Jennifer hurried to the front door, her heart knocking against her breastbone. She’d sent her assistant, Cassie, home the moment after she’d received the phone call. She only had a little over an hour to get ready. At first, she’d been paralyzed with excitement and anxiety, wondering what she should do first. After chastising herself for being ridiculous, she’d showered and dressed in a knit dress and casual boots.
She flung open the front door of her Hollywood Hills home, her erratic breathing ceasing completely when she saw him standing there. She gazed at him like she would an unexpected treasure. It struck her as surreal to see him here in this setting. It struck her as wonderful.
“John. This is an amazing surprise.”
“I’m sorry for the short notice,” he said, entering. “We kind of came on an impulse.”
Jennifer glanced down and looked at Enzo, who was on a short leash. “I’m so glad you did. Come on in. I’ve made us a little supper.”
“I hope you didn’t go to any trouble,” John said as they took a few steps into the upper portion of her bi-level living room. Her gaze swept over her meticulously decorated bungalow—the luxurious home of a movie star. John couldn’t see it, and that pleased Jennifer. She was glad appearances meant absolutely nothing to him.
That didn’t mean she was immune to his appearance, though. She glanced over him appreciatively. He was wearing a pair of khaki pants that fit his lean hips exceptionally well and a blue button-down shirt. He’d shaved and trimmed back his beard into a sleek, dark goatee that highlighted his well-shaped mouth. Even though all the obvious traces of the rough, outdoorsy man she’d first met were absent, he was still the very picture of a competent, virile male supremely confident in his own skin.
“It was no trouble at all,” she said, pausing. “Besides, I owe both of you a dinner, remember?”
Her smile faded when he didn’t immediately reply. An awkward silence ensued. Had she misread his intentions in coming to Hollywood? When she’d received the phone call from him an hour and a half ago, she’d almost passed out in disbelief and excitement. After he’d pulled her out of the sinkhole almost two weeks ago, John had disappeared from her life.
She’d taken directions from Katie to his cabin after she’d returned from the hospital, where she’d received treatment for minor scrapes and bruises. She’d found his cabin sitting silent and empty amongst the tall, silent trees. Had John returned home and discovered he had sustained some serious injury? Had the sheriff taken him to the hospital?
She’d decided to return to his cabin to check on him after going to Vulture’s Canyon for a late lunch. While eating at the local café, she’d met Sherona Legion, the buxom, attractive owner of the Legion Diner that John had mentioned knowing. While Jennifer ate her delicious lunch, Sherona had revealed that her little brother Derek had picked up John an hour earlier to take him to the Carbondale airport. John’s vacation in the woods was over.
Jennifer had been stunned, hurt and bewildered by the news.
Yes, John and she had shared an electrical sexual experience down in that dark cave. She’d done things with John she’d never felt entirely comfortable doing with other men—fantasies aside—and she’d loved every minute of it.
But it had been more than sex. It had been a unique human experience . . . a connection unlike anything Jennifer had ever felt before. When John had departed from the forest so quickly, Jennifer found herself questioning the validity of her experience, however. If it had been so special, John would have felt it too.
He had felt it though. Her intuition said that he had. But perhaps she was deluding herself, influenced by the emotional edge of fear and anxiety she’d experienced? Had the singular bond she’d felt with him ever really existed?
She cleared her throat loudly, trying to diminish the weight of her anxious thoughts. “Here, let me take your bag,” she said, referring to the black duffel bag John had flung over one shoulder.
“Thanks. I took a cab straight from the airport. Haven’t had a chance to check in at the hotel yet.”
“You’re not staying at a hotel. You’re staying here,” she said, taking his bag.
She saw his expression flatten and again felt cast out to sea without a life preserver.
“We can talk about it during supper,” she said, hoping to diminish the tension in the air.
“Fair enough,” he replied.
She set down his bag and led Enzo and him to her kitchen.
“Would you like a glass of wine while I toss the salad?” When she saw his frown, she added quickly, “I also have beer and soft drinks.”
“No, it’s not that,” he mumbled. “I didn’t come here to have dinner with you, Jennifer.”
“Oh,” she said weakly.
He winced. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant—I want to talk to you about something.”
“Okay,” she said warily, leaning her hip against the counter.
Despite the fact that he said he wanted to talk to her, he looked like he was having an awfully hard time finding the right words.
“I . . . I knew twenty minutes after I’d packed up and left the forest I was being a fool. It just took me this long to work up the courage to talk to you again.”
“Why?” she whispered. “I wanted to see you again so much.”