Chapter Five
Once inside the elegant hotel room, Alice picked up her phone and stared at the screen. Her mother had called. She rolled her shoulders. No, she'd not report in—she chose to let it charge instead.
Tonight she had her fantasy date with John. Her dreams mattered too. She wouldn't let anyone's opinion sway her, especially since it concerned a Morgan.
Adrenaline pumped in her veins as she rushed around the room to get ready. Out of her two dresses, she chose the silky black one with the lower neckline and would keep the sweetheart with the flared hem for tomorrow. Her just-in-case-something-happened backup dress was now her date dress.
She'd packed two pairs of underwear. If she wore the lacy silk ones tonight, tomorrow she'd be at the funeral in her plain cotton panties that might show a line across her backside. The cameras wouldn't focus on her, so she chose the sexier pair. Tonight she was the star. Tomorrow, she'd keep her hands to her sides and slink into a pew.
She fixed her hair as straight as it could in this humidity. At the mirror, she ensured her makeup was flawless. Everything had to be perfect.
Satisfied with how the neckline revealed her assets, Alice stared at her necklace. The Tiffany gold that Victoria gave her somehow glowed brighter. Should she take it off? Would her friend be upset if she slept with John? So she asked, "Do I have your permission to go out with your brother?"
Alice's face grew a wicked grin as she imagined Vicki saying,Please take him off my hands.
Vicki'd had a sense of timing and had known what to say to everyone. She left the necklace around her neck. Alice always asked herself WWVD, which meant what would Vicki do, if she ever found herself shy. Done, she turned away and grabbed her pocketbook. With confidence in every step, she left her room.
Tonight was never going to be forever, so she could be someone she wasn't. Tonight she was flirtatious and fun, not studious and reserved.
This hotel, a blend of art deco of the 1920s meets ancient Italian villa, was one of the finest in the country. The paintings on the wall promised a fairy tale where fantasies came true. Exquisite angels etched in the walls watched over her as she called the elevator to take her down to the lobby.
She had a date with one of the mortal gods on this Earth. Fate decreed they both stayed at this hotel. Life, wherever she ended up, would never be a fairy tale. For once, she was transported into another world. Perhaps she'd even get to find out what her crush tasted like.
As the elevators opened she spotted John from across the hall. He hadn't seen her so she studied him. He wore gray pants, a fresh white button-down shirt, and as always his hair was flawless. She glimpsed his blue eyes in profile.
Heat inched up her back. Then he half-turned, and his smile widened the moment he saw her. Her arms grew goose bumps. They could each be somebody else. She swung her hips as she stepped toward him.
Her feet itched to run, but she knew better. She slowed her pace to seem in control, but halfway there she barely missed the bellboy's luggage cart. Alice ducked—her big opening scene almost ruined. Then she laughed at herself. So much for those lessons on deportment that Victoria imparted from her actual etiquette lessons.
She gazed at John. His blue eyes stared right at her. She stopped laughing, but then he broke into a small laugh. She turned her head to the side to hide her giggles.
Without another incident she made her way to where he waited. As she stared up, his bright smile dimpled with approval. Her heart beat just for him. He took her hands in his and squeezed lightly. The skin he touched on her body sparked like she was a firework, though he simply said, "You look amazing, Alice."
He towered over her, exuding pure male testosterone. He hugged her and kissed her cheek, which was how everyone in Miami greeted each other, and never meant anything. Her skin tingled again. Then she caught a whiff of cedar and… gunpowder. She wiggled her nose to be sure. The scent was unmistakable. Then she crossed her arms. "Why do you smell like a gun?"
"I do?"
She swallowed. "Yeah, you do."
Silence hung in the air, but she expected an answer.
He stared hard at her. "How do you know what a gun smells like?"
This wasn't happening. He hadn't answered. She'd better not be on a date with a man who became a mafia's boss—and he hadn't inherited his father's evil personality. Her gaze narrowed. "I grew up in the country, where sometimes animals need to be put down. What is it you do? And don't lie. It's got to be something serious for you to smell like that."
"I shouldn't tell you." He peeked around the room and avoided her stare. She licked her lips. Otherwise she stayed still. John Morgan was not the billionaire rebel without a clue. His cheeks reddened. The color in his cheeks showed he was in the prime of his life. Then he leaned down. Her heart did a pitter-patter as he whispered in her ear, "I spent the past three years in the FBI, so I practically sleep with my gun."
"You work as a government agent?" She kept her voice low too. "Your father cursed the fact my dad served and that my brother went off to serve." Memories surfaced of how Mitch Morgan vocally hated all forms of government agents.
"I remember your dad mentioning Colt's choice to go to basic training. I'm sorry you heard my father's rantings."
His father didn't matter. Safety did. John was a man of integrity and honor. Her lips craved to brush against his. "How did your family feel about this?"
With a shrug, he said, "I don't want to talk about Dad tonight."
True. The man had stolen enough of their day already, but her curiosity continued. "He couldn't have been happy you chose to serve your country."
"He threatened to cut me off."
