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“Neither am I.” He kissed her again. “Want to watch TV?”
She slid her arms around his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin satin robe that was all she wore. “No.”
“I suppose we could play poker.”
She smiled against his lips. “I don’t have any money.”
His arms went around her waist. “I suppose strip poker would be a waste of time, considering how little we’re wearing.”
“I suppose you’re right.” She wondered how she could want him again so much, so soon.
Funny, she’d never considered herself a particularly passionate woman before. Sex had simply never interested her all that much. But that had been before Blake had shown her what she’d been missing.
She pressed closer against him, satisfying herself that she wasn’t the only one who was aroused. “Blake?”
He nuzzled against her temple. “Mmm?”
“Let’s go back to bed.”
For the second time that evening—the second time ever for her—she found herself swung off her feet and into a man’s arms. And, as his muscles rippled beneath her hands, his arms supporting her as solidly as steel bars, she found that she liked it every bit as much as she had before.
TARA WAS MORE than a bit nervous at the thought of meeting Jeremy Kane. Refusing to raid Stephanie’s closet again, she dressed in her own freshly washed jeans and aqua-striped T-shirt, sliding her feet into the inexpensive canvas sneakers Blake had bought to go with the casual outfit. She styled her hair the same way Stephanie had the day before, resulting in a cap of frivolous copper curls. And she lingered over her makeup, again copying Stephanie’s efforts. When she was finished, she was relatively certain that few of her friends, or even her family, would have immediately recognized her.
“I can’t get over how different you look,” Blake said, sparing her a quick glance when she appeared in the kitchen.
He’d been amusing himself while he waited for her by juggling. Tara smiled as she watched five apples from a bowl on Stephanie’s counter dance in the air in front of him. “That’s pretty impressive.”
His grin was roguish. “I’ve been told I have very talented hands.”
“And I have your fingerprints all over my body to prove it,” Tara responded in a contented purr, slowly running her palms down her sides.
To Tara’s utter delight, Blake fumbled, and two of the apples crashed to the floor. He managed to catch the other three, though not particularly gracefully. “That,” he told her, “was unfair.”
She laughed. “Do I smell coffee?”
“It’s in the pot. Help yourself.” He knelt to retrieve the fallen fruit, still looking a bit disconcerted that she’d managed to rattle him.
Feeling quite pleased with herself, Tara reached for a coffee cup.
After breakfast, Blake drove Tara to an old theater a few blocks from the City Market in the heart of Savannah’s restored historic district. He explained that Jeremy had managed to procure the currently idle theater for his rehearsals that week.
He tapped on the back-alley door, which opened almost immediately. Tara looked up at the face of the very large man who stood there, wearing a stretchedto-the-limit black T-shirt with Jeremy Kane’s name emblazoned in fancy letters across a massive chest. The man looked fiercely intimidating—until he spotted Blake and smiled.
“Hey, Blake.”
“Hey, Pete. This is Tara.”
“Ma’am.” Pete extended a hand the size of a dinner plate. It completely swallowed Tara’s when she placed hers tentatively into it.
Pete pumped her hand solemnly, then released her and took a step backward. “Jeremy’s waiting for you.”
He turned to lead them past a bewildering display of props and sets and out onto a stage on which a dark-haired man and two beautiful red-haired women stood looking at a refrigerator-sized steel cage. The man turned around when they entered. Tara’s breath caught in her throat.
Jeremy Kane. She’d been an admirer of the famous illusionist since she’d watched his first television special back home in Honoria.
He was still a spectacular-looking man, she couldn’t help noticing as he approached. He was in his early forties, his raven-black hair touched with silver at the temples. His eyes were so dark blue they were almost navy, and his smile was as dazzling and magical as his internationally famous performances.
“You must be Tara,” he murmured in a deep voice she’d heard only through television speakers before. He took her hand in his.
