She looked over at him as he drove them out of the airport complex and onto a major highway. He had explained to her that generally a client would sit in the back, relaxing during the trip to Gardiner. But because of the volume of Ms. Amaya’s luggage, he had needed to collapse the back seats, leaving Jan no other option but to sit up front with him.
“I’m sorry about it, Miss. I didn’t realize there’d be so much…”
“What? You didn’t realize you were picking up the luggage of the diva to end all divas? Don’t sweat it. I like the front seat. And by the way…I’m not “Miss” anything. Jane’s good.”
“Well, Jane’s-Good, I’m glad to hear it. There’s water and trail mix in the glove compartment. Help yourself.”
His eyes had sparkled as he turned her little trick around on her, and she rewarded him with a little tip of her cap.
It wasn’t unusual for Jane to get along with people. By and large, she enjoyed meeting new people and had a knack for quickly establishing a comfortable, playful rapport.
Working with Sara meant she had to deal with a lot of different personalities, from fun and easygoing to quite difficult and demanding, but Jane didn’t really alter herself for anyone, and that seemed to work for her. Maybe people were so anxious to work with Samara Amaya that they didn’t mess with the gatekeeper, but Jane worked hard to treat people with kindness and respect, which wasn’t altogether common in her business. Anyway, it didn’t surprise her that she was getting along easily with Lars Lindstrom.
What did surprise Jane was how affected she was by him. Oh, she was doing a bang-up job covering it up—you couldn’t be in the same room as movie stars and models without learning how to control your fawning—but Jane was really flustered by him in a way that wasn’t common for her.
It was baffling. And annoying.
(Because it couldn’t possibly go anywhere.)
But, whew…he was stunning.
A good bit over six feet tall, Lars was broad-chested like an athlete, like someone who regularly worked out. “Regularly” meaning hours a day to maintain that sort of form. He was tan and his face was rugged and maybe a little prematurely aged in a sexy, outdoorsy sort of way. She guessed he was in his thirties, strong-jawed and hard-bodied. Jane didn’t need for him to take off his shirt to be certain she’d find a tight washboard under there.
Damn.
You own your body like a Greek god, she thought—like he didn’t have to work for it.
Despite his near-perfect physique, however, it was his eyes that had really startled her. A clear, ice blue, they were almost supernatural. You didn’t expect someone to have eyes quite that blue, quite that icy; it was shocking, and if she wasn’t more practiced at staying composed, she would have stared an extra minute every time he made eye contact with her. It helped—him, not her—and was probably no coincidence that his polo shirt with his company’s logo matched his eyes perfectly. They were unsettling to her—captivating and a little too intense for Jane’s general comfort.
Bottom line? Lars was youngish, buff and unusually good-looking. And he’d already proven himself quicker than most with a couple of witty rejoinders. But all of that interesting personality would be lost on Sara, of course, whom—Jane predicted from a lifetime of experience with her cousin’s wily ways—would have Lars in her bed within a day of her arrival.
When Jane glanced at him again, Lars offered a friendly grin in return, but she didn’t smile back.
Best not to get too attached, she thought, looking away from him, out the window.
Already been down that ugly road once before.
***
A little over a year ago, on one of their very first international photo shoots, Jane was sent ahead to make sure everything was ready for Sara’s arrival. Met by her local contact in Cairo, Ben Abaz, she spent a blissful weekend enjoying exotic Egypt, being wined, dined and romanced to the hilt by the handsome modeling agent.
After an instant connection at the airport, Ben had impetuously kissed her and they had ended up on the floor of Sara’s hotel suite, quickly consummating their hot little flirtation. Afterward, Ben had taken Jane to the ancient marketplace, held her hand as he pointed out the shoot locations, made a toast to her sparkling eyes and joined her in bed for two nights of bliss preceding Sara’s arrival.
But, when Sara arrived, Jane saw an instant change in Ben’s behavior toward her. He turned from hot and playful to politely professional in the course of an afternoon. Jane watched as he followed Sara around like a puppy, eager to do her bidding, to make himself useful, to make himself indispensable. Unable to bear the sudden change in his behavior, Jane had pulled him aside during one of Sara’s costume changes and demanded he explain the sudden shift.
Ben had touched Jane’s face, running one long, tan, tapered finger from her forehead down her nose, over her lips to her chin before pulling away. “Oh, Jane. The sun has come out from behind the clouds. I am blinded to anything but the sun.”
As if on cue, Sara had exited her tent covered in sparkling gold body paint, with snake-like, gold, cuff bracelets circling her arms, and delicate, gold, anklets tinkling as she approached.
She had smirked at Jane, and then she touched her own lips with one manicured, gold-painted fingertip. As she walked by Ben, she brushed his lips with that fingertip lightly and murmured, “Later.”
And stupid, pathetic Jane understood.
Or rather, she was cruelly reminded:
Samara was the sun.
Jane was nothing but a shadow.
***
“So, we have the house all set up per your instructions, and—”
“Later,” Jane interrupted Lars, looking out the window, adjusting her cap. She wasn’t ready to start working just yet. She softened her tone, offering him a small smile. “We can talk about all of it later, if that’s okay with you. When we get there.”
“Sure. Whatever you say.” Her driver ran his hands over the wheel, and she sensed he was wondering if he should make conversation. A second later, he added: “This is the, uh, Bozeman Pass we’re heading through right now.”
Jane glanced over at Lars, then back out the window, noting the mountains up ahead, capped with white. The sky was big and bright blue with picture-perfect puffs of clouds at pretty intervals. She considered taking out her camera, but you never got great shots riding along in a car…plus, she was too relaxed with the afternoon sunlight streaming in through her window, making her tired body feel mellow and warm.
“Bozeman Pass, huh?”
“Yes, ma’am. To the left over there is the Bridger mountain range and out your window is the Gallatin range. We’re about to pass between the two ranges.”
“Ergo, Bozeman Pass.”
“Ergo, Bozeman Pass,” he repeated, seeming to warm to his subject. “You’ve heard of Sacajawea, right?”
Honestly, it had been a long time since Jane had studied up on American exploration, but she had always admired the story of the intrepid young Indian guide who carried her infant son on her back from North Dakota to the Pacific and back again. She had admired her strength and bravery. So, yes, in fact. She did remember Sacajawea.
“I have.”
“Well, she guided Lewis and Clark through this pass.”