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Chapter 2

Jacqueline never enjoyed those stuffed shirt affairs. She’d sweltered in them most of her young life growing up in the Lawson household where the sun shining was reason enough to throw a gala. Her mother and father—God rest their souls—were Southern royalty. Her father’s closest friends were those that most people only read about. And her mother was in her glory entertaining them. The Lawson home was and remained the central hub for the comings and goings of the political, corporate and entertainment Who’s Who. And her brothers Branford and David were cut from the same cloth.

Perhaps it was because she was the youngest—a change of life baby, as her mother always reminded her—and a girl, that her father focused all of his attention on her brothers and her mother turned her over to the nanny so that she could conduct her charity events and social climbing.

Jacqueline never felt part of the family but more of an afterthought. So she made her own way, built her own life and over time the tenuous ties that bound her to her family were severed. The final cut being her brother David.

Unfortunately, those once per year events were part and parcel of her business and as reluctant as she was to admit it, she did learn from living it, that rubbing elbows was needed and necessary. And, besides, it was one of the few times that she did have a chance to interact with her colleagues and see some of the important work they were doing and being recognized for.

When she’d walked into the grand ballroom at the Kennedy Center she immediately wished that she’d brought a date. She pasted on her best smile and wandered over to the bar. The crutch of a glass of white wine could hold her up for at least an hour if she sipped really slowly. And if she found a comfortable leaning position or a good seat out of the way, her feet encased in “sex me” heels would last through the long evening.

“You look like you hate this almost as much as I do.”

She angled her head to the right and inhaled a short, sharp breath. Yummy was her first thought before she could respond.

“Is it that obvious?” She arched a questioning brow as her photographic eye took him in from head to toe in one click of her internal lens.

The amazing dark chocolate-brown eyes twinkled in the light and creased at the edges when he smiled down at her. She wasn’t a big gospel fan but he sure could be a body double for the singer BeBe Winans with the dulcet tone to go with the look. And that body appeared totally comfortable and sleek in his tux.

“You have the ever ready wineglass. The casual lean against the bar pose…” His gaze traveled down. “…to keep the pressure off of those pretty feet.”

She bit back a smile.

“And the…‘just how long is this thing gonna last,’ look in your eyes.” He turned to the bar and picked up his glass of Hennessey on the rocks then returned his attention back to her.

“Observant.”

“Occupational hazard. Journalist?”

“Photographic.”

He nodded slowly in appreciation.

“You?”

“Foreign correspondent.”

She switched her wine flute from her right hand to her left and extended her hand. “Jacqueline.”

“Raymond Jordan.” His hand enveloped hers.

He smelled good, too. “Nice to meet you.”

“You have a table?”

“No. Do you?”

“Naw.” He took a swallow of his drink. “I figured there had to be an available seat in here somewhere. After all, I pay my dues and I did get an invite.”

She giggled. “My sentiments exactly.”

“Care to spend the evening with another jaded guest?”

Jacqueline glanced up at him. “Sure, why not.”

Raymond crooked his elbow and Jacqueline hooked her arm through.

They found a table in the center of the room with two empty seats at a table for eight. After a bit of seat shifting they settled next to each other and were soon served appetizers for the sit-down dinner.

Up front, CNN correspondent Anderson Cooper was in conversation with Karen Ballard, who specialized in motion picture photography. Jacqueline and Raymond whispered conspiratorially about Cooper’s possible appearance in a film and they entertained themselves by concocting stories about the plethora of attendees that spanned the gamut of journalism, and swapped stories about some of their memorable assignments.

Raymond was equally as traveled as Jacqueline and spoke three languages fluently, compared to her two. He’d lived in Japan for a year, spent several summers in Europe and loved motorcycle riding.

“What was it like being embedded with the troops in Iraq?” he asked.

“Scary. But I knew that they wouldn’t let anything happen to me. I was there to do a job and they respected that.” She glanced off.

“Must have been tough. The things you saw…”

She nodded. “It was.” She turned and looked into his eyes. “The sad part is, I’ve seen and photographed worse.”

“I know. In this business when you think you’ve seen everything there’s one more thing that sucks the air out of your lungs.”

“Fortunately, there’s still some beauty left in the world.”

“Fortunately,” he said and raised his glass to her, his gaze moving with appreciation across her face.

After a long line of award-winners and acceptance speeches, the event wound down to a glittering close.

Jacqueline and Raymond made their way out through the throng of bodies.

“Going to the after party?” Raymond asked once they were outside.

“Oh no,” she said, waving her hand. “I’ve had enough party people to last me at least until this time next year.”

Raymond chuckled. “Live here or staying in town?”

“Actually, I’m only here until tomorrow. I fly out in the morning. Off to Israel for the next month.”

“Busy lady. Where do you call home?”

She hesitated for a moment. Louisiana was where she was born but it hadn’t been home for a very long time. “California.”

His head jerked back in surprise. “Me too.”

“That’s just a pickup line, right?”

“No.” He chuckled. “Seriously. I moved out there about a year ago from Maplewood, New Jersey. I’m in San Fernando Valley. Been there about two years now.”

“Hmmm. Small world.”

“Maybe we can get together the next time we’re in the same time zone.”

Jacqueline offered a half smile. She lifted her arm to signal for the next taxi in line.

A cab pulled up in front of them. Raymond stepped forward and opened the door for her. She ducked in the cab.

Raymond stuck his head in. “Safe travels, pretty lady. Thanks for spending the evening with me.”

There was no room in her life for a man like Raymond, for any man or anyone. She didn’t stay put long enough for a relationship to have any meaning. And there was no point in opening the door to something that would never get a chance to cross the threshold.

“Take care,” she said and for a brief instant, she wished things could be different, but they weren’t.

Raymond gave her a wistful parting smile, shut the door and stepped back.

She watched him in the rearview mirror until the cab turned the corner. She was sure that was the last time she would see him and in the ensuing months she often wondered what part of the world he was in. Sometimes she would run across his byline only to realize that he was a half a world away.

And then one day, there he was in the Khan el-Khalili market in Cairo, thousands of miles away from where they’d met nearly a year earlier.

“Ray?” She approached from his right. He turned and swiped his dark shades from his eyes. His grin spread like the sun rising over the ocean and moved through her.

“Jacquie, what in the world…”

She giggled like a schoolgirl. “You stole my line.”

He tossed his head back and laughed from deep in his belly. “This is one of those crazy surprises…a good one,” he added. He put down the bolt of white cotton that he’d been considering purchasing. “You look…different.” He’d memorized her in the clinging off-white cocktail dress that flirted with her knees and showed off incredible legs. The diamonds at her throat and wrist, the way the dip of the dress teased the senses with hints of what lay beneath. Her scent that he couldn’t get out of his head…and those eyes. Those eyes. And that lush full mouth. And now she looked like a gorgeous cover-model for college girls with her hair pulled back into a ponytail, a khaki baseball cap, T-shirt that barely contained those lush breasts and khaki shorts. Totally delicious.

“Must be the sneakers,” she teased.

He snapped his fingers. “That’s it!” He stepped closer. “How long are you here for?”

“At least another two weeks. You?”

“Me too. I’m on assignment to cover the Summit.”

“So am I,” she said, inexplicably happy.

“Have any free time on your schedule? Maybe we can have dinner or do the tourist thing.”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “I’d like that.”

“Where are you staying?”

“The Semiramis Intercontinental.”

“I’m at the Atlas Zamalek. Are you free later tonight?”

“I have to caption some photos, but that should only take a few hours. How about eight?”

“No problem. I’ll come by your hotel.”

She bobbed her head. “Okay. I’ll meet you in the lobby.” She took a step back. “I, uh, have some errands to run so…I’ll see you at eight.”

“Eight.”

She turned to leave.

“Hey, Jacquie.”

She looked back over her shoulder. “You never told me your last name.”

“Lawson.”