Secret Vows (Hideaway (Kimani)) (7 page)

“Yo, miss. Over here!”

She turned and made her way to a table with six young men, some who didn’t look old enough to shave. “Yes.”

One with a five-o’clock shadow held a twenty dollar bill between his fingers. “I’d like to order a pitcher of beer.”

Resting her hands at her waist, Greer gave him a direct stare. “I have to see some ID. You must be twenty-three to be served alcohol.”

“Isn’t the legal drinking age twenty-one?”

“It is.”

“Then what’s the deal?” he asked.

“The deal is I can’t serve you alcohol unless you’re twenty-three.” She smiled when he tucked the bill into his shirt pocket. “There is unlimited soda, tea and fruit punch.” Greer turned around so they wouldn’t see her smile, running headlong into Jason. She almost lost her balance but he managed to steady her, his hands going to her shoulders. Standing so close to him made her aware that he was very tall. She was five-seven but he had to be at least three or four inches over the six-foot mark. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I should be the one apologizing,” Jason countered.

Why, Greer thought, hadn’t she noticed his slow, drawling speech pattern that identified him as someone who’d grown up in the South? His voice was deep and soothing at the same time. He also smelled wonderful. His cologne was a combination of musk, sandalwood and a hint of bergamot. It was as intoxicating as its wearer.

“Is there something I can get you?” she asked quickly, recovering her physical and emotional equilibrium.

Jason handed her a folded napkin. “I’d like you to call me.”

Greer glanced at his name and a number on the paper, recognizing the Florida area code. She continued to stare at the napkin rather than let him see the delight shimmering in her eyes. Jason had made the first overture, which eliminated her need to concoct a ruse to come on to him.

“Why?” she asked, not wanting to appear
too
eager that the record producer had approached her.

“I’d like to discuss some business with you.”

She looked up at him. “You want to talk business? What happened to your business card, Mr. Cole?”

Jason looked sheepish. “I didn’t think I’d need them tonight. I could always go home and bring some back with me.”

Greer saw people watching them instead of directing their attention to the stage where a quartet harmonized a Boyz II Men classic. “Please follow me.” She led him down a narrow hallway to an Employees Only door, stepping out into the cool late-summer night. Stopping, she turned to face Jason. The light over the door illuminated the area where Dumpsters were labeled Garbage, Paper, Plastic and Glass. Bobby was pedantic when it came to recycling.

Crossing her arms under her breasts, Greer angled her head. “What type of business did you want to discuss?”

Jason didn’t want to believe Greer wanted to carry on a conversation surrounded by Dumpsters. He wrinkled his nose. “Is there someplace else we can talk without smelling garbage?”

Greer shook her head. “I’m sorry, but this is the only place where we can talk without someone eavesdropping.”

“Okay, then I’ll make this quick. I’d like to make a tape of you singing several songs.”

“As in a record?”

He nodded.

“Why?”

Pushing both hands into the pockets of his slacks, Jason gave her an incredible stare. “Has anyone told you that you have a remarkable voice?”

Greer shook her head. “No,” she admitted truthfully. She’d been told she had a good voice, but not a remarkable one.

“Well, you do.”

“Because you say so?” she asked.

“No,” Jason countered. “Because
I
know so. You have perfect pitch.”

Greer paused, stalling for time because she had to make him believe she was wary that he’d approached her. “How do I know if I can trust you? I’ve heard too many stories about men offering women—”

“Stop it, Greer,” he interrupted. “I’ve never taken advantage of any woman
and
I happen to have too much respect for Bobby to mess over you.”

She decided on another approach. “Let me think about it, and then I’ll call you.”

Jason smiled. “Thank you.”

She returned his smile, silently admiring the dimples creasing his cheeks. “You’re welcome. Hold on,” Greer urged when Jason reached for the door handle. “I have to unlock it.” She hadn’t yet put the key into the lock when the door opened. Danny stood in the doorway gripping a black plastic bag.

He stared at her. “Sorry. I didn’t know you...”

“It’s all right, Danny. We were just coming in.” Jason’s arm circled her waist as the ex-Marine continued to stare at her.

“Is he your man?”

A beat passed as she replayed the totally unexpected question in her head. Jason wasn’t her
man,
and if he was, then what was it to Danny? Something about the way he was looking at her was off-putting, and Greer wondered if he was experiencing a flashback.

* * *

Jason didn’t know if Greer and the man she’d called Danny were previously involved with each other, then remembered Chase’s comment about her going through a nasty divorce; he doubted whether she would continue to work with a man to whom she’d once been married.

“Yes, I am her man,” he stated firmly.

The tension-filled moment passed as a half smile lifted a corner of Danny’s mouth. “That’s good. She needs someone to take care of her.”

“Thank you,” Jason drawled. “I’ll make certain to always take care of her.”

Danny extended his free hand. “Danny Poe.”

Jason had to drop his arm to shake hands. “Jason Cole.”

Greer rested her hand on Jason’s back, feeling his body’s warmth through the cotton shirt. “I have to get back before Bobby comes looking for me.” The mention of her uncle’s name galvanized Danny into action as he headed for the Dumpsters.

“Is he all right?” Jason whispered in her ear as they reentered the restaurant.

Going on tiptoe, Greer pressed her mouth to his ear. “Iraq.”

He laced their fingers together. “Is he in therapy?”

She nodded. “I really have to get back. And I promise to call you.”

Jason leaned against the wall, watching the seductive sway of Greer’s hips in a pair of fitted jeans as she walked away. He didn’t know why he’d admitted to Danny he would take care of Greer because that wasn’t even a remote possibility. She didn’t need a protector when she had Bobby Henry.

He followed Greer, losing sight of her in the crowded restaurant. People were up on their feet singing and fist pumping to Flo Rida’s megahit “Wild One.” A woman grabbed his hand, leading him to a space where the tables were pushed back. Jason found himself caught up in the infectious rhythm as he danced with the petite buxom blonde. Dancing had reminded Jason of how long it’d been since he’d been to a club. Earlier that year he’d dated a woman living in Miami. She had professed to be a certified party girl, and after two months of nonstop partying, Jason was forced to break it off. Their weekends began Friday nights and didn’t end until Sunday morning. He’d been so sleep deprived it had taken several months for him to reestablish a normal sleep pattern.

The song ended and he managed to escape the woman’s clutches, making a beeline toward the exit. He left Stella’s, driving to an all-night mini-mart where he bought milk, eggs, butter and bread. As he drove back home, he thought about how his best-laid plans had suddenly changed. He was now a member of a local band, and he hoped Greer would honor her promise and call him.

Chapter 6

G
reer sat on the porch in the cushioned rocker as she stared out at the lake. The cries of a hawk had awakened her and she hadn’t been able to go back to sleep. She had left her bed, showered, washed her hair and pulled on a sweatshirt and pants over her underwear. At dawn the mid-September air was cool and crisp. The smell of pine wafted to her nose as a gentle breeze rustled the branches of massive trees growing around the lake like ramrod-straight soldiers at a military parade.

She’d forgotten the number of times when she got up early, put on a swimsuit and raced out of the house to the lake as if something in there was calling her. The water was cold enough to make her teeth chatter, but after a while she didn’t feel it. Swimming, boating and fishing had become the highlight of her summers, times filled with childlike abandon.

The word
abandon
conjured up images of Karaoke Night. It had become New Year’s Eve with everyone singing, dancing, eating and drinking. She’d caught a glimpse of Jason dancing with a curvaceous woman. After the song had ended, she looked for him but he’d disappeared.

Greer had promised him she would call him, and she intended to keep her promise. Picking up her cell phone, she scrolled through her contacts and punched Jason’s number. If he was serious about recording her voice, then he would not get upset if she called him at sunrise.

“Jason.”

She smiled. He didn’t sound as if he’d been asleep. “This is Greer,” she crooned.

His soft chuckle caressed her ear. “Good morning.”

“That it is.”

“What are you doing up so early?”

“I could say the same about you,” Greer countered. “I thought musicians stayed up all night and slept all day.”

“Not this one. In fact I don’t get enough sleep.”

Greer had no comeback. She didn’t want to ask if it was music or women that kept him up. “You wanted me to call you,” she said instead.

“Yes, I did. I want to know if you’re willing to block out some time for me to record your voice.”

“What do you intend to do with the demo?”

“That’s something we will have to talk about.”

Shifting on the rocker, Greer pulled her legs up into a yoga position. “I’m free this morning.”

“Are you working tonight?”

“Yes. I have to be at the restaurant between four and four-thirty.” She went in early to set up the buffet station.

“I can pick you up in thirty minutes. Does that give you enough time to be ready?”

Greer wanted to tell Jason that she was more than ready—ready to find out all she could about his friend and neighbor. If Chase hadn’t been so shadowy or standoffish, she would’ve attempted to get close to him directly.

“Yes. Do you know where my uncle’s house is?”

“Yes. I’ll see you later.”

Disconnecting the call, Greer felt as if she’d scaled one hurtle. The next one would be to uncover who Chase was, what did he do and where did he go whenever he disappeared for weeks at a time.

* * *

Jason maneuvered up the paved driveway to Bobby’s house, slowed and parked next to a classic red pickup truck. He turned off the engine and got out of the Range Rover, unable to take his eyes off the restored vehicle. He heard the sound of a door opening and glanced up to see Greer come out of the house. She looked deliciously alluring in a white man-tailored shirt, low-rise black jeans and matching high-heeled leather booties that made her legs appear even longer. He stood there, unable to move, tongue-tied. Slowly, seductively, his gaze slid downward from her face to the sensual curve of womanly hips before reversing itself.

She rested a hip against the porch column. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

The dulcet sound of Greer’s voice shattered his entrancement. “Yes.”

“Johnny B. Goode II is my uncle’s pride and joy.”

Jason frowned in confusion before he realized Greer was talking about the truck. “It’s exquisite. Nineteen fifties?”

She smiled and nodded. “A 1956 model to be exact. Uncle Bobby bought it from a farmer who’d shattered his leg and couldn’t depress the clutch. It took my uncle more than ten years to restore it.”

“I’ve never seen him drive it.”

Greer came down off the porch, while he openly stared at her approach. He repressed the urge to reach out and run the back of his hand over her face to see if it was as velvety as it appeared. He’d admitted to Danny that he was Greer’s man but that was a lie. A falsehood. If circumstances were different, that could possibly become a truth. Jason had worked with a number of female artists since taking over as Serenity’s musical director, but he’d never crossed the line with any of them to mix business and pleasure.

“That’s because he usually keeps it garaged.” She touched the hood. “I learned to drive on this baby.”

“So you like driving a vehicle with a manual transmission.”

“I like control.”

Her statement told Jason everything he needed to know about Greer Evans. “Control,” he repeated softly. “What about compromise, Greer?”

She blinked. “What about it, Jason?”

He leaned closer, their noses nearly touching. “Do you ever compromise?”

Greer smiled, bringing his gaze to linger on her lips. “Only when I’m not offered an alternative.”

Jason didn’t know her age, but she looked incredibly young with her scrubbed face and ponytail. His mouth curved into an unconscious smile. “Then I must make certain to offer you an alternative to what I’ve planned for our future venture.”

“You’ve already planned my future when I’m not sure where I’ll be or what I’ll be doing three months from now?”

He inclined his head. “I apologize for being presumptuous. Now, let’s leave.”

* * *

Greer went completely still. She did not want to believe Jason had offered a backhanded apology while issuing an order in the same breath. Exhaling an inaudible breath, she had to remind herself that she had been given a directive to identify those buying and selling illegal firearms, and that she’d become an actress in a role wherein she could not afford to break character.

Earlier this morning after logging on to the government-issued laptop, she’d typed Jason’s name into a classified database and had come up with hundreds of Jason Coles. She’d narrowed the search with Serenity Records, transfixed with the data. Greer knew his date of birth, middle name, the schools he’d attended and net worth. She also had to remember, whatever role she assumed, Greer couldn’t afford to succumb to what she knew was the total package for any normal woman. Jason was tall, dark, handsome, sensual and charming, and a few other adjectives she wouldn’t permit herself to acknowledge.

Gathering information on Charles Bromleigh had proved less fruitful. There were other Bromleighs who had a penchant for naming their sons Charles. However, the Charles she sought did not exist. It was as if he were a ghost, a specter. He was there, yet he wasn’t. It would’ve made Greer less suspicious if she’d found a file or fingerprints on him that were classified. The fact that he presumably didn’t exist had only strengthened her resolve to go after him.

Turning to Jason, she forced a smile. “I just have to get my bag and car keys, and I’ll be right back.”

Jason caught her wrist. “We’re going to take my truck.”

Greer stared up at him through her lashes, garnering the reaction she sought when his jaw dropped. Yes, she was flirting with him. “I don’t want to put you out when you have to drive me back.”

Jason shook his head. “Greer,” he said softly. “Remember I’m the one asking you to do me a favor, not the other way around.”

Whenever he said her name, it came out like a sensual growl. The first two letters began in the back of his throat while the next three were barely audible. “You’re right. I still have to get the keys to put the truck in the garage.” Even when she drove the truck to Stella’s, she parked it in the garage on the premises. “May I have my hand back?” she asked him. Instead of letting go of her wrist, Jason raised her hand, dropping a kiss on her knuckles.

“Of course you may.” His fingers slipped away, releasing her delicate wrist. He winked at her, and she returned it with a sassy smile.

Jason leaned against the bumper of the pickup emblazoned with black letters from the song title of one of his favorite rock-and-roll artists, watching Greer walk back to the house. He doubted if she knew just how sexy she actually was. It wasn’t just her face and body but also her body language. It was why the men at Stella’s couldn’t stop themselves from touching or brushing up against her.

He’d known many and dated one very beautiful woman. The difference was their beauty was only skin-deep. A few had him looking for the nearest exit when he had discovered they couldn’t carry on a simple conversation. Usually all they wanted to talk about was themselves or name-drop as to who’d asked them to model or appear in music videos. It had reached a point in his life where Jason much preferred his own company to the opposite sex. He was very comfortable spending time alone in the studio experimenting with different music genres or losing track of time when he put on a playlist of his favorite songs spanning six decades.

Several of his single male cousins were forthcoming when they had asked if he was gay because they rarely saw him with a woman, but he reassured them that he liked women. It was just that he was very discriminating when it came to sharing time and space with the opposite sex. Hanging out with a group of men was very different from interacting one-on-one with a woman. Not only was he expected to show her a good time, but there was also the question of whether he wanted to sleep with her. Once he committed to taking a woman to bed, it translated into being in a committed relationship. It wasn’t just physical. It was also emotional.

He stood up straight when Greer reemerged with a black leather tote slung over her shoulder. She locked the front door, and he approached her and took the keys to the pickup. “I’ll put it in the garage.”

“You can drive it to your place if you want.”

Jason’s smile was sheepish. “How did you know?”

Greer rolled her eyes upward. “Duh. I saw your eyes light up when you first looked at it.”

His teeth flashed whitely in his sun-browned face. “Was it that obvious?”

“Sometimes your face is an open book, Jason. You’re not that hard to read.”

He sobered. “Is that so?”

Greer nodded.

“What am I thinking about now?”

Her somber expression mirrored his. “I don’t read minds, just faces.” She didn’t add body language because that would give too much of herself away. Dangling the keys to the pickup, she dropped them into Jason’s outstretched hand. “Do you want me to pull your truck into the garage?” she asked him.

“No. It can stay here.” Cupping her elbow, he led her around the pickup to the passenger side, opening the door and assisting her onto the seat.

Greer felt like a small creature unable to move for fear of attracting the attention of a predator when her eyes met Jason’s. She opened her mouth to tell him that he could close the door now, but the words were locked in the back of her throat as she found herself caught in a trance from which she did not want to escape. His large expressive brown eyes were framed by long black lashes better suited on a woman. Her gaze went to the short black strands on his head and lower to the emerging stubble. There was something about Jason that was quietly dangerous, and she knew she had to be careful or she would find herself emotionally in over her head. She’d known special agents who’d become involved with their targets because it had been the only way they could secure the evidence needed for an arrest. Fortunately it wasn’t Jason but Chase who’d become her person of interest. The soporific spell was shattered when Jason finally closed the door.

* * *

It was in a moment of absurdity that Jason had imagined what it would be like to make love to Greer. He didn’t know whether the thought had come from prolonged periods of isolation, celibacy or the sacrifices he’d made for his jealous mistress.

He slipped behind the wheel and started up the truck. The engine roared to life, then purred like a contented cat. Shifting into Reverse, he backed out of the driveway. The gears shifted smoothly as he maneuvered onto the local road.

“This baby is sweet.” Jason gave Greer a quick glance. “Do you think Bobby would be willing to sell it to me?”

Greer gave him a stunned look. “Why would you want this when you have a top-of-the-line SUV?”

Jason shifted into a higher gear. “I don’t own a vehicle. I’m renting the Range Rover.”

“What about your car or cars in Florida?”

“I rent there, too.”

A slight frown formed between her eyes. “Why don’t you own a car?”

Lifting his shoulders under a white cotton pullover, Jason concentrated on the narrow winding road. “I don’t know. Owning a car isn’t something that turns me on. I merely view them to get me from point A to B.”

“If that’s the case, then why would you want to buy this one?”

“Because it’s a classic. There’s a lot of history in old cars.”

Shifting slightly on the seat, Greer stared at his distinctive profile. “Do you feel the same about music?”

“Yes and no. I’m somewhat partial to the music from the ’50s, ’60s, ’70s and ’90s.”

“What about rap and hip-hop?”

Jason shifted again when he came to a steep hill. “I like both. There’s something about old-school music that connects and reflects the sign of those times. If you sit and listen to the protest songs from the ’60s, it’s like a referendum on change in order for the country to move in another direction.”

“Protest music and old cars. Did anyone ever tell you that you were born too late?” Greer asked, smiling.

Jason laughed softly. “I hear it all the time.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Not in the least.” He downshifted as he turned off to the private road bordered on both sides with towering trees and up a steep hill to Bear Ridge Estates. Slowing, Jason stopped at the gatehouse because he’d left his remote sensor to open the gate in the Range Rover.

The armed guard leaned out the window, smiling. “Nice truck, Mr. Cole. What year is it?”