So, Jackson Hole was out of the question for myriad reasons, but he wanted—he needed—to remain in Samara’s good graces too, so he was stringing her along. That felt wrong too, and it bothered him. He just didn’t know what else to do.
Lars looked up and was surprised to find Jane walking over to him. She had gotten rid of those baggy, shapeless jeans today and was wearing a pair of fitted jeans that actually showed she was a woman with some pretty appealing curves. She had rounded hips, not just slack skin over bones, and a nice waist that tapered in. His big, calloused hands had just about spanned the hot, smooth skin of that waist when he’d held her on his lap in her motel room.
She had taken off her sweatshirt from this morning to reveal a breast-hugging black tank top underneath that skimmed the top of her jeans, giving a peek at the soft white skin underneath when she bent or twisted a certain way. Lars had been watching, as surreptitiously as possible, and every time he got a slight look, his fingers tingled, recalling the satin warmth of that skin. She looked simple and chic with black sandals and those dark red toes that had distracted him so much on Monday night, and her days in the park were giving her some nice color; even her brown curls had picked up a little gold from the sun. She wasn’t wearing her cap anymore, he noticed, enjoying the way her curls moved with her steps. He couldn’t see her eyes because she was wearing sunglasses, but her lips were rosy and slick and his body tensed in response to her as she came closer; needing her, missing her, excited that she was finally seeking him out.
She sidled up to him, then pivoted, leaning back against the side of the truck beside him, her elbows resting like wings along the side with one foot raised, resting against the rubber of the back tire. She didn’t look at him, just stared straight ahead, standing beside him with a lollipop between her lips.
He readjusted his body just enough that his arm grazed her elbow, and he felt it in his gut, how much he wanted her.
“Are we allowed to say hello?” he asked, referring to her ice pact.
She glanced up at him, putting her sunglasses on top of her head.
“Hello,” she answered, that low rasp making his galloping heart beat even a little faster.
“Hello.”
“I have two questions for you, Professor.”
His breath caught at her use of the nickname. “Go for it.”
“Are you going to Jackson Hole this weekend?”
He wanted to concentrate on Jane, but he was distracted by something out of the corner of his eye, which drew his attention away from her. He barely heard her question, turning his head toward the spitting, bubbling geyser. Didn’t anyone notice? The bubbling and steam had started.
“Wait! Don’t they realize—?”
He sprinted toward the photographer, yelling, pointing at Old Faithful. Everyone straightened up, jolted by his alert and Samara was rushed out from her trailer. Ray touched up her makeup as Lars helped her take her position in front of the roar and thunder of the steaming column of water.
He backed up, adrenaline still pumping, eyes wide as he watched in admiration as they got the shots, and impressed with Samara for making the most of the three or four minutes she had. Whoever she was in her personal life, she was a professional when it came to her job. He was fascinated watching her pose, watching the assistants scurry around with fans and strobes, and the camera clicked like crazy while the photographer barked instructions against the fury of water.
He took off his hat and scratched his head, caught up in the excitement of the moment, leaning against the guardrail watching. As Old Faithful stilled and sputtered, Jane and Sebastian accompanied Samara back to her trailer, and that’s when it occurred to him.
CRAP! Jane. Wait. What was her question? Something about Jackson Hole? Oh, no. Did she think he was headed to Jackson Hole this weekend? Shoot. He knew it had probably taken a lot of courage to ask him that question, and he had basically run away from her the moment the words were out of her mouth. He needed to fix this.
Now wasn’t a good time. She would need to help Samara get undressed, and looking around, he realized that everyone was packing up to go back to Gardiner. He’d have to wait until tonight.
First chance he got, he’d head over to the Best Western and lay it out for her.
***
Margot placed the clothes back on hangers and hung them on the bar at the back of Samara’s trailer as Shanelle brushed her hair out. Jane busied herself straightening up the trailer, finding Sara a pair of jeans and a t-shirt to change into now that the shoot was finished for the day. She felt awkward about how the conversation had ended so abruptly with Lars, and she still didn’t have her answers.
“Um, Jane?” Jane turned to Sara, who was shrugging into her t-shirt. “You’re pretty unhinged lately and I was thinking you could use a couple days off to get your head straight. I won’t be needing you this weekend. I’ve arranged my own…um, delicious company for Jackson Hole. You’d just be in the way.”
Jane’s first reaction was to roll her eyes; Sara was purposely making this announcement in front of Margot and Shanelle to assert her control over Jane. Whatever. Sara didn’t know the crew had heard it from her first on Tuesday night. Day late and a dollar short, Sara.
But wait…Delicious company.
Was she talking about Lars? Jane looked down, absently stroking the soft kid of the gloves she was holding. Sure, she’d overheard them this morning, but Lars hadn’t confirmed that he was interested in joining Sara for the weekend.
“Fine,” she murmured, a sick, unsure feeling growing in her stomach.
Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask!
“Who’s, um, joining you?”
Shit, Jane.
Sara turned to Jane and smiled her prettiest smile, managing to look innocent and surprised at once before chuckling lightly. “Well, Lars, of course.”
Jane furrowed her brows in confusion as her face fell. How? When? Had Sara cornered him and somehow managed to get a “yes” out of him?
“Really? I thought—”
“You thought what, Jane?” Sara stood up in front of Jane with her hands on her hips and turned to Margot. “Margot. Tell her what you walked in on yesterday. Go on. Tell her.”
Margot had her back to them, arranging a blouse on a hanger, but she turned to face her boss, letting it fall to her side. Her brows furrowed and she swallowed as she looked at Jane, who read her fleshy, baleful face like a book. Whatever Sara was alluding to was true.
“Tell. Her. Margot.” Sara’s voice was firm and insistent. “Just tell her.”
“I-I don’t know if I really saw anything…”
“Yes, you do, you fat piece of—” Sara took a deep breath. “Just tell her, dear. Exactly what you saw.”
Margot tilted her head to the side, grimacing at Jane.
“It’s okay, Margot,” Jane whispered, eyes trained on the chubby woman’s face.
“I walked in on them…um…alone together. They were—”
“—making out,” supplied Sara. “And what was I wearing Margot?”
“Bra and panties.”
“Uh-huh. ’Cause the rest of my clothes had already been torn off my body. And if the hippo here hadn’t interrupted us…well, Janie, use your imagination. I’m sure you know what would’ve happened next.”