Considering he was asking his sister to go shopping with a stranger, these were probably not unreasonable questions, but he felt annoyed by them. Surreptitiously, he snapped a picture of the snoozing Jessica and sent it.
The pause between texts seemed unreasonably long.
What have you done to her?
Nothing! She’s had a long day. And a terrible shock. And a shot of cognac.
She’s cute.
It was his turn to be silent.
In an understated way.
He remained silent.
She doesn’t look like a cognac drinker.
Did that sound faintly accusatory? That was the problem with texting. The nuances of communication were completely missing. He refused to respond.
I’ll get a sitter. Tomorrow morning?
Perfect.
Jamie disconnected, and thought, way too late, it might have been a mistake to involve his sister. Jessica let out a long sigh that blew a tendril of her hair up off her cheek. Her hair was coming out of the clip that held it. He had thought at first her hair was nondescript, a shade of light brown he was pretty sure they used the term “mousy” for. But there in the darkened car, only the lights from the dash and his phone screen for illumination, her hair lying across her shoulder looked as if it had been spun from unrefined gold nuggets. He was aware of that scent, subtle and sweet, a field of lavender, wrapping itself around him.
He suddenly had more misgivings about his plan. Was his sister’s arrival to rescue him tomorrow enough? What about tonight? What was Jessica going to sleep in tonight? Would the hotel have a shop that was open and that sold something suitable?
He could feel a little throb beginning behind his eyes. He realized he didn’t want to think about what she slept in, not tonight or any other night either.
He’d give her his credit card. She could buy something to sleep in. He wouldn’t know what it was, thank God, until the bill came. She could order food, too. It would be nice if he did that for her, but he had a feeling she was the kind of person it could prove dangerous to be nice to.
Mistake or not, he was going to be very glad to turn her over to Sarah.
CHAPTER THREE
JESSICA WOKE SLOWLY. She didn’t open her eyes right away. Momentarily, she had no idea where she was. There was a lovely scent in the air—leather and spice. She wanted to just snuggle down into the deep seat, sleep, shut out the world. She was aware of noise outside, a constant hum, but in here it felt soothing and quiet.
A hand touched her shoulder, and she opened her eyes. There was a man leaning toward her. A very handsome man with gray-and-silver hair and sexy stubble and animal-dark eyes. It was his scent that was tickling her nostrils.
She smiled at him. He looked nonplussed.
And then it all came flooding back to her.
Little sleep.
No supper.
John F. Kennedy Airport.
Jamie Gilbert-Cooper.
A robbery.
Two shots of cognac.
And, added to the equation, she was pretty sure her hair was falling out of the clip she’d held it back with, and that she was sporting a pool of drool on her lovely red jacket.
Her smile faltered and then died.
The jacket that she was going to have to wear for days. Since she did not have one other thing. Not even a tissue. Oh, wait. She still had Jamie’s pocket square clutched in her hand. She dabbed surreptitiously at the drool spot.
“We’re at the hotel,” Jamie, her potential new boss, who had now seen her bawl her eyes out, glue herself to him and pass out, told her. “We’ll get you checked in, and you can do what you need to do to rest up. I’ll give you my credit card so you can pick up anything you need tonight. In the morning, my sister is going to take you shopping for a few...ah, necessities.”
Did the faintest wave of color move up those cheeks when he said that?
Oh, necessities.
Somehow it was nice, though, that he was capable of discomfort even though he looked like the kind of man who would handle a woman’s necessities with a certain suave aplomb. It was also nice that he had a sister. A family made him a little less cover-model-for-GQ and a little more human.
Which was actually more dangerous than cover model!
Jessica wanted to protest the shopping trip with his sister, but really? She was not in a position to protest anything, and his sister shopping with her was a relief, given the necessities part of the shopping equation.
She contemplated the plight she found herself in, and the phrase beggars cannot be choosers took on new meaning.
Beggars, like her, who had only the clothes she wore and a borrowed pocket square. The driver held open the door of the vehicle, and the quiet of the car was invaded by the sounds of the city. Jamie exited easily, a man in his element on streets crowded with busy people, even at this time of night.
She wanted to shrink away from the sudden bustle, but Jamie was holding out a hand to her. She hesitated, then took it. His hand closed around hers, and she could feel his strength and his confidence. She also felt a little thrill of excitement that had nothing to do with her first glimpse of Manhattan.
It was in reaction to that sensation that as soon as she was free of the car, she pulled her hand out of his, unfortunately staggering a little bit when she did so. She couldn’t possibly be drunk. Could she?
To her utter embarrassment, Jaime was looking at her as if he was wondering the same thing!
When was the last time she had had anything to eat? She remembered soggy eggs on toast at a hotel—that was not at all in the same league as this hotel—early this morning.
She looked past Jamie, and the streams of people enjoying a warm summer night, to the hotel. The sandstone was lit up with a floodlight and glowed
