Mad About You (60 page)

A dimly lit changing house sat at the opposite end, and he headed toward the men's side, already rolling up his sleeves. Whistling under his breath, he pushed open the heavy wood door and stepped into the large bathroom, the soles of his stiff shoes scraping on the terra-cotta-tiled floor.

A gasp and a movement stopped him in his tracks and he nearly choked in surprise. "Jasmine?"

Standing crookedly beside a padded bench in an area surrounded by lockers, she clutched one black high-heeled shoe to her chest. "Ladden?"

He simply stared at her for several seconds, then his words tumbled out around hers: "What—"

"—are you—"

"—doing here?"

The overhead lights caught the highlights in her upswept hair and bathed her skin with a sunkissed glow. Desire flooded his body and he fought to maintain control. She was stunning, even wearing a puzzled expression.

"Didn't you imagine I would be attending a political rally for Governor McDonald?"

Incredulous, he raked his hand through his hair. "I'm here helping a friend. I had no idea this party was for the governor." He glanced around the room. "But what are you doing here?"

She held up a small adhesive bandage. "A blister. The ladies’ room is locked."

Their compromising situation struck him full force and he began a slow retreat. "Oh, hell—the media will fry us if anyone sees us." He held up his hand. "I'll go out first. Wait ten minutes, and if you don't hear anything, the coast is clear."

"Okay," she agreed, her eyes wide. "Goodbye."

His heart slammed against his ribs so hard, the beat echoed deep in his ears. When he felt the door at his back, he turned and yanked the latch. When the door refused to budge, he put more muscle behind it. Only after he set aside his jacket, used both hands, and still the door wouldn't give did panic begin to mushroom in his chest.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice squeaky.

"The door's stuck."

"Well, unstick it!"

"I'm trying." He braced his foot against the frame and pulled on the rusty latch with all his might. After jiggling the knob side to side, he said, "I think it's locked. Didn't you say you couldn't get inside the women's rest room?"

Her eyes closed briefly. "Yes."

"Maybe the latches are faulty."

"Oh, my God." She dropped her shoe and covered her mouth with her hands.

"Okay, don't panic," he said, more for his benefit than for Jasmine's. "Maybe there's another way out." He walked into the locker area and studied the high windows around the perimeter of the room. After testing a small table for sturdiness, he climbed up and succeeded in cranking open a window—six inches.

"I can't even get my hand out to wave a flag for help," he said.

"We can't attract attention, anyway." Her voice trembled. "You and I locked in a bathroom together—this would look very, very bad."

He pulled out his phone. "I’ll call the friend I came here to help. She’ll come down to let us out." Then he sighed and held up his phone. "No signal. You?"

She opened her purse and retrieved her phone, then her shoulders fell. "No. What are we going to do?"

"Someone will find us."

"But we can't be found!" Jasmine rocked back and forth on the bench. She'd discarded the other shoe and sat with her bare feet on the tiled floor. "Half of Sacramento already thinks we're having an affair thanks to those billboards!"

"I know," he said miserably. "I'm sorry."

"The last thing Trey needs right now is a full-fledged scandal."

"I know," he repeated, walking over to her. "Believe me, I'm sorry."

She glanced up at him. "I don't suppose that well-intended friend of yours had anything to do with this."

Ladden pursed his lips—then shook his head. "Gene wouldn't go that far."

"Gene?"

He lowered himself to the bench, a good distance from where she sat. "This old homeless guy who says"—he laughed—"who says he lived in the copper lamp you bought and is going to grant me three wishes for releasing him from bondage."

A strange smile curved her mouth. "You mean, this guy thinks he's magic?"

"Something like that." He felt his ears growing hot.

"How on earth did you meet this strange person?"

"Remember the day of the earthquake tremor?"

"Yes."

"He must have been walking by my store when it happened because when things settled down, I found him sitting in front of the counter."

"That's odd."

"The next thing I know he's calling me Master and ranting about granting me three wishes."

She laughed, a tinkling sound that stirred his blood. "He sounds like one for the books."

"Definitely."

"Well," she said in a teasing voice, "did you make your wishes?"

Ladden debated for a moment whether to reveal the rest of the story, the bizarre coincidences, the weird goings-on with the carpet. Hell, for all she knew, he could have followed her here tonight and planned this entire episode.

"Ladden," she said more softly, with a slight catch in her voice, "did you make your wishes?"

Chapter Ten

JASMINE STARED at the dark-haired man next to her, her throat dry. Of course, the very concept of wishes being granted was preposterous, but his hesitation spoke volumes.

He exhaled noisily, puffing out his smooth cheeks, then met her gaze. "I, um... I did inadvertently say, um, a couple of things aloud that... happened."

The hair stood up on her arms. "Wh-what things?"

After an awkward laugh, he said, "Well, I was a little frustrated with the tremor damage yesterday, and my place is getting so crowded, I sort of wished aloud that my neighbor would retire and give me her storefront."

"And?"

"And this morning she announced she was going to retire and wanted to give me her storefront."

The story sounded too fantastic. "Had she ever hinted at doing such a thing?"

Ladden shook his head. "No. We've been friends for years, and I kind of helped her with the repairs and stuff after her husband died, but I never expected—or dreamed—something like this would happen. It was just a crazy statement, something off the top of my head."

"Does she have children?"

"No."

"Then it's possible she meant to give you the space all along and simply hadn't mentioned it."

"That's what I thought... at first."

"And then?"

He stood and turned his back to her, offering a nice view of his physique. His shoulders filled the dress shirt impressively, then gave way to a narrow waist and trim hips enclosed in dark slacks. She'd never seen him wear anything other than jeans, and the transformation was astonishing. With a few inches off his longish hair, he could blend in easily inside any corporate boardroom—although his exceptional shoulders might betray the fact that he didn't sit behind a desk all day.

Ladden cleared his throat. "After I dropped you off last night, I sort of wished aloud that you could see how crazy I am about you."

Her skin tingled with desire at his admission. "You said this when you were driving home?"

"Yeah."

Her mouth fell open slightly. "And the billboards..."

He nodded slowly.

She laughed nervously and rose to her feet. "But there's nothing magic about arranging for billboard space—I mean, if this crazy old man did it, he must have overheard you say something about"—a flush warmed her neck—"me."

"I thought perhaps he had crawled in the back of the truck without me realizing it and overheard me, but it seems like a stretch."

"Oh, and the alternative isn't a stretch?"

"Yes… but there's more."

"More?"

He pulled his hand over his mouth. "Last night before you dropped in at Tabby's, the bartender gave me a note from someone who fit this fellow Gene's description."

"That was the note your uncle was teasing you about?"

He smirked. "Right."

"What did it say?"

"It said, A wise first wish, Master.' "

She shrugged. "There's nothing magic about a handwritten note."

He massaged the bridge of his nose. "How about a customized newspaper headline?"

"What?"

"This morning when I opened my paper, the entire front page read, 'A wise second wish, Master.' "

A laugh of disbelief bubbled out of her throat. "Ladden, that's impossible. Did you keep the newspaper?"

He dropped his gaze. "The wind scattered the paper and I couldn't find the front page."

"What about the note?"

"I found it this morning. You scribbled your tag number on the back."

"I remember."

He lifted his gaze. "But the other side was completely blank."

Jasmine shook her head slowly. "This is starting to spook me. Ladden, if I didn't know better—"

"You'd think I was insane," he finished for her. He lifted his hands. "Hell, maybe I am."

Searching his face, she asked, "Did you call the sign company? Someone had to cover all that expense."

Nodding, he said, "They received a stationery envelope with my store's letterhead full of new one-hundred-dollar bills."

She swallowed hard. "Maybe he stole an envelope."

"Maybe."

"Maybe he's rich and eccentric."

Ladden gave her a wry smile. "He said he printed his own money and showed me a stack of bills that looked too new to be real, so I doubt that he's rich, and I wonder how much trouble I'll be in if he paid for the billboards with counterfeit money."

"You have to go to the police."

He laughed and looked heavenward. "It'll be hard for me to run my business wearing a strait-jacket."

"But you have his name."

"Not really. He calls himself Genie, I call him Gene."

"Do you know where he lives?"

"He seems to simply show up—complete with turban."

Jasmine felt as if her body's functions had come to a screeching halt. Her heart stopped, her throat tightened, and the muscles in her legs gave way. She sank to the bench. "A turban? A b-black turban?"

Ladden didn't even have to answer—the expression on his face told her. He joined her on the bench, looking somewhat boneless himself. "Don't tell me you know him."

Vague recollections flooded her mind and she rubbed her temples. "Not really, but the night my car was towed, a street vendor wearing a black turban directed me to your family's tavern to use the phone."

"It could be a different man."

"But the next morning when a cab arrived, I thought the man looked familiar."

Ladden dropped his head in his hands. "I'd forgotten that Gene told me he was with you when you saw the billboards."

"He's here."

His head snapped up. "Gene's here?"

"Now I'm sure it's the same man, but when I first saw him I assumed he was in costume."

"Did he talk to you?"

"Yes..." She felt the blood drain from her face. "I asked him for directions to the ladies' room and he sent me here." She staggered to her feet, backing away until the wall of metal lockers stopped her.

Ladden's face was anguished. "Jasmine, I know this looks bad, but I swear to you I didn't have anything to do with this."

And while her head screamed danger, something inside her knew by his pained expression that he was telling the truth—that he, too, was a victim of this lunatic matchmaker. She relaxed slightly and nodded, gulping for air. "Okay. I believe you. Do you think he locked us in?"

He sighed, glancing back toward the door. "It's possible, but..."

"But what?"

"How did he know I'd be coming here?"

"Did you tell anyone? Could he have eavesdropped?"

"I told Betsy on the patio, but I walked down here within a few seconds of telling her."

Betsy? The red-haired woman in the sexy outfit? Considering the floral tie he wore, it seemed likely that the female caterer was the friend he'd mentioned he was helping. Why did the thought of Ladden having a girlfriend rankle her?

"The timing doesn't seem right," he said. "Unless he gave you directions immediately after he overheard me."

Feeling sheepish, she shook her head. "I stopped to stargaze for a few minutes along the way. You would've arrived first." She smacked the locker behind her and the metallic clatter reverberated in the room. "There has to be a reasonable explanation."

"There's more," he said.

Jasmine laughed hysterically. "More?"

He nodded, shifting from foot to foot, his face reddening.

"What?"

"The rug you want."

"What about it?"

"It, um... moves."

Now she'd heard everything. "It moves?"

Ladden's face flamed next to his white shirt. He loosened his tie and looked away. "Yeah."

"You mean it lies on the floor and vibrates?"

"Not exactly."

"Then what, exactly?"

"I hung it on the wall, it fell down."

Her shoulders sagged. "Is that all?"

"Then I put it on some trunks and it moved to a table, then to a doorway. I rolled it up and set it in a corner, and it moved to the showroom."

Incredulous, she asked, "You actually saw this rug levitate and move around?"

"No—I turned my back and the next thing I knew, the rug was somewhere other than where I left it."

"Okay, now you're scaring me," she said, holding up a hand and attempting a laugh.

"Gene said it was a magic carpet."

"We're back to Gene again?"

Pressing the heels of his hands into his temples, he said, "It sounds insane—I'm just telling you what I know."

She ticked off the situation on her fingers. "So far we have an old copper lamp, a mysterious earthquake, a man who claims to be a genie who is shadowing both of us, two so-called wishes that have been 'granted,' a disappearing note, a missing newspaper headline, and a flying carpet."

Ladden said nothing.

She angled her head at him, her heart expanding. "Is this what you were leading up to this morning when you asked me if I believed in magic?"