Last Chance at Love (4 page)

“What’s the matter?” he asked, replacing the smile with a look of genuine concern.

She wasn’t so foolish as to tell him what seeing him had done to her. She turned to the ticket agent and handed him her credit card. “New York. One way, please.”

* * *

They took their seats in business class, and Allison immediately opened a newspaper, but Jake couldn’t resist closing the paper and relaxed when her inquiring look bore no censorship.

“I want us to get along well, Allison,” he began. “I grew up in a peaceful, loving family, and I’ve accepted that as the kind of life I need. I do not allow myself to spend a lot of time with contentious people. If you can’t stand my company, I’d rather we called this off before the plane leaves the gate.”

“I’m a little unsettled. It’ll pass over,
I hope.
In any case, Jake, contentiousness is not part of my disposition, so if that’s what you detect, you probably precipitated it.”

He ignored the remark. “What happened to you back there?” Whatever it was, it had plowed right through him. Oddly, he didn’t expect an explanation, because the incident had the appearance of spontaneity, a phenomenon unto itself and of its own power, so her answer held no surprise.

“I wish I knew. Don’t worry, though; I’m fine.”

He let his hand touch the side of hers; he couldn’t help it. Something in her called out to him, sparked a need in him, and it wasn’t one-sided. He knew she’d deny it, but there it was. She reacted to him exactly as he responded to her, and though he wasn’t anxious for them to get involved, he knew from experience that when nature decided to take a hand in such things, it didn’t ask permission. So he told himself he’d better take his mind off the matter, because the more he thought about her, the more she intrigued him. When the odor of fresh, perking coffee wafted into the cabin, he inhaled deeply, savoring its aroma, grateful that it overrode Allison’s tantalizing scent.

“I’d like some coffee. Sugar and cream,” he told the flight attendant.

Allison asked for plain black coffee and didn’t reply when he commented, “Unadorned, huh?”

She also hadn’t moved her hand from beside his fingers. What was he supposed to make of that?

Trying for a reaction, he teased, “Scared of gaining weight? From where I sit, you’re perfect.” He wouldn’t have thought that a simple blush could give him so much pleasure, but he relished the sight of her embarrassment as evidence that his compliment pleased her.

He sensed her uneasiness, too, but he didn’t think she’d want to be questioned about it, so he opted for impersonal conversation. “My network appearances will be taped at seven-thirty in the mornings and aired at nine-thirty,” he said, “and I have to be there an hour early. You want to go with me, or would you rather—”

That did it; immediately she removed her hand. “You’re not losing me, Mr. Covington, so please don’t try it. If I had wanted to watch you on television, I could have stayed home and done so in the comfort of my bedroom.”

His left hand went to his forehead. How did a man deal with such suspicions? He decided to ask her.

“Do you distrust everybody? Or just me? Allison, I cannot and I will not spend the next six weeks tiptoeing around your tender feelings.”

He watched her lift her chin in a display of aristocratic disdain.
For heaven’s sake, not a stuffed shirt,
he said to himself.

“My feelings are not tender,” she corrected him. “I want to make it clear that I won’t let anything or anybody prevent my carrying out this assignment, and that includes you.” Tired of hassling when he wanted to be gracious, he resorted to silence.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” she said after a time. “I’m not usually so touchy, but you seem to... I don’t know... I haven’t been my best self this morning.”

He rewarded her with an obliging smile, though it wasn’t what he felt. She’d glanced up at him for his reaction, and he’d smiled because she needed to be absolved.

* * *

Allison hadn’t considered that the simple business of registering at their hotel could prove embarrassing. After determining that they really did want separate rooms, the Drake Hotel registration clerk asked if they were traveling together. Jake said no, but she said yes, not realizing that they were being asked if they wanted adjoining rooms with a door that opened between them.

“Which is it?” the clerk asked. Heat singed her face when Jake replied that they didn’t want to be together. Flustered, she looked everywhere but at him and cringed before the clerk’s knowing gaze. She’d rather neither of them had known that she’d never checked into a hotel in the company of a man, not that it was their business.

“I’ll be ready in twenty minutes,” he said when she walked out of the elevator. “Can you make that? We’re going first to my publisher, then lunch, after which I sign at Barnes and Noble. Okay?”

She nodded. It was one thing to be attracted to him, but if she wasn’t careful she’d like him more than was healthy. Her reaction to him in the Washington Airport had distressed her, and when he’d sensed her unease and almost covered her hand with his, he’d told her more about himself than she needed to know right then. She changed into a burnt-orange suit and brown accessories, refreshed her makeup, and met him in the lobby with minutes to spare. His smile of approval had nothing to do with business and everything to do with a man liking the looks of the woman who approached him.

He held the taxi door for her and took his seat beside her. “I may not be in this evening, Allison; bright lights hold a lot of fascination for a country boy.”

She turned her body fully to face him. “Did you say you’re a country boy?”

“Surprised?”

She nodded. “I am, indeed.”

He winked. Voluntarily or not, she couldn’t tell. “Yep. I was born in Reed Hollow, Maryland, about a mile from the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. I was wondering when you’d get around to asking. Couldn’t be that you intend to stick to my present daytime activities, as you promised?”

She glanced down at her long, perfectly manicured fingers. “As a man of the world, you ought to know the folly of whetting a reporter’s appetite. The obvious is far less interesting than that which is obscure or hidden.”

She felt the tension in him, as one feels a speeding object just before it hits, and wondered at his anxiety. “Don’t get antsy. I promise to write nothing but the truth.” She watched in astonishment as he withdrew.

“Another person’s truth isn’t necessarily yours to tell. A man’s privacy is sacred.”

She refused to give quarter. “Public figures have to forgo some of their cherished privacy.”

He eased into the corner, away from her. “And the public has a right to know, damn the individual and what disclosure does to him. Right?”

Stunned, her breath lodged in her throat, and she stared at him. When she regained her equilibrium, she told him, “I’m not a monster, and I never write lies. Never.”

But her words evidently didn’t placate him, for he stared straight ahead, his expression grim. “That’s more than I’ve come to expect from reporters. Some of you can twist the truth to the point that...that love of country seems like a crime. I want to see your text as you go along, and if at any point it’s out of line, this deal is off.”

“In your dreams, mister,” she sputtered. “Not even my editor sees my copy until I’ve finished it.”

“We’ll see about that” was his dark reply.

Allison figured she’d better check in with her boss, though as always she dreaded talking with him.

“Jenkins.”

“Just checking in, Bill. We’re at the Drake.”

“
We?
Now you’re talking. Squeeze everything out of him. I’ve never yet seen a man that couldn’t be had if a woman played her cards right.”

She swallowed hard. Didn’t he ever elevate his mind? “I called to let you know where I am. My room number is eleven-B, and I believe Mr. Covington is in sixteen-H.”

She imagined his look of incredulity when he said, “You’re joking. I gave you credit for more than that.”

“I hope I didn’t misunderstand what you said, Bill.”

His snort reached her through the wires. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m in the business of scooping other papers. Play it any way you choose. Just bring me a good story, and if you find out that the guy smokes opium or sniffs coke, it had better be in your story.”

She didn’t know why she laughed, because his words hadn’t amused her. When she could control it, she asked him, “Have you ever met Jacob Covington?”

“No, and never wanted to. Why?”

“He’s a gentleman. If he’d heard your reaction to our room arrangements, he’d probably cancel this deal; he doesn’t trust
The Journal.
If you want this story, you’d better ease up and let me handle it my way.”

His long silence told volumes, but she waited. “I’ve been in this business thirty years,” he said at last, “and you’re a lamb born yesterday, but you know it better. Do what you please, but you get me that story just like I want it.”

A sense of foreboding seeped through her, and she wished she hadn’t called him.

While Jake met privately with his editor, Allison reviewed her notes in the publishing company’s waiting room. Keeping her mind on her work proved difficult; the friction between Jake and herself worried her because she sensed that they had on their hands an attraction that could erupt into full-blown passion. And she didn’t want that, at least not until she’d turned in her story. It was never far from her thoughts that she’d lost her first job because she’d fallen for Roland Farr, on whom she’d been assigned to write a story. She hoped Jacob Covington didn’t have any secrets and that, if he did, she didn’t find out about them, because whatever she discovered was going in that story. After covering for Farr, a gesture that had almost ruined her life, she had learned a painful lesson.

Chapter 2

A
llison watched Jake fold his papers and prepare to leave the store after the first book signing. “You certainly know how to work a crowd,” she told him. “I never saw so much easy charm in my life. How could you smile nonstop for three hours?”

She supposed it was human to appreciate compliments, but his broad grin and warm flush suggested that her remark meant more to him than she’d anticipated.

“When people say nice things to me, I’m a sweetheart,” he offered in an apparent attempt to cover his embarrassment. Then he winked, not once but twice. “A real pussycat. Try me; you’ll like me.”

She had to laugh. This man had many sides to his personality, and every element of it fascinated her. “Try to stay humble, Jake,” she teased. “It won’t be easy, I know, with hundreds of women lining up for a glimpse of you and the chance to own your unreadable signature. But try. Otherwise, you might sail right up into the clouds, and I’ll be unable to reach you.”

This won’t be easy,
she cautioned herself, as he continued to smile with hazel eyes that gleamed with pleasure. Worse still, she had to finesse his mesmerizing gaze while the scent of his tangy cologne teased her nostrils. Well, she was a big girl; she’d just make herself ignore it. Fat chance. Could that wink possibly be beyond his control, as he’d said? Built-in sex appeal, she thought, when he winked twice—a half smile playing around his full bottom lip, reinforcing his impact.

“You can reach me anytime you want to,” he assured her, responding to her comment. “And if you think you’re having problems finding me, just let me know and I’ll tell you exactly how to get to me. Come to think of it, you don’t need any advice about that.”

Her gaze took in his rough masculinity, set off with those mesmerizing eyes, rich tan skin, and thick black wavy hair. She feigned displeasure.

“Don’t you ever stick to the subject? No matter what I say, you manage to give it a double meaning.”

His left shoulder lifted quickly, as though by reflex. “I got where I am by taking advantage of every opportunity, and I haven’t found a reason to break the habit.” He stared directly into her face. “Oh, yes. And you’ll find that I’m a patient man. I’m willing to wait for what I want, but that doesn’t mean I’m not busy ensuring that I get it. If you’re ready, we can leave.”

He’d just given notice that he controlled his life and a good deal of what happened to him, and he’d apparently had more success at that than she’d had. She looked around, glad for the opportunity to release herself from his gaze.

“Let me get that bag of books I bought,” she said. “They’re behind the counter over there.”

The light pressure of his fingers on her arms sent heat spiraling through her body. God help her if she was going to react that way every time he touched her.

“I’ll get them,” he said, and left before she could reply.

“How many did you buy, a hundred?” he asked as he walked back to her with the bag. She reached for it, but he added her laptop computer to his burden and started off.

“Wait a minute. I can carry my stuff,” she called after him. He was not going to treat her as if she were helpless.

He stopped, turned, and looked at her, an expression of incredulity masking his face. “Allison, if you think I’m going to walk up Madison Avenue with a woman who’s struggling under thirty or forty pounds of whatever, while I carry my four-pound briefcase, you’re a few bricks short of a full load. Please be reasonable.”

“I’m not going to let you treat me as though I’m an incompetent little something or other. Hand me my things, please.”

He smiled in that special way of his that seemed to bless everything around him. “You have to realize that my father didn’t let my mother lift anything heavy, and he taught me to be protective of her and all other women. I can’t ignore my upbringing just because you’re out to prove you’re the equal of, or better than, any of
The Journal
’s other reporters. I’m carrying this stuff, and if you don’t like that, next time don’t bring it. What do you say?”

“Okay.” She said it grudgingly. “But I like bossy people about as well as you like contentious ones. And you don’t have to make such a big thing out of this, either. I wouldn’t want you to disobey your parents.”

“What?” His deep laughter rolled with merriment. She loved the sound of it, and if she knew how, she’d keep him laughing.

“I’m thirty-five years old,” he reminded her, “and at this age, I obey selectively. Does this mean you’re going to stop bickering with me and let us be friends?” The gleam in his eyes told her she’d be foolish to react, that he had her number and needled her out of devilment.

She laughed, though she was less assured than her manner suggested. “Bees will stop stinging long before we get chummy, pal.” If only she could be sure of it.

His gaze sauntered over her but, apparently not satisfied that his eyes had telegraphed his message, he told her, “Lie to the world if you must, but tell yourself the unvarnished truth. Self-deception can be dangerous.”

“I certainly hope you’re not speaking from experience,” she replied. But he’d come close to her vulnerable spot, and flippancy wasn’t what she felt, as the memory of Roland Farr’s cunning floated back to her.

In her room, she got a handful of gingersnaps and crawled into bed with Jake’s book,
For the Sake of Diplomacy,
hoping to find something of the man in his work. She didn’t relish the idea that her interest in him might exceed the professional preoccupation that she normally brought to her work and hoped she hadn’t set a trap for herself. Words danced before her in black-and-white confusion, challenging her to concentrate. When Jacob Covington’s face appeared among the tangled alphabets, she closed the book.

* * *

He’d been ungracious in not asking if she’d like company, Jake decided, and rang her room. “I forgot to ask whether you have friends here, Allison. I’d hate to think of your not taking advantage of this great town. So if you won’t be busy this evening, how about spending a couple of hours with me?”

“Sure. What will we do?”

He welcomed her honest, straightforward answer, because he disliked women who played games with him. She had nothing planned and didn’t pretend that she did have.

“After we eat, we can take in a show, go to one of the jazz clubs in the Village, watch the skaters in Rockefeller Plaza, whatever. Depends on how you want to dress.”

“I vote for food and skaters,” she said, causing him to wonder why she hadn’t suggested the music. He’d been certain she’d choose the jazz, and he’d have proof that he had indeed seen her at Blues Alley, but he didn’t exclude the possibility that her choice could be a ruse.

He hung up, made dinner reservations at a small West Side restaurant, and remembered to call his mother.

“I’ll be down there in a couple of weeks,” he told Annie Covington.

She’d be glad to see him, she said and then voiced what he knew was her real concern. “Son, have you found a nice girl? I hate to think of you always by yourself.”

“Not yet. You’ll be the first to know.” He wanted to get off the subject, because she wouldn’t hesitate to complain about the grandchildren he hadn’t given her.

“Married men live longer than loners,” she warned. “And don’t let your success keep you out of church, Jake; it’s prayers that got you where you are.”

“Plus hard work and my parents’ support,” he said, gave her his phone number, and added, “Don’t forget to keep my itinerary posted on your refrigerator, in the bathroom, and beside your bed.”

Her hearty laugh always filled him with joy, reminding him that she no longer struggled in abject poverty because he made certain that she had every modern home convenience, more money that she could use, and that she worked only if she wanted to.

“That falls pretty easily off your tongue,” she told him. “But don’t you forget that for the first forty-five years of my life—the refrigerator was a zinc tub filled with ice when we could get it, the bathroom was wherever you set yourself down, and the bed had to be moved when it rained. You send me more money every month than I used to make in a year. Your father would be proud of you, son.”

“Thanks, Mom. Tune in to NBC tomorrow evening between seven and nine.”

* * *

If Jake needed grounding, he could trust his mother to keep him in touch with the good earth, and later that evening he had cause to appreciate this. While still a child, Jake had learned tolerance. He’d discovered early that his size invited challenges from the tough boys in his school and even some of his teachers. The experiences had shaped his personality and taught him the wisdom of soft-spoken, nonthreatening manners. Gentleness came naturally, but it threatened to abandon him when the maître d’ at Dino’s rushed forward to assist Allison as though she were unescorted. He liked to know that other men found the woman in his company interesting, but when one after the other stared beagle-eyed at Allison, his temper began a rare ascent. Quickly, he clamped down on it.

She was seated at the small table for two, and he observed her closely. Jet-black hair cascaded around her shoulders, setting off her smooth ebony complexion and large dreamy eyes that promised a man everything. Her simple red dress heightened the beauty before him; and though she seemed unaware of it, she’d captured the attention of nearly every man present. He smiled to himself; at least he wasn’t the guy on the outside. He was about to remark that he liked her hair down, when it hit him that it was indeed she who he had seen in Blues Alley.

Watch it, Jake.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt the need to give himself that lecture. “You’re different with your hair down, softer and—”

“Approachable?”

She had more red flags than anybody he knew. “I was going to say
vulnerable,
but you wouldn’t like that either, would you? Let’s be friends for tonight and leave aside the one-upmanship, shall we?” He glanced up from his menu for a look at the smoke he expected to see, but to his surprise, he caught her in an unguarded moment, her vulnerability unsheltered. He folded the menu and put it on the table. She might make him eat the words, but he had to say them.

“You’re so beautiful. Lovely. I’d give anything if we’d met under more favorable circumstances.”

“Thank you...I think. We’re going to keep our relationship a business one, Jake. No one knows better than I the folly of doing otherwise.”

He took a few seconds to ponder what she’d revealed. “Nothing’s going to happen that we don’t want to happen. So, there’s no point in losing sleep over it.”

They gave their orders and ate in silence, each aware that he’d admitted the possibility of their becoming involved emotionally and that she hadn’t denied it.

Her gaze followed his hand as he brushed aside the black strands that hung over his eyes. “That’s the second time you’ve alluded to that,” she said as her soft musical lilt caressed him and he thought he heard a tone of resignation in her voice.

“Probably won’t be the last time, either. But, as I said, you’ve nothing to fear from me.” Her broad smile sent his heart into a tailspin, and he wondered, not for the first time, whether he shouldn’t cancel his agreement with
The Journal.
And with her. He aimed to find a caring woman who radiated peace, and that ruled out the contentious female before him.

They finished what he considered an average meal and he fished in his pocket for a credit card. “Do you have any pets?” he heard himself ask.

She knitted her eyebrows and shrugged her left shoulder, a habit that seemed like a protective reflex. “I have a one-eyed goose that follows me around, but she’s mean. When I don’t give her the attention she wants, she attacks me.”

He stared in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

She shook her head. “Definitely not. I wear a lot of goose-inflicted scars as proof of her devotion.”

He grinned at the picture floating through his mind. “A half-blind goose that gets temperamental and turns on you. I’ll be doggoned.” Standing, he held out his hand to her, and after seconds of hesitation, she took it. Sensations raced from his fingertips to his armpits, and he knew he’d erred.

“What about the bill? I’m on an expense account, too, Jake.”

“I was raised—”

She groaned. “Don’t bother; I know the rest. And since I was taught not to draw public attention to myself, I’ll let it slide. For now.”

They walked toward Rockefeller Center, and he couldn’t help marveling at the change in her. She exuded youthful joy, unconsciously seducing him, alerting him to the softer, gentler woman who he suspected lived somewhere inside her and whom he’d like to know better.

* * *

Here and there in the crisp, calm night, Christmas lights still twinkled from trees that had been decorated with them almost a year earlier; a horn blared its impatience and a hundred others replied; a tall man wearing a white sheet draped over his body strolled along with a python slung around his neck and a sign in his hand that proclaimed The End Has Come and Gone; This is Forever. Why had she never noticed that walking along a street could be such an exhilarating experience? Allison wanted to laugh aloud at the shocked expression on a woman’s face when, thinking her a beggar, she reached into her coat pocket for one of the dollar bills that she’d put there for the beggars she met and handed it to the woman. The bizarrely dressed woman had stood with one empty hand outstretched while the woman beside her proffered a flier. When she and Jake stopped for the corner light, Allison glanced at the flier, saw an advertisement for a triple-X-rated show, and let the laughter that bubbled up in her throat have its way.

She’d barely recovered from her mistake when a painted man on stilts grinned down at her and said, “Hello, lovely thing. Come fly with me.”

Caught up in the fun, she surprised herself by answering, “Sorry. I forgot to bring along my wings.” She couldn’t refrain from laughing as he strutted on his way.

Jake’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around her arm, and she glanced up to see a smile aglow on his face. An intimate smile, not the studied brightness that he wore for his public. A pervasive contentment enveloped her, but when her mind warned of danger, she tried without success to push back the feeling. She’d traveled that road before, and she knew she’d better dispel the sense of rightness that being with this stranger, a business associate, gave her.