Truth or Dare (4 page)

She bent her head forward to let her hair hide her face while she fumbled to get the ugly green glasses back in place.  "I'm fine, really," she insisted.  When she shrugged her shoulders only slightly, his hands slipped away.

Another wave of panic hit her at the sudden loss of his warm touch.  "I think I'll make some more coffee."  She pushed her chair back and nearly ran over his feet.

Jared stuffed his hands in his pockets and followed her to the kitchen, where he leaned against the door frame and watched her hands shake.  He cleared his throat nervously.  "I'm sorry, Rachel."

Rachel's eyes widened in surprise as she turned to face him.  "What for?"

"I . . . made you uncomfortable.  I didn't mean to."

Rachel ducked her head in embarrassment and let her hair cover her face again.  She'd overreacted and made a fool out of herself.  "Forget it," she said.

*  *  *  *

By later that afternoon, Rachel's self
–
confidence was back.  She was just finishing a letter for Jared when she heard a loud commotion from the direction of the lobby.  She stuck her head out the door to see what was going on and was amazed to find the lobby filled to overflowing with children.  A gray
–
haired woman in a blue flowered dress shouted to be heard over the racket. 

The receptionist cringed behind the switchboard, holding a hand over her ear and shouting into the telephone, "What?  You'll have to speak up!  I can't hear you!"

Rachel glanced across the little heads and spotted Jared on the other side of the lobby, in the sales department.  He grinned at her, then reach for the phone on the desk next to him.  A second later, Rachel's phone rang.

When she answered it, his familiar, deep voice laughed.  "I'm not one to say I told you so, but, I told you so."

Rachel laughed back and stretched the phone cord so she could see Jared, who still stood there, phone to his ear, grinning at her.  "You mean we're under attack?" she asked.

"Most definitely."

"The sales manager's aunt and her third graders?"

"You got it.  Circle the wagons, woman," he drawled.  "I'll cut back through engineering and production, then sneak up the back hall past accounting.  If I can make it past Bonzo the Clown's office before the hoard gets there, I just might get back to you before sundown."

Rachel smiled and hung up the phone. 
Back to you.
  Not back to his desk, or back to the office, but
back to you
.  Something warm and tingly spread outward from the region of her heart.

Before she even had time to analyze it, he was there, striding up the hall toward her, a teasing glint in his eyes.  When he stopped and stood in front of her, only inches away, something happened to her breathing.

"I made it."

There was a huskiness in his voice.  The glint in his eyes took on a new character, less teasing, more . . . something.  Her knees started trembling.

This can't be happening.
  She couldn't let herself be attracted to him.  She didn't want to be.

And surely that wasn't attraction she saw in his eyes.  It wasn't possible.  Not the way she looked.

She whirled away and returned to her chair.  "Yes.  You made it."  Her smile felt brittle.

Jared purposely refrained from following her.  Instead, he went into his office and closed the door.

He was crazy.  That must be the answer.  He'd been working too hard and had finally lost his mind.  He couldn't possibly be attracted to his own secretary.  It went against everything he stood for.

Especially one who dressed like a frump and wore the world's ugliest glasses.  But there was something about Rachel Fredrick.  That deliciously sexy voice sent chills down his spine.  Hot chills.  Then there was her smile, sometimes soft, sometimes teasing, always tempting.

He liked the way she laughed, when she let herself.  Hell, he liked just about everything about her, except her hair, her glasses, and her clothes.  Those things didn't fit the inner woman he thought was there.  If she was the type of woman he thought she was, why didn't she take at least half the pride in her appearance as she did in her work?  He frowned and walked to his desk.  It didn't matter.  She was his secretary.  Off limits.

But on his way to his desk, he couldn't help but wonder what Rachel was like away from work.

*  *  *  *

Thursday Jared's mother called.  It seemed she would be in Las Vegas the same time Jared would.  The two made plans to get together.  When Jared mentioned it to Rachel, she smiled.  "Good.  I know she misses you."

Friday morning found Rachel and Jared on their hands and knees, sorting piles of reports and packing them in boxes to be shipped to Las Vegas.

"Where does this last one go?" Jared asked.  "It's next year's budget."

"No, that's last year's.  It goes here."  She tapped the pile next to her knee.

Jared placed the budge
t
on the proper stack.

Rachel leaned to reach another pile, and used the one next to her knee to brace herself.  Her long, elegant fingers splayed across the paper.  Unadorned, delicate fingers that drew Jared's attention.  Were they as soft and silky as they looked?

Without thinking, he reached out and stroked the shortest one, running the tip of his index finger from her smooth, unpolished nail, over her small knuckle.  He traced a path from there up the back of her hand to her wrist bone.  Beneath his fingertip, he felt tension coiled under her skin.

He lifted his gaze to hers.  Her lips were moist and slightly parted.  Her breath seemed as reedy as his.

Sweet heaven, man, what are you doing?

Jared jerked away from her and stared down at the papers in his other hand, wondering where they'd come from.  Oh, yeah.  "Uh, thanks." 
Morgan, you must be out of your mind.  Nerdettes are definitely not your type.
 

But there was something about her
 
.
 
.
 
.
 

Then another voice in the back of his mind accused,
Snob.

The phone buzzed.  Rachel jumped up like a loaded spring.  A very shaky loaded spring.  She was grateful for the excuse to move away from Jared.  "It's Harve Kennedy."  She handed Jared the phone and made certain their fingers didn't touch.

Jared stared at her, a strange look in his eyes.  Then he seemed to shake himself.  "He's probably calling to see if we've got everything ready for Vegas."  He took the phone.

Rachel took to her heels at a near run.  In the ladies' room, she splashed cold water on her heated cheeks.  What in the world was the matter with her?  All he'd done was touch her hand, and she'd gone all hot and trembly.  At the mere memory, a shudder raced down her spine.  It was several minutes before she felt composed enough to return to her desk.

"Rachel?" Jared called from his office.

"Coming."  When she stepped through his door he was finished with his phone call and sat with his hands folded, a peculiar look on his face.  "What is it?"

"Get another seat on that Sunday afternoon flight for Vegas.  Your filing is going to have to wait."

"Wh
–
what do you mean?"

"I mean . . . you're going with me."

For a moment, Rachel panicked. 
He's going to spirit me away for two days and . . . and . . .
  A second later she laughed at herself when she remembered her hideous disguise. 
Ha.  He wouldn't be attracted to someone who looks like I do.

Then she remembered the fire that had shot up her arm at his simple touch, and thought to asked herself, why had he touched her?  When no answer came, she panicked again.

As it turned out, his reason for taking her with him was strictly business.  It seemed that the general managers in the corporation took turns each year providing a secretary to help out at the annual meeting.  The woman who was to go this year had just had a death in her family, and Jared was next on the list to provide the necessary help. 
So much for ulterior motives.

*  *  *  *

Regardless of the practical, legitimate reason Jared had given her earlier in the day for her accompanying him to Las Vegas, Rachel didn't sleep well that night.  She kept remembering the way he'd touched her hand.  With no more than the tip of his finger, he had stirred something in her that had lain dormant for so long she'd forgotten what it felt like.  Excitement.  Of the physical kind.  And unwelcome, at that.

She didn't want to feel heat rush through her veins, didn't want her breath to catch, her muscles to turn weak, her heart to pound.  It was foolishness, all of it.  There was no room in her life for such things.

Dismissing her reaction to his touch took only slight determination.  What kept her from falling asleep until nearly dawn was not understanding
why
he had touched her.

He hadn't meant anything by it, she was positive.  A man like Jared Morgan was not interested in a woman who showed up for work every day looking like a mouse.  Or, if her kids were to be believed, a bag lady.  And that was fine with her.  She didn't want him
—
or any other man
—
interested in her.

Sometime during the next day, while arranging for the next
–
door neighbors to look after Mike and Caroline for the weekend, Rachel managed to put Friday's incident in Jared's office, and her ridiculous reaction to it, right where it belonged
—
away.

But she didn't sleep any better Saturday night, for she had started remembering the old days, other trips to Las Vegas.  She'd spent a lot of time there when she was younger, more famous.  Would anyone recognize her?  If so, they were bound to remember all the stories, all the lies.

With a whimper she despised, she rolled to her other side and punched a deeper dent in her pillow, trying to get comfortable.  It didn't help.  She was still wide awake the next morning when she heard Mike and Caro get up.

Exhausted from lack of sleep, Rachel dragged herself from bed.  This was the day she had to pack and leave for Las Vegas.  She didn't want to go.  She should have told Jared she couldn't.  She should have made up some good excuse.  She had a bad feeling about this trip, about Las Vegas . . . the memories it held.  About her stupid reaction to a man's brief touch.

She shoved the green glasses up with a forefinger and caught a glance of herself in her dresser mirror.  She broke out laughing.  What did she have to worry about?  Both her worries were groundless.  Absolutely no one would recognize her like this, and Jared was only interested in her secretarial skills.

*  *  *  *

Sunday afternoon, Mike dropped Rachel off at Will Rogers World Airport.  She checked in and met Jared at the gate several minutes ahead of schedule.

He seemed dismayed to find her dressed as if going to work, but that was too bad.  She didn't intend to step out of character anywhere within ten miles of him, and certainly nowhere near Las Vegas.  If he expected her to dress more casually for a Sunday afternoon plane ride, that was his problem.

The plane was on time and the flight was smooth and uneventful.  Jared was absorbed in the latest issue of
Broadcast Management
.  Rachel wanted nothing more than to sleep the entire way, but she found she was too keyed up.  She spent the entire trip staring out the window.

After retrieving their luggage and the boxes of reports they'd brought with them, Jared and Rachel caught a cab for the hotel.  "Have you ever been to Vegas before?" he asked as they left the airport.

"A long time ago," Rachel said tightly.

They checked in at the
Bellagio
.
  She never tired of seeing the huge lake in front of the building, with that magnificent fountain, which danced to music.  Inside, the
ceiling in the center of the lobby always took her breath away, with its colorful two thousand hand-blown glass flowers. 
Fiori di Como
, they called it.  The flowers of Como.
 
The largest glass sculpture in the world.  She could stand beneath it and stare up at it for hours.

But there was no time just then.  Before she realized it, Jared had check
ed
them in and they were standing in front of
her room. 
When she realized Jared's room was right next door to hers, Rachel felt a twinge of unease.  She dismissed the feeling with a shrug.  She was secure in her disguise
—
she had nothing to worry about.

"If you can wait awhile before dinner, I'd like to see how many of the others are already here," Jared said at her door after tipping the bellman.

Rachel gave her standard answer.  "No problem."

"Meet you back up here in about an hour?"

"Fine."

Jared nodded and headed for the elevator.

Rachel closed the door behind him and sagged with exhaustion.  An hour.  She had an hour.  She kicked off her shoes, then took off her jacket and pulled out her shirttail.  After unfastening the confining too
–
small bra, she collapsed on the bed.  She was still too keyed up to sleep, but maybe lying down for a while would relax her.  The detestable green glasses clattered as she tossed them onto the bedside table.