murmuring, "Gillian, I want you tonight. Please let me stay."
When his hand slid between her thighs, she stopped it with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Jem."
"What's the matter?"
"Don't ask to stay tonight, because I don't want to refuse you."
"Then don't," he said, reaching for her again.
She dug her heels in when he tried to pull her against him, but she cradled his face between her hands. "I just can't be
with you tonight. It's hard to explain. I couldn't make you understand over the telephone, and I can't now."
"I can explain it," he said curtly. "You had lunch with Melina today."
"What has Melina got to do with it?" she snapped back.
"You tell me. Every time you see her, I coincidentally turn into poison."
"That's not true." "Then what's wrong?"
"I can't put it into words." "Give it a shot."
She took a moment, then said, "It would feel awkward to have sex so soon after the procedure."
"I read that they encourage couples to have sex afterward."
She was surprised that he knew what the experts recommended. He must have been doing his own research on the
subject. "That's true. Intimacy soon afterward is encouraged for couples—"
"We're a couple."
"Not a couple who have tried for years to conceive."
"So, we're fudging." Smiling engagingly, he placed his hands at her waist.
"It's a personal thing, Jem," she said, worming free of his hands. "My heart and mind wouldn't be in it tonight, and that wouldn't be fair to you or enjoyable for either of us." When she saw that he was about to offer another
argument
, she laid her fingers against his lips. "Please? I need you to understand. Indulge me. Let me have a headache tonight."
Grudgingly he kissed her fingertips, then the tip of her nose.
"All right. I'd be a heel not to. I'll go home and take a cold shower. Maybe two. I guess I'll have to get accustomed to these hormonal inconsistencies, won't I?"
"I suppose you will," she replied, smiling with him. "We can see each other tomorrow."
"Lunch?"
"Call me in the morning. I'll check my schedule for lunch. But definitely sometime tomorrow."
She saw him to the door, where he kissed her again lightly on the lips. "The pendant is truly beautiful," she told him as she fingered it where it lay against her throat.
"You're beautiful. I love you."
"I love you, too."
CHAPTER 4
"
Tacos?"
The picture of innocence, Chief said, "What'd you think I was going to ask you for, Melina?"
She could tell that he was trying hard to contain a wicked smile. "Not tacos."
"I'm a junk-food junkie. Besides, I'm starving."
"You didn't like your dinner?"
"I couldn't eat it for all the people talking to me and the autographs I ended up signing. Would it be out of our way to stop?"
"Tacos are easy to come by."
"Can you find a place open this late?"
"It's not even ten o'clock."
"You
sure?" He checked his wristwatch to confirm the time. "Huh. It seemed like the banquet dragged on forever."
A few minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of a fast-food chain restaurant. Although it was past the normal dinner hour, it was doing a brisk business. "Do you want to drive through or go inside?"
A long line of cars was wrapped around the building awaiting their turn at the window
.
Inside, the restaurant didn't appear to be as crowded. He said, "I've got nothing to hide, do you?"