Last Chance at Love (8 page)

Her body gave itself over to the throbbing music. He wouldn’t have believed it if his eyes hadn’t seen it. Voluptuous. Sensuous. “You’re a fine dancer,” he said, imagining what it would be like to have her in his arms on a regular basis.

“Thank you, but I’m not that great. It’s simple enough to dance well when one’s partner guides so smoothly,” she said with not a little diffidence.

He looked down at her and grinned. “Thanks for the compliment.”

Chapter 4

A
llison had had as much of his mercurial personality as she could handle in a single evening. If she was going to keep passion out of their relationship, she’d have to limit the time she spent with him to their working hours.

“It’s well deserved,” she said, forcing herself to adopt an offhand manner, and added, “We’d better go. I’ve been losing too much sleep on this tour.”

A smile settled on his face, and he winked, intentionally or not, she couldn’t tell. “I’d never have guessed. You look good to me.”

“Thanks.” She inspected a spot beyond his shoulder and chewed on her bottom lip. “I’m using up energy that could be better spent otherwise.” Why did he always seem to have the upper hand?

His grin broadened, and he reeked of self-assurance. “Really? I’d like to... Okay. We’ll leave if that’s what you want.”

* * *

Allison told Jake good-night in the lobby of their hotel, grateful that he’d judged her mood correctly and hadn’t insisted on seeing her to her room door. She took the ever-present flashlight from her pocketbook in case a maid had extinguished the light she’d left burning. Once inside the door, she had pangs of remorse for having left Jake so early, but quickly banished them. Her work had priority, and passion for Jake Covington, real or imagined, could only derail it.

I don’t have to stick to him every minute,
she told herself, deciding to interview people who had lived or worked with him. She opened her laptop computer and looked up Jake Covington on the Internet. Strange. The only entry appeared as author of
For the Sake of Diplomacy.
She couldn’t locate a biography, none of the encyclopedias listed him, and he didn’t have a web page. Where
did
he work? Who were his friends and acquaintances? The eerie feeling that gripped her quickly shifted into suspicion. Absence of information about such a famous man meant that he or someone deliberately withheld it.

She dialed Jake’s room with the intention of leaving a message, but to her surprise he answered.

“Covington.”

“Hi, Jake. I’ve got some errands to do tomorrow morning. Think you can get along without me?”

His long silence was evidence that she’d surprised him. “Well, sure. I...I’ll catch you sometime in the afternoon. Right?”

“You will? I thought you were leaving town tomorrow morning right after your seven o’clock TV interview.”

“Don’t worry. It’s only postponed. See you later.”

“Right,” she quickly answered, relieved to have the time to herself. “Have a good day.”

The next morning, Allison was at the New York Public Library when it opened, but her search of the library’s catalogue for information on Jake proved futile. Not even the notations about his book held a clue to the man, and he hadn’t written it as a personal memoir, the catalogue noted, but as a report on the experiences of many diplomats. No help there. From the back of her mind, she recalled her promise to write only of his professional activities on the tour, but what kind of story could she write? At the moment, she could tell her readers his age, that he was born in the sticks somewhere near the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, had a commanding presence, and possessed a wink that made her blood race.

Discouraged, she stood to leave. Was that...? She sat down, certain that the man at a table nearby was the one she’d seen at the restaurant and later at Rockefeller Center. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Furthermore, the man behaved suspiciously. She’d turned her head and found him peering at her over the edge of a newspaper. Furor boiled up in her. Bill Jenkins had sunk as low as a person could. How dare he hire a man to spy on her! She grabbed her briefcase and headed for a telephone.

“Jenkins speaking.”

The calm of her voice belied the state of her temper. “You sent a man up here to spy on me? When I take a job, I—”

He interrupted. “Hold on there. I haven’t sent anybody after you. What makes you think some guy’s spying on you? And why would he? Make sense, babe. This call is costing me.”

A wave of apprehension clutched at her. “You’re telling me you haven’t put a tail on me?”

“Hell, no. This story’s costing me enough as it is. I don’t care what you do as long as you bring me a first-rate story on Covington. And I mean first-rate. You got that?”

“Guess I made a mistake.”

She hung up and stared at the phone, momentarily baffled. That man hadn’t been there by accident. She raced up the stairs to see if he was still where she’d left him, and as she’d expected the chair he’d occupied was empty. Nor was he elsewhere in the reading room. She took the elevator to the first floor and stood in line at the exit while an employee examined everyone’s bags, including women’s pocketbooks. As casually as she could, she strolled down the stone steps that were flanked by the famous lions and stopped. The same man. He paused at a refuse basket, threw a newspaper in it and hurried up Fifth Avenue. Allison waited until he was half a block away, retrieved the paper, and quickly shoved it into the outside pocket of her briefcase. She walked rapidly in the opposite direction, past the vendor of imitation designer handbags, darting through the thick lunchtime crowd—an obstacle that would test an athlete—and got a taxi to the Drake Hotel. A Spanish language newspaper. No help there, but she’d keep it in case.

Allison walked into the hotel lobby, and shock reverberated through her as her gaze landed on Roland Farr. “What do you want, and how did you find me?” she asked with the barest civility, although she knew almost at once that Farr was Bill Jenkins’s emissary. What had she ever seen in the man? Had he always been so lacking in character, and had his eyes always been so vacant?

“Loosen up, Allison. Your boss told me where to find you. I’m opening a new hotel, the poshest place in D.C., right on the corner of Connecticut and Kalorama, and he says he’s sending you to cover the event. I want to make sure I can count on you.”

“Not on your life. Find another gullible woman.”

“I didn’t do one thing to you, doll. What happened was your own doing. So can we sit here somewhere or go to your room so I can fill you in on my plans for the opening? The place will be crawling with celebrities.”

So he wanted another cover-up, did he? “Yes, Roland. What happened was my fault with a lot of help from you. I don’t need a job badly enough to cover that story, and you can tell Bill Jenkins that for me. I’m a big girl now, and I had some hard years in which to learn my lesson. If Jenkins insists I take that assignment, I’ll go for the jugular, and you’ll think your veins have been turned inside out.”

“You’ve shocked me. What happened to turn my sweet Allison into such a tough woman?”

She gloried in her immunity to him, in her ability to see him for the charlatan that he was. “You amuse me. Don’t you know a deflated balloon is useless? Don’t waste your time.” She walked over to the bellhop and asked him to escort her to the elevator.

“Any problems?”

“Not yet. I’m making certain that that man doesn’t follow me.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll see that he doesn’t.”

The phone rang as she walked into her room, but she didn’t feel like dueling with Roland Farr, so she let it ring half a dozen times before willing herself to answer it.

“Hello!”

“Hi. Say, what’s the matter? Somebody trip your trigger?”

She released a long breath and let her anxiety go with it. “Jake. Hi. I...uh. I’m fine. What about you?”

“Yeah? Well, you certainly fooled me. If I ever had an angrier greeting, I don’t remember it. But as long as I’m not the bad guy on your list, how about joining me for lunch?”

“Where are you, Jake?”

“Downstairs. Coming down?”

Allison let the desk chair take her weight. She wanted to see him, to enjoy his company, but if she was going to distance herself from him socially, she’d better start now. “I’m having lunch here in my room,” she said, “but thanks.” She hadn’t planned to do that, but the idea suddenly appealed to her.

“I asked you what’s the matter, Allison, and you haven’t told me. Something is wrong.”

She hated lies and liars, but she couldn’t tell him the truth. “I don’t know why you say that. I’m fine. I’ll meet you at six-thirty as planned.” The dead air told its own tale; Jake didn’t believe her. “You haven’t canceled your YWCA lecture again, have you?”

His voice, dry and unfriendly, bore no trace of the sexy masculinity that fascinated her. “Why would I? Meet you in the lobby here at six-thirty.” He hung up.

Allison ordered lunch in her room, opened her computer, and searched the Library of Congress catalogue again for information on Jake. When the last of her leads fizzled, she slumped in the chair and admitted defeat. Four hours of research had yielded nothing but the title, description, and publication date of his book. This wasn’t normal. How could she write a story about a man she didn’t know? An idea lurked just beyond the door of her conscious thought, but she couldn’t reach it. Frustrated, she stamped her foot. It would come to her. Sooner or later she would know Jake Covington.

She telephoned Twenty-first Century Publishing Corporation, identified herself as a reporter, and asked to speak with Jake’s editor.

“Mr. Covington is talented beyond measure. There doesn’t seem to be anything that he can’t do and do well. We consider him a treasure, the best crowd pleaser we’ve ever had. And his book is currently our bestseller. He’s a great guy and wonderful to work with.”

Allison resisted putting her hands over her ears to shut out the woman’s stock answers. “Where does he write?” she asked.

Inelegant sputters greeted her ears. “Well...he’s very private, so I...I can’t say.”

Allison cringed. She’d try again. “I’m doing a profile on him. I suppose he has a family, since he’s nearing forty.” It wasn’t true, but perhaps the woman would correct her.

“Well...I... Why don’t you send me your list of questions, and I’ll forward them to him?”

So much for that. She thanked the editor and pondered her next move. As soon as she’d asked a direct question about him, the woman jettisoned the ebullience and shut down like an engine out of gas. She got out her manual on bibliography research and began looking for clues as to where she might begin.

She paced the floor, turned on the television, and tried to distract herself with
Oprah,
but to no avail. She had to write a breakthrough story on Jacob Covington, one that would catapult her into the big time, and in doing it she had to honor her agreement not to dig into his private life. She also had to put the brakes on her escalating attraction to Jake. What was it about the man that lured her? When she wasn’t with him, she wanted to see him, and when they were together she didn’t want to leave him. Fortunately, he didn’t know how much energy she consumed just trying to resist her feelings for him!

* * *

At six-thirty, as agreed, Allison stepped out of the elevator and, as usual, there he stood, facing it. His bland expression quickly shifted into one of warmth and appreciation, and in spite of the lectures she’d given herself, her heart took off in a trot. She knew her smile communicated more to him than a casual greeting, for his eyes suddenly blazed with desire, burning her, plucking at something deep inside her. For long seconds, they stood before each other. Mute.

Finally, his hoarse words restored her presence of mind. “I have a taxi waiting. It’s only a short ride to the YWCA, but we’d better hurry.”

She sat through his lecture, marveling at his ability to keep it on course when his gaze continually strayed to her. After his talk, she remained seated while his fans crowded around him, asking questions and obtaining his autograph.

“You did yourself proud tonight,” she told him as they waited for a taxi.

He stood uncomfortably close, his gaze roaming over her face as though seeking something. “Thanks. But you caused me plenty of trouble, lady. You took a seat in my mind and wouldn’t move. How about some food? It’s nine-thirty, aren’t you hungry?”

She’d think about those words later. “Yes, but I don’t want to make a big deal out of eating.”

“Snack at the hotel?”

She agreed. At her suggestion, he got a table while she went to her room to leave her coat and handbag. They finished a light supper, and as he accompanied her to her room, the hall lights suddenly flickered. He took her plastic key card, opened the door, and stroked her cheek while gazing intently into her eyes. Then, he abruptly walked away.

As she stepped inside the room, the light she’d left burning flickered and went out. Her scream pierced the air, and almost immediately the doorbell rang. Perspiration beaded on her forehead, and she stumbled, knocking over a floor lamp, as she struggled to get to the door and out of the room. She managed to open it, and to touch Jake when he rushed to her.

“Jake! Oh, Lord!” Darkness surrounded them. “Jake, where are you?”

He grasped her hand. “Right here. Are you—”

“I...I’m scared. I hate the darkness. I—”

“Shhh. Nothing can hurt you while you’re with me.” He relinquished her hand and draped his arm around her waist. She squeezed her eyes shut and clung to him, and her entire being responded to his whispered words of comfort, reassuring and soothing her as they stood locked together in the darkness. His big hands lovingly stroked her back and caressed her arms, and she settled into him, secure for the first time in her memory. The stroking changed, and his arms tightened around her in an unmistakable gesture of masculine need. Tremors that she knew he felt raced through her body, and her arms crept up around his shoulders.

“Allison. Something’s happening here. I... Honey, the light is back on.”

Heedlessly, her right hand lifted to caress the back of his head, and her parted lips begged for his.

“Allison!”

She stared into the blaze of desire that his eyes had become. Stormy. Wild. Fierce with a masculine need to mate. Her fingers grasped his nape, pulled him toward her, and waited.

His lips met hers in a powerful claim to her whole being, firing and possessing, as the heat of desire singed her nerve ends and settled in her loins. The longing that had gripped her from the moment she first looked at him shut off her thinking and took possession of her body. She opened her mouth and he plunged into her. More. She wanted, needed more of him. All of him. Her nipples hardened, and she locked him to her. His velvet tongue danced in her mouth, possessing every nook and crevice, every centimeter, as the hot swell of desire shot through her bloodstream, weakening her limbs and turning her into a mass of raw need. His big hands gripped her hips, and she spread her legs in a symbolic quest for what she needed.