Secret Vows. Rochelle Alers

a pitcher of beer.”

      Resting her hands at her waist, Greer gave him a direct stare. “I have to see some ID. You must be twenty-three to be served alcohol.”

      “Isn’t the legal drinking age twenty-one?”

      “It is.”

      “Then what’s the deal?” he asked.

      “The deal is I can’t serve you alcohol unless you’re twenty-three.” She smiled when he tucked the bill into his shirt pocket. “There is unlimited soda, tea and fruit punch.” Greer turned around so they wouldn’t see her smile, running headlong into Jason. She almost lost her balance but he managed to steady her, his hands going to her shoulders. Standing so close to him made her aware that he was very tall. She was five-seven but he had to be at least three or four inches over the six-foot mark. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

      “I should be the one apologizing,” Jason countered.

      Why, Greer thought, hadn’t she noticed his slow, drawling speech pattern that identified him as someone who’d grown up in the South? His voice was deep and soothing at the same time. He also smelled wonderful. His cologne was a combination of musk, sandalwood and a hint of bergamot. It was as intoxicating as its wearer.

      “Is there something I can get you?” she asked quickly, recovering her physical and emotional equilibrium.

      Jason handed her a folded napkin. “I’d like you to call me.”

      Greer glanced at his name and a number on the paper, recognizing the Florida area code. She continued to stare at the napkin rather than let him see the delight shimmering in her eyes. Jason had made the first overture, which eliminated her need to concoct a ruse to come on to him.

      “Why?” she asked, not wanting to appear too eager that the record producer had approached her.

      “I’d like to discuss some business with you.”

      She looked up at him. “You want to talk business? What happened to your business card, Mr. Cole?”

      Jason looked sheepish. “I didn’t think I’d need them tonight. I could always go home and bring some back with me.”

      Greer saw people watching them instead of directing their attention to the stage where a quartet harmonized a Boyz II Men classic. “Please follow me.” She led him down a narrow hallway to an Employees Only door, stepping out into the cool late-summer night. Stopping, she turned to face Jason. The light over the door illuminated the area where Dumpsters were labeled Garbage, Paper, Plastic and Glass. Bobby was pedantic when it came to recycling.

      Crossing her arms under her breasts, Greer angled her head. “What type of business did you want to discuss?”

      Jason didn’t want to believe Greer wanted to carry on a conversation surrounded by Dumpsters. He wrinkled his nose. “Is there someplace else we can talk without smelling garbage?”

      Greer shook her head. “I’m sorry, but this is the only place where we can talk without someone eavesdropping.”

      “Okay, then I’ll make this quick. I’d like to make a tape of you singing several songs.”

      “As in a record?”

      He nodded.

      “Why?”

      Pushing both hands into the pockets of his slacks, Jason gave her an incredible stare. “Has anyone told you that you have a remarkable voice?”

      Greer shook her head. “No,” she admitted truthfully. She’d been told she had a good voice, but not a remarkable one.

      “Well, you do.”

      “Because you say so?” she asked.

      “No,” Jason countered. “Because I know so. You have perfect pitch.”

      Greer paused, stalling for time because she had to make him believe she was wary that he’d approached her. “How do I know if I can trust you? I’ve heard too many stories about men offering women—”

      “Stop it, Greer,” he interrupted. “I’ve never taken advantage of any woman and I happen to have too much respect for Bobby to mess over you.”

      She decided on another approach. “Let me think about it, and then I’ll call you.”

      Jason smiled. “Thank you.”

      She returned his smile, silently admiring the dimples creasing his cheeks. “You’re welcome. Hold on,” Greer urged when Jason reached for the door handle. “I have to unlock it.” She hadn’t yet put the key into the lock when the door opened. Danny stood in the doorway gripping a black plastic bag.

      He stared at her. “Sorry. I didn’t know you...”

      “It’s all right, Danny. We were just coming in.” Jason’s arm circled her waist as the ex-Marine continued to stare at her.

      “Is he your man?”

      A beat passed as she replayed the totally unexpected question in her head. Jason wasn’t her man, and if he was, then what was it to Danny? Something about the way he was looking at her was off-putting, and Greer wondered if he was experiencing a flashback.

      * * *

      Jason didn’t know if Greer and the man she’d called Danny were previously involved with each other, then remembered Chase’s comment about her going through a nasty divorce; he doubted whether she would continue to work with a man to whom she’d once been married.

      “Yes, I am her man,” he stated firmly.

      The tension-filled moment passed as a half smile lifted a corner of Danny’s mouth. “That’s good. She needs someone to take care of her.”

      “Thank you,” Jason drawled. “I’ll make certain to always take care of her.”

      Danny extended his free hand. “Danny Poe.”

      Jason had to drop his arm to shake hands. “Jason Cole.”

      Greer rested her hand on Jason’s back, feeling his body’s warmth through the cotton shirt. “I have to get back before Bobby comes looking for me.” The mention of her uncle’s name galvanized Danny into action as he headed for the Dumpsters.

      “Is he all right?” Jason whispered in her ear as they reentered the restaurant.

      Going on tiptoe, Greer pressed her mouth to his ear. “Iraq.”

      He laced their fingers together. “Is he in therapy?”

      She nodded. “I really have to get back. And I promise to call you.”

      Jason leaned against the wall, watching the seductive sway of Greer’s hips in a pair of fitted jeans as she walked away. He didn’t know why he’d admitted to Danny he would take care of Greer because that wasn’t even a remote possibility. She didn’t need a protector when she had Bobby Henry.

      He followed Greer, losing sight of her in the crowded restaurant. People were up on their feet singing and fist pumping to Flo Rida’s megahit “Wild One.” A woman grabbed his hand, leading him to a space where the tables were pushed back. Jason found himself caught up in the infectious rhythm as he danced with the petite buxom blonde. Dancing had reminded Jason of how long it’d been since he’d been to a club. Earlier that year he’d dated a woman living in Miami. She had professed to be a certified party girl, and after two months of nonstop partying, Jason was forced to break it off. Their weekends began Friday nights and didn’t end until Sunday morning. He’d been so sleep deprived it had taken several months for him to reestablish a normal sleep pattern.

      The song ended and he managed to escape the woman’s clutches, making a beeline toward the exit. He left Stella’s, driving to an all-night mini-mart where he bought milk, eggs, butter and bread. As he drove back home, he thought about how his best-laid plans had suddenly changed. He was now a member of a local band, and