Love After All (15 page)

“…yes, it was,” he relayed raggedly, stroking her arm and back dreamingly.

The accepted serene tranquility of the moment silenced them as neither one attempted to speak again. Their bodies and their hearts had spoken and the need for something audible was nonexistent. Later, they faded off to sleep, only to wake again and begin the rapture once more. She, on top this time, gave new meaning to riding all the way to the stars.

As they met their rapture once again they stared into each other's eyes knowing that this wasn't the end, it was only the beginning.

The thought that this was a onetime thing, a meaningless interlude between consenting adults, seemed to fade away. It was more and they knew it.

S
howered and dressed once more, Samantha sat on the side of the bed in her hotel suite and shook her head, still astonished by her actions as she confessed to her best friend.

“I still can't believe I just did that,” Samantha repeated a fourth time as she listened to Jillian chuckle through the phone. “This isn't funny,” she insisted almost virtuously. “It was a mistake, a huge mistake. I came out here for two things, to help Jefferson and to find and confront Eric, and instead I wound up in bed with a perfect stranger all afternoon and most of the evening my first day here. And on top of that, I know I missed my connection with Lincoln. Now what am I supposed to do? I can't believe I did that,” she repeated.

Jillian Cooke had known Samantha since their freshman year in college. They were roommates who'd despised each other at first sight. Then, brought together by a cheating two-timing boyfriend, they'd commiserated and bonded, consoling each other through school drama, boyfriend drama, exfiancé drama and numerous personal crises to become almost sisters.

So at three o'clock in the morning when Samantha called Jillian, it wasn't at all surprising. They often talked into the late hours of the night. And since Jillian knew all about Samantha's family and her recent troubles, including the reason she was in L.A., calling her to bemoan was only natural.

Sounding like a snorkeling hyena, Jillian yawned and chuckled at the same time. “Do you know that for sure? Did he call or leave a message or something like that?”

“No, but that's beside the point. I was distracted and I blew it. It was completely unprofessional.”

“That's because you're not a professional. Samantha, from everything you've told me about your brother, it seems to me that he asked you to do this for a reason. He trusts you to be
yourself
and not a professional. Didn't he tell you to do what came natural?”

“Sleeping with a man I met on a plane several hours earlier is definitely not natural for me. I would never have done anything like that.”

“And yet you just did.”

Samantha groaned. “Don't remind me.”

“And about this Lincoln guy, he'll show up again. Jerks like that always do. Just be patient. And in the meantime, tell me about this perfect stranger. Exactly how was he?”

“Jillian,” Samantha said, not at all astonished by her friend's curiosity, “I am not going to tell you stuff like that.”

“Why not? I'd tell you.”

“You probably would,” Samantha said, knowing her friend too well. “But all that aside, he was just a guy who happened to be in the right place at the right time, a perfect stranger.”

“Perfect, huh?” Jillian said, catching her friend's subtle inflection on the word
perfect.

“Stop reading into this. A complete stranger, okay? Not perfect. I slept with a complete stranger. Either way, I can't believe I did it.”

“Look, how long have we known each other?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Since our freshman year at college,” Samantha said.

“Exactly, and in all that time I've sat back and seen your life stuck on perpetual boredom. I say it's about time you shook things up a bit. So Sam, why are you beating yourself up about this?” Jillian asked. “It's been over three months since you've said more than five words to any one man at any single time, and I know it's been a lot longer since you were intimate with a man, so if you ask me, I say it was about time. And so what if he was a perfect, or rather, complete stranger? He was a man, and believe it or not, having a man around every now and then is a good thing.”

“Don't try to rationalize it, Jillian. The only good thing is that he has no idea who I really am, or anything else about me. I snuck out of there a few hours ago, caught a cab and came back here to the hotel. I don't expect I'll ever see him again.”

“For you to feel this guilty, I sure hope that he was worth it.” Jillian paused. “Well, tell me, was he?” she asked boldly.

“I don't kiss and tell, you know that,” Samantha said calmly.

“Come on, it's a valid question,” Jillian said. “How was he?”

Although the two friends seldom interfered in each other's personal lives to the extreme, Jillian knew Samantha's hesitation. Opening up was hard for her, particularly when it came to her feelings. But slowly she'd seen her friend open up and in the past few months she'd been more open than ever as Jillian became her confidante and sole connection to a world that she was forced to leave behind.

Also a computer engineer, Jillian had quit the company they'd both worked at after learning that the company had committed more fraud than Eric. Now together, they had started their own company.

As such, Jillian sent electronic diagnostics and Samantha would access them from her computer, connect, locate and then fix the problem as if they were right there together in the same room. It was the perfect solution for both of them as the new arrangement worked like a charm.

To the outside world, Cooke and Taylor Computers was a thriving business that could successfully fix and restore any computer problem in a matter of a few days. Defining their roles, Samantha became the silent partner and Jillian took the visible lead.

“Oh, come on, you can tell me,” Jillian said as Samantha remained silent to her last plea. “Who am I gonna tell? It's not like I meet a lot of people sitting in my home office deciphering computer code all day.” Jillian paused again for a reply. “Oh, no, was he that bad?” she finally moaned, realizing the sad possibility.

Samantha sighed, shaking her head remembering Jackson and their third time together. She exhaled slowly, smiling. “On the contrary, the man had my toes curling every two minutes. He was…” She paused again. “Unbelievable, insatiable, creative. He had me nearly screaming my head off.”

“Say what?” Jillian intoned with delight as they giggled like two schoolgirls at recess. “Go, girl, you finally got your groove on, good for you,” Jillian singsonged with chanting humor. “It's about time. Finally you can have some kind of life again. This whole giving up on the men in your life is just not right,” she added.

“I gave up for good reason, or have you forgotten my Eric drama?”

“Hardly, but he was just one man—stupid, foolish, a jerk, brainless, a twit, a moron.”

Samantha smiled again as Jillian's added descriptions and her talent for exaggerating always had a way of making her feel better. “You're preaching to the choir on that one. But all in all, I gave up for good reason,” Samantha said.

“I know,” Jillian said softly, knowing the pain of her friend's past and the suffering she'd experienced growing up.

Samantha stilled. On some level she knew Jillian was right. She'd lost faith in men a long time ago and Eric only reinforced her decision. Then the thought of Jackson weaved through her mind. “And one incredible night doesn't change anything. Trust is hard for me.”

“Yet you meet a man on a plane, a perfect stranger—sorry, a complete stranger—you have him drive you to who knows where, you make love with him for hours on end, and then you fall asleep in his arms. Excuse me, but that sounds like a whole lot of trust going on to me,” Jillian said.

“It wasn't exactly like that. He…I…we…it wasn't like that,” she repeated, trying to convince herself as she failed miserably at convincing her friend. “It was all just a fantasy.”

“Call it what you want, you made a connection, girl, and by what you just told me, so did he,” Jillian said.

“No, it was just a fantasy, a one-night stand, that's it. I have no intention of repeating it.”

“That sounds familiar.”

“What?”

“Doing that thing you do.”

“What thing I do? Okay, let's hear it,” Samantha said, knowing what was coming next.

“It's all Robert Taylor's fault,” Jillian began.

“Because it is,” she insisted.

“You don't know that. All you know is what your mother told you and she was a tad on the bitter side.”

“I know you're not defending him now,” Samantha said.

“No, of course not. All I'm saying is that for the ten years that I've know you, you've held a grudge against a man that you haven't seen since you were a lad. Every man you meet has to deal with the Robert Taylor curse and they don't even know it. Isn't it time to let it go?”

Samantha didn't respond. She considered Jillian's comment. Then just as she was about to speak, a heavy knock on the door startled her. She turned, then looked at her watch. It was twelve-forty-five in the morning. “There's someone at the door. I have to call you back, take care.” She hung up quickly.

The knock sounded a second time as Samantha slowly walked over to the door. “Who is it?” she asked with her hand on the knob.

“Ms. Lee?”

“Yes,” she responded.

“It's the bellman from downstairs. Sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but I have a note for you. It was delivered to the front desk a few minutes ago and asked to be hand delivered. It's marked extremely urgent.”

Samantha opened the door cautiously. Then, seeing a pimple-faced teen with a silly grin and a uniform a size too big, she relaxed. He held out a sealed envelope. Samantha took it and looked it over. The young man waited uneasily, shifting from foot to foot.

“Oh, right, of course, just a minute,” Samantha said and she stepped away, grabbed her purse and handed him a generous tip.

“Thanks, good night,” he said, now overly exuberant as he shoved the bill into his pocket, smiled wide, tipped his hat, then turned and headed back down the hall to the elevators.

Samantha stepped out farther into the hall and glanced both ways down the empty corridor. The eerie emptiness of the repetitive doors gave her a disturbing sense of vertigo. Seeing no one around, she went back into her room and closed the door.

She walked over to the bed and opened the envelope carefully. Small and neatly printed, the handwriting was the same as before. She read the short message, then read it again.

A chill shivered down her back. The words
hit it off so well
stuck out instantly. She read the message again, this time aloud. Hearing the words out loud drove home the message. The explicitness of the note regarding her day spent with Jackson was well understood. Either she had been followed or Jackson was Lincoln, or at the very least was working was with him.

Her heart began pounding. She tossed the note on the bed, grabbed the suitcase and tossed it on the bed beside the note. In a blurred rush she swung open the closet door and began gathering her clothes and tossing them into the open suitcase. She hurried into the bathroom collected her things from the counter, then headed toward the bed.

As soon as she dropped her toiletries into the bag, there was another knock at the door. She stopped and turned to the door. “Who is it?”

“It's Jackson. Open the door, Samantha.”

Jackson's voice was tight and demanding. Samantha looked around the room anxiously. “Jackson, I'm busy right now.”

“Open the door, Samantha,” he repeated.

She walked over and opened the door. “What are you doing here?”

“You can stop playing games,” he said as he walked past her and stood in the center of the room, his back to her.

“What are you doing here?” she repeated.

He noticed the half-packed suitcase on the bed and turned to her. “Leaving so soon? You haven't even been paid yet,” he said, pulling out his checkbook.

“Excuse me?” she said, appalled by his implication.

“But then I guess in your kind of work you'd prefer cash,” he added.

“If you're implying what I think you're implying…” she said, finally slamming the door of the suite closed.

“Don't flatter yourself, Ms. Lee,” he quipped as he began riffling through the cash in his wallet. “I'm only here to finish our business.”

“You need to leave, now,” she demanded, aggravated with herself that she had misjudged him so completely.

“Not until we settle our business,” he assured her firmly.

“Our business? What business? I have no idea what you're talking about,” she said, then paused, realizing that she'd been conned again and he was obviously Lincoln. “Oh, I get it, it was you all along.” She stopped and shook her head, disappointed. “Fine, if it's money you want I'll pay you.”

“What?” Jackson asked, stunned as he watched her storm over to her purse and toss cash on the bed for him.

“You heard me,” she said. “Take it, that's all I have right now.”