Mad About You (64 page)

In the third version, they made passionate love twice in the changing room and once by the pool, and although Jasmine admitted she loved him, she simply couldn't pass up the life of a statesman's wife.

He frowned. Only in real life did they not have sex and not live happily ever after.

At the store he showered quickly in the cramped bathroom, then changed to clean jeans and a red T-shirt. On the way to unlock the front door, he checked the storeroom ceiling and found the rug still hovering there. Scratching his head, he once again tried to come up with some reasonable explanation. Was it possible that something in the ceiling pipework had attracted the static-charged carpet? Or that a friend or relative had schemed to hang the carpet as a practical joke? Perhaps with the tallest stepladder he owned, plus a hook on the end of the longest pole he could find, he might be able to pull it down.

Or maybe the ladies would have a better idea, he thought as he approached the front door. Hell, he'd shoot a harpoon up there if he had to. He simply wanted the thing out of his store and out of his life.

When he looked out the door, Jasmine was climbing out of her car, much like the day she'd come in after the earthquake. Had it been only three days ago? It felt like a lifetime. God, he wanted to get to know her better, to find out if she was as wonderful as he suspected. Lithe and leggy in a loose pantsuit and her hair pulled in a high ponytail with a wide silver clasp, she looked like the princess Gene had dubbed her.

Ladden’s mouth flattened. He hadn't meant to hurt the old man, just scare him a little. Indeed, Gene hadn't been back to the store. He'd have to ask Jasmine if she'd seen him hanging around.

She stopped on the sidewalk, glanced at her watch, then scanned parked cars on both sides of the street. Looking for her assistant, he presumed. How ridiculous that they had to resort to a witness just to transact business after hours. He grabbed a broom, opened the door, and stepped out on the sidewalk, hoping to have a word with her before their chaperone arrived.

Wheeling toward the door, she shielded her eyes from the slanting rays of the late sun. The wind had picked up suddenly, an almost certainty they would see a storm before morning. The light fabric of her pantsuit whipped around her, molding to her slight curves. "Hi."

He kept both hands around the broom handle and fought the urge to drag her into his arms for a very hot—and very public—kiss. "Hi, yourself."

"April isn't here yet," she explained, her voice unnaturally high.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, he said, "You look better than the last time I saw you."

At last she smiled. "So do you."

They stood staring at each other, and Ladden wondered if she would avoid him after today—after she'd obtained the only thing of his that she'd ever really wanted, he realized with sad clarity. Forget his heart, his soul, his body... the rug, a gift for her boyfriend's bedroom, was what she desired most.

The sun went behind a dark cloud and a stiff gust of wind blasted over them, staggering Jasmine. "Let's go inside," he shouted over the whistling noise. After glancing up and down the street again, she nodded and followed him into the store.

The bell clanged noisily when he pulled the door closed behind them. "Whew! Must be a storm blowing in from the coast."

Smoothing a hand over her hair, she nodded. "That wind feels weirdly familiar—like that blast that threw me off balance last night."

Ladden discarded his broom but crossed his arms to keep his hands occupied and off Jasmine. "Are you sure you weren't pushed?"

Her dark brow crinkled. "I'm certain."

"You were completely alone?"

"Absolutely. Why?"

He shook his head. "Gene came in the store today and said something about arranging for you to fall into the pool. I was afraid he had pushed you."

"No." She tilted her head, her green eyes dancing. "He's filling your head with more fairy tales."

"Um, actually, Jasmine, I think you should take a look at the rug before your assistant arrives."

"I don't know—"

"I'll stay right here," he added quickly.

"Well, the storm will probably delay her for a few minutes," she conceded.

At that moment, it darkened noticeably outside, as if the sun had simply dropped from the sky. Streetlights flickered, then glowed, and a driving rain began falling in great, slashing sheets.

"Where did this come from?" Ladden asked, peering out the windows. "I can't even see your car from here."

When a dull peal sounded, Jasmine extracted a phone from her purse and slid up the antenna. "Hello?... April, where are you?" Concern cluttered her face. "I'm just glad you're okay.... Don't worry, I won't drive in this mess.... I'll see you tomorrow." She punched a button, then returned the phone to her bag.

Ladden had pulled a dusty radio from beneath the counter. With one eye on Jasmine, he searched for a weather report. "Is your assistant all right?"

"She hydroplaned off a shoulder, but she's fine, just a little shaken up."

"Good... good that she's fine, I mean."

Her smile was tremulous, and she didn't make eye contact. "I guess I'll just wait out the storm here, if you don't mind."

He guessed she was weighing the consequences of being discovered in his company, so he offered her a tidbit of comfort. "Even nosy reporters won't be out in this soup." When he heard the strains of an official-sounding report coming over the tinny built-in speaker, he turned up the volume.

"...dangerously high winds and torrential rain, visibility near zero. Residents are advised to take cover away from windows. The rain is expected to continue until dawn. The following roads are closed due to flash flooding: Bayview, Avon, Candlelight Court, Stanton..."

"Did he say Candlelight Court?" she asked.

"Maybe not for long," he soothed, sensing her rising panic. He could practically see the barrier she'd erected around herself.

"Right." She inhaled deeply, then smiled. "You wanted me to see the rug?"

"Let me grab a flashlight, just in case the electricity goes."

With the wind rattling the windows, he led the way back to the storeroom, wondering how she would react to the carpet, if she would even believe he'd had nothing to do with putting it up there.

"I don't quite know how to explain this," he said before opening the door, "so I'll just let you make up your own mind."

Pushing open the door, he allowed her to enter, then he followed. One step inside the room, he froze, his eyes bulging.

"Greetings, Master."

Grinning wide, Gene bowed, then swept his arm toward a small table that had been lavishly set for two, complete with glowing candles.

Chapter Thirteen

JASMINE SEETHED. Twinkling crystal and romantic candlelight in a storage room made for a beautifully clandestine dinner. Ladden had set her up!

She wheeled, standing on tiptoe to voice her outrage. "This was all a ruse!"

He inched backward, his hands raised. "Jasmine, I swear, I knew nothing about this."

But she advanced, poking her finger into his chest for emphasis. "I... don't... believe... you!"

Gesturing to the old man, he said, "Tell her."

"It is true what my Master says," the old man proclaimed, inclining his turbaned head.

Incredulous, she looked back to Ladden. "And I'm supposed to believe him? A man who claims to live in a copper lamp and grant wishes?" She laughed in amazement. "You know what I think? I think you're both nuts, and I'm getting out of here."

She turned to go, but the door leading to the showroom slammed shut inches from her face, and when she tried the knob, it wouldn't budge. Frantically, she tried to remember if she had anything in her purse to use as a weapon. A cell phone, two lipsticks, and a fountain pen. Slowly, she turned until her shoulderblades scraped against the door. "I'm warning you two—I have a b-black belt in karate." An outrageous lie, but what did she have to lose?

"Jasmine, wait," Ladden said. "No one's going to hurt you." He walked purposely toward the old man. "You, on the other hand..."

The man's eyes widened until the coal black centers were framed in white. "Master, I arranged for you and your princess to be alone. The wind, the rain—it is all for you."

Ladden stopped and glanced back to her. "I think he's schizophrenic. The man's lost touch with reality and I've been letting him make me crazy."

"How can I convince you?" the man asked, splaying his hands and talking hurriedly in broken English. "You rub the magic lamp and release me from shackles of many centuries. I call you Master, say I will grant you three wishes." He shrugged, looking bewildered. "I grant the two wishes you made, yet you still don't believe in magic."

Smiling fondly in her direction, he continued. "I know my master loves the fair princess Jasmine, and although I cannot make her love him back, I can help."

Her cheeks warmed, and Ladden shifted nervously.

Gene pointed a bony finger at her. "I arrange blister on heel and for women's dressing room door to lock, so she will use men's."

A strange tingling started in Jasmine's fingers.

Then he pointed toward Ladden. "When you arrive, I arrange for door to lock behind you." The man sighed. "Still it was not enough, so I arrange wind to blow princess into water and for screams to reach your ears." He sighed louder. "Still no lovey-lovey." Scowling, he said. "Then Master choke me! Today I work hard—break down very long car of driver to—how you say, postpone?— trip with other man. Then I steer car of woman who works with you, arrange storm, and fix pretty table." For emphasis, he gestured to the romantic table setting.

Jasmine started to tremble. How could one crazy little man plan all this?

Grabbing his turban with both hands, he wagged his head. "Still no lovey-lovey and still no believe in magic. Americans have hard heads and hard hearts."

Jasmine inched forward until she stood slightly behind Ladden, shielded—from what, she wasn't sure—by his wide shoulders. "H-how do you know all these things?"

The man looked at her as if she were dense. "I am a genie."

"When you say 'arrange,'" Ladden said, "what do you mean?"

"Arrange?" The man's face wrinkled into a frown. "Make happen." He waved his arms, as if this movement would explain everything.

Jasmine cleared her throat. "You expect us to believe that you have magic powers?"

"It is not so strange," he said simply. "Centuries ago, there were many genies doing good things all over the world. But some began to do bad deeds, and their powers were taken away."

"Taken away by whom?" Ladden asked.

"The Genie Of Divine," he said matter-of-factly, lowering his voice in reverence as he glanced heavenward. Then he straightened and once again indicated the beautifully set table. "So you will eat and lovey-lovey?"

Ladden glanced over his shoulder and whispered, "What do you think?"

Slightly numb, she whispered back, "I'm a little fuzzy on the lovey-lovey part, but from the sound of that storm, we're going to be here for a while, and I'm hungry."

"We'll probably find peanut butter and jelly sandwiches under those silver trays," he murmured.

"Fine by me—I'll have a chance to inspect the rug." She nodded toward the carpet that lay stretched in the space cleared for the table—on the floor. "Just get rid of the old man."

Ladden's gaze bounced back and forth between the rug and the ceiling several times.

"What's wrong?" she whispered.

"Never mind," he said. "I'll get rid of him."

But when they turned back to Gene, he was gone.

"He's a kook," Ladden said, pivoting all around. "But he's a slippery kook."

"He certainly went to a lot of trouble," she said, surveying the table.

A beige lace tablecloth had been draped over a small Queen Anne table, its corners gathered and tied with large, pale yellow bows. More lace tablecloths tied with similar bows had turned mismatched chairs into special creations. A complex table service for two had been created from many different antique china patterns and silverware, with domed silver lids covering the top plate. The crystal wineglasses and water glasses sparkled, reflecting the flames dancing atop the elaborate silver candelabra. A huge green vase held white and purple striped lilies, and a bottle of white wine chilled in a pewter bucket.

"Are all these things from your store?"

"Besides the flowers and the wine, yeah, although you'd never recognize them," he said, peeking under a tablecloth.

Jasmine lifted one of the domed lids. "Oh, my. This is not peanut butter and jelly."

Ladden craned his neck, his eyes widening. "Rack of lamb?"

"One of my favorites," she breathed.

"Mine, too," he said, lifting the other lid to find the same.

"And mushrooms!" she squealed.

He grinned at her, igniting desire low in her stomach. "We agree on two foods, it seems. Let's eat."

Ladden pulled out her chair, which made her a little nervous. When she'd planned her evening, sharing a romantic dinner with Ladden Sanderson had not been on the list. With his hair so neatly shorn, he looked boyishly handsome, a direct contradiction to his well-developed physique. The single most vivid impression she'd carried away from their encounter at the party was that she'd never felt so protected, so wanted, so cared for as she did standing in the circle of Ladden's arms.

"Wine?" he asked, uncorking the bottle.

She nodded and watched, mesmerized, as he filled her glass with the pale liquid. The dancing candlelight distorted the collection of furniture lining the walls, projecting immense images on the ceiling. The effect was slightly spooky and very intimate. "If someone walked in," she said softly, "this would be hard to explain."

Filling his own wineglass, he said, "I've given up trying to explain things lately." He raised his glass toward hers. "To magic."