Читать книгу Trading Places - Ruth Jean Dale - Страница 8

Sharlayne update:

Sharlayne Kenyon’s gone into hiding at her glamorous new digs in Beverly Hills, where, according to the smart money, she’s working on her autobiography. Half the rich and/or handsome men in California are expected to head for the hills, should this prove to be true….

Gina Godfrey, U.S. Eye

JED CALLED HOME Thursday before leaving for Los Angeles. He’d be driving down from the agency headquarters in San Francisco in his old Ford pickup, only a six-or seven-hour trek. Before he left, he figured he should tell his family where they could reach him.

His brother, Steve, answered. After the usual chitchat—they needed rain, Mom was still flitting around Europe with Aunt Margaret, their sister Dana was expecting her second kid in the fall—Jed finally got around to the reason for his call.

“Hey, great, man,” Steve said enthusiastically.

“I know you’ve just been waiting for that first assignment. Who and what?”

“I’ll be guarding Sharlayne Kenyon.”

“Say that again?”

“Sharlayne—”

“Jeez! You mean the one who’s been married about a dozen times? The one who’s been in movies and magazines and—”

“That’s the one, all right,” Jed confirmed dryly.

“You always did have all the luck.”

That surprised Jed, who didn’t think he ever had any luck. “How so?” he challenged.

“You’re gonna be guarding one of the most famous bodies in America. That’s not luck?”

“I’m guarding it, not making moves on it.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Steve, she must be ten years older than I am.” He figured the photos in his briefcase must have been taken fifteen years ago and extensively retouched.

“Fifteen years older and twenty years smarter,” Steve shot back.

“You think so? Look, little brother, guarding some flighty celebrity isn’t my idea of a plum assignment.”

“Everybody’s got to start somewhere, my man.”

“That’s what I figure, so I intend to make the best of it. The body of Sharlayne What’s-Her-Name will be guarded like never before, but that’s all—guarded. This is strictly business.”

“Knowing you, I believe it.” Steve sounded disgusted. “Good old straight-arrow Jed.” He sighed. “If it were me…”

“It’s not. If you need me, use my cell phone number. I’ll be at her place in L.A.—Beverly Hills, Bel Air, wherever.”

“Okay. Have a good time.”

“Fat chance. This is work.”

“Speaking of work…” A pregnant pause followed, and then, “We really could use you around the old homestead, Jed. If bodyguarding doesn’t pan out, you can always come home.”

“It’ll pan out. Give my love to Dana.”

“Will do, and you give my love to Sharlayne Kenyon.”

Jed hung up on a long, low whistle.

Steve must be losing it, he thought, tossing his sea bag into the back of the pickup. What did his brother know about this Sharlayne Kenyon that Jed didn’t? He’d seen pictures of her, read her file. She was just another glossy blonde.

Wasn’t she?

ALICE SAT AT the makeup table in the master suite of Sharlayne’s Spanish-style villa in Beverly Hills. Practically in a state of shock, she stared at her reflection in the lit mirror.

Her own face stared back at her, bare of makeup but topped with Sharlayne’s hair: a pale baby blond in a sexy, short cut. Sharlayne, who was also reflected in the mirror, tugged at a strand, testing the texture between her fingers.

“Well?” Alice inquired breathlessly.

“Not bad,” Sharlayne responded grudgingly. “Your hair’s finer than mine—less body. But Kathy did a great job, I have to admit.”

“It went just the way you said it would,” Alice said. “I asked for your hairdresser when I made the appointment, then gushed all over her about how much I loved your hair. I asked her to do mine exactly the same and this is the result.”

“And since you went in sans makeup, she’ll never put two and two together,” Sharlayne said with satisfaction. “Okay, time to complete the transformation. Show me what you’ve learned in the past week.”

Alice herself wasn’t sure what she’d learned. Sharlayne had bombarded her with information and instructions, including the art of makeup. Although Alice had painted her eyes, modified her lip line, shadowed her nose to make it appear longer and allowed Sharlayne to change the shape of her brows, she’d never done everything all at once.

This would be the acid test.

With trembling hands, she reached for the jar of Sharlayne’s custom-blended foundation. Picking up a sponge, she looked herself in the eye, took a deep breath and began.

Thirty minutes later, she was so racked with nerves that she really couldn’t see the forest for the trees: all the parts that went together to create Sharlayne Kenyon. Everything about Alice gleamed and glowed with color and new shapeliness, but did it add up to success?

She shifted on the bench and fixed a plaintive gaze on Sharlayne. “Well?” She held her breath.

Sharlayne looked…stunned. Stepping forward, she put her hands on Alice’s shoulders and turned her back to face the mirror. What Alice now saw was two Sharlayne Kenyons—two. For a moment, she didn’t know which one was her.

Sharlayne said in a strangled voice, “I’m the one who thought this would work, and even I don’t believe it.”

“Neither do I,” Alice gasped. “I never dreamed—!”

“I realized there were a lot of similarities.” Sharlayne had pulled herself together, although she still appeared rattled. “Do you suppose we’re twins separated at birth?”

Alice laughed. “Not likely, since I’m thirty-two and you’re—”

“Older. A tiny bit older.” Sharlayne grinned at her own intervention. “Actually, when I look closer I can see the differences. Your upper lip is longer…see?” She pointed to her own mouth. “Your nose is shorter, your cheeks fuller. That’s why I showed you how to contour. Your neck’s shorter, too.” She preened her head from side to side to demonstrate.

“I see it when you point it out,” Alice agreed. “Without all the camouflage we don’t look that much alike at all.” She rose. “Now what?”

“Now you get dressed. Wear that.” Sharlayne pointed to garments laid out on the silk-draped canopy bed and strappy high-heeled sandals sitting on the floor.

Without a word, Alice stripped off her jeans and T-shirt. Beneath them she wore a thong—which was driving her crazy—and a demibra of lace and satin, artfully constructed to make the most of her assets. The underwear was new, selected and purchased by Sharlayne.

“You can wear my clothes and my shoes,” she’d said. “You can even wear my jewels. But no way will anybody wear my undies. Since you have a penchant for cotton underwear and no one on the planet would believe Sharlayne Kenyon would wear such a thing—”

“But no one will see my underwear,” Alice had protested. “What difference does it make?”

“Plenty,” Sharlayne snapped. “You’ll know and you won’t feel like me in cotton underpants—trust me. Besides, what if you got hit by a car? Then everybody at the hospital would see. It would ruin my reputation.”

“I’m not going to get hit by a car.”

Sharlayne had got that sneaky gleam in her eyes. “There are other occasions to show one’s underwear. You could have a mad passionate affair with your bodyguard.”

“I had a mad passionate affair with one of your gardeners. Remember that? It didn’t work out so well. I won’t be trying that again any time soon.”

“José was cute,” Sharlayne said, “but the language thing was a problem. I’m still not sure if he was kissing you off or inviting you to go back to Mexico with him.”

“Whatever. I was sorry I ever got involved.” Alice stepped into white jeans and hauled them up over her hips. She had to take a deep breath to get them snapped, then to pull up the zip.

She’d never worn anything so tight in her life. “Good grief,” she gasped. “How do you move in these?”

“They’re denim. They stretch.”

“I hope.” Alice tugged the black T-shirt over her head. Short and just as tight as the jeans, it reached only to a couple of inches above the waistband, baring her navel.

She stared in the mirror at her exposed bellybutton. “You’re kidding,” she said faintly.

“You know better. You’ve seen me practically every day for two years. You’ve seen me wear that, as a matter of fact.”

“Yes, but…I don’t know.” Alice shook her newly blond head.

“Good,” Sharlayne said approvingly. “That petulant look is dead-on. Hurry up, put on the shoes. Your bodyguard should be arriving any minute and you’ll have to greet him.”

Alice’s stomach clenched into a knot of terror. “Sharlayne, I don’t know—”

“The hell you don’t! Put on those shoes!” Sharlayne pointed with a stiff finger. “Then put on that ruby tennis bracelet and the diamond earrings I laid out for you.” The roar of an automobile engine interrupted and she frowned. “What the…?”

Alice, closer to the second-story windows, walked over to peer out. “It’s an old pickup truck,” she reported.

“Probably a delivery,” Sharlayne grumbled, coming to check for herself. “Tabitha must have authorized it.”

The driver’s door opened and a man stepped out. And what a man: slim hips and shoulders to die for. When he looked up unexpectedly, both women leaped back as if caught doing something they should be ashamed of.

They faced each other, wide-eyed.

Sharlayne said, “The bodyguard. Got to be.”

“Do you think so?” Alice whispered, wondering how she got so lucky.

“I’m sure of it.” Sharlayne grinned. “Maybe I should hang around and send you off to finish my book.”

“Maybe you should,” Alice agreed, wondering if what she felt beneath her feet was really quicksand.

“Go on, Alice,” Sharlayne scoffed. “I mean, Sharlayne. That guy’s a real hunk and his only interest in the next several weeks will be guarding your body. Let him earn his money. Remember, you’re me, so don’t pull any of that fainting-virgin stuff. I’m not suggesting you do anything you really don’t want to, but in public ask yourself, ‘What would Sharlayne do?”’ She turned toward the door with a wink. “Then don’t do anything I wouldn’t, okay?”

Alice groaned. That certainly left a lot of leeway.

A FIFTYISH WOMAN with the charm of a goatherd let Jed into the old villa. He automatically catalogued what he’d seen so far: a tall brick fence, an enormous and elaborate wrought-iron gate at the street entrance to the property, a long curving drive leading up to the white-walled, red-tile-roofed mansion nestled among palms and flowering shrubbery.

All very substantial and prosperous. A nice place to visit, but he wouldn’t want to live here.

The woman, a stereotypical old-maid school-teacher if he’d ever seen one, offered her hand. “I am Tabitha Thomas,” she said in a chilly tone. “I am Ms. Kenyon’s personal assistant.”

“Jed Kelby.” He took her hand in a firm but brief grip. “S. J. Spade Insurance Agency.”

“The bodyguard.”

He grimaced. The agency preferred insurance agent or security expert or even personal security consultant. Nevertheless, he said, “Yes, ma’am.” He glanced around the majestic entryway, noting the antique tile, the Moorish shapes of windows and doors. “Is Ms. Kenyon available?”

“She’s—”

“Right here.”

The low timbre of the new voice sent shudders of anticipation down Jed’s spine. He was watching Tabitha and therefore caught the look of shock that touched her face before it was quickly gone. For a moment he couldn’t be sure of the identity of the newcomer, but then he turned, bracing for this first encounter with his employer.

He had no idea why until he saw her standing there—posing there, actually—in the arched doorway. Pictures of Sharlayne Kenyon didn’t do her justice, had not prepared him for the reality. Blond and beautiful and sleek and sexy would do for starters. She simply took his breath away, which annoyed the hell out of him.

This was business, damn it. He wouldn’t let her distract him from his duty.

He stepped forward, thrusting out his hand in a businesslike manner. “Ms. Kenyon? I’m Jed Kelby. The agency sent me.”

She batted those clear blue eyes. “Ms. Kenyon?” She duplicated his questioning tone. “Are you suggesting you’re not sure?”

Tabitha Thomas stirred. “Not to worry, Mr. Kelby,” she said with perfectly flat inflection. “She often has this effect on strangers.”

“Yeah, well…” Jed almost felt left out of the conversation, for some reason. “I’ve only seen pictures.”

A fast smile tilted Sharlayne’s lips. “I shouldn’t tease you,” she said. “I’m really quite relieved you’re here. Please, come into the living room, where we can talk.” She half turned. “Tabitha, could you send Juan to make drinks. It is almost cocktail hour.” She tossed Jed a mischievous glance.

“Not for me,” he said quickly. “I don’t drink on the job.”

“But you’re not on the job yet.” She gave him a pretty pout. “You don’t officially start until tomorrow.”

He simply shook his head: no.

“Wine, then.” Those soft lips set in a stubborn line. “Surely you can have a glass of wine. We—I’ve just put in a case of fabulous Kelby-Linus chardonnay—” She stopped short, her beautiful eyes widening. “But—are you connected to those Kelbys?”

This wasn’t going the way he expected. He didn’t want any personal relationship with this woman. Neither did he want to lie to her, so he simply said, “Yes.”

“Then that’s what we’ll have,” she said happily, clasping her hands with pleasure. A bejeweled bracelet encircled her wrist, and her nails were long and gracefully shaped. “If you please, Tabby?”

Tabitha’s mouth turned down at the corners, but she nodded and walked briskly away. There was nothing for Jed to do but follow Sharlayne wherever she might lead.

ALICE THOUGHT she might faint, she was so anxious about this first test of her false identity. Tabitha hadn’t helped, either. The woman had made no secret of her dislike for Alice, but to snipe in front of the bodyguard was completely uncalled for.

Then there was that bodyguard himself. If she’d sat down to outline her ideal man, she’d probably have come up with Jed Kelby.

In the first place, he was tall. She liked tall. Tall, dark and handsome, just like the stereotype. Great, athletic body; easy way of moving, erect posture that hinted of a military background.

If all that wasn’t enough, he had close-clipped black hair and clear hazel eyes that showed a changing pattern of green and gold. The guy was, quite simply, a knockout. And that body…

She picked up two glasses of wine and offered one to him. “Cheers,” she said, sipping.

“Cheers.” He barely sipped the wine before setting the glass on the huge carved wooden coffee table. Apparently, he really didn’t intend to drink on duty.

To hell with that. Alice needed all the courage she could get, however false. She took another swallow. “Did you have a nice drive?” she asked.

He nodded brusquely. “Why do you need a personal security specialist, Ms. Kenyon?”

She blinked in surprise. “Why…I don’t know. It just seemed like a good idea at the time.”

He frowned. “Are you in any kind of danger?”

“Not at all.” She got hold of herself then, and switched back to the official line. “That is, unless you call the press a danger. To be perfectly frank, I’ve become such a media target that sometimes I feel I’m in danger just appearing in public.” That much was true; she had no idea how Sharlayne stood the constant scrutiny and interference.

He shrugged, broad shoulders moving beneath navy-blue knit. “Guess it goes with the territory,” he said without so much as a trace of sympathy. “I understand you’ve only recently moved into this house.”

“That’s right. A few days ago, as a matter of fact.”

“Then the first order of business is for me to check out your security system.” He stood up abruptly. “If you’ll tell me where to stash my gear—”

“Wait a minute. Not so fast.” She frowned. “There’ll be plenty of time for that. Let’s talk about the rest of it.”

His dark brows rose. “What rest of it?”

“How we’re going to…relate to each other.”

“You lost me,” he said. “You’re my employer. I’m here to do the job you hired me for—protect you.”

“That’s all well and good, but I don’t want anyone to know I’ve hired a bodyguard. That would be like inviting every crackpot in town to take a shot at getting through my security.”

“Okay. Then we won’t tell anyone.”

“Exactly. But sooner or later someone will wonder who the handsome man living in my house might be.” She gave him her best come-hither look, which obviously wasn’t all that good, judging by his lack of response.

If he noticed the compliment, he failed to let on. “Okay, tell ’em I’m your cousin. I don’t care.”

“Really, Jed. Do you think anyone would believe that?”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“Because I’m Sharlayne Kenyon, silly.” She drained her glass. “If someone asks, you’re my new boyfriend. Since I’m between close personal friends at the moment, they’ll believe that. Can we use your real name?”

“Sure. Why not? But I don’t think the boyfriend story will fly.”

“It’s the only story that will fly. With it we can spend every minute together and no one will think anything about it. You see? It’s the only way.”

“I see you think it’s the only way. I’m not so sure.”

She patted his strong jaw. “Lighten up, Jed. This will be a walk in the park for a man in your line of business. I wouldn’t want to think you’ll find it too difficult to pretend to have…feelings for me.”

“I never lighten up on the job,” he said. “Your safety is my only concern.”

Was that a challenge?

ALICE MADE IT all the way into Sharlayne’s master suite and collapsed on the chaise longue before succumbing to a bad case of shakes. “I’m dying!” she gasped. “That’s the scariest thing I ever did. I kept waiting for him to stand up and shout, ‘Imposter!’”

Sharlayne and Tabitha regarded her with varying degrees of sympathy: none from Tabitha and very little from Sharlayne.

“Brace up,” Sharlayne said. “He bought it, didn’t he?”

“Apparently, although he did give me a start or two.” Alice pulled herself together sufficiently to stare at her employer.

“My God.” She gaped. “Is that a wig?”

Sharlayne touched the nondescript brown head covering and frowned. Her face was free of makeup and she wore sensible shoes and a dress that actually fit like a dress, not a banana peel. “Awful, huh?”

“Not really. In fact, you look a lot like me.”

“I guess that’s the point.” Sharlayne turned her laser gaze on Tabitha. “What do you think? Did she do all right?”

Tabitha’s lip curled. “She barely got by. If she’d been trying to fool anyone who actually knew you—”

“That won’t happen,” Sharlayne cut in impatiently. “Now, both of you listen. Wilbert’s waiting for me at the service entrance. If you have any questions, this is the time to speak up.”

Alice asked quickly, “Where will you be?”

“That’s strictly top secret.”

“But what if I have to get in touch with you?” Alice felt a touch of panic at the prospect of being completely stranded and on her own.

“Tabitha will always know where to find me. She’ll also handle all the credit cards. Anything you want, up to but not including a mink coat, go to her.”

That didn’t sit well. Not that Alice had a hankering for a mink coat; she just didn’t have a hankering to go begging to Tabitha. “I don’t like it,” she said unhappily.

Tabitha said with malice aforethought, “Too bad. That’s the way we’ve worked it out.”

“Easy.” Sharlayne gave her senior assistant a warning glance. “Try to get along, will you? We want Alice to enjoy this experience, after all.”

“She’s already enjoying it too much.” Tabitha’s gaze was malevolent. “Flirting with that bodyguard—”

“Great!” Sharlayne looked delighted. “That’s exactly what I want her to do—act just like me.” She smiled at Alice. “Relax, honey. You did just fine or Tabitha wouldn’t be so annoyed.”

“This time,” Alice conceded. “But when I run into someone who already knows you—and I inevitably will—all the artful makeovers in the world…all the designer clothing and glittering jewels and fabulous surroundings…won’t get me through. I have to admit, I figured this could be fun—”

“Not to mention profitable.”

“That’s true.”

“Well, stop worrying about it,” Sharlayne said as if her mind had already turned around in another direction. “Do the best you can. Any time you can gain for me will help. I’m going to finish that book if it kills me.”

“Okay,” Alice said, “but this seems even crazier now that we’re into it.”

“Alice, listen to me.” Sharlayne leaned down to peer into eyes nearly identical to her own. “People see what they expect to see, not what’s actually there. If they expect to see Sharlayne Kenyon, they will.”

“But what if—”

“Alice, you’re whimpering.” Sharlayne straightened, her manner stern. “Let me remind you what’s at stake here—a brilliant tome detailing my brilliant life, and a debt-free future for you. Isn’t that worth a little stress and strain?”

“I suppose, but what if I’m found out? What if—”

“Hush and listen to me. You’re also getting a chance to live a fantasy most women would kill for. A mansion, a good-looking man at your beck and call, servants, a good-looking man, designer clothes, a good-looking man—”

“Okay, I catch your drift. A good-looking man.” Alice, who had never in her life been free of money worries or had any male, good-looking or otherwise, at her beck and call, was putty in Sharlayne’s hands. But one question still remained. “Why do I even need a bodyguard, good-looking or otherwise?”

“You don’t,” Sharlayne said calmly. “Let me explain this one more time. He’s just around to keep people away, so they won’t get wise to the switch.” She glanced around the bedroom, clearly impatient. “Now, I really have to get out of here. Last chance for questions.”

Her words reminded Alice of the part of the wedding ceremony where the minister asks if anyone present knows why this couple should not be joined together. This was definitely a now-or-never moment.

She opened her mouth, but no sound emerged.

Sharlayne said, “Good. In that case—ta-ta, ladies. Tabitha, keep me posted. Alice, enjoy yourself.” With a final conspiratorial wink, she was gone.

Alice turned to Tabitha, who was staring at the door through which her boss had disappeared. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered. “Nobody with a grain of sense or an eye in his head would ever accept you as Sharlayne Kenyon.”

“You better be wrong,” Alice said, “because if you’re right, we’re both up the proverbial creek without a paddle.”

This time, she didn’t flinch before Tabitha’s glare. She was, after all, Sharlayne Kenyon.