"That's crazy! I never-" And she hadn't, not once since she was a kid who'd learned better than to hang on to unattainable dreams-and even then her fantasies had never traveled any further than an innocent press of lips. But her own gaze glanced off his mouth now, dropped to his hands.
She jumped to her feet. "You're certifiable! Get out of my way. I'm not listening to this crap." Pushing past him as he, too, stood up, she fumbled with the key card, unable to get back into her room fast enough.
She thought she felt his fingers brush one of her curls, and when the light finally turned green, she pushed the door wide in her haste to get away from him. But Jared's hand was right there, splayed against the painted panel to prevent her from closing the door firmly in his face when she whirled back to do precisely that.
"Where's the fire, Peej?" he said softly. "I merely asked if you were worried about my intentions. I didn't say you needed to be. I'm a professional. I don't slap the make to my clients."
"I'm not your client," she snapped, then could have kicked herself. But, this had been agame? Humiliated for thinking he had been putting the moves on her-and worse, that she'd responded to them-she thrust her chin up and took a giant step forward to prove to him-to herself-that no cut-rate Romeo could intimidateher. "Still, that's good to hear. I was beginning to think you'd lost every standard you once had."
"Not a chance, baby," he murmured, smiling faintly.
For the briefest instant, her traitorous gaze drifted toward his lips, but she quickly jerked it away. "Good night," she said flatly.
This time when she stepped back and leaned her weight against the panel, he let her shut the door between them. Face hot, blood burning hotter, she stalked into the bedroom and threw herself facedown on the bed.
It was a long, long time before she finally fell asleep.
P.J.'S RIGHT, JAREDthought for about the hundredth time eight hours later.You arecertifiable. Approaching the cutoff where Highway 160 met up with I-5 outside of Medford, he scowled at the tailgate of her truck as she roared up the road in front of him. Then his thoughts bounced back to the same damn situation he'd been stewing over since two-thirty this morning. The one that had thrown him and P.J. and their history and his reason for being in her company into one big jumble.
It was messy enough already. What the devil had he been thinking to bring sex into the equation?
He'd love to claim it was all part and parcel of their ongoing attempts this past week to outdo each other. But even though he hadn't hesitated to give Peej the impression that it had been nothing more than a golden opportunity to one-up her, he couldn't sell that story to himself. Because rattling her and making her aware of him hadn't been a result of any genius design on his part. He'd simply touched her, looked at her in those worn little red boxer shorts and snug tank top, and his brain had short-circuited and his mouth had started spewing out the thoughts that had been crowdinghis mind, not hers.
Then he'd had the stones to tell her he was a professional. God, that was rich. He'd be lucky if she didn't slap a sexual harassment charge against him.
His brows snapped together. Whathad he been thinking? His professionalism had long been one of, if notthe most important aspects of his life. So why the hell was he endangering everything he'd worked so hard to accomplish to play who's-on-top-now with P.J.?
Because while it might feel like fun and games, it was threatening his self-respect. And unnecessarily so-he'd known a week ago he didn't need to personally accompany her until the tour officially began. But it had been surprisingly enjoyable to match wits with her, and his life had been so fucking serious for such a long time. And, okay, so maybe he felt more alive than he had in ages, but that was a piss-poor excuse. He only had two things he could count on in his life-his family and his work. That wasn't so frigging much that he could afford to blow off one of them.
Thinking of the other fifty percent reminded him of an event he'd missed at home. Happy to divert thoughts that kept circling like vultures waiting for the corpse, he picked up his cell phone from the seat next to him and punched his sister's number.
The phone on the other end of the line rang three times before it was picked up. "Hello," Victoria said and her voice, warm and familiar, was a balm to his raw nerves.
"Hey, Tori."
"Jared! How are you doing? Have you seen P.J. yet?"
"I'm fine. And yeah, I've seen her."Several times, in a number of situations.
She laughed. "Dumb question. Of course you have. John told me you were traveling with her-I just forgot for a minute."
"Ah, caught you at work, did I?"
"Yes. I'm trying out a new design, so my thoughts are a little scattered. It's a Greek temple. Very different, but fun. Although I'm having a tough time imagining what kind of dolls will feel at home in it."
"Maybe Goddess Barbie or Toga Ken. Or maybe it's actually for an adult. Your dollhouses are so amazing I'm guessing they aren't always ordered for kids."
"You sweet-talker, you." Then her voice turned brisk. "But enough about me. Tell me all about P.J."
"She's still fast on her feet and a smart mouth. Other than that, not much to tell."
"Not much to-Jared Hamilton! Don't tell me you haven't rekindled your friendship!"
Shit.This was exactly the conversation he'd hoped to avoid. "I'm here on a job, Victoria."
"And your point is? That little girl was the closest friend you ever had. You can't seriously be holding yourself as emotionally distant from her as you do from everyone but me and Rocket and the kids."
"Christ. What is it with you guys? Like I told John, we were close, but that was a lifetime ago.She tossed the friendship away, not me!" But feeling cracks developing in his normally smooth facade, he pulled himself up short. Drawing in a calming breath, he ordered himself to picture the Rocky Mountains. He was a glacier peak, impregnable and remote. He did not lose control.
Calmer, he felt a bite of satisfaction at how composed and patient he sounded when he said, "Look, is Esme around? That's the reason I called."
"Aw, sweetie," she said in a voice so understanding that for a moment it endangered his hard-won composure. "Hang on a second. I'll see if I can find her."
The telephone went on hold, and Jared pictured his sister in her attic studio tracking Esme down via the intercom system wired into every room of her and Rocket's big, rambling Denver home.
Then the line opened up again and his niece's voice said, "Hullo, Uncle Jared!"
"Hey, pipsqueak. Or should I say college graduate pipsqueak? Congratulations, kid. I'm sorry I missed the ceremony, but a gift is in the mail."
"Lovely. But as it happens, you didn't miss a thing." Traces of her first six years in England colored her voice. "I didn't graduate."
"What?" He took his eyes off the road for an instant to give the phone a blank look. "What happened?"
"Turns out my high school French classes don't count toward my foreign language obligation because I failed the competency test I took for college entry. Only no one bothered to tell me that until just now, which I think is complete and utter bollocks. Regardless, I'm stuck taking a French class summer quarter."
"Sorry to hear it, Es." He waited a beat, then said, "Send me back my prez."
"You wanker!" She laughed. "Just try to get it back. You always give great gifts."
"So you're taking one class this summer. That sounds cushy enough. What are you doing the rest of the time, lounging by a pool?"