Patrice Wilton

CATER TO YOUR HEART

CHAPTER ONE

"Jenna! Thank God you answered your phone!"

Jenna Cassali rolled over, looking at the clock on the nightstand by her hotel bed. "Who is this?" she asked sleepily. She knew the voice, but couldn’t place it.

"It’s Tara. I need you in room 601 right away," the woman sobbed. "It’s Kevin. He’s having trouble breathing. It might be a heart attack!"

"Tara? What the hell are you doing with Kevin?" The words "heart attack" belatedly registered, and she pushed herself out of bed. "Did you call 911?" she shouted into her cell phone, blood pumping through her veins. Kevin. Dear God, she prayed, don’t let him die.

"No. I can’t," Tara whimpered. "We were in bed. . . Oh, shit. Just get up here."

"Make the damn call. I’m on my way."

Jenna’s employer, PlasMic, was holding its annual sales conference in Atlantic City. She was there in her capacity as Vice-President of Sales and Marketing, Kevin as President of the company—and Tara as his secretary. It was inconceivable that Tara and Kevin had been in bed together. She couldn’t believe it, and yet she’d heard it with her own ears.

She had never been jealous of anyone in her life. Now she was the green-eyed monster, and it was an awful feeling and made her sick inside. But the idea of Kevin in bed with his secretary was so painful, someone might as well have taken a sledgehammer to her heart.

What if Tara had waited too long to make the call and Kevin died as a result? What if he was dead already?

Dressing hurriedly, she skipped everything but the essentials, throwing on a T-shirt and shorts. Key in hand, she tore out of the room and punched the elevator button. Too impatient to wait, she raced for the stairs.

Kevin was two floors above her. Hold on, Kevin, I’m coming!

How had he ended up in bed with Tara of all people? Her hair was too blonde, her boobs too big, waist impossibly small. Jenna could easily picture her kneeling on the bed, singing "Happy birthday, Mr. President" a la Marilyn Monroe to her handsome boss, and Kevin grinning like an idiot.

She hoped his wife found out. Serve them both right.

Jenna had always thought that she and Kevin had something special between them, and to know she’d been wrong was like scraping an open wound. He had been her fantasy man for years, and all the men she dated failed to compare.

She knew how he looked at her when they were alone together. It wasn’t one of those sleazy stares where he’d fixate on her chest or eye her rump or legs; it was the nicest of all looks. His eyes would grow soft and warm like melted chocolate, and she’d feel tender and vulnerable inside. Thinking about it now made her ache. She couldn’t be wrong. She couldn’t. It wasn’t a look a man could fake. It was one of warmth, admiration, and. . . love. Yes, love, dammit!

So why had he slept with Tara? And why did it have to hurt so damn much? Because she’d always believed he was special, not like her father or other men she’d known. That was why. Her image of him splintered, fragmenting into little pieces. He was not the dream man she had built in her fantasies, just an ordinary man who couldn’t say no to a pretty face.

Jenna’s stomach lurched, and she felt like throwing up. She could have been in his bed instead of Tara. The unspoken invitation had loomed in the air more than once over the years, but she had purposely ignored it. She didn’t go to bed with married men whether she loved them or not.

But if Tara had left him to die . . .she might live to regret her decision.

The door to his room was open, and she could see Kevin lying on the bed. The sight of him, pale, gasping for breath, was like a shot of adrenaline jolting her to action.

She ran to him. "Kevin. I’m here." She looked at Tara sniveling in the corner. "Are they on their way?"

"No, I. . .I waited for you." She bit her lip, and tears gushed down her face. "I can’t be involved. If my husband finds out. . ."

Jenna grabbed the phone. "Operator. We have an emergency. I need medics sent to room 601. Possible heart attack." She hissed at Tara, "Now, was that so hard? You better start praying something doesn’t happen to him, because if it does you’ll be wishing you were in his place." Turning her back on the girl, she snapped, "And put some clothes on."