The Actor's Stand-in

John tried not to stare when she took off her glasses, shook her bangs out of her eyes, and smoothed back her long black hair. Her face was striking with its arched brows, expressive brown eyes and high cheekbones. The tiny mole next to her mouth heightened his desire and made him want to kiss her all over again. The compact size of her body and the tantalizing sway of her hips made his blood boil. He inhaled deeply, trying to think of something other than the intoxicating female in front of him. He also tried counting sheep and thinking of the situation that brought him to her, but nothing helped. “You’re spoiling me,” he said, patting his tight stomach and trying not to become more distracted than he already was, “but another cup of coffee sounds just fine.” It had been a long time since a woman had affected him so strongly, and he had trouble following the conversation. She was a good hostess and a good-looking one, too. As she reached for the carafe, she was curious about her guest. She could tell by the stylish clothes he wore and the car he drove that money was no problem for him. His sharply creased trousers looked tailored, and his black woolen sweater was as soft as cotton candy. His cashmere scarf and heavy winter coat made her think of Madison Avenue or Wall Street. What about the Jaguar? Was he a doctor or lawyer? Was he rich and famous? Her stranded motorist and house guest was an enigma. She put off writing her column that night. If he spent the night, she might put it off until after Christmas. “You said you had something to tell me,” he prompted. “You grew up in Seattle,” she said, changing the subject. “Are you a dot-comer, a business executive or a banker?” She refilled his cup, stalling for time. “None of the above,” he said, with an amused chuckle. “Then what do you do in New York?” She refilled her own cup. “I work for myself. I don’t do computers or banks, and I’m not a broker from Wall Street.” Jennifer wondered what he actually did. Was he any good at it? Would he try to do something with her? As he picked up his coffee, choosing to drink it black, she noted the crinkles about his eyes, which were only visible when he smiled, also, the easy way he moved. She figured he was in his late thirties, reasonably athletic and kept in pretty good shape. She also knew he kept secrets and didn’t like to talk about himself. “Are you married?” she asked, trying to make it sound casual, but she could tell by the way his head jerked up and his eyes met hers that it hadn’t come out that way. “No,” he confessed, “and I don’t have a girlfriend.” He didn’t like where the conversation was going but didn’t know how to end it graciously. “Not just one,” Jennifer teased, “several I bet.” He was the type of man women fell in love with all the time. “That’s very flattering.” John peered into his cup. “But I’ve only had two serious relationships in my life: one with my wife who passed away years ago and the other with my career.” Jennifer shook her head, not knowing what to make of such a humble confession. “I go out once in awhile. So, there’s still hope.” He flashed a smile. “I can understand your curiosity, but why do you trust me? You don’t know me.” “You just saved my life.” “Most women wouldn’t have invited me into their home.” “I’m not most women.” Jennifer handed him a napkin, picked up her fork and began attacking the remnants of her apple pie. “I’ll admit that you’ve intrigued me with this tale about The Assassin,” he said, wiping his mouth and bringing the subject back into focus. “Journalists and law enforcement agencies around the world have been pursuing him for years, and you say you saw him?” Jennifer wiped her mouth. “We almost saw him.” John frowned. “When was this?” He understood her curiosity as a journalist, but it seemed like she knew more about The Assassin than he’d assumed. “About two and a half years ago, in Mexico.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “After we visited the site of the shooting, he phoned our hotel.” Jennifer shivered in the warmth of the kitchen. She stood up, poured herself another cup of coffee, and pulled her sweater tightly about her shoulders. “He said we were amateurs, that we didn’t know what we were doing, and that we might get hurt.” “Did he try to hurt you?” “No, but he scared us half to death.” Jennifer laughed and smoothed her hair. “That’s a relief, since there are better things to do with a woman who looks like you.” He winked at her. Jennifer smiled, lowered her eyes and sat down. “The fact that he knew where we were staying and had gotten our room numbers scared us both.” She knew she was talking too much. That usually happened when she was lonely or afraid. “I bet it did.” As if he suddenly remembered, he asked, “You and Tim serious?” She looked down in her lap, thinking about her complicated relationship with Tim. They’d been together for six years and had discussed marriage. Though he proposed often and regularly, she hadn’t given the answer he desired. She knew he saw other women in New York and when he went overseas. She sometimes felt guilty because she didn’t care as much as she should. Overnight he had become a stranger. She once read a book about an airline pilot and the secrets he kept. In addition to having two wives, he was also a terrorist. Jennifer wondered what Tim’s secrets were. Was there another woman? Was he married? Was he a criminal? What would happen if he knew about John? He had already threatened any man who had touched her or came near her. His jealousy was almost pathological. “We’re... sort of engaged,” she said, thinking she would be safer with John if he thought she was committed to another man. The kitchen lights flickered for several seconds. Then they stopped. They flickered again and suddenly went out.