2
AS HARRY BILLINGSLEY, the town’s ancient barber, engaged him in conversation, Jack watched every step the brunette took. She walked quickly, almost tripping once on an uneven brick, as if she wanted to escape the rain. He knew better. She wasn’t running from the rain. When she peeked over her shoulder at him, he knew she was avoiding him.
Something downright electric had happened a few moments ago when their stares had met across Magnolia Avenue. There’d been an instant connection, a shared intimacy though they were complete strangers. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before.
Obviously she had been just as affected. Only instead of intriguing her, as it had him, their silent, thirty-second exchange had bothered her, scared her even. Her feet had turned cold and she’d run off.
No matter, he’d be able to find her again. The woman stood out here like a bloodred rose in a bouquet of daisies.
A few months ago he might not have let the charged stare across a deserted street affect him. His new attitude toward life, however, made finding the brunette and talking to her a must. No more letting opportunities slide. Now, when Jack Winfield saw a good thing, he was going to go after it. He somehow knew the stranger could be a very good thing indeed.
Jack tried to brush off Harry as politely as he could. “Yes, but I really have to go now. Maybe we can talk in July when I come back for a longer stay.”
Harry continued. “Your father made some mistakes. Stirred up a lot of gossip around here with his will and Edie Jones.”
Gossip. His least favorite word, and it was used as currency in this town. Jack had never listened to it and never would. So his father had left his maid a small bequest. Only in a town like this could that be considered gossip-worthy.
Watching as the dark-haired stranger in the sexy green blouse went into the Tea Room, he cringed. Of all the places she could have picked, why did she have to go into that hen’s nest?
“I’m sorry, I really have to go,” Jack said, finally simply walking away in the middle of Harry’s long-winded monologue. He didn’t care to hear about any old town scandals, especially not if they involved his father, the former mayor.
Following a stranger down a public street wasn’t Jack’s M.O. In fact, he didn’t think he’d ever done it. But something about this stranger…this perfectly delightful stranger…made him certain he could follow her anywhere. He simply had to see her, up close. To determine if her face was really as delicate and perfect as it had appeared from across the street. If her eyes were possibly the same dark, rich brown as her long hair.
Shrugging, he walked to the entrance of the Tea Room and stood outside the door. For a second he wondered if old lady McIntyre would come out and shoo him away. She used to shout at all the boys who’d plant themselves on the stoop, hoping a customer with a take-out bag would hand over some free sweets.
Never happened, as far as he recalled. The snob set of Pleasantville was notoriously tight-fisted with their sweets.
Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he proceeded to wait. “You’ve got to come out sooner or later.”
It took less time than he expected. Before he even realized what was happening, the door to the Tea Room opened and she barreled out, crashing straight into his arms.
Just as if she belonged there.
* * *
“OH, I’M SO SORRY!” Before Kate could step away from the person she’d crashed into, she quickly reached up to dash away some angry tears blurring her vision.
That these people could make her cry infuriated her. Somehow, though, anger and sharp hurt for her mother had combined to bring moisture to her eyes while she stood in the Tea Room listening to her family being torn apart yet again by a bunch of small-minded, small-town witches. It was either turn and hurry out or throw a big screaming hissy fit telling them all to jump on their broomsticks and fly straight to the devil.
She couldn’t have said which course of action her cousin Cassie would have chosen. But for Kate, who’d become quite adept at maintaining a cool and calm composure, it was think first, react second. Kate didn’t believe in hysterical fits—particularly not when she had tears in her eyes. She did, however, believe in well-thought-out retaliation. Someday.
Finally turning her attention to the person she’d nailed, she sucked in a breath. “You.”
Mr. Gorgeous. Jack. This is so not my day.
“Nice to meet you too,” he said with a sexy grin, as if they were exchanging handshakes instead of being practically wrapped around one another on the steps of the Tea Room.
He made no effort to move away, seeming content that her hand was on his shoulder, her belly pressed to his hip and her leg between both his thighs.
Of course, Kate didn’t move, either. Funny thing the sudden lethargy in her limbs. Particularly considering the sharp heat shooting from the tips of her breasts—which brushed against his shirt—down to her stomach. Lower.
“Did I hurt you?” she whispered.
“Only my ego when you ran away from me a few minutes ago.”
Kate blinked, but remained still, somehow unable, or perhaps unwilling, to break their intimate contact. Her breaths grew deeper as she watched him stare at her. His gaze studied her long, dark hair, her face, her mouth. His eyes glittered and a smile played about his sensual lips, as if he liked what he saw.
As did she. Up close, he was even more devastating than he’d been from across the street. Tanned skin, square jaw, beautiful green eyes with lashes a cover model would envy. Her fingers tightened slightly into his cotton shirt.
Move, Kate. Put your hands in the air and step away from the hunk.
“Are you married?” he asked.
She shook her head. But before she could ask him why he wanted to know, before she could do anything—including disengaging their much-too-close-together bodies—he moved closer. Kate thought she heard him whisper the word, “Good,” just before he caught her mouth in a completely unexpected kiss.
Kiss? A gorgeous stranger was kissing her, in broad daylight, outside Mrs. McIntyre’s Tea Room?
That was as far as her thoughts took her before she shooed them away and focused on what was happening.
Yes, the kiss was unexpected. And unbelievably pleasurable.
She didn’t try to step back, didn’t shove him away and slap his face as she probably should have. Instead she let him kiss her, let this incredible stranger gently take her lips with his own. Soft and tender at first, then more heated as he slipped his hands lower to encircle her waist and pull her even tighter against his body. As if they weren’t already so close together a whisper couldn’t have come between them.
As the kiss went on, she briefly wondered if she’d fallen asleep, if she was still at the motel where she’d spent the previous night. Maybe she’d popped one too many nickels into the Magic Fingers and they’d gotten her all worked up so she was having an amazingly intense, erotic dream.
Kissing had never been this good in real life. Besides, no man this perfect could exist in this nightmare of a town.
So she could be dreaming, couldn’t she? And if it was merely a dream, couldn’t she, uh, kiss him back?
She softened her mouth and tilted her head. Feeling the flick of his tongue against the seam of her lips, she whimpered, continuing to tell herself that this couldn’t be happening. The beeping of a passing car horn and the musty damp-wood smell of the old porch on which they stood were merely realistic elements of her dream. These weren’t real lips now tugging gently at hers, tasting her, exploring her. She hadn’t fallen into the arms of a complete stranger…and stayed there quite happily.
Feeling a few drops of rain plop down from the striped awning over the Tea Room’s porch onto her face, she focused on their descent down her cheek. Cold water. Warm kiss. Gentle tongue. His clean, male scent. Hard chest pressing against hers. A thrilling bulge in his pants pressing firmly against her lower belly, which made her rise up on her tiptoes to line things up a little better. The sudden hot flood of moisture between her thighs. Definite car horn beeping. Nosy-faced old lady stepping around them to go down the steps to the sidewalk.
The clarity of detail assured her she was not dreaming.
Insanity. She didn’t care. His breath tasted minty as his mouth caressed hers, gently, then deeper. She moaned slightly, deep in her throat, no longer able to pretend this wasn’t real, knowing she had to either just go for it, part her lips and let their tongues tangle and mate, or else shove him down the steps.
Kate’s rational side said to shove. For once she told it to shut the hell up.
Her entire body hummed with energy. She lifted her leg, sliding it against his, delighting in the friction of her stocking against his trousers. As he moaned and pushed closer, she considered how simple a thing it would be to lift her leg to his hip, to let him pick her up until she encircled his waist with her thighs. To slide onto the wonderfully hard erection straining against the seam of his pants.
She wanted to. Desperately. If only there were no car engines, broad daylight…and the minor fact that he was a complete stranger.
He finally pulled away and smiled gently at her. She shook her head hard and gulped, noting the slowness of a passing car, the curious stare of a face in the window of the Rose Café across the street. Finally she took a wobbly step back. “You’re insane.”
He stepped forward. Following her. “No, I’m Jack.”
Kate shook her head, still bemused. “You kissed me.”
“I’m so glad you noticed.”
“You can’t go around kissing strangers on the street. How could you do that? Just…just…kiss me?”
He shrugged. “You said you weren’t married.”
“What if I were engaged? A novitiate? A lesbian?”
“Engaged isn’t married, so I’d say tough luck to the guy.” Grinning, he continued, “Novitiate would simply be a crime against mankind, definitely worth ignoring.” He glanced down at her trembling body, his stare lingering on the hard tips of her breasts, scraping so sensitively against her blouse. Then at her legs, which she had to clench together to try to stop the trembling. Not to mention the hot, musky smell of aroused woman.
“Lesbian isn’t even in the realm of possibility,” he finally said, his voice nearly a purr. “You want me pretty badly.”
Her jaw dropped. He tipped it up with the tip of his index finger. “Now, introductions. Remember? I’m Jack. It’s very nice to meet you. Who are you, and what in God’s name are you doing in Pleasantville?”
She ignored the question. “You followed me.”
He didn’t try to deny it. “Guilty.”
That stopped her. “Why?”
He shrugged. “Fate? Instinct?” Then he lowered his voice, almost whispering as he leaned even closer until his body almost touched hers from shoulder to knee. “Or maybe so I could see what color eyes my children are going to have?”
Kate opened her mouth, but couldn’t make a sound come out.
The man was unbelievable. Outrageous. Sexy. Charming and heart-stoppingly handsome.
And still standing much too close. So close she could see his pulse beating in his neck and the cords of muscle on his shoulders. His upper arms were thick beneath the tight navy cotton of his shirt, so different from the Chicago health club addicts she sometimes dated. As if he didn’t work out for his health, but because he was the kind of guy who just needed to pound something once in a while.
Her breath caught as she imagined his sweaty, hard body pounding something. Pounding into something. Into someone.
Focus!
“How do you know I don’t already have a live-in guy and three kids somewhere?” she finally asked, hearing the shakiness in her voice. She took another step back, needing air, needing space, needing control of her own mind, which seemed muddled and fuzzy as she examined the tanned V of skin revealed by his shirt. Had she really been kissed by him? Held in his arms? And, damn it, why hadn’t she thought to move her fingers to that V to tangle in the light matting of chest hair just below his throat? Cool it, Kate!
“Do you?”
Yes. Tell him yes. Then run like hell. “No.”
He smiled. “I didn’t think so. So, tell me your name, tell me your phone number, and let’s go to dinner.”
Dinner. Only a few hours till dinnertime and she hadn’t even made it to her mother’s house yet.
“No. I can’t.”
“You take my breath away, run right into me, ruin my pants and you won’t even tell me your name? Cruel.”
“Cruel. Yeah. Welcome to Pleasantville,” she muttered.
“Ah, I suspected you weren’t a native.”
Remembering his other comment she asked, “What’s wrong with your pants?” She glanced down, noting the rigid bulge in his crotch, and had to gulp. Yeah, she guessed their embrace had ruined the fit of his pants, anyway.
He obviously saw her stare and lifted a brow. Then he turned, pointing ruefully at his taut backside hugged close in the expensive khaki trousers. Expensive, wet and dirty khaki trousers. Somehow, during their embrace, he must have leaned back against the soggy wood porch railing.
“You’re making it worse,” she noted, watching as he tried to brush off the dirt, but only succeeded in smearing the stains around.
“You could offer to help.”
Uh, right. Her hands. On his perfect male butt. Brushing against those lean hips. Trying not to squeeze his firm thighs. She swallowed hard. Glancing at him, she saw laughter in his eyes. Green eyes, dimples, thick blond hair, a body to stop traffic and what looked to be a good solid eight inches of hot and ready hard-on just waiting to be let loose.
On a public street. In broad daylight. In Pleasantville.
Sometimes life simply wasn’t fair.
“Sure, take off your pants and I’ll drop them off at Royal Dry Cleaners for you,” she finally managed to say, striving for nonchalance.
“That’d cause some eyes to pop, wouldn’t it?” he asked with a wicked grin. “You really want me to take them off now?”
She felt heat stain her cheeks. “I mean, you can…go somewhere and change.”
He chuckled. “I was teasing you. It’s not a problem. Besides, Royal closed several years ago. Pleasantville has no dry cleaner anymore.”
“A shame, given this town’s dirty laundry,” she muttered.
He gave her a curious look, but she certainly wasn’t going to elaborate.
“So, are you going to make it up to me?”
“I’m sorry if my running into you caused you to fall headfirst onto my lips and then back into the railing to ruin your pants,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
“Apology accepted,” he said succinctly, as if he’d had nothing to do with what had just happened.
She found herself almost grinning. Finally she admitted, “My name’s Kate.”
He brushed a strand of hair off her face, his fingers warm against her temple. Her heart skipped a beat.
“It’s nice to meet you, Kate.” He somehow made the simple words seem much more suggestive than they were. It’d be nice to have you, Kate. And, oh, it’d be nice to be had.
Before she could reply, Kate heard the Tea Room door open. Three women emerged, eyeing them curiously.
“I have to go,” she whispered, feeling the blood drain from her face. How this stranger could have made her forget the things she’d heard in the Tea Room, she didn’t know. The memory of the vicious gossip came back full force now, though.
Gossip about her mother. Her aunt. And the men in this town who apparently had left them each money or property.
According to the harpies, Edie had been left a fortune by Mayor John Winfield. Which, they believed, had to have been a payoff for a secret, torrid love affair.
Kate mentally snorted. The man had left Edie a measly thousand bucks. As far as Kate was concerned, that didn’t even cover the interest on all the late paychecks over the years.
It was almost laughable, really. The town in a tizzy, rumors of a scandalous affair. It could have been downright hilarious…if only it hadn’t been true. Kate suspected she was the single person who understood that, just this once, the vicious, mean-spirited Pleasantville grapevine was spreading a rumor actually based in truth.
The old saying about the truth hurting had never been more appropriate. In this particular case, the truth made her ache. She’d never completely gotten over the shock and hurt of that life-altering moment when her childhood illusions had shattered and her mother’s saintly image had become all too human.
“Don’t leave.”
She turned her attention back to the amazing stranger. He didn’t plead, didn’t cajole or coerce. He simply stared at her, all gorgeous intensity, tempting her with his smile and the heat in his eyes.
“I have to go somewhere. I’m only in town for today.” She wondered if he heard the anger and hurt in her voice. Did he see her hands shaking as she watched the audience inside the doorway of the Tea Room grow and expand?
Then, perhaps because the audience in the doorway was expanding, or perhaps because she simply wanted to know if he’d really kissed as well as she’d thought, she leaned up on her toes and slipped a hand behind the stranger’s—Jack’s—neck.
“Thanks, Jack, for giving me one pleasant thing to remember about my visit back to this mean little town.” His lips parted as she pulled him down to press a hot, wet kiss to his mouth. She playfully moved her tongue against his lips, teasing and coaxing him to be naughty with her.
He complied instantly, lowering his hands to her hips, tugging her tightly against his body. The kiss deepened and somewhere Kate heard a shocked gasp.
As if she cared.
Finally, dizzy and breathless, she felt him let her go. Somehow, a simple “Up-yours” to the occupants of the Tea Room had turned into a conflagration of desire. She found it hard to stand. Her whole body ached and she wanted to cry at the thought of not finishing what she’d so recklessly restarted.
“I’ll be seeing you, Kate,” he promised in a husky whisper.
And somehow, not sure why, she felt sure he was right.
* * *
AFTER SHE GOT IN her SUV and drove away, Jack stood on the porch for several moments. He ignored the people exiting the Tea Room—his mother’s cronies who’d probably already called her. And the men staring unabashedly from the barbershop—his late father’s buddies who probably wanted to change places with him.
They’d all watched while he’d done something outrageous. He’d seen a chance, seen something he wanted, followed his instincts and kissed a beautiful stranger. In his years playing the male/female sex/love game, he’d never done something so impulsive. Yeah, he’d probably had a few more women in his life than the average guy. But he’d never been as deeply affected by one, just from a heated stare across a nearly deserted street.
Jack still had the shakes, remembering the feel of her in his arms, the way she’d tilted her supple, firm body to maximize the touch of chest to chest, hip to hip. Man to woman. Her dark eyes had shone with confusion, but had been unable to hide the unexpected flare of passion. “Kate,” he whispered out loud.
He felt no sense of urgency to go after her since he knew who she was. As soon as she’d said her name, he’d remembered her face from the picture in the Chicago paper a few weeks ago.
He hadn’t read the article, and couldn’t remember much—only that she owned some trendy new women’s store on the Magnificent Mile. But he definitely remembered her face, and her name—Katherine…Kate—because, with her thick, dark hair she’d reminded him of an actress of the same name. Kate Jackson? No…but something like that. He couldn’t place the last name yet, but he felt sure he would.
What on earth she was doing in Pleasantville he couldn’t fathom. But tracking her down really shouldn’t pose much of a problem at all. A scan of the newspaper’s Web site archives and he’d be able to find the article easily enough.
His return to Chicago tonight couldn’t come soon enough.
* * *
KATE DIDN’T PLAN to spend much time in her mother’s house. Edie had packed up everything she really wanted when she’d moved to Florida a few weeks back. The place was immaculate, the cabinets emptied and the furniture covered. All Kate had to do was go through her own personal belongings and load what she wanted to keep into her SUV for the drive back to Chicago.
There wasn’t much. Edie was a practical person, not an overly sentimental one. So there weren’t scads of toys or Kate’s first-grade papers to sort through. Just some precious items. Family pictures. Her first doll. The stuffed bear her father had given her for her sixth birthday—that was a month before he’d been killed in an accident involving his truck.
She carefully packed a carton with those things, rubbing the worn fur of the bear, remembering how she’d once been unable to sleep through the night without it curled in her arms. Leaving it behind when she’d left town had been an emotional decision, not a logical one. She’d left to escape her childhood, to escape the burden of her family name and the sadness over her mother’s situation. She’d left everything that might connect her to this place, telling her mother over the years to feel free to get rid of her old stuff. Thankfully, Edie never had. She’d known exactly what to keep. And, judging by the absence of most of her high school junk—with the exception of the programs from plays in which Kate had appeared—what to throw away.
When she’d nearly finished, Kate noticed the old Arturo Fuente cigar box in the corner of her old room. Opening it, she felt a smile tug her lips as she saw two diaries, an empty pack of cigarettes, the stub of a burned-down candle. Even the tattered, musty Playgirl. Surely her mother hadn’t opened this box—the magazine would have been long discarded, otherwise.
The memory of prom night descended with the impact of a boulder on her heart. That night had marked the end of teenage illusions. It had enforced adult consciousness, made her see her mother as a woman not merely a parent. Over the years she’d come to accept that moment as something everyone had to go through. While she’d been deeply disappointed, it hadn’t affected her strong feelings for Edie. She loved her as much now as she ever had. And, deep down, she was thankful for having learned the valuable lesson about the fickleness of relationships and the heartbreak of love by seeing what her mother had gone through. It had saved her from ever having to experience it firsthand.
“Glad you got out, Mom. Now, find some great retired guy down in Florida and grab yourself some happiness.”
Flipping idly through the Playgirl, she cast a speculative glance at the centerfold. “Not bad.” She liked her men long and lean, though not hairless and smooth-chested like this guy. Though flaccid, he definitely had a decent package, reminding her that it had been a long time since she’d had sex. She’d been surrounded by fake penises of all shapes, colors and sizes for so long, she hardly remembered what a real one looked like.
“No big loss,” she mused out loud, still staring. She hadn’t been kidding when she’d told Armand a small, clean vibrating one was her preference these days. She enjoyed sex. But it seemed to be an awful lot of work for an orgasm she could give herself in five minutes flat. Okay, so she’d never stayed with a man enough to really fall in love and couldn’t judge how “making love” compared to sex. Frankly, deep down Kate suspected she would never fall in love—since love would have to involve trust and vulnerability. She wouldn’t allow anyone to make her vulnerable, not after seeing what it had done to her mother for a couple of decades.
So sex it was. And sex alone had suited her fine for some time now. As a matter of fact, her favorite new toy—and a hot seller at her store, Bare Essentials—was a tiny vibrator that snapped to the end of her finger and handled things quite nicely. Small enough to carry in a tiny case in her purse, it was safely hidden in a side pocket right at this very minute.
She might just have to dig out her small friend tonight at the hotel. An orgasm would help blow off some tension. Though it had been a long time since she’d had sex with a man—more than a year…okay, two—Kate certainly hadn’t lacked for orgasms. “A woman owns her orgasms,” she told the photo. “She can take them anytime she wants and doesn’t need to be gifted with them by some guy with a big dick, a little brain and no heart.”
Though, she had to admit, sometimes the real thing could be awfully nice. She closed her eyes, thinking of her day. Of Jack. Definitely not a little brain, judging by his quick wit and self-confidence. His friendly charm hinted at a man with a heart.
And, remembering the way he’d felt pressed against her body, he definitely had a big… “Snap out of it, Kate.”
But she couldn’t. Closing her eyes, she leaned against her old bed. She licked her lips, remembering how his tasted. She moved her hand to her breast, remembering how his chest had felt pressed against hers. She shifted on the floor, aroused again, her thoughts moving back to what she’d felt that afternoon.
She’d wanted him. Still did, judging by the hot dampness between her legs. Remembering she had brought her purse with her up to the bedroom, she reached for it, finding the zippered side pocket. Retrieving the vibrator, she snapped it onto the tip of her middle finger, and moved up onto the bed.
“Maybe it’s been too long since the real thing,” she said. There were benefits to sex with someone else. Touching. Deep, slow, wet kisses that curled her toes…like those she’d shared with Jack this afternoon. And she totally got off on having a man suck her breasts. Her nipples were hard now, just thinking about it. She envisioned a mouth. His mouth.
But her tiny friend would do for now. She moved her hand lower, down her body, under her skirt. Along the seam of her thigh-high stockings.
“Jack,” she whispered as she brought the tiny, fluttering device to the lacy edge of her silk panties. “Who are you, really?”