Revealed

But even with his offbeat garb, Greg managed to look worlds apart from the Friday night subway crowd. Jackie had laughed when he whipped an old-fashioned monogrammed handkerchief out of his pocket and dusted off a seat for her before she sat down.

Greg was all class and manners, the sort of man her parents would adore. The sort of man Jackie normally avoided more than tea parties.

Of course, staying away from Greg would be a lot easier if he didn’t look so appealing even in the tackiest tourist T-shirt.

Jackie hugged her arms closer to her body.

“Warm enough?” Greg asked, tugging on a corner of the tablecloth.

Given the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra, Jackie had thought it would be best to keep something more than Greg’s cotton dress shirt between her and the rest of the world. Just knowing that he’d worn the same shirt an hour ago over his own bare chest did shivery things to her body, especially with the woodsy notes of his cologne teasing her nose.

She nodded, her voice rusty in her throat. She could not afford to catch a chill the night before auditions. Not to mention, she kept hoping for a big callback on Monday from WBCI, Boston’s biggest network affiliate station. She’d made a killer demo tape for them last week, and they were supposedly eager for new voice-over talent.

The voice-over work could be her long-awaited big break, especially given that she’d probably blown the audition for the herbal store with her impromptu jungle-themed song.

Oh well. Win some, lose some. Jackie lived by her own luck, and she had a good feeling about the network job.

“The next stop is Boston College,” Greg reminded her, swiveling in his seat to catch a glimpse of the signs outside the window as flashes of light zipped past them in the darkened tunnel. “Is that where we want to get off?”

His leg brushed hers as he moved, the rattle of the train car pushing them together all the more. The summer-weight wool of his pants scratched lightly against her thigh and what remained of her fuzzy leggings. She’d tied the leftover top of her shredded costume around her waist to serve as a belt, but Jackie kept checking and rechecking the knot. It wouldn’t surprise her if she lost the pants, too. It had been that kind of night.

“Yes, this is me.” Jackie stood carefully, clutching a pole for support as the train’s brakes hissed to a stop. “But you don’t need to walk me home, Greg. I’m just glad I didn’t have to ride the metro by myself like this.”

He glared at her with a look that said she was being more difficult than she had any right to be, a look her parents had perfected a long time ago. Was it her fault she didn’t do everything in life with perfect aplomb?

“I’m coming with you,” Greg reproved her, following her off the train and into the subway station.

A lone guitarist strummed a lively tune, entertaining a small crowd who’d been waiting for the green line. As the musician lost his audience to the train Greg and Jackie had just departed, Greg tossed several bills into the guy’s hat.

“That was very nice of you,” Jackie whispered as they walked away across scuffed ceramic tiles. The train groaned into motion behind them, drowning out the guitar as they climbed the steps to street level.

“Subway entertaining is a tough field,” Greg informed her, surprising her with his empathy for a guy who looked like he hadn’t washed in several days.

Greg appeared to scope out the street scene around them, then situated himself between the traffic thoroughfare and Jackie. She wondered what he thought of her neighborhood. Did it look old to his eyes? Or were the sturdy brownstones full of character to him the way they always had been to Jackie?

He scarcely touched her as they strolled through the warm spring night, but his presence loomed all around her as he steered her around a few late-night pedestrians, nudged her forward when lights changed from “Do Not Walk” to “Walk.”

“Have you ever entertained in a subway?” Jackie asked, easily slipping into “flip” mode now that she was nervous and combating attraction full steam again.

“No. But I spent a summer entertaining in a rowdy bar, so I can project those difficulties multiplied.”

The battalion of flip remarks dried up on her tongue. The image of Greg as a nightclub performer didn’t match her impression of him at all. Maybe he was an artist in disguise. A fact that would make a fling with him more of a real possibility.

She wouldn’t risk dating some corporate yes-man who ignored his own dreams in deference to the almighty dollar, but maybe she could take a chance on an artist who supported himself with a day job.

“You? Barroom entertainment?” Some of her nervousness vanished as she reprocessed her vision of Greg De Costa. Maybe he wasn’t as highbrow as she’d initially thought. Maybe he wouldn’t shudder at the thought of a little adventure in life. Or misadventure, as so often was the case with Jackie.

“It was a long time ago.” Greg looked up at the buildings as they trekked down Jackie’s street. “What did you say your number was?”

“Three sixty-three.” She didn’t want to go home just yet. She was only just starting to find out the interesting stuff. “What kind of entertaining did you do?” The flip demon made a small resurgence. “Were you a stripper?”

He shook his head, but he couldn’t hide the beginnings of a grin. “Hardly.”

“A guitarist?”

“I played piano.”

Nothing could have doused her interest faster. Both her mother and father played classical piano, touring with various philharmonics and orchestras when they weren’t teaching out of their palatial Back Bay home.

Jackie played everything but the piano. Her favorite instruments were things like banjos and steel guitars. Instruments that drove her parents insane and proved to Jackie she wanted different things out of life than what they’d already achieved.

“I see.” She started hunting for her building in earnest, realizing she’d been foolish to think Mr. Corporate would appreciate something outside the traditional realm. He probably had a Steinway in his living room, first class all the way.

“I take it you don’t like the piano?” Greg asked, his pace slowing as they drew toward Jackie’s door.

Her brownstone was the only one on the block with a burgundy-colored door and big bushes of purple heather out front. Both were her touches, little extras her elderly landlord was only too happy to receive.

The street was quiet. There wasn’t much activity on Jackie’s block, even on the weekends. The college students lived a few blocks over, far enough away to keep the noise level down, close enough to support lots of inexpensive restaurants and artsy pubs.

Right now, the only noise she heard was Greg’s silky baritone and the soft hum of the streetlights.

She shrugged. “I like the piano.”

“Let me guess, you prefer the piccolo. Or maybe a big set of cymbals.” Greg stuffed his hands in his pockets and tilted one shoulder into a nearby streetlamp.

“As it happens, I love a good pair of cymbals. And I can play a mean kazoo.”

“Do you always take the road less traveled, Jackie Brady?” He studied her with the aid of the streetlight, his brown eyes probing hers for answers she wasn’t ready to give.

“What does it look like?” She twitched her whiskers by scrunching up her nose and maneuvering her lips.

“It looks like you’re hell-bent for mayhem, lady.” He lifted himself away from the lamppost and walked closer to her. Slowly. Steadily.

Her heart picked up a jaunty beat, drumming heat through her in an insistent rhythm.

Jackie was ready. Willing. Hungry for a taste of Greg.

What did it matter if he could play piano? If he lived in corporate paradise and liked to stick to the rules? Jackie could still kiss him.

She could still see where a kiss led.

She could still fantasize about losing her virginity to a man who could unlock her passionate nature and free the artist inside her.

He paused a foot in front of her, his square shoulders and tanned arms making her insides turn warm and liquid.

She was probably supposed to wait for him to kiss her, but Jackie had never been one to play by the rules.

Especially not when a risk this tempting was so close at hand.

GREG HAD EVERY INTENTION of kissing her.

He’d been dying to taste those lips ever since she’d strutted through Flanagan’s in whiskers and cat ears.

He just hadn’t planned on doing it so fast.

Just when he’d been sizing up the situation, taking in the details of her curves and nuances so he could wring out every possible bit of pleasure from it for both of them, Jackie dropped her tablecloth. Before he could fully appreciate the view of her braless body underneath his shirt, she plastered herself against him for the most mind-blowing kiss he’d ever experienced.

She was like a sensory explosion, swamping every inch of him with tantalizing sensations. Her lips swayed over his in slow undulations, leaving him no choice but to seek entrance to her mouth for a more thorough taste.

Sweet and complex. Jackie tasted like a dessert wine and left him hungering for more.

But all the while he tried to drink in her taste, she was tormenting his chest with the soft nudge of her breasts. No elaborate contraptions of Lycra or spandex hid her from him, only the cotton of their shirts. Taut crests peaked against him, reminding him of what she looked like naked. He could envision those breasts, those upturned nipples, perfectly.

And the memory was killing him.

“Jackie.” He pulled away in slow degrees only because he had to. They were in the middle of the sidewalk for crying out loud. “Jackie?”

He kissed her one last time, or so he told himself it would be one last time, before backing up a step, still holding her hands. He wanted to go upstairs with her and unveil her body at his leisure, not maul her in full view of her neighbors.

He hadn’t counted on seeing her eyes still closed, her lips still thrust forward even after his retreat.

Something inside him turned to mush at the sight. He hoped like hell it was only his brain.

“Jackie?” He squeezed her fingers in his hands.

She smiled before she opened her eyes. “Hmm?”

The sound of a window opening somewhere in the building behind them reminded Greg of their public surroundings.

Greg stepped close again, more than willing to continue this inside her apartment even if they were as compatible as oil and water. They obviously had serious chemistry going despite being as different from one another as night and day.

He always did have a hard time learning a lesson.

He could take one more chance on a woman without getting overly distracted, right? He’d go to work in the morning, listen to his desk full of demo tapes, and crawl back into bed with Jackie. A relationship didn’t have to interfere with his work, damn it.

“Do you mind if I come inside?” It didn’t seem like that big of an assumption in light of the kiss she’d just given him.

“What?” Her green eyes sharpened into focus immediately.

“I mean, do you want me to come upstairs with you?”

Greg was surprised to realize he was practically holding his breath. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted a woman this bad. Had he ever wanted a woman this much?

“Maybe we’d better not.” The flash of innocence in her eyes as she declined sent warning bells clanging in his head.

Greg ignored them.

Jackie released his fingers, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she’d just shot him down harder than anyone else ever had.

She scooped her tablecloth off the sidewalk and wrapped it around her.

“But maybe we could see each other again?” she prompted, her throaty voice practically purring with feminine satisfaction.

She wanted to see him again.

His breath returned, clearing his head in time for him to form a response.

“How about next weekend?” He had to be careful not to ask her out for tomorrow. As much as he wanted Jackie, he could not afford to let any woman twist his life around and make him forget his priorities. Not now when he finally had the world by the tail.

Tail.

His eyes dropped to Jackie’s feline accoutrements, amazed how his every thought already twined with images of her.

“Sounds good.” She nodded, a small smile curling her perfect lips.

He couldn’t be sure in the dim light, but he thought maybe she blushed.

Digging in his wallet for his business cards, he thought maybe she was just an old-fashioned girl. He’d heard they still existed. Women who didn’t sleep with someone on the first date. Women who still blushed.

Greg definitely approved. He just hadn’t pegged outrageous cat woman Jackie as one of those women.

He scribbled down her number on the back of one card and gave her another one in case she needed to reach him.

Who knew? Maybe she’d change her mind midweek and decide she couldn’t wait for the weekend.

Fat chance.

Greg had the feeling he’d lucked into meeting a woman who would be well worth a little time away from the office. A woman who wasn’t into playing games—despite the fact that she favored painting her nose pink and strutting through town wearing cat’s ears.

“You’re okay from here then?” Greg asked, not wanting to lose gentlemanly points this late into their evening together.

“I’m okay from here.” She backed toward her front steps, smiling.

No repeat good-night kiss. Greg couldn’t help the surge of disappointment. He’d been hoping maybe there’d be one more kiss to seal the deal.

Still, he wanted to roar with satisfaction that there would be more kisses, and who knew what else, in store. He had the feeling he’d have a hard time concentrating on his demo tape review tomorrow after the way she’d just set his veins on fire. But he only had a week to go to see her again.

Until then, he planned to stock up on dessert wine.

FROM THE SAFETY OF HER building’s well-lit foyer, Jackie tracked Greg’s progress down her street until she couldn’t see him anymore.

She’d made a date with Mr. Corporate and she was feeling pretty damn giddy about it. The memory of his touch would taunt her until next weekend.

She looked down at the business card in her hands, scarcely daring to believe her good luck. Flipping it over, she read the words printed there.

Greg De Costa. General Manager.

WBCI, Channel Twelve.

The card wavered in her suddenly trembling hand.

Oh no.

Jackie watched her fledgling career crash and burn right before her eyes.

Her bachelor party hero had turned out to be more than a ritzy member of Boston’s business elite. No, that would have been far too tame for her. She’d flashed her breasts at the man who held her professional future in his hands—the veritable god of the commercial jingle world, the Zeus of recording contracts in Boston.

No wonder his name had sounded so familiar to her. Jackie had just mailed him a copy of her demo last week.

Before she’d fawned all over him. Before she’d fallen out of her kitty costume and shown him more than any man had ever seen.

Before she’d totally blown her credibility as a serious commercial talent.

What was he going to think when he opened her application materials and discovered her name on a new demo? He was going to think what any man would think—that Jackie had gone out of her way to put herself in his path today. That she’d put on a show for him to help land a job.

Maybe she hadn’t been so lucky tonight after all.

Jackie squeezed her eyes shut, knowing she was going to have to do some serious tap dancing to maneuver her way around this disaster. But after failing at one career—her cherished dream of composing more complex music—Jackie refused to screw up another.

Later, she’d figure how she could still land the voice-over slot without looking like she’d manipulated Greg.

But first things first. She didn’t stand a shot in hell at that job if Greg unearthed her tape now. Before she did anything else, she needed to make a trip to WBCI to get her demo back.

Good thing Jackie was used to turning heads and causing a commotion. She had the feeling she’d have to do a little of both if she wanted to straighten out this mess.

4

WBCI SAT ON THE outskirts of Boston, a high-tech television studio in a less than stellar part of town.

Greg didn’t mind the long commute. His car had state-of-the-art German engineering to smooth the back roads full of potholes, and today, he had a gorgeous woman on his mind to occupy his thoughts.

What he didn’t have was a new voice-over talent for the station.

That failing clouded his mood as he pulled into his primo reserved parking space in front of the building. He hefted his briefcase out of the car, the dozens of nixed demo tapes inside adding considerably to its weight.

What he hadn’t heard on any of these demo tapes was a voice like Jackie Brady’s. Had his listening ear been prejudiced after the sweet seduction of her perfect pitch? Or had there genuinely been no good candidates for the station’s in-house voice-over vacancy?

He mulled over the question on the way to his office. The penthouse in this relatively short building was only on the sixth floor, but it didn’t matter to Greg, who preferred to spend time getting work done as opposed to gazing out the window.

Of course, no matter how much Jackie’s singing voice haunted his dreams and possibly biased his professional opinions, Greg had to be grateful there was no chance they would ever be working together. He’d seen firsthand how detrimental a personal relationship could be to a professional one. Ever since the meteorologist incident, Greg made sure not to mingle his personal and professional lives.

Therefore, no matter how much he kept thinking Jackie would be a great voice-over talent, he counted his blessings she was safely involved in another career. He would keep her and her cat whiskers in his private life and figure out another way to solve his station’s dilemma.

Exiting the elevator into the sixth-floor lobby, Greg sensed trouble brewing. More than half the seats in the small reception area were occupied by WBCI employees. Every single one of those employees looked up expectantly as he sought his office.

He almost had the door unlocked when the barrage of questions began. Ten seconds later he was swarmed.

The engineer from the editing room pushed her way to the front of the pack. She was poker buddies with the lady meteorologist who’d caused Greg so much grief and she didn’t waste any opportunity to give him a hard time. “Greg, I’ve got to polish up the department store commercials this week to show the client. Any word on an in-house person for the voice-over, or do you want me to freelance it out?”

“Same here, Greg,” called one of his right-hand producers from the back of the crowd. “I need a voice for the Pink Lady Club and you told me you didn’t want one of our news anchors to fill in for a risqué spot like that. Didn’t you say you’d have some talent contracted by today?”

Greg worked the lock behind his back while he doled out smooth assurances. “I’ve just got to iron out the contract details.” As the lock gave, he backed his way into his private offices. “Give me a couple of hours to nail things down and I’ll have a name for you this afternoon.”

He hoped.

Assuming he could put Jackie’s voice behind him for a few hours and concentrate on the few remaining tapes that might have filtered their way onto his desk over the weekend. If that didn’t work, he’d dig through the pile of demos in his briefcase all over again until he found the right sound.

Tossing his keys across the desk and stabbing a few computer keys, Greg assured himself he could do this.

He just needed total focus and concentration.

What he didn’t need was a body lying on his camel-colored leather office couch.

Holy…

“Hey, Greg.” His brother Mike rose out of the tangled chenille throw blanket and a rumpled dinner jacket he had obviously tossed over his body, then propped himself up on an elbow. “Hope you don’t mind I crashed here last night.”

Greg dropped his briefcase to the floor with a thud. “How did you get in?”

“You gave me a backup key when you took this job, remember?” Mike shrugged, the casual gesture belying his shell-shocked expression. “I hope it wasn’t a big deal. Hannah dumped me last night and I—didn’t feel like going home.”

Son of a…

Greg sank into his oversized leather office chair, allowing the news to roll over him. “What do you mean she dumped you? You’re getting married.”

“I guess one of the waitresses at Flanagan’s used to work in the cafeteria where Hannah teaches school. Hannah got wind of the naked women at the bachelor party and she lost it. Told me I’ve only got eyes for other women—Jesus, Greg, you know that’s not true.”

“Yeah I know, but how the hell does Hannah know? You’ve got a tendency to lay on the charm with females.” Mike had a reputation that went back to high school.

“I’m a gentleman, damn it. That’s why I’m nice to women in general. That’s why I don’t—indulge myself—with my future wife. I’m showing her some respect.” Mike tugged down his shirt cuffs to straighten his sleeves, not making eye contact.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.