Risky Business. Jane Sullivan

      “More. It’s a gold mine. Crystal chandeliers, oak and mahogany floors, brass fixtures all over the place, and enough stained glass to fill the Vatican.”

      “Wow. Sounds good.”

      “It’s better than good. I can’t believe some idiot wants to demolish it.”

      “Yeah, but their loss is our gain.”

      Jack had to admit that was true. Their business was historic renovation, not demolition, but if they couldn’t stop the destruction of buildings like this one, at least they could salvage the interiors for use somewhere else. Still, the lack of foresight of some people really grated on Jack’s nerves. A fifty-story office complex might be the highest and best use of this property if a person was looking at it from strictly a financial viewpoint, but once those explosives were planted and detonated, a piece of history would be lost forever. How could anyone put a price tag on that?

      Jack glanced back at the blonde, who was toying with a cocktail straw and not even trying to hide the fact that her attention was focused squarely on him. He didn’t have to be back at the airport until seven o’clock tonight. A lot could happen in seven hours.

      “How long do you think it would take to pull everything out of there?” Tom asked.

      “Hard to say. I’ll know more after I go through it. Trouble is, they want the building on the ground before the end of February.”

      Tom let out a breath of frustration. “That could be cutting it close.”

      “We could bring two crews up here.”

      “That’ll short us on the Wimberly Building.”

      “But that one has a longer fuse. We can afford that.”

      “This all assumes we win the bid.”

      “I’m telling you, Tom, if the rest of the place is as good as what I’ve seen so far, I’ll make sure we win the bid.”

      The blonde picked up her glass of wine and took a sip, then teased her lower lip against the rim in a provocative back-and-forth motion. He was getting exactly the right kind of vibes from her—vibes that told him she wanted nice conversation, great sex—and a no-strings-attached goodbye.

      Maybe they’d skip lunch in the restaurant and go straight to room service.

      “So when is your meeting with the manager?” Tom asked.

      “Eleven-thirty. I’m a little early, so I thought I’d—”

      Jack stopped short. Looking out the window to the street beside the hotel, he saw something that froze him to the spot where he sat.

      No. It couldn’t be.

      He sat motionless, his heart suddenly beating rapid-fire, as he watched a woman on the sidewalk. She held shopping bags in both hands, her purse tossed over her shoulder, looking as if she wanted to hail a cab. Even at this distance, he could see the smooth, ivory skin of her face in contrast to the crimson of her lips, both framed by black-as-night hair that swirled in the winter breeze.

      Hadn’t he touched that face before? Kissed those lips? Run his fingers through that hair?

      It was her. Rachel.

      No. That was wishful thinking. The woman he’d known in San Antonio had been all long legs and luscious curves and warm, soft mouth, and every move she’d made had been a sensual feast for the eyes. This woman was wearing a conservative wool coat with a hem below her knees, black gloves and black low-heeled shoes, looking so sharp and conservative that if a Marine recruiter had happened by, he would have dragged her straight to boot camp. Would the woman he’d known in San Antonio have dressed like that?

      He wasn’t sure. He’d have to think hard to remember what she looked like with clothes on.

      They’d spent one night together—one hot, exciting, unforgettable night—only to have her leave before daybreak without so much as telling him her last name. Not a day had passed in the last six months that he hadn’t thought about her, and he’d held out hope that someday he would see her again. And now, as he looked at this woman, the most uncanny feeling of recognition took him by the throat and refused to let go, telling him that today just might be that day.

      “Jack?” Tom said. “Are you there?”

      Tom’s voice had become as comprehensible as a mosquito buzzing in his ear. The blonde gave him yet another provocative smile, but that didn’t register, either. Every molecule in his body was tuned toward the woman on the sidewalk outside, and all at once the promise he’d made to himself that morning six months ago came back to him like a prophecy just waiting to be fulfilled.

      He’d told himself that if he ever saw her again, he’d never let her go.

      “Sorry, Tom. Gotta run. I’ll call you back later.”

      “Hey! Wait! You haven’t finished telling me—”

      Jack hit a button on the phone and stuffed it back into his coat pocket. He reached for his wallet, grabbed the first bill he saw—a ten—and tossed it onto the bar. The blonde gave him a surprised look, but he was already off his bar stool and heading out of the lounge.

      He ran into the lobby, glanced out the window again and panicked when he didn’t see her. He burst through the revolving door onto the sidewalk, the cold winter wind slapping him in the face, just in time to see her pulling a cab door closed behind her.

      “Rachel!”

      He ran toward the cab, shouting her name, but the wind caught his words and blew them right back at him. The cab pulled away from the curb.

      He spun around and ran to another cab, leaped inside, slammed the door and pointed madly. “Follow that cab!”

      The driver, a gray-haired guy who seemed to be moving in slow motion, looked at him as if he was out of his mind.

      “I know,” Jack said impatiently. “Cliché. Just do it anyway, will you?”

      The man shook his head and hit the gas, accelerating quickly to keep the cab ahead of them in sight. It was no small task, since its driver seemed hell-bent on setting a new land speed record.

      “Stay with him,” Jack said.

      “Lots of traffic. I’ll give it a shot.”

      By going five miles over the speed limit, the driver managed to stay just one car behind the other cab. And the whole time, Jack was consumed by thoughts of the day he’d met Rachel and the incredible hours they’d spent together.

      That afternoon he’d gone by the Alamo in downtown San Antonio, partly because he had a little time to kill, and partly because it was one of his favorite places. She’d been out by the well behind the chapel, one of the only buildings in the Alamo complex left standing. He was first struck by her beauty, but it didn’t take long for him to discover that much more lay beneath her surface. After only a few minutes of conversation, he realized she knew more about the Alamo than he did, and that was saying a lot.

      After spending a good two hours talking about nineteenth-century history, Jack had been positively entranced. Later they’d had dinner together, then strolled along the Riverwalk. And then they’d done something that was impulsive even for him.

      As evening turned to dusk, their walk took them past the old Stonebriar Hotel. He didn’t know who made the first move toward it, but looking back, their thoughts had been so in tune that he imagined they must have done it together. Within minutes they’d checked in. He’d barely waited until they’d gotten into the elevator before he kissed her, and it was all they could do to get down the hall to their room before they came together in a fiery sexual encounter that made every other experience he’d ever had with a woman pale by comparison.

      Then he’d awakened the next morning to find her gone. No note, no phone message, no nothing. And he realized that while they’d talked endlessly about history, she’d sidestepped more