Truth or Dare (6 page)

"Get some."

"How?"

"The first floor of this hotel is full of shops with long, slinky evening dresses.  Buy one."

"Are you kidding?  You don't pay me that much.  I can't afford those kinds of stores.  And we're not talking about just a dress, you know.  I'd have to have shoes, and if you want it done right, I'd need jewelry, a handbag, a
—
"

"Get them."  Jared reached into his wallet and pulled out a credit card and tossed it to her.

She caught the card in mid air.  "You're crazy."

Yes, he thought maybe he was.  What he was suggesting was inappropriate at best, and certainly outrageous.  Still, he couldn't resist the dare.

"All I'm asking," he said, keeping his voice even, "is for you to trust me enough to show me the real you, and let me prove I can treat you with respect no matter what you look like.  I think you owe me that much."

Rachel stalled.  "I can't sign your name on a charge ticket.  They'd have me arrested."

"Then I'll just have to go with you, won't I?"  He stood up and motioned toward the door.

Rachel stunned herself by suddenly wanting to do as he asked, no matter how crazy it sounded.  She wanted to do it for him.  After deceiving him as she'd done, maybe she owed it to him.  But not until she knew
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
  "Are you going to fire me?" she asked again.

He stared at her long enough to make her knees quiver.  Then one corner of his mouth curved up.  "Not if you swear you're not an ax murderer."

Rachel felt her stomach clench.  She forced a smile as best she could.  "Of course I'm not."

He stared at her so long she feared he could see clear into her soul and read all her secrets.

"Then you still have a job," he said.

*  *  *  *

Rachel stood before the mirror in her hotel room and stared at her reflection.  Why was she doing this?  Sure, it felt wonderful to dress in beautiful clothes again, to let her hair down and be herself for a change.  But then, the image in the mirror wasn't really her.  Not any more.  It looked like the old Rachel, the famous Rachel.

And that made her wonder just what she had gotten herself into.  But it was too late to back down now.  She had promised herself and Jared she would go through with this.

Of course, that was before she'd tried on the dress he'd chosen.  The store he had selected was an expensive one, the dresses in her size sexier, more revealing than she would have preferred.

But as she had already acknowledged, it was too late now.

She was ready fifteen minutes early and used the extra time for another coat of nail polish, as well as to bolster her resolve, which was slowly being eaten away by trepidation.

What in the world was she doing, dressing like this for a man she barely knew?  And in this town, of all places
—
this very hotel
—
where she had been so well known.

"That was years ago," she told herself.  Surely no one would still be around who would recognize her.

Don't count on it,
a nasty little voice hissed.

Well, it was too late now.  She was committed. 
I
should
be committed,
she thought. 
To a nut house.
  She grimaced at her reflection in the mirror.

Revealing herself as she was, in a hotel where she would surely be recognized, was foolish.  Once Jared realized who she was, would her life at Channel 3 become intolerable, as it had at her previous three jobs back in St. Louis?  Would she be forced to flee the speculation, the cutting remarks, the outright ostracism of her coworkers as she had in the past?

A shudder ripped through her.  She squeezed her eyes shut. 
Please, please, don't let Jared learn who I am.
  As long as he didn't know her background, maybe she'd be safe.

Until he recognized her.  Until someone else recognized her and said something to jar his memory.  Surely a man involved in broadcasting would remember all those sensational news stories from a few years ago.  Those stories that never seemed to die.  Those stories that wouldn't let her hide, or rest, or even keep a job so she could support her children.

"Enough," she told herself.

She wiped her palms on the hand towel from the bathroom.  After a few deep breaths, she gave herself a final check in the mirror.

The sharp knock on her door made her flinch.

CHAPTER THREE

At the first click of the lock Jared stopped pacing the hall and took a step toward her door.  As it swung open, he got his first glimpse of the real Rachel Fredrick.

She was a Golden Girl.  From
the top of her golden curls ha
nging halfway to her waist, to the tips of the gold high heeled slippers on her small feet.  And the dress
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
  His collar suddenly felt like it was choking him.

He'd chosen the dress because it was the least revealing of any the shop had in Rachel's size.  He hadn't realized
 
.
 
.
 
.
 

It had a high, turtle neck and no sleeves.  The only bare skin showing was that of Rachel's face and arms.  Yet it was the most provocative evening gown he'd ever seen.  His mouth dried out and he forgot to breathe.

Shimmering gold clung to her body like a second skin over her generous breasts, her rib cage, her narrow waist he knew he could span with his hands, and it curved tightly over gently flaring hips.  From there it hung straight to the floor, hiding the shape of her legs.

Sweet heaven.

She was stunning.  The most stunning woman he'd ever seen in his life.  This was the woman he'd been spending twelve hours a day with for the past three weeks?  This Golden Girl?

Deep red garnets dangled from her ears.  The slight blush on her cheeks, the dark wine of her lips, and the scarlet polish on her fingernails were the only other colors on her
—
except gold.
  And the brilliant blue of her eyes.

He stared at her for what seemed an eternity before he finally found his voice.  "You are beautiful."  His eyes drifted over her soft curves.

Rachel's trepidation flourished under his heated gaze.  What in the world had she been thinking of to go along with his scheme?  She had made a serious mistake.

She felt branded by the fire in his deep green eyes.  When he just stood there staring at her, it was as if he could see right through the clinging fabric, and she was horrified to feel her nipples hardening.  Would he notice?

His eyes smoldered.

He noticed!  In a panic, Rachel spun back into her room.  His sharp intake of breath told her he'd just discovered the back of her dress.  Or rather, the back of her, since the dress had no back until three inches below her waist.

She picked up the small clutch, made of the same material as the dress, and peered at him over her shoulder.  "I'm ready when you are."

She sounded cool and confident
—
all business
—
until Jared looked into her eyes.  The uncertainty there contrasted sharply with the warmth of her appearance, the graceful, confident set of her shoulders, the heat she generated in his blood.  He blinked and looked closely at her face for the first time.  She was stunning, and he felt like a fool.

How could he not have seen the perfection of her features before?  No wig or pair of glasses could have hidden her loveliness.

Right now he wished like hell he'd looked at the back of that dress before he'd selected it.  It wasn't covering nearly enough of her skin for his peace of mind.  She probably thought he'd chosen it on purpose.

He cleared his throat nervously.  "Uh, right.  Dinner."

A few minutes later Rachel again admitted this entire plan was a mistake.  As badly as she did not want to be recognized, she also did not want to be alone with Jared in the close, intimate confines of the elevator.  But fate, it seemed, was out to get her.  How else could she and Jared have ended up alone together in the elevator at eight o'clock in a crowded Las Vegas casino hotel?

The door slid closed, sealing them in privacy.  Funny, but Rachel had never suffered from claustrophobia before.  She'd also never been so ill at ease with Jared before.  But then, she'd never really noticed how wide his shoulders were.  She tried desperately not to notice now.

If she wanted him to treat her as his secretary, she needed to act like his secretary.  She cleared her throat.  The sound seemed to echo in the elevator.  "You never did tell me, did you find the others who came for the meeting?"

Jared saw through her attempt at normalcy, but had to give her credit for trying.  She was nervous as hell, but was determined to ignore the fact.  And she seemed to be doing a better job of it than he was.

Not that he was nervous, but maybe he should
have
be
en
.  What had possessed him to concoct such a stupid plan as this?  He was supposed to prove to her he was a gentleman, that he respected her, that he wasn't some slavering animal who intended to pounce on her
at any moment
.

Noble sentiments, coming from a man who was having extreme difficulty keeping his response to her from becoming obvious to anyone who cared to look.  With a nonchalance he was far from feeling, he slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and studied the dial above the door.

"Yeah," he told her, "I found them.  You'll meet them all tomorrow."

She flipped open her purse, then closed it.  "Do you think you'll get your movie plan approved?"

So help him, if she licked her lips one more time
—
could a man really expire from watching such an erotic sight?

This time it was he who had to clear his throat.  "We'll just have to see."

When the elevator slid to a stop, the doors opened with a soft
whoosh
.  Rachel swallowed with relief.

He motioned for her to precede him out of the elevator.  As she complied, she felt his eyes all over her back.

Jared folded his fingers against his palms to keep from touching her.  The teasing glimpses of her bare back when her hair swayed had his chest tightening.

Rachel kept her gaze trained straight ahead as Jared led her to the door of the
Prime Steakhouse
.  The maître d' glanced at them briefly, then away . . . then back again, as though startled.  A wide smile of pure delight spread across his face.  His eyes held a definite twinkle as he held out his arms.

"I don't believe it," he cried.  "After all this time.  And you're still just as lovely as ever, Miss Rachel Anne.  Welcome.  Welcome back."

"Charles," Rachel cried softly.

She had assumed, or hoped, that after all these years, no one would remember or recognize her.  Surely all those people she knew in that old life were long gone from here.  But if she had to be mistaken, if she had to see someone from her past, she was glad it was Charles.  He'd always been more than kind to her back then.

"I never thought you'd still be here, Charles.  After all this time, I would have thought you'd given up on this place and bought that little cabin up in the mountains you used to talk about all the time," she told him, smiling brilliantly.

"What?" he exclaimed, squeezing her hands.  "And miss the chance to see you again?  I could never risk that, Miss Rachel Anne."

"I'll bet you say that to all the girls, Charles," she said with a smile.

"I most certainly do."  The elderly, elegant gentleman sobered quickly and reestablished his dignified mien.  It wouldn't do for the maître d' of one of the most elegant restaurants in Las Vegas to be seen grinning like an idiot.  But his eyes twinkled merrily when he asked, "Have you come to dine with us tonight?"

"Yes, we have."  She chanced a quick glance at Jared and saw a thousand questions flitting across his eyes.

"We have reservations," Jared said.  "For Morgan."

"Certainly, Mr. Morgan."  Charles led them to an intimate table for two on the far side of the dining room.

Nothing much had changed over the years, Rachel noted.  Crisp white linen draped each table.  Place settings were elegant with their fine china, crystal, and silver. 
The setting was r
omantic,
with plus chairs covered in deep, burgundy velvet.  Wealth and privilege
filled the air.  Too bad she didn't feel romantic.  With a man like Jared Morgan at her side, a woman should feel warm, excited, not cold and nervous.  The atmosphere was wasted on her.

As s
oon as she and Jared took their seats
, a waiter rushed over and tugged on Charles's sleeve.  "That's the table you had me set up for Mr. Newton.  He doesn't have a show tonight, and he'll be here in ten minutes," the man said frantically.
  “He said he wanted to eat off-site tonight, so he’s coming here.”