Truth or Dare (16 page)

"And just think," Caro went on, her twelve
–
year
–
old imagination soaring.  "If you and Jared got married, Deb and I'd be sisters."

"Now hold on," Rachel cried, shocked.  "Mike asked if I liked him, and I said yes.  Nobody said anything about anything else."

"Yeah, but Mom
—
"

"No 'but Mom.'"  She had to squelch Caro's outrageous idea immediately.  Jared may care about her, but what would happen when he learned the truth?  She didn't want her children hurt any more than they already had been.

Damn you, Carl Sutton.  Five years later, and you're still ruining our lives.

"This conversation does not leave this room," Rachel said firmly.  "Do you understand?  I won't have you thinking thoughts like that.  I've been single for a long time, and so has Jared.  I don't think either one of us is too willing to change that, especially since we're just friends."

*  *  *  *

If you and Jared got married . . .

Caroline's words wouldn't leave Rachel alone.  And that was absurd.  It would never happen.  She didn't want it to happen.  The very idea terrified her.

She clicked the print icon
on her computer
screen
and waited for the laser printer to spit out the letter she'd just typed.  She wanted to put it on Jared's desk before he arrived.  When the sheet emerged, she picked it up, then stood and turned around.

And ran smack into Jared.

A small cry escaped her.  The letter crumpled between their bodies.

Jared put his hands on her shoulders and grinned.  "Heck of a good morning."  Then the teasing glint left his eyes, replaced by a heart
–
stopping mixture of tenderness and fire.  Her lips parted.

"If you don't stop looking at me like that," he said, "I'm liable to embarrass both of us, here and now, in front of whoever happens to walk by."

But Rachel couldn't look away from his eyes.  Heat spiraled through her body.  Her feet refused to move.  Her eyes refused to lower.  She felt her heart pound against his.

"Rachel," he whispered hoarsely.  His hand came up toward her face.

Rachel gasped and spun away from him.  She managed to walk around her desk and sit down.  She barely made it before her knees gave way.

Jared placed both hands on the front edge of her desk and leaned toward her.  "Have dinner with me tonight."

His voice, low and husky, sent shivers down her spine.  She could almost feel his arms around her, his lips brushing hers, even though he was no longer touching her.  "I, uh, don't think that's . . . a good idea."

"Oh," he said smoothly, "I think it's an excellent idea."

"Please, I mean, thank you, but . . . no."

He looked at her for a long minute, then straightened.  "All right.  I said I wouldn't push."  He thrust his hands into his pants pockets.  "You coming to the game tomorrow night?"

"Yes."  She breathed a sigh of relief when he moved away.  His nearness was overpowering.

Rachel somehow made it through the rest of the day.  It helped that Jared refrained from any more personal comments.  He left her pretty much alone, except for a certain look now and then.

The next day was a bit easier.  There was a lot of work to be done, and in spite of the tension, she had to admit they did work well together.

It also helped that he left work early to run some errands before the Bluejays' game that evening.

*  *  *  *

Even though Mike had to drop Caro off at the field, then get Rachel and take her home to change clothes, they still made it to the field before the game started.

It came as a complete surprise to Rachel to see Cynthia Morgan in the stands.  Jared hadn't mentioned his mother was in town.

"Rachel, how good to see you again," Cynthia cried.

The woman seemed genuinely delighted to see her, but Rachel's heart pounded as she sat beside Jared's mother.  Rachel hadn't spoken to Cynthia since that day in the Las Vegas conference room, when Cynthia had seen her disguise.  What must the woman think of her?  What had Jared told her?

What had Cynthia told him?  Did she remember the stories?  The publicity that had spread nationwide?  Had she told Jared?

Of course she remembered
, Rachel told herself.  It had been there in Cynthia's eyes when they met in the restaurant.  But she obviously hadn't said much to Jared, because he still didn't know the truth.  If he did
—

Rachel forced the thought away and greeted Cynthia, then introduced Mike to her.

"Jared didn't mention you were in town."  Rachel regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth.  Of course he hadn't mentioned it.  It was none of her business.  Yet she'd made it sound as though she had a right to know.

Cynthia didn't seem to think the question out of place at all.  "He was afraid if you knew I was here, you wouldn't come to the game.  He thought you might not want to see me after we bumped into each other when I came to get him for lunch that day."

Well, the woman certainly believed in having things out in the open.  Rachel bit back a grimace.  There was no getting around Cynthia Morgan.  "I, uh, was more than a little embarrassed to have you see me like that."

"It's quite all right," Cynthia said with a smile.  "When Jared explained about the trouble you'd had with other jobs, I understood perfectly.  Oh!"  She suddenly looked startled, then glanced at Mike, then back at Rachel.

Rachel smiled.  "It's all right.  Mike and Caro both know about it."  Her smiled died then.  "But I'm afraid Jared doesn't.  Not really."

"I take it you're referring to certain highly publicized parts of your past?  You haven't told him?"

Rachel glanced away and shook her head.

"Well," Cynthia said.  "That's your business, not mine.  But if you trust him enough to let him see you like this," she said, waving a hand at Rachel's long, blonde hair and tight blue jeans, "to know who you are, I don't really see why you don't trust him with the rest."

When Rachel didn't answer, just squirmed in her seat, Cynthia spoke again.  "You're afraid of what he'll think of you if he knows?"

Rachel kept her eyes on the toes of her shoes and nodded.

"Do you really think a man like my son is so shallow?"

Startled, Rachel straightened and looked directly at Cynthia.  "No.  I don't think he's shallow at all," she declared.  "It's just
—
"

"Never mind, dear," Cynthia said, patting Rachel's tight fist.  "You'll work it out somehow.  Like I said, it's none of my business anyway.  Oh, look.  The game's starting."

Rachel had been so intent on her conversation with Cynthia that she hadn't paid attention to anything else.  When she looked up now, Jared was striding toward them, a grin on his face.

"Well," Cynthia demanded.  "Is our team going to win?"

Jared ignored her question.  He ignored everyone and everything as his eyes centered on Rachel's, capturing her gaze.  Without looking away, he asked, "Mike, how do you feel about men making passes at your mother?"

Rachel gasped.

Cynthia sputtered into silence.

Mike, startled at first, allowed a deep chuckle to escape.  "Well, now, Coach.  That depends on whether or not my mother likes it."

Jared's grin widened as his eyes traveled to Rachel's trembling lips and back.  "Oh, she'll like it," he drawled, stepping up into the bleachers.  "I promise."

He grasped Rachel's face in both hands and planted a swift, hot kiss on her parted lips.  Startled blue eyes stared into laughing green ones.  Jared tore his mouth away.  "For luck," he whispered over the laughter and catcalls going on around them.

Jared turned his back and walked away.  Rachel felt like hiding beneath the bleachers.  Good Lord!  Had the man lost his mind?  She glanced around and realized that nearly everyone in the stands and on the field had seen that kiss.  She turned beet red, clear down to her toes.

Out on the field, Caro and Deb exchanged secret smiles.  Next to Rachel, Mike laughed at the look on her face.

"Personally," he said, "I think you should go for it, Mom."

"Go for it?"  On the other side of Rachel, Cynthia's mouth twitched.  "My, what an appropriate phrase."

If possible, Rachel blushed even harder.

*  *  *  *

The Bluejays took the White Sox ten to six.  Jared insisted that the Morgans and the Harding
–
Fredricks celebrate the win at a nearby Mexican restaurant.  The girls chose to ride in the Mustang with Mike and Rachel, since the top was down.

They all met in the center of a crowded parking lot that separated the casual Mexican restaurant from an elegant steak house.  The night air was warm with the promise of summer soon to come, and the two families laughingly followed the
aroma of refried beans and jalapeños
through the parking lot.

At the door to the restaurant, Jared maneuvered so he and Rachel were the last to enter.  No one noticed when he took her hand in his and squeezed.

He didn't take his gaze off her all through dinner.  He watched the way her eyes lit up when she looked at her children.  He watched the way she got along so well with Deb and his mother.  He watched the way she licked the spicy hot sauce from her lips.

He felt like groaning.  Or better yet, grabbing her.  That kiss at the ball park had done absolutely nothing to cool the raging heat that roared through his blood.

She needed him.  In her life, and in her heart, she needed him.  She needed his arms around her.  She needed to be able to lean on someone, on him, now and then.  She needed him to make her laugh.

All he needed was for her to admit it.

*  *  *  *

Two days later, Cynthia was back home in Denver, Jared was back in Las Vegas for the National Association of Broadcasters convention, and Rachel was alone in the office.

She'd been racking her brain for a way to explain her way out of the blasted black wig.  The thing was driving her crazy, and there really wasn't a need for it any more.  She still expected Shotz to spill his guts any day now.  Why bother with the uncomfortable wig?

While eating lunch in the coffee shop with a group of employees, she listened to several women talking about new hair styles.  She took a deep breath and plunged in.

"Speaking of hairstyles, I'd better warn you, none of you will even recognize me tomorrow."

"You getting a perm or something?" Cathy from accounting asked.

"Not exactly."  Rachel grinned.  "This," she said tugging on her hair, "is a wig.  Tomorrow I won't be wearing it."

"That's a wig?"

"It looks so natural."

"So what are you going to look like?"

"When I took this job," she explained, "I had a lot of bills to pay.  I've finally got them taken care of, so tonight I'm getting my roots done.  My hair's pretty long, and I keep it, or rather I
try
to keep it blonde.  Thought I'd better warn you.  I don't want anybody barring the door on me in the morning."

There,
she thought as the conversation around her resumed. 
That should do it.
  Chances were almost nonexistent that any of them would ever learn she was a natural blonde.

"Won't Jared be surprised when he gets back," someone commented.

Yes.  Won't he.

And he was.  Friday morning when he walked into the office, he stopped at her desk to say hello.  Instead of speaking, he simply stared.

There she sat, in clothes that accented her figure, her long, blonde hair streaming, curling down her back and across one shoulder, a tentative smile on her face.  His hands ached to bury themselves in her hair.

"Welcome back," Rachel whispered, her throat suddenly gone dry.

His smile started in his eyes, and was bright enough to light the world.  "Thank you.  It's good to be back.  You have no idea how good."  His eyes searched her face for a moment, then settled on her hair again.  "I don't think I've ever been greeted by anything more beautiful in my life."

Her smile widened a fraction.  "Coffee's ready.  How was the convention?"

"Long," he said without moving.  His smile died slowly.  "And lonely."

Rachel lowered her eyes.  "You know you're making me uncomfortable, don't you?"

"Sorry," he said, taking a deep breath.  "Coffee, right?"

"Right.  Coffee."

*  *  *  *

Saturday evening, after another Bluejay victory, Jared should have been jubilant, and he was until he looked up from loading equipment into the trunk of his car to see Rachel's
—
or was it Mike's?
—
red Mustang pulling out onto the street.

Damn.  He hadn't even had a chance to talk to her.  But then, she'd probably planned it that way.  The lady was definitely skittish.

"Need a hand, Coach?"