Our Little Secret (14 page)

She went directly to Meg’s closet and scanned the racks for her sister’s best dresses.

It wasn’t like shopping at Lord & Taylor, but pretty damn close. Meg obviously had a busier social life than Lauren, judging by the number of cocktail and evening dresses, most black, and all more daring than Lauren would have preferred. Nothing had a decently high neckline or a hint of sleeve.

She pulled out the black sheath Gerald had recommended, a figure-hugging line of clingy silk with tiny spaghetti straps.

“Sexy,” Drew said behind her.

He lounged in the doorway of the tiny walk-in closet. His smug smile was aimed at her, not the dress.

That one word was enough reason not to wear the dress. Lauren arched an eyebrow, stuck the dress back on the rack, and blindly selected the one next to it. “Too bad. I’m wearing this one.”

The smile broadened to a grin.

Lauren looked at the dress in her hands. A formfitting strapless top dipped in a low heart shape, hugged tightly to the curve of invisible hips, then flared into a long skirt. Perfect for dancing, preferably a sizzling hot tango. Lauren’s mouth went dry.

Choking back a laugh, Drew said, “Excuse me. I need to order a long-stemmed red rose.” He left before he could even appreciate her fuming scowl.

Lauren sighed and considered the dress. She could select a different one, but Drew would know she’d been intimidated by his reaction. Better to be intimidated by a dress than by Drew.

Another worried look at the plunging neckline assured her that she was not overstating the problem.
She wouldn’t have to search Meg’s underwear drawers for a strapless black bra; the crisscross lacing on the back of the dress showed too much skin for that. Her modest bosom was on its own. She would have to hope the heart-shaped curves of the bodice offered adequate enhancement.

At least she could pilfer some black nylons from Meg.

Several minutes of searching made it clear that panty hose were out. Meg’s preference was obviously thongs, black garter belts and stockings. It was either wear the racy underwear, or stop at a drug store for her usual package of cheap pantyhose.

Lauren ran the silk stockings across her hand thoughtfully. No one would know but her, and it might make her feel daring enough to be comfortable in the dress.

What the hell.

Shaking off a shiver of anticipation, she gathered them up and left before she could change her mind.

Her last hope for a demure look ended with Steven.

“Are you sure you want me to cut it?” he asked, standing back to give Lauren’s hair a critical eye and speaking to Gerald. “She has enough length and volume to do a loose, wavy fall. Very feminine and pretty, especially if I weave some tiny flowers into the top.”

Lauren looked up hopefully.

Gerald shook his head. “Can’t do it. It has to look exactly like Meg’s. Razor cut along the bottom so it curves in, feathered through here and here.” Fingers lightly fluffed Lauren’s hair. “And wispy bangs down to here.”

Steven shrugged. “Okay. It’s a flattering style, but not as sexy.”

She was getting used to the idea of sexy and thought it sounded fine.

“Of course it isn’t. She can’t go to the embassy like that!” Gerald look horrified. “After you cut it, you’ll have to do some sort of upsweep.” His fingers danced over the crown of Lauren’s head in demonstration.

“No,” Drew interjected from across the kitchen, chair tipped back in what must be his usual pose. “Don’t change it from the way Meg was wearing hers the last few days. We want her to be recognized. She’s supposed to be Senator Creighton’s wife, remember?”

“Okay,” Gerald agreed reluctantly. “But it needs
something
to make it look special. This is an embassy party.”

“I didn’t bring any accessories, Gerald.” Steven stepped out from behind the kitchen chair so Lauren could see him without twisting around on her stool. In blue jeans and flannel shirt, Steven couldn’t look more different from Gerald, who wore his standard vest and tie even though it was Saturday. “Did you bring anything with you that we could use?” he asked her. “Ribbons, silver combs, jeweled barrettes, anything?”

Lauren mentally reviewed her meager grooming supplies. “I have a velvet band I use to tie my hair back,” she said doubtfully.

Steven rubbed his neatly trimmed beard as he studied the top of her head. “I could work with that. What color?”

“Red.”

Gerald smiled. “Perfect. She has a black dress, Steven. It’ll be great. Very sexy.”

The world was conspiring to make her sexy. Lauren warmed to the idea and flicked her gaze toward Drew. He looked entirely too detached and carefree, and she felt too exposed in her bathrobe, even though it covered her from head to toe. “Why aren’t you getting ready?” she asked him. “What are you going to wear?”

“I have a tux upstairs. Dad usually ropes me into attending these things when I’m in town. He keeps hoping political aspirations will rub off on me.” His cynical tone said it was a vain hope.

Like a typical man, he’d probably devote all of ten minutes to getting dressed, and look perfect. But letting him watch while Steven transformed her into something sexy made her squirm. She’d already caught his gaze on her a bit too often this afternoon.

“Shouldn’t you check with the police? I thought they were going to keep us updated on their search.”

It was the right diversion.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Drew’s chair dropped. “I’ll give that cop a call.”

“Detective Rasmussen,” Gerald supplied, keeping a critical eye on Lauren’s hair as Steven began snipping.

“That’s the guy. I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time,” she muttered to his back.

Lauren closed her eyes, prepared to sink into the luxury of being pampered, when Gerald crossed his arms and planted himself in front of her. “Okay, time to review your homework.”

She stiffened. This was the scary part. “There’s no way I can learn all those names and faces in the next few hours. Can’t I just smile politely at everyone and avoid using names?”

Gerald scowled. “No, you cannot. You could end up being too remote to one of Senator Creighton’s best friends, or worse yet, flashing a smile at Callista Featherstone and giving the whole thing away.” He narrowed a sharp stare at her while wagging a finger. “I can not emphasize this enough. Callista is a petty, jealous witch-with-a-B and hates Meg with a passion. Once you open your mouth, it will take her all of ten seconds to realize that you are not your sister. Ten seconds after that, the whole room will know.”

Lauren swallowed but couldn’t get rid of the lump that had suddenly developed in her throat. “How am I supposed to recognize her? Can’t you come with us?”

Her desperation softened Gerald’s glare. “No, I can’t. Just stay away from any tall blondes with a crash-test front end.”

“A what?”

“Air bags, sweetie,” he said, holding his hand up to support giant, invisible breasts. “Fully inflated. Avoid any women matching that description, especially if they have a nasty little predatory glint in their eyes.” He shrugged. “That should eliminate most of the strumpets. You can be polite to the rest.”

Lauren’s shoulders sagged with defeat, causing Steven to poke her back to an upright posture. She moaned, “I’ll never remember all those people.”

“Andrew can help. He knows some of the men.” A wicked grin swept across his face. “And probably most of the women.”

Somehow that was more irritating than reassuring, which was probably the reaction Gerald intended. While she concentrated on looking disinterested, Drew walked into the kitchen.

“The police are off the case,” Drew said, not looking very happy about it. “Orders of the Secret Service. I couldn’t get hold of whoever’s in charge of it now.”

“Is that normal?” Lauren asked.

“Probably,” Gerald told her. “The Secret Service provides protection for senators and representatives if it’s needed. They have a full investigative staff.” He squinted critically at the side of her head. “More layering,” he directed Steven. “It has to swing when she moves her head back and forth.” He demonstrated, swishing imaginary layers of hair across his collar.

Lauren wasn’t sure she liked the way their case had been passed around. “The Secret Service hasn’t even talked to us about what happened.”

Drew frowned. “Rasmussen said they have his report, and they’ll contact us when they know something.”

She glanced at Gerald, who seemed more concerned with supervising Steven’s every snip than he was about the Secret Service. Fine. If he wasn’t concerned, she wasn’t either. Worrying about Callista Featherstone was enough to keep her stomach in knots.

Drew’s thoughts might still be on the investigation, but she doubted it. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, watching with interest as her new hair style evolved.

Lauren shifted uneasily under his unwavering gaze. She adjusted her robe, uncrossed her legs, re-crossed them.

“Hold still,” Steven ordered.

She tried, but ended up swinging her foot to a nervous beat. With three men hovering around, she felt like the main exhibit at a museum. Gerald had to be there to advise Steven, but Drew didn’t.

“Don’t you have something to do?” she asked him.

“Me? No.”

She caught Gerald’s eye with a pleading look. He glanced at Drew and said, “Ladies only, get lost.”

Behind her, Steven muttered something and snipped perilously close to her neck.

Drew raised an eyebrow, but Gerald had already turned his back. Lauren smiled sweetly and said, “’Bye.”

“Just be ready by seven,” Drew told her, and left.

She threw a grateful smile at Gerald. “Thanks.”

“The big guy makes you nervous, huh?”

“Shut up, Gerald,” Steven said mildly as he created wispy bangs with his razor. “And if you stereotype me one more time you’re sleeping in the garage.”

Gerald grinned and winked at Lauren. “Isn’t he adorable?”

She wasn’t sure if he meant Steven or Drew.

Steven’s skills were magical, and Lauren loved the way her new hairstyle feathered down to swing just below the line of her chin.

The dress was more than magic. Her mind skidded away from the word sexy, but she was quite sure she’d never looked this good in her life. The fake red fingernails she’d applied were the finishing touch. If Meg felt this way about herself all the time, Lauren might have to consider investing in a few new dresses.

Lingerie, too. There was no getting around the effect the skimpy panties and lacy elastic garter straps had on her attitude, even concealed beneath the long dress. Posing in front of the mirror so she could admire the way the tight bodice persuaded her average-sized
breasts to scrunch into rounded mounds with honest-to-God cleavage, Lauren felt a surge of confidence.

It dissipated into quivering shyness as soon as she saw Drew.

He was as stunning as she’d expected in his tuxedo. He greeted her at the foot of the stairs with a warm gaze that lingered in all the right places, and a low, sensual, “Very nice.”

He reached for her hand as she descended the final tread, drawing her as close as he would for a dance. Too close for comfort. Even in heels she had to tilt her head to meet his eyes, and as soon as she did, his gaze slid down to her mouth, then lower to her breasts. Her pounding heart was probably adding significant tremors to her cleavage.

His sparkling blue gaze returned to hers. One side of his mouth curved into a mischievous smile. “I think our bodies will fit together quite well.” She nearly melted under a hot, liquid rush of emotion before he added, “When we dance, that is.”

“Oh,” she said, stupidly letting him know that she’d assumed he was referring to another way they might fit together. She winced.

When she dared to look at him again, he drew his free hand from behind his back and brought it into the small space between them. She looked down at a single, long-stemmed red rose.

“I couldn’t resist.” He grinned, a devilishly charming little boy’s smile that nudged her heartbeats into a gallop. Damn, that mouth was sexy. “You don’t have to hold it in your teeth. I’ll find a bud vase so you can leave it here.”

She nodded, wondering what it was about Drew
that kept knocking her senseless. It wasn’t like she’d never been given a rose before. In fact, she’d received hundreds. Jeff sent them in all colors, by the dozen, on a regular basis. Of course, they were delivered, not handed to her personally. And he’d never looked at her quite like that.

She had taken the rose from Drew and now she didn’t know what to do with it. Simply holding it was dizzying, like being sucked into an emotional whirlpool with Drew at the center. Her panicked mind sought a way out.

Thrusting the rose back, she blurted, “I forgot, I have to call Jeff before we go.”

“Great,” he muttered. “Sounds like a real buzzkill to me.”

That was the point. As quickly as she could manage in three-inch heels and a floor-length dress, she fled the room.

Jeff was safe. He was stable and dependable, and he never made her feel quivery inside. At least he never had before that misguided phone sex incident, which was
never
going to happen again. He was also suspicious.

“What do you mean, you were searching Meg’s apartment? What for?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to explain, we don’t know. Anything that might relate to the photographs, or to why someone might try to kidnap her. But we didn’t find anything.” Lauren decided not to mention the short brown hair in the comb; Jeff was already disapproving enough of Meg’s “misguided morals.”

“Lauren, I told you to leave that stuff to the police.”

“Yes, I remember. Jeff? I…” She hadn’t planned to bring it up, but suddenly his answer seemed important.

He waited through her hesitation, then said with exaggerated patience, “You what, Lauren?” He sounded impatient today, maybe a reaction to how vulnerable he’d sounded during the phone sex incident. If he was still embarrassed about it, she was sure the blame was going to shift back to her.

Lauren had to remove an immaculately manicured fake fingernail from her mouth to speak. “Would you be willing to come to Washington and help me?”