Truth or Dare (7 page)

Instead of answering, Charles stepped aside and waved his hand toward Rachel with a flourish.  The waiter's eyes widened with surprised delight.  His lips formed a soundless "Oh" before he recovered himself and bowed at the waist.  "Good evening, sir," he said to Jared.  Then, "Miss Rachel Anne . . . may I get you a glass of
Chablis
?"

Jared's eyebrows rose, while Rachel smiled graciously.  "You remembered.  How kind.  Thank you, Thomas, I'd love it."

Thomas beamed, took Jared's drink order, then turned aside to Charles.  "I'll put Mr. Newton over next to the kitchen door."

Jared folded his arms across his chest and eyed her carefully.  "I'm intrigued," he said.  "Just how is it that a secretary from St. Louis can travel halfway across the country and get treated like royalty in one of the most exclusive restaurants around?"

Rachel shrugged and lowered her gaze from his penetrating stare.  "I've been here before, that's all."

"So I gathered."

Just then Thomas brought their drinks, and Rachel had to force herself to keep from hiding behind her wine glass.  This was not going the way she'd hoped.  Not at all.  She didn't know what she had hoped for
—
maybe a giant hole to open in the floor and swallow her up.  She had prayed for enough strength and calm to make it through dinner, yet both seemed to fade with each look from Jared's deep green eyes.

"So your name really is Rachel," he said.

She took a deep breath, then sip of wine.  "I told you it was."

"And that's about all you've told me," he said.  "I'm waiting for some answers, Rachel."

"I haven't heard the questions yet."

Before he could start in on her, his attention was caught and held by a stately, dark haired woman around sixty who approached their table.  Jared's eyes widened in surprise and he rose swiftly to his feet.  "Mother.  I didn't expect to see you until tomorrow."

Cynthia Morgan turned her cheek for the expected kiss.  Her gaze lingered on Rachel for a moment before looking back at her son.  "Same here, dear," she said.  She waved toward a table for six near the front entrance.  "We were having dinner when I saw you come in.  Are you going to introduce us?" she asked, smiling toward Rachel.

"Of course.  This is Rachel Fredrick, my secretary.  Rachel, my mother, Cynthia Morgan.  I believe the two of you have met over the phone."

"We certainly have," Mrs. Morgan said with a smile.  "So you're Rachel."

"How do you do?" Rachel said.  "It's nice to finally meet you in person after talking with you over the phone."

"Yes."  Mrs. Morgan eyed her steadily, a puzzled look on her brow.  Then suddenly her eyes cleared.  "Of course!  Rachel Anne!  I don't know why I didn't recognize you sooner.  Well, this is wonderful!  Jared, why on earth didn't you tell me?"

Rachel felt her throat close with fear.

"Tell you?" Jared said.  "I wish someone would tell me."

"You mean you don't know
—
?"  Her words were cut off by the sudden look of panic and pleading in Rachel's eyes.

Please.
Rachel thought. 
Please don't tell him.

Cynthia chose her words carefully.  "Of course you wouldn't have known," she said.  "Rachel Anne used to be a famous model, years ago.  It was back when you were down in Puerto Rico putting that new television station on the air.  You and Debbie were down there longer than I thought, if you can't recognize one of the most famous faces in the country."

Rachel held her breath, waiting for Jared's mother to tell the rest.  After a moment, Rachel blinked, then swallowed with relief when she realized Mrs. Morgan wasn't going to say anything else
—
for now.  She gave a silent thank you for the woman's discretion, for she was certain Cynthia Morgan knew every detail of the rest of Rachel's secrets.

Some secrets!  Everybody in the entire country who was over the age of ten knew all about Rachel Anne and what had happened several years ago.  Everyone except, thank God, Jared Morgan.  There was no recognition of her past on his face at all.

Jared and his mother spoke for a few more minutes, promising to meet the next day for lunch.  Rachel used the time to collect herself and gather her wits.  No damage had been done, she decided.  If she played her cards right, and was careful, Jared might just think her career in modeling was all she'd been hiding.

"So," he said after his mother had returned to her table of friends.

Rachel pleated her napkin against her lap.

"A model, huh?"

Her stomach knotted.  "Yes."

Silence stretched uneasily between them, broken only by the tinkling of fine crystal and silver, and the violinists, who paused at their table for a moment, then moved on. 

Jared and Rachel placed their orders with Thomas.  When the meal arrived, Rachel picked at the crab meat on her plate, her appetite squelched under Jared's steady, heated regard.

His gaze locked on her face.  "I thought most models were just empty
–
headed decoration."

"I believe you just answered your own question," Rachel said, sticking with the half
–
truth she'd given him earlier in the day.

It only took him a moment to follow what she meant.  "You think if I'd known you'd been a model, I wouldn't have taken you seriously when you applied for the job."

"Can you deny it?"

His brows came together over the bridge of his nose.  "Yes, I can and do deny it."

"Even after that statement you just made?"

He pursed his lips and gave her a wry grin.  "
Touché.
  I guess I'm not quite as fair
–
minded as I thought."

"Most people aren't," Rachel muttered.

They fell silent for a few minutes, until Jared asked, "How did you get to be such a good secretary?"

"So you admit I'm a good secretary?"

"That was never in question.  I'd just like to know how it happened.  Why did you change careers?  Judging by the reaction you've received here, I'm surprised you'd give up that kind of fame and fortune."

Rachel lowered her gaze and swirled her fork around in her food.  "It did pay well.  But that kind of life, always in the public eye, can be pretty crazy.  I got tired of living in the middle of a three
–
ring circus.  I needed a little sanity.  A slower pace.  Something more stable."

"But why a secretary?  Most
women I know think being a
secretary is . . . demeaning, or something.  I thought all women wanted to be the boss these days."

"Not all women."  Rachel shook her head slightly.  Her gaze swept up to his, then down again as she sipped her wine.  "I've never thought of it as demeaning.  It's what I'd always wanted to be, before I took up modeling.  I like to work with details.  I like to type.  I like to organize things.  When I retired from modeling I went back to school and took the courses I needed to get me started."

She gave a sad little chuckle.  "No executive can survive without a secretary or assistant.  I used to think that if I was good enough at my job, I'd have some security.  As long as I did my work, and did it well, I'd be needed.  I've learned the hard way
—
that's not always true."

Jared started to speak, then stopped as the waiter appeared to clear away their plates and offer desert.  Jared and Rachel both declined the sweets.

Jared studied her a moment longer, then signaled for the check. 

On the way to the elevator, he placed his hand, without thinking, on the bare skin of her lower back.  But even when she flinched at his touch, he couldn't bring himself to take his hand away.  He kept it there against her silken flesh and guided her through the throngs of people.

Each slight movement of his fingers seemed to make Rachel shiver.  By the time they reached her room a few minutes later, she was shaking so hard he had to take the key from her icy fingers and open the door for her.

What now?
Rachel's frantic mind cried.  Somewhere along the way, her nerve had disappeared completely and left her defenseless.  Whatever happened now would be entirely her fault.  He didn't know about her past, but that seemed to be the least of her worries.  She'd teased him by wearing this damn dress, and he had responded.  The heat was plain in his eyes, in the feel of his hand against her back.

She stepped away from that hand and turned to face him.

"May I come in?" he asked from the doorway.

Rachel shivered.  "Why?"

"We need to talk."

"No, we don't."

"Okay," he said, "I need to talk."

Tell him no.  Send him away,
her mind screamed.  But his eyes, while still lit with heat, also held a note of sincerity she couldn't deny.  "All right," she whispered.  "Come in."

He followed her into the room and pushed the door closed behind him.  The loud click of the latch echoed ominously in her ears.  She flinched at the sound.  Turning her back on him, she dropped her clutch on the dresser, folded her arms protectively across her abdomen, and stared out the sliding glass doors at the bright lights below.

"What did you want to talk about?"  She was surprised at the steadiness of her voice when her whole body was trembling.

"I owe you an apology, and a compliment," he said.

She turned toward him in surprise.

"It must have taken a great deal of courage for you to go along with my ridiculous plans for tonight.  Judging by my own prejudicial remark about models, and some of the stares you were getting from more than a few men, I can't say I blame you for anything you've done."

Oh, if only he knew what all she'd done.  He would take those words back so fast
 
.
 
.
 
.

"I learned a little something about myself tonight, too."  He pushed the sides of his jacket aside and slipped his hands into his pants pockets.  "Something I'm not sure how to deal with."

He looked troubled, and Rachel had the sudden urge to offer comfort.  She smothered it quickly.

"I think I'm a fraud."

Rachel blinked.  "What?"

He gave a harsh laugh and studied the ceiling a moment.  "I wanted you to put on that sexy dress and spend the evening with me so I could prove what an upstanding gentleman I am.  I like to think of myself as a gentleman.  I wanted to show you that to me you are first, above anything else, a person I like spending time with, whom I enjoy working with."

His words eased some of the tightness in her chest.  He had no idea how soothing they were to her, how much she desperately needed to hear them.

"You're the best secretary I've ever had, and I don't want anything to interfere with our working relationship, nor with whatever friendship we might have."

"Thank you," she whispered.  "But how does that make you a fraud?"

"I guess the least I can do is be an honest fraud," he said.  "I meant everything I just said to you.  But despite all that, I still want very much to kiss you."

Rachel sucked in a sharp breath of denial.  If she were to be as honest as Jared, she had to admit her silent denial was not in response to his words, but to the hot tingling rushing through her veins at the thought of being kissed by him.

Her body's reaction was impossible to deny.  It may have been years since a man had stirred her senses, but she knew desire when she felt it.  His words left her shaken.  She didn't want to feel, didn't want to want.

In her past, she had managed to generate only two different responses from men, lust, or dismissal.  If she gave in to the yearnings she felt, which would Jared be?  The attacker, or the disappointed lover?  She didn't want to know.  Couldn't take the risk of finding out.

He came closer, until he stood directly before her.  She could feel the heat from his body through her gown.  There was nowhere to go.  One step back and she'd be against the balcony door.  One step forward was Jared's chest.

"Tell me no, Rachel," he whispered, running a finger along her jaw.  "Tell me to leave."

Her heart thundered in her chest.  She told herself it thundered in fear.

He ran his fingers around the back of her neck and threaded them through her hair, cupping her head in his warm palm.  She watched, mesmerized, as his gaze roamed over her face.  When his other hand touched her bare arm, she shivered involuntarily.

She tried to say no, tried to tell him to leave.  Her lips would not form the words.  But neither could she bring herself to ask him for what she feared she wanted.  Her silence was the only answer she could give.

"Someday . . ." he said, trailing a finger down her arm.  "Someday, I want to see the same invitation in your eyes and on your lips that I see right now in this dress."

He lowered his face to hers, and for the first time in over five years, a man's lips touched hers.  His lips were soft, warm, gentle.  The kiss was tentative and undemanding and exhilarating.