Free Jeopardy by Fayrene Preston Page B

the fireplace.
    It was her own fault, she concluded. She never answered his question directly, never told him to leave. She walked around to the front of the couch and perched on the arm. “Should I ask why you are here?” Reluctant humor edged her voice.
    “To try to have a normal talk that doesn’t end In lovemaking—remember?—like I said we would.” She shouldn’t have asked.
    “And to tell you something.”
    And she probably shouldn’t ask this either. “What’s that?”
    His gaze skimmed over her. “I like you in violet. I always have.”
    Shock held her silent for a moment. “That’s what you wanted to tell me?”
    He nodded. “I’ve always liked you in violet.”
     She gave a little laugh. “Now that I think about it, you once told me you liked me in this color, didn’t you? I must have been around sixteen.”
     “You had just turned sixteen, and the dress you were wearing at the time was violet and had sprigs of purple and white flowers embroidered around the neckline and hem. It was your junior prom dress.”
    She grinned. “A couple of months later Elena and I looked in my closet and found only violet-colored clothes.”
    Her grin slowly faded as she thought of the leather suit she had worn to dinner with-him, the sleep set she had on now, the cotton knit sweater she had packed, even the ballgown she had had made, plus a great number of other items hanging in her closet in Boston.
    They were all violet.
    It seemed as if her mind had been playing tricks on her without her knowing it. She slid off the armrest and onto the couch.
    “You were really something as a sixteen-year-old," he said softly, laying his arm along the back of the couch. “You still are.”
    The temperature of her skin increased; her gaze turned troubled. “Did you know that back then I had a terrible crush on you?”
    “No,” he said, surprised.
    “You remembered the violet dress I bought for the junior prom. Do you also remember that my date stood me up that night?”
    “Very well,” he said, his tone unexpectedly cold. 
    “His name was Eddie Hewitt, and he had asked me to go. He was new at school, and I thought he was really neat.”
    “Neat?”
    “Neat,” she affirmed. “I took two hours to get ready, then came downstairs and waited two more hours. Nico still lived at home then, and you and he were playing pool in the game room. I decided to wait for Eddie in there with you two. As the night went on, I saw the looks you and Nico exchanged, but I couldn’t believe Eddie would stand me up. Just when it was beginning to dawn on me that he wasn’t coming, one of my girlfriends called me from the dance to tell me he was there with another girl.”
    “He’ll never know how lucky he was that he was only sixteen,” Amarillo drawled. “If he’d been even two years older, your brother and I would have taken him to the nearest dark alley and had a serious discussion with him. As it was—”
    “As it was, you were wonderful. You came over to me, put your hands on my shoulders, and kissed me on my cheek. Then you told me that one day Eddie would look back on that night and want to kill himself because he botched the chance of going to the dance with me.”
    The vertical creases in his cheeks deepened with a show of humor. “There’s no doubt about it, and I still believe that. Whatever happened to the little twerp, anyway?”
    “I have no idea. His family moved again the following year.”
    “It’s just as well. He wouldn’t have had a future in Boston.”
    “No?” A sudden grin lit her face. “Do you remember what we did that night?”
    He thought for a minute, then burst out laughing. “Nico and I took you out for a chocolate sundae.”
    “I guess I’ve always had a thing for chocolate.” Her voice softened. “You were very nice to me that night, and as I said, I thought you were wonderful.” His smile slowly faded as he watched her use her fingers to comb a portion of her dark hair away from her