9½ Days

She’d never felt that way with David.

It was getting harder to ignore the crushing unhappiness that pervaded her nights. Ironically, she had discovered that being in a poor relationship was lonelier than being on her own. Being single didn’t feel as incomplete as having a lover she feared didn’t love her at all, one she’d struggled to love in return.

Time was running and only David could help her.

LATER THAT NIGHT, Jordan stood in the bedroom of her Federal Hill row house and stripped off her business clothes. She carefully sorted the dry-clean items from the hand-wash only before pulling on a ratty pair of sweatpants and an even older T-shirt. In the bathroom, she removed the hairpins from the chignon she wore at the office and brushed her hair until it fell loosely to her shoulders. Then she creamed the artfully applied makeup from her face.

Jordan stared at herself in the mirror, carefully studying the parts without looking at the whole. A blemish was coming out on her chin. A quick squeeze and it was gone. Tiny wrinkles were developing under her eyes. She’d have to get some retinol cream. Reaching for the tweezers, she plucked several strays from her brow. Then her eyes narrowed as she focused on her hairline. Was that one gray? The tweezers quickly yanked out the offending strand.

She spent several more minutes checking for flaws before sighing heavily and turning out the bathroom light. Downstairs in the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator and tried to decide if she wanted a lettuce or a spinach salad for dinner. Neither one was really appealing tonight. She glanced across the room to the cabinet above the coffeemaker.

No. She shouldn’t.

Maybe she could mix the red leaf lettuce and baby spinach together, then julienne some raw vegetables over the top. There were some tomatoes in the crisper and—she felt the contents of that cabinet calling to her.

No!

Okay, she’d skip the salad and just make vegetables crudité with some low-fat cottage cheese on the side. She slammed the refrigerator shut. It was no use. She was going to open that cabinet. She was going to reach inside and she was going to blow her diet all to hell. Like a thief sneaking into forbidden territory, Jordan rushed across the room and grabbed the bag of Dove milk chocolates. Holding it up to her face, she inhaled the addictive scent of cocoa butter and sugar.

Just a few. Only a few.

She walked down the hall to the living room, flopped onto the overstuffed couch and tucked her bare feet underneath her. After laying the bag beside her with the opening in easy reach of her hand, she picked up the issue of Style and Grace magazine on the far cushion. Idly flipping though the pages, Jordan unwrapped a chocolate. She’s so pretty. Not an ounce of fat anywhere on her. Another page. Another chocolate. Look at her thighs. They don’t even meet. Another. And another…

There was Camryn.

Her numb fingers dropped the candy she held back into the bag. Her sister looked stunning. Simply stunning. Her golden skin was bared in a flame-red slip dress with a plunging neckline. The artful lighting emphasized the high ridge of her cheekbones, the long line of her torso and the subtle definition of her athletic legs.

Jordan looked down to see the lone chocolate left in the bag. She felt sick. Guilty and sick and weak and ugly.

Think about something else, anything else. She’d have to run an extra mile tomorrow morning. Damn it! She tossed the magazine away and got up to turn on the television. One of the cable stations was showing Black Lace, a movie in which the main character enticed her boss with anonymous love notes.

Yes, that was the answer. Focus on the seduction. If she could learn to act sexy and alluring, it wouldn’t matter how she looked. In the fantasies, she could be anyone she wanted. In the dark, he’d never see that she wasn’t perfect.

She ran upstairs and got the Fifty Fast Fantasies book from her bedroom. Snuggled onto the couch once more, she ran her index finger along the table of contents until she found one she could use. A scene in the movie distracted her for a second, then she gave all of her attention to the chapter called Strangers For One Night.

Pretend your lover is a handsome stranger. Why not pick him up as if he were a one-night stand? Surprise him in an unexpected location, wearing your naughtiest undies underneath. Let your “stranger” know that you don’t normally do things like this, but you can’t resist him. Then take him back to your place and give him a night neither of you will ever forget.

For her this to work, Jordan would have to be sensual, naughty and fun—everything the guidebook recommended. Well, at least she could fake it. When she’d found the high-school drama class, she’d found herself. As long as she put on an act, as long as she’d played a role, she’d become confident and outgoing and even somewhat popular. It hadn’t taken long to figure out that the way she wanted people to see her was just another stage personality.

Her grandparents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary was a little over a week away. She needed David by her side. She needed him to perpetuate her lie. Otherwise, she could already hear her cousin’s snide taunts if she had to show up alone and admit that her engagement was a fraud.

She could do this. She had to do this. It would give her the chance to discover her wild side. And it would save her a week of awkward questions and embarrassment. If she could act in high school and all through college and at the office, she could do it in the bedroom.

Jordan grabbed a notepad and began making a list of things she would need to make the Strangers fantasy a reality.

4

DANNY FOLLOWED the scent of fresh garlic bread to the large kitchen at the fire station. Mondays meant Italian food and Italian food meant Tony would be making dinner. Danny greeted the half-dozen firefighters already at the table and helped himself to the steaming hot lasagna.

Mike looked up from his plate in surprise. “Hey, L.T., you got off at six. What are you still doing here?”

“I can’t resist Cappelluti’s cooking.”

He moved toward the end of the table and took the empty seat next to Tony, who shot him a proud grin. “It’s my grandmother’s secret recipe.”

Mike spoke around a mouthful of pasta. “I figured you had a date tonight since you’re on day shift.”

“It got canceled.” Danny kept his attention on his food as he answered and braced himself for the gibes.

“I can’t believe it!” Barb laughed. “The Lady Target got stood up?”

“Yeah, well, Lisa took it badly when I told her things were going too fast.”

“Eighth date already?”

Danny looked at Andrea in confusion. “Huh?”

“None of the women you go out with seem to last past the eighth date.”

“That’s not true.” He scoured his memory for an example of a long-term relationship, but after a moment, he came up blank.

“Told you.”

Danny shrugged impatiently. “Lisa started dropping hints every time we passed a jewelry store, so I called it quits a couple of days ago.”

“You did the same thing with Kelly, Sheryl…” Barb ticked off on the fingers of both hands as she quoted names.

Danny wiped a smear of sauce from his mouth. “Are you keeping tabs on me or something?”

One of the paramedics walked in and grabbed the chair beside Andrea. Frank looked around at everyone. “So, what are you guys talking about?”

“L.T.’s single again,” Tony replied.

Frank nodded sagely. “Hit the eighth date with Lisa, huh?”

“Actually, it was only our seventh.” Danny pushed his plate away, feeling defensive. “But who’s counting?”

From the other end of the table, Jen smirked. “It’s not a hard pattern to figure out, L.T. You dated two of my friends, remember?”

“You also went out with my cousin, Vicki,” Frank chimed in.

“And both of them said everything was great, then you suddenly broke it off and stopped calling.”

“Now wait a minute. It’s not always me who breaks up—”

“She’s right, L.T.” Mike gestured with his fork. “About the time your girlfriends start thinking about a future, you start thinking of reasons to back away. No matter who ends it, you’re still the one with commitment issues.”

Danny glared down the table at his supposed friend. “Thanks very much for that psychoanalysis, Dr. Stonewall.”