Chapter
Five

Lauren slammed the bedroom door behind her and leaned against it, breathing hard. Damn, she’d handled that one like a silly freshman schoolgirl with a crush on a senior.

If she was lucky he’d think she was incredibly immature. But Drew wasn’t naive and he probably knew the truth, that proximity to him made her heart race and that his touch sent tiny shocks through her body. Every last one of them shot toward her lower abdomen where they sizzled and popped and sent off so much heat she thought she must be glowing. What the hell was wrong with her?

Men didn’t affect Lauren this way. God knew, Jeff certainly didn’t. When Drew had run his hand across her fingers she’d felt so feverish she’d actually thought she was coming down with something. Then he’d pulled her against that broad chest, so close to his amazingly expressive mouth that she felt his breath on her hair, and she’d nearly groaned with desire and molded herself against him.

Lauren slid down the door and sank to the floor, holding her head in her hands. What was wrong with her? She was acting like an idiot. A silly, emotional—she nearly gasped at the sudden realization—she was acting like Meg!

Well, damn it, she had a good excuse. Her nerves were frazzled. She had repressed her worry about her sister’s marriage, then stepped into the chaos of Meg’s life, complete with compromising photos and a near-abduction. And a sexy as hell nephew.

She took a deep, fortifying breath. She needed to regain her emotional stability. A warm bath and a good night’s sleep would put things in perspective. By morning Drew Creighton would probably look as ordinary as any man, and be as easy to resist.

Her theory was smashed to pieces as soon as she entered the kitchen the following morning. Gerald sat at the table eating cereal, but her smile skidded right past him and stopped dead.

Shirtless and barefoot, Drew lounged in a kitchen chair as he sorted through a pile of mail, one jean-clad leg propped on the chair beside him. A mesh of dark hair sprinkled his upper chest, but did nothing to hide the well-defined muscles. Even his sleep-tousled hair reminded her that he’d just stepped out of bed and into those snug jeans, probably because they were handy and he’d been sleeping in nothing at all.

Now, there was a thought to make her pause.

Her gaze traveled back over his chest. Skiing and mountain climbing, huh? If this got out, it could put the health clubs out of business.

Lauren caught Gerald’s curious look and did her best to channel her sudden hunger into a desire for food. “Hi!” She tried to sound perky and oblivious to finding a half-naked hunk in the kitchen. “What’s for breakfast?”

Gerald used his spoon to point at the kitchen counter. “Cereal, muffins, bagels, and fresh fruit. Coffee and tea next to the fridge.”

“Sounds good. No wonder you eat here.”

“I’m usually here before six and stay until nine at night. You bet I eat here.” He flashed a smile.

She prepared a bowl of cereal topped with strawberries and blueberries, conscious of Drew’s gaze on her the whole time. Daring a glance from under her lashes, she saw that the mail had been set aside and she had his full attention, he watched every move she made, his elbows propped on chair arms and hands entwined lightly over his bare abdomen.

Lauren’s stomach fluttered, which only made her annoyed—with herself and with him. The longer he watched, the more irritated she became.

He waited to speak until she was at the table. “I’ve been thinking,” he announced.

She raised her eyes to his, making sure to skim right past his impressive chest. “Was it difficult?”

Genuine amusement flashed in his eyes. Damn, he wasn’t the least bit offended. How was she going to keep this man at a safe distance?

“I am out of practice,” Drew agreed. “A life spent chasing after snow bunnies doesn’t lend itself to deep thinking.”

Lauren nodded. “I imagine it’s strenuous at that altitude.”

“Exactly.”

He was toying with her. She’d tried not to judge his lax lifestyle, but calling him a ski bum had probably given her away. If she was that easy to read, she was in big trouble.

“Actually, I was thinking about you.”

For one second her spoon froze over the cereal bowl before she willed it to scoop up a strawberry, as casually as if her heart hadn’t just tripped over itself. “How nice for you.”

He grinned, and she wondered if sarcastic defiance had been the wrong move. He seemed to love it every time she rose to his challenge.

Gerald stopped eating, looking between them with a puzzled expression. “Did you two have a fight after I left last night?”

Drew’s eyes never left hers. “Of course not,” he assured Gerald. “I adore my aunt Lauren.”

She gave him a tight smile. She wasn’t going to touch that one. Instead, she answered Gerald. “I spent several productive hours in my room last night, catching up on my work.” It was a blatant lie. She’d barely been able to concentrate on the fashion magazine she’d bought at the airport, much less the weighty budget reports in her briefcase. “But I’m curious to hear what thoughts my nephew has labored over.”

Drew tilted his chair onto the back legs, and cocked his head thoughtfully, as if he’d given his idea long and careful consideration. “We need to cut your hair,” he said.

She didn’t deliberate nearly as long over her response. “I hope you didn’t waste too much time thinking about my hair, because I like it the way it is.” Actually, Jeff liked it that way, long enough to wear down during the day, in a pony tail for playing tennis, or in a twist for dining out. Three different looks from one cut—a practical hairstyle.

“The way you like it isn’t important. It has to look exactly like your sister’s. Gerald said hers is now shorter than yours.”

“And layered,” Gerald reminded him. “With wispy bangs.”

Drew nodded. “Can’t forget the wispy bangs.”

She chewed longer than necessary, stalling. “And why would I want my hair to look exactly like Meg’s?” she finally asked, feigning disinterest, even though she was afraid she was not going to like the answer.

“So you can pretend to be her tonight when we attend the party at the Watergate Hotel.”

She lowered her spoon and gave him a suspicious look. “When we what?”

“It’s a fundraiser. There’s an invitation on my dad’s desk, and he never misses an opportunity to work his contacts. Does he?” Drew turned to Gerald for confirmation.

“That’s true. He planned to go.”

“And since he was unexpectedly called out of town, his son is filling in for him, and escorting his father’s new wife.”

“He wasn’t called out of town. He just told all of Washington he’s on his honeymoon.”

“He came back,” Drew told her, apparently inventing a new scenario. “Because of an important issue that just came up. Now he’s tied up in meetings with the big money men back in Texas, and Meg—that’s you—is stranded in Washington, with no escort to the party. Fortunately, her considerate new stepson is visiting and would love to accompany her.”

Lauren didn’t like it. There would be too many questions. Besides, she wouldn’t recognize anyone, and wouldn’t know what was expected of her. “Why?”

“Why not? To see what happens.” Drew reached for his coffee cup, cradling it on his flat stomach. “To see how people react to this marriage, or whether someone tries to get you alone and steer you away from the party. We might learn something. More than we would sitting here, anyway.”

She frowned. “You mean you want to use me as bait.”

“You’d be perfectly safe. As your escort, I’ll be close by you all night.”

She refused to indulge the appealing mental image of Drew dancing her across a crowded ballroom and ignored the flush that crept to her cheeks. “No.”

Gerald’s mouth turned up in a smug, I-told-you-so smile. Drew must have run this idea by him earlier with the same result.

Drew seemed mildly irritated, but she couldn’t tell if it was with her or Gerald. “Why not?”

“Because it’s stupid,” she told him. Gerald bit his lip and raised his coffee cup in front of his spreading grin. “Did you forget someone tried to kidnap me?”

“We were taken by surprise. They’ve lost that advantage now.”

“Not good enough. Besides, a prominent senator doesn’t suddenly disappear on his honeymoon, then rush back to town a day later without causing a lot of questions. And we don’t know how to answer them. We’ll cause so much of a stir we won’t know what’s gossip and what’s important.” She met his frown and tilted her chin up stubbornly. “And I think Jeff is right. We need to be sensible and let the authorities deal with whatever is going on.”

Gerald lowered his coffee. “Okay, tell. Who is this Jeff?”

“Some guy she knows,” Drew said with a dismissive wave.

“My fiancé!” Lauren held her left hand up and wiggled her ring finger significantly to display the modest diamond.

Gerald rolled his eyes. “Oh, him.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t even know him.”

“Meg told me about him. Mr. Perfect with a stick up his ass. Sounds dull to me. But whatever works for you, honey.”

Drew choked on a laugh and she turned her glare on him. “Jeff is a responsible person who wants what’s best for me. Maybe you two find common sense funny, but I intend to follow his sound advice. Meg and Harlan asked us to stay out of whatever is going on. That’s what I’m going to do.”

“You’re going to sit here and wait while your sister has armed kidnappers looking for her and God knows what else?”

Lauren pressed her lips into a firm line. “Yes. Or maybe I’ll fly home and wait there. With Jeff.”

Drew assessed her as he sipped his coffee. “I thought you might be a little more… adventurous. My mistake.”

His disappointment in her cut deeply. She wanted to object that there was nothing wrong with being sensible and that she could be every bit as adventurous as the next girl, when adventure was called for. The words actually formed in her mind, but it was Jeff’s voice saying them.

In the disgruntled silence the phone sounded louder than usual. Lauren stiffened, remembering the last call from Meg and Harlan, and slid an expectant look at Gerald.

He shrugged and dug into his cereal. “I’m the senator’s personal assistant, not his butler. That’s the house line. Besides, it’s Saturday. I’m off.”

Her gaze shifted to Drew. He had tensed, also.

“I’ll get it,” she volunteered. Lauren rushed across the kitchen. If it was Meg, she intended to get a lot more information from her sister than their four-way conversation had imparted last time.

“Senator Creighton’s residence.”

A relieved gasp sounded on the other end and a male voice with an eastern European accent said, “Meg! I am so glad I found you! I’ve been calling everywhere!”

“I’m sorry, but you didn’t. I—”

He cut her off. “There’s no time for old arguments, darling. We are both being watched. Meg, you are in grave danger. More than you realize. I must talk to you.”

Lauren’s intended correction died on her lips. Information was information. Hesitantly, she asked, “What do you know?”

“Not on the phone. You must come to the embassy tonight.”

The man sounded like he knew Meg well, but she had no idea what embassy he was talking about and didn’t know how to ask without giving herself away. “I don’t think I can.”

“You must!” Urgency made his words more clipped, his accent more pronounced. Something Slavic? “There is a party. An invitation has already been delivered to Senator Creighton. Please, Meg, whatever unresolved issues we have, you must trust me. I fear for your life. There are things you don’t know, things that could kill you!”

Blood drained from Lauren’s face and hands, making her shiver. “Where will I find you?”

“The usual place.”

Oh, good, that was helpful. “I don’t recall—”

“Be there, darling. I’ll see you then.” The click that ended his call was abrupt. She laid the phone on its base and turned around.

Both men were staring at her.

She cleared her throat. “Gerald, was there also an invitation to some embassy function tonight?”

He thought for a few seconds. “There’s one for a party at the Romanian Embassy.”

A Romanian accent? Yes, very likely.

She took a deep breath. “Drew, I’ve reconsidered. In light of the fact that a strange Romanian thinks my sister’s life is in immediate danger and wants to meet with her tonight, I think your little fable about a one-day honeymoon might work after all.”

His eyebrow lifted. “Who was that?”

She shook her head and returned to the table. “I have no idea. But he seems to be on familiar terms with Meg, and he’s worried sick about her. That makes me worried. I’d rather risk kidnappers than miss a chance to meet with him.”

“You don’t think he knows her well enough to know you’re not Meg?”

“I’m sure he does. But maybe by the time he figures it out, I’ll be able to convince him to give me his information.” She gave a hopeless shrug. “It’s worth a try.”

Drew watched her for a moment and then nodded. “Right. Gerald can take care of your haircut.”

“Me?” Gerald aimed his spoon at Drew. “I’m an administrative assistant, not a friggin’ hair dresser. Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I know anything about cutting hair.”

“Gee, no kidding,” Drew said, with a look of mock disgust. “Gerald, you’re the only one here who saw Meg’s hair. Since you seem to have such fantastic powers of observation, you’ll have to tell someone how to cut it.”

“Oh.” He dug back into his granola. “That makes sense.”

“Not her regular hairdresser. Someone who won’t blab about giving the senator’s wife a new hairstyle just a few days after someone else did.”

“I can ask Steven. He used to cut hair before he went into computer programming.”

“Is he good?”

“He does mine,” Gerald said.

Drew glanced at Gerald’s perfectly styled hair and smiled. “Great. Can he to do it today?”

“Maybe.” His eyes focused on some invisible point as he considered the request. “He’s probably out jogging now, but he’ll be home in an hour or so.”

Drew turned a satisfied smile on Lauren. “Don’t worry. We’re making progress already, and we haven’t even checked out your sister’s apartment yet.”

She chased down the last blueberry in her bowl. “There’s just one thing. I didn’t bring anything to wear to an embassy party.”

Drew hesitated at that one, but Gerald brushed her protest aside. “Meg has several dresses that will work. Check her closet for the black silk sheath. That’s her best piece, very flattering. Especially in the bust area.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Drew gave her a speculative look, his eyes straying to her chest long enough to make her blush. “Black sheath. Can’t wait.”

Lauren picked up her empty bowl and carried it to the sink, as if establishing a distance from Drew could reduce his effect on her. She felt warm every time his gaze lingered on her for more than two seconds. Despite her concern over Meg, she might spend the entire embassy party in a state of flushed excitement. Resisting Drew would be easier if she’d avoid him rather than date him, but she didn’t have much choice. The Romanian had information and he wanted to talk to Meg. Drew was the logical escort.

And if someone did make a second attempt to abduct her.… She glanced across the kitchen, taking in approximately six feet three inches of toned, muscular manhood draped across the chair. Yes, Drew was the man she’d want protecting her.

“If you’re afraid, you don’t have to go,” he said, misreading her look. “I’ll find the guy somehow.”

“No,” she insisted. “I want to be your date.” Flustered as he lifted an eyebrow, she corrected herself. “I mean, you may escort me to the party.”

If she didn’t die of embarrassment first.

They still needed to search Meg’s apartment for any hints of what she’d been involved in lately. Lauren wore sneakers, jeans, and a sweatshirt, and pulled her hair into a ponytail. Her sister’s distaste for housekeeping could turn this job into dirty work.

They headed straight across the lobby toward the elevators and nearly made it before an authoritative male voice barked out, “Excuse me!” Even if she didn’t speak English, she would have known by his tone that he really meant, “Hold it right there!”

She turned with a broad smile, hoping the ponytail disguised the actual length of her hair, whatever he expected it to be. “Hey!” She was too far away to read his name tag, so she settled for a wink, a gesture Meg threw out liberally to men. “How ya doin’ today? It’s just me, and this is Senator Creighton’s son, Drew.”

“Oh. Miss Sutherland. I didn’t recognize you, dressed like that.”

Shoot, she hadn’t thought about that. If her fashion-conscious sister ever wore jeans, it would be with a smart leather jacket and to-die-for boots. She probably didn’t even own sneakers. Lauren heard uncertainty in the guard’s voice, but Drew didn’t give him time to think about it.

“Hi, nice to meet you.” He stepped closer and read the name tag, using it like the son of a politician should. “Daniel. Do I need to sign in or something?”

“No, sir, I’ll make a note in the log.”

“Okay, thanks.” They both turned, eager to be gone.

“I saw you on TV, Miss Sutherland. They said you got married to Senator Creighton.”

She guessed the unspoken part was, So what in hell are you doing with his son? She talked as they kept walking. “I did. Surprise, huh? Drew’s helping me move a few things out.” She pressed the button for the elevator.

Daniel trailed them. “The TV said you left on your honeymoon.”

She heard the ding and stepped inside before the elevator doors were fully open. “That’s just what we told the press. Can’t have them knowing our real schedule, after all.” She gave him a mischievous smile and wagged her finger. “I’m counting on you to keep our secret.”

Daniel raised his voice as the doors closed. “Of course, miss!”

Lauren and Drew looked at each other as the elevator made its silent ascent. “Nicely done, Mrs. Creighton,” Drew said.

They got out on the fifth floor and followed the hallway to number 532. Drew inserted the key Gerald lifted from the household key ring, and the door opened easily.

Drew stopped dead on the threshold.

“Shit. Someone’s already been here. They tossed the place.”

Lauren brushed past him, stepping over the shoes that spilled from the open front closet. “No, they didn’t. This is how Meg keeps house. Now you can see why I doubted she was ever in your dad’s bedroom.”

Drew followed, cautiously avoiding a twelve-pack of empty Pepsi cans and a six-pack of beer bottles. “You may have a point there,” he murmured.

Lauren ignored him, letting him pick his way through the mess while she zeroed in on the stack of mail on the kitchen table, then the pile of papers on the open rolltop desk. Tossing her coat on the couch, she spent the next fifteen minutes flipping through the stacks, looking for anything that seemed out of place, leaving Drew to explore on his own.

No luck.

She turned to Drew, who stood by the coffee table, sorting through a bunch of newspapers and magazines. He hadn’t removed his leather jacket, and he looked slightly uncomfortable handling Meg’s possessions. “Anything suspicious?” she asked.

“Not unless you call three TVs, about a hundred video tapes and DVDs, and subscriptions to four different papers suspicious.”

“Meg’s a news junkie.”

“And a slob. How can she be so organized at work, and live like this?”

Lauren sighed, familiar with the sentiment, since she’d expressed it so many times herself. “Meg says being organized is like work for her. She can do it as part of her job, but she doesn’t want to bother at home.” She nodded toward the bedroom, where she’d heard Drew poking around a few minutes before. “Was there any sign that your dad’s been staying here?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t see any suits or men’s shoes in the closet, but I didn’t open any drawers.”

“Did you check the bathroom?”

“Not yet.”

Drew followed her, watching while she went through the vanity drawers. She did her best to ignore him, but in the bathroom filled with lotions, potpourri jars, and scented candles, Drew Creighton seemed overwhelmingly male. He was close enough that his clean smell cut through the cloying sweetness of the candles, causing Lauren’s nostrils to flare like a mare scenting a stallion. Alarmed, she moved as far from him as she could.

It was probably the potpourri that was making her lightheaded.

Lauren pointed at the wall beside Drew. “Check the medicine cabinet,” she instructed. She wasn’t about to reach across his chest to do it herself.

Drew flicked open the mirrored door. She spotted the evidence they sought two seconds later. On the shelf above the pain killers and cold medicines, a man’s razor, shaving lotion, aftershave, and comb lay neatly lined up along the glass shelf. Lauren felt something like relief.

“I guess your dad’s been staying here after all.”

“I don’t think so.” Drew picked up the comb and examined it closely as he spoke. “That’s not his brand of shaving lotion or aftershave. And this,” he pulled something from the teeth of the comb, “is definitely not his hair.”

Lauren peered at the short brown strand Drew held out, recalled Senator Creighton’s full head of silver hair and felt suddenly queasy. In a voice filled with apprehension, she asked, “Could it be from the man in the pictures?”

Drew’s thin smile was too tight to be sincere. “You tell me, you had a better look at them than I did.”

“I guess not,” she told him weakly, recalling the pale blond hair in the photos. Lauren sighed at the thought of another sleep-over lover in addition to Senator Creighton and the X-rated Scandinavian stud. She’d wanted to believe the pictures had been faked. And for Meg’s sake, she wanted Drew to believe that her sister was not the type who could have posed for those pictures. But it was getting harder to defend her.

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” she told Drew.

“What am I thinking?”

“That Meg is some sort of slut who sleeps around and indulges in kinky sex fantasies.”

“That’s not what I think.” Before Lauren could exhale with relief, he continued, “I think she’s the sort of”—he hesitated before carefully amending the word—“woman who sleeps her way to the top, and who’s more than willing to indulge other people’s sexual fantasies if it helps her get there.”

In a flash, her relief turned to jaw-clenching fury. “That’s so unfair! You don’t even know her.”

“Really?” He put the comb back and gave her his full attention. “Here’s what I know about your sister.” He thrust his finger in front of her face. “One. She’s worked in my dad’s office eight months and is already his personal staff secretary, a brilliant little bureaucratic coup on her part.”

“She’s very good at what she does,” Lauren spat back, her eyes scrunched to narrow slits that she hoped he found evil and dangerous.

“Two.” A second finger flipped up under her nose. “She has had at least three love affairs during those eight months, not counting the Scandanavian photo stud—don’t look so surprised, I told you Gerald knows everything—all of whom were flush with money and on the way up the political ladder.”

Lauren adroitly skipped over the number of Meg’s affairs. “What do you expect? The only men she meets are in government.”

“Three.” His three fingers made a reversed Boy Scout salute in front of her face. She barely refrained from batting them aside. “She is quite willing to date her boss, a traditional no-no for any secretary who wants to keep her job, except for the ambitious ones who want to promote themselves to Mrs. Boss.”

That one really got her steamed. “Why does Meg get the blame for that? That is such a chauvinistic, male point of view, Creighton. Maybe the lecherous old bastard went after her.”

He wasn’t the least bit offended. “Yeah, I’ll admit that could happen, except for number four.” She got a close-up view of all four fingers as both his hand and his face moved in, driving home his point. “Just two weeks ago Dad was dating some divorced socialite in Virginia who had his favorite qualification—she’s a former centerfold. Yes, you can thank Gerald again. Then he was suddenly getting calls at home from Meg, and having late night meetings with his dedicated secretary, who probably felt threatened by Miss Fuck of the Month and decided to make her move.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“And who’s young enough to flatter him into thinking he’s a young stud again himself, because she’s pretty and ambitious, and too damned sexy for her own good.”

“And how the hell would you know that?” Lauren snapped.

They glared at each other as the answer sank in. He didn’t know Meg. He did know her look-alike sister. Any physical impression he had of Meg would have come from Lauren, or from his brief glance at the nude photo of Meg, who they both knew was identical to Lauren in every pertinent respect.

Too sexy for her own good?

Lauren felt her face go blank.

Drew’s anger faded to a cautious look, and he backed away as far as he could before he hit the wall, which was about one foot. He was still too close for Lauren’s comfort, judging by the fluttering in her stomach, especially since he didn’t look the least bit embarrassed by the implications of what he’d said. Instead, he seemed to be assessing its accuracy and looking far too interested in his conclusion.

Lauren stepped back and stared, grappling with the concept. On her best days, she felt pretty. She would never have put herself in the sexy category. Even sweet, smitten Jeff, who called her beautiful and smart, had never called her sexy. Before she could wonder about that oversight, she had to wiggle out from under the fascinated gaze of her nephew, who was making her feel distinctly un-auntlike.

Since he hadn’t actually said she was sexy, she decided to pretend she’d never taken it that way.

Using her best haughty voice, she said, “Excuse me, I need to get clothes from Meg’s bedroom for the embassy party.”

He moved all of three inches. Lauren squeezed past him, so close she felt his breath on top of her head and detected a scent that was both spicy and warm, which made her realize how rattled she was, since warm was not a smell.

She went directly to Meg’s closet and scanned the racks for her sister’s best dresses.

It wasn’t like shopping at Lord & Taylor, but pretty damn close. Meg obviously had a busier social life than Lauren, judging by the number of cocktail and evening dresses, most black, and all more daring than Lauren would have preferred. Nothing had a decently high neckline or a hint of sleeve.

She pulled out the black sheath Gerald had recommended, a figure-hugging line of clingy silk with tiny spaghetti straps.

“Sexy,” Drew said behind her.

He lounged in the doorway of the tiny walk-in closet. His smug smile was aimed at her, not the dress.

That one word was enough reason not to wear the dress. Lauren arched an eyebrow, stuck the dress back on the rack, and blindly selected the one next to it. “Too bad. I’m wearing this one.”

The smile broadened to a grin.

Lauren looked at the dress in her hands. A formfitting strapless top dipped in a low heart shape, hugged tightly to the curve of invisible hips, then flared into a long skirt. Perfect for dancing, preferably a sizzling hot tango. Lauren’s mouth went dry.

Choking back a laugh, Drew said, “Excuse me. I need to order a long-stemmed red rose.” He left before he could even appreciate her fuming scowl.

Lauren sighed and considered the dress. She could select a different one, but Drew would know she’d been intimidated by his reaction. Better to be intimidated by a dress than by Drew.

Another worried look at the plunging neckline assured her that she was not overstating the problem. She wouldn’t have to search Meg’s underwear drawers for a strapless black bra; the crisscross lacing on the back of the dress showed too much skin for that. Her modest bosom was on its own. She would have to hope the heart-shaped curves of the bodice offered adequate enhancement.

At least she could pilfer some black nylons from Meg.

Several minutes of searching made it clear that panty hose were out. Meg’s preference was obviously thongs, black garter belts and stockings. It was either wear the racy underwear, or stop at a drug store for her usual package of cheap pantyhose.

Lauren ran the silk stockings across her hand thoughtfully. No one would know but her, and it might make her feel daring enough to be comfortable in the dress.

What the hell.

Shaking off a shiver of anticipation, she gathered them up and left before she could change her mind.

Her last hope for a demure look ended with Steven.

“Are you sure you want me to cut it?” he asked, standing back to give Lauren’s hair a critical eye and speaking to Gerald. “She has enough length and volume to do a loose, wavy fall. Very feminine and pretty, especially if I weave some tiny flowers into the top.”

Lauren looked up hopefully.

Gerald shook his head. “Can’t do it. It has to look exactly like Meg’s. Razor cut along the bottom so it curves in, feathered through here and here.” Fingers lightly fluffed Lauren’s hair. “And wispy bangs down to here.”

Steven shrugged. “Okay. It’s a flattering style, but not as sexy.”

She was getting used to the idea of sexy and thought it sounded fine.

“Of course it isn’t. She can’t go to the embassy like that!” Gerald look horrified. “After you cut it, you’ll have to do some sort of upsweep.” His fingers danced over the crown of Lauren’s head in demonstration.

“No,” Drew interjected from across the kitchen, chair tipped back in what must be his usual pose. “Don’t change it from the way Meg was wearing hers the last few days. We want her to be recognized. She’s supposed to be Senator Creighton’s wife, remember?”

“Okay,” Gerald agreed reluctantly. “But it needs something to make it look special. This is an embassy party.”

“I didn’t bring any accessories, Gerald.” Steven stepped out from behind the kitchen chair so Lauren could see him without twisting around on her stool. In blue jeans and flannel shirt, Steven couldn’t look more different from Gerald, who wore his standard vest and tie even though it was Saturday. “Did you bring anything with you that we could use?” he asked her. “Ribbons, silver combs, jeweled barrettes, anything?”

Lauren mentally reviewed her meager grooming supplies. “I have a velvet band I use to tie my hair back,” she said doubtfully.

Steven rubbed his neatly trimmed beard as he studied the top of her head. “I could work with that. What color?”

“Red.”

Gerald smiled. “Perfect. She has a black dress, Steven. It’ll be great. Very sexy.”

The world was conspiring to make her sexy. Lauren warmed to the idea and flicked her gaze toward Drew. He looked entirely too detached and carefree, and she felt too exposed in her bathrobe, even though it covered her from head to toe. “Why aren’t you getting ready?” she asked him. “What are you going to wear?”

“I have a tux upstairs. Dad usually ropes me into attending these things when I’m in town. He keeps hoping political aspirations will rub off on me.” His cynical tone said it was a vain hope.

Like a typical man, he’d probably devote all of ten minutes to getting dressed, and look perfect. But letting him watch while Steven transformed her into something sexy made her squirm. She’d already caught his gaze on her a bit too often this afternoon.

“Shouldn’t you check with the police? I thought they were going to keep us updated on their search.”

It was the right diversion.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Drew’s chair dropped. “I’ll give that cop a call.”

“Detective Rasmussen,” Gerald supplied, keeping a critical eye on Lauren’s hair as Steven began snipping.

“That’s the guy. I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time,” she muttered to his back.

Lauren closed her eyes, prepared to sink into the luxury of being pampered, when Gerald crossed his arms and planted himself in front of her. “Okay, time to review your homework.”

She stiffened. This was the scary part. “There’s no way I can learn all those names and faces in the next few hours. Can’t I just smile politely at everyone and avoid using names?”

Gerald scowled. “No, you cannot. You could end up being too remote to one of Senator Creighton’s best friends, or worse yet, flashing a smile at Callista Featherstone and giving the whole thing away.” He narrowed a sharp stare at her while wagging a finger. “I can not emphasize this enough. Callista is a petty, jealous witch-with-a-B and hates Meg with a passion. Once you open your mouth, it will take her all of ten seconds to realize that you are not your sister. Ten seconds after that, the whole room will know.”

Lauren swallowed but couldn’t get rid of the lump that had suddenly developed in her throat. “How am I supposed to recognize her? Can’t you come with us?”

Her desperation softened Gerald’s glare. “No, I can’t. Just stay away from any tall blondes with a crash-test front end.”

“A what?”

“Air bags, sweetie,” he said, holding his hand up to support giant, invisible breasts. “Fully inflated. Avoid any women matching that description, especially if they have a nasty little predatory glint in their eyes.” He shrugged. “That should eliminate most of the strumpets. You can be polite to the rest.”

Lauren’s shoulders sagged with defeat, causing Steven to poke her back to an upright posture. She moaned, “I’ll never remember all those people.”

“Andrew can help. He knows some of the men.” A wicked grin swept across his face. “And probably most of the women.”

Somehow that was more irritating than reassuring, which was probably the reaction Gerald intended. While she concentrated on looking disinterested, Drew walked into the kitchen.

“The police are off the case,” Drew said, not looking very happy about it. “Orders of the Secret Service. I couldn’t get hold of whoever’s in charge of it now.”

“Is that normal?” Lauren asked.

“Probably,” Gerald told her. “The Secret Service provides protection for senators and representatives if it’s needed. They have a full investigative staff.” He squinted critically at the side of her head. “More layering,” he directed Steven. “It has to swing when she moves her head back and forth.” He demonstrated, swishing imaginary layers of hair across his collar.

Lauren wasn’t sure she liked the way their case had been passed around. “The Secret Service hasn’t even talked to us about what happened.”

Drew frowned. “Rasmussen said they have his report, and they’ll contact us when they know something.”

She glanced at Gerald, who seemed more concerned with supervising Steven’s every snip than he was about the Secret Service. Fine. If he wasn’t concerned, she wasn’t either. Worrying about Callista Featherstone was enough to keep her stomach in knots.

Drew’s thoughts might still be on the investigation, but she doubted it. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, watching with interest as her new hair style evolved.

Lauren shifted uneasily under his unwavering gaze. She adjusted her robe, uncrossed her legs, re-crossed them.

“Hold still,” Steven ordered.

She tried, but ended up swinging her foot to a nervous beat. With three men hovering around, she felt like the main exhibit at a museum. Gerald had to be there to advise Steven, but Drew didn’t.

“Don’t you have something to do?” she asked him.

“Me? No.”

She caught Gerald’s eye with a pleading look. He glanced at Drew and said, “Ladies only, get lost.”

Behind her, Steven muttered something and snipped perilously close to her neck.

Drew raised an eyebrow, but Gerald had already turned his back. Lauren smiled sweetly and said, “’Bye.”

“Just be ready by seven,” Drew told her, and left.

She threw a grateful smile at Gerald. “Thanks.”

“The big guy makes you nervous, huh?”

“Shut up, Gerald,” Steven said mildly as he created wispy bangs with his razor. “And if you stereotype me one more time you’re sleeping in the garage.”

Gerald grinned and winked at Lauren. “Isn’t he adorable?”

She wasn’t sure if he meant Steven or Drew.

Steven’s skills were magical, and Lauren loved the way her new hairstyle feathered down to swing just below the line of her chin.

The dress was more than magic. Her mind skidded away from the word sexy, but she was quite sure she’d never looked this good in her life. The fake red fingernails she’d applied were the finishing touch. If Meg felt this way about herself all the time, Lauren might have to consider investing in a few new dresses.

Lingerie, too. There was no getting around the effect the skimpy panties and lacy elastic garter straps had on her attitude, even concealed beneath the long dress. Posing in front of the mirror so she could admire the way the tight bodice persuaded her average-sized breasts to scrunch into rounded mounds with honest-to-God cleavage, Lauren felt a surge of confidence.

It dissipated into quivering shyness as soon as she saw Drew.

He was as stunning as she’d expected in his tuxedo. He greeted her at the foot of the stairs with a warm gaze that lingered in all the right places, and a low, sensual, “Very nice.”

He reached for her hand as she descended the final tread, drawing her as close as he would for a dance. Too close for comfort. Even in heels she had to tilt her head to meet his eyes, and as soon as she did, his gaze slid down to her mouth, then lower to her breasts. Her pounding heart was probably adding significant tremors to her cleavage.

His sparkling blue gaze returned to hers. One side of his mouth curved into a mischievous smile. “I think our bodies will fit together quite well.” She nearly melted under a hot, liquid rush of emotion before he added, “When we dance, that is.”

“Oh,” she said, stupidly letting him know that she’d assumed he was referring to another way they might fit together. She winced.

When she dared to look at him again, he drew his free hand from behind his back and brought it into the small space between them. She looked down at a single, long-stemmed red rose.

“I couldn’t resist.” He grinned, a devilishly charming little boy’s smile that nudged her heartbeats into a gallop. Damn, that mouth was sexy. “You don’t have to hold it in your teeth. I’ll find a bud vase so you can leave it here.”

She nodded, wondering what it was about Drew that kept knocking her senseless. It wasn’t like she’d never been given a rose before. In fact, she’d received hundreds. Jeff sent them in all colors, by the dozen, on a regular basis. Of course, they were delivered, not handed to her personally. And he’d never looked at her quite like that.

She had taken the rose from Drew and now she didn’t know what to do with it. Simply holding it was dizzying, like being sucked into an emotional whirlpool with Drew at the center. Her panicked mind sought a way out.

Thrusting the rose back, she blurted, “I forgot, I have to call Jeff before we go.”

“Great,” he muttered. “Sounds like a real buzzkill to me.”

That was the point. As quickly as she could manage in three-inch heels and a floor-length dress, she fled the room.

Jeff was safe. He was stable and dependable, and he never made her feel quivery inside. At least he never had before that misguided phone sex incident, which was never going to happen again. He was also suspicious.

“What do you mean, you were searching Meg’s apartment? What for?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to explain, we don’t know. Anything that might relate to the photographs, or to why someone might try to kidnap her. But we didn’t find anything.” Lauren decided not to mention the short brown hair in the comb; Jeff was already disapproving enough of Meg’s “misguided morals.”

“Lauren, I told you to leave that stuff to the police.”

“Yes, I remember. Jeff? I…” She hadn’t planned to bring it up, but suddenly his answer seemed important.

He waited through her hesitation, then said with exaggerated patience, “You what, Lauren?” He sounded impatient today, maybe a reaction to how vulnerable he’d sounded during the phone sex incident. If he was still embarrassed about it, she was sure the blame was going to shift back to her.

Lauren had to remove an immaculately manicured fake fingernail from her mouth to speak. “Would you be willing to come to Washington and help me?”

“Help? I don’t think interfering with a police investigation would be helpful, Lauren. I’m sure the police would rather have you stay out of it, and I’m certain they don’t need my help.”

“The Secret Service,” she mumbled.

He couldn’t have heard her, because he spoke over her. “Besides, I have that Board of Directors meeting for the Downtown Development Project, and you know how important it is that the mayor have a good impression of Duchaine Properties.”

“Yes, I suppose your family’s business is more important than my sister.”

“Of course it is,” he assured her, then seemed to realize the trap he’d fallen into. “Not that Meg isn’t important to you, honey, but she has a husband to take care of her now. I have to think about us. The success of Duchaine Properties will ensure our financial future. It’s my job to look out for our welfare.”

“Uh-huh.” Lauren knew he expected her to be pleased with his response, but only felt numb. Money was important to him; Meg wasn’t.

Jeff’s voice became hearty and encouraging, probably in response to her lack of enthusiasm. He hated it when she was worried or tense. “So what did you do with the rest of your day? Did you get a chance to visit Aunt Betty and Uncle John?”

Damn, she’d forgotten all about them. “No, I got my hair cut. I think you’ll like it.”

She heard several seconds of silence before Jeff’s voice came back, sounding cautious. “I suppose a few hours at the beauty salon might make you feel better.”

“I didn’t go to a salon, one of Gerald’s friends did it here. His partner, actually.”

“Gerald? What do you mean, his partner? Are they police officers? For God’s sake, why would a policeman be cutting your hair?”

She’d thought talking to Jeff would make her feel safe and secure. Instead, she was feeling more reckless every minute, like she’d been confined and needed to break free. Since she’d already admitted to half of today’s irresponsible behavior, she ignored his questions and blundered on with the rest of it. “It wasn’t to make me feel better, it was so I could look exactly like Meg when we go to the party at the Romanian embassy tonight.” Confession was supposed to be good for the soul.

“The Romanian… ? We? Lauren, what are you talking about?”

Nothing he would approve of, she was certain. Why make him worry? “Gosh, Jeff, I just realized how late it is. Drew’s waiting. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, honey, okay?”

“Lauren, wait—”

“’Bye.” She clicked off, then slowly raised one of her remaining endangered nails to her mouth before remembering it was protected by an acrylic one. Her nail got a reprieve as she considered the brush-off she’d just accomplished. She wasn’t used to hiding things from Jeff, but sometimes men just didn’t understand the bond between women, especially between sisters.

Except Drew. He understood.

But Drew didn’t have an important job to worry about back home. He had skiing dates with snow bunnies. That was one big difference between him and Jeff. If she wanted to bother comparing them, that is. And she didn’t.

In fact, she’d like to forget about Drew altogether. That would be difficult, however, if he intended to spend the next few hours on a dance floor, fitting their bodies together.

She stubbornly blocked Drew from her mind and concentrated on the socializing she would have to do. Callista Featherstone hovered ominously in every imagined situation.

Lauren’s gaze strayed to the sherry on the bar built into Senator Creighton’s bookshelves. Perhaps a little liquid courage would help.