Naturally Naughty

“Curiosity killed the Kate,” she muttered out loud.

Then she walked inside.

J ACK WASTED A GOOD BIT of the afternoon walking around downtown Pleasantville, looking for pleasant memories. There weren’t many. For a town where the Winfield family was considered royalty, he had to say he had few fond remembrances of his childhood. His father had been mostly busy. His mother had been mostly teary-eyed. His sister…hell, he barely recognized the smiling, sweet-faced toddler in the surly blond woman.

The only real ray of sunshine from his childhood, their maid , had recently left Pleasantville and moved away. He wished he’d had a chance to say goodbye to Edie. Maybe he’d ask his mother if she had her new address. Then again, his mother seemed awfully skittish whenever Edie’s name came up. He hoped she didn’t owe the hardworking woman back wages. His mother had no conception of careful spending and was usually in debt, part of the reason his parents’ marriage had been so rocky.

While he walked, he kept his eyes open for a brand-spanking-new SUV. He really didn’t expect to see her. Since he knew he’d been looking Kate up when he got back to Chicago, he didn’t feel it imperative to find her today. Then he glanced down a side street and saw it. Her silver car. Parked right in the open in front of the old movie theater.

Another opportunity—one too good to pass up. He headed for the theater entrance. When he saw one door was slightly ajar, he figured she’d gone inside, so he walked in, also.

Hearing some loud, off-key singing, he followed the sound through the lobby area. His steps echoed on the cracked-tile floor, the only sound other than the top-of-the-lungs belting coming from the theater. He barely spared a glance at the lobby, beyond noting that someone had been painting and cleaning up.

When he pushed open the door to enter the auditorium, he paused, figuring it would be dark and his eyes would need to adjust. Somehow, though, probably because there was repair work going on, the electricity worked. The theater wasn’t dark at all down in front where work lights washed the stage with light. In the audience area, a few side fixtures made things visible.

He could see the rows upon rows of burgundy crushed-velvet seats. The thin, worn carpeting in the aisle hadn’t changed, its pattern remained virtually indistinguishable after decades of wear. A pair of vast chandeliers still hung suspended over the audience—not lit, obviously. Even fifteen years ago when he’d come to see movies in this place, the chandeliers had been strictly decorative. The town was too cheap to electrify them, so they remained a sparklingly dark reminder of another era.

Finally he turned toward the stage, at the bottom of the theater, where the organist had played in the silent picture days. And he saw her. Kate. Singing as though there was no tomorrow.

Jack began to smile. Then to chuckle. He approached the stage, remaining quiet. She still hadn’t seen him, so he took a seat a few rows from the front, watching her performance.

Lordy, the woman could not hold a tune. But what she lacked in pitch, she made up for in volume. The rafters nearly shook and he finally recognized the song. Vintage Pat Benatar. She even had the rocker’s strut.

No, she couldn’t sing, but damn, the woman had some moves.

“I would definitely like to hit you with my best shot,” he murmured, knowing she couldn’t hear over her own voice.

Her legs looked impossibly long beneath her short ivory skirt as she gyrated. She was bent at the waist, holding an imaginary microphone and singing into her fist. Her thick, dark hair fell forward, curtaining her face. From here, he had a magnificent view of the curve of her ass and hips as she bent lower, with parted legs, rocking on her high white heels. Then even lower, until the hem of her skirt rose higher, revealing the top of one thigh-high stocking.

Jack swallowed hard, knowing another inch or two and he’d be seeing whether Kate favored bikinis or thongs. Deciding to alert her to his presence, he prepared to stand. Before he could, however, she tossed her head back, and stood upright to finish the song. She thrust her chest forward. He shifted in his seat, watching the silkiness of her sleeveless blouse brush against the pronounced curves beneath.

When she finally finished, he simply had to applaud. She heard, obviously, and looked down toward the seats like a kid who’d been caught shoplifting bubblegum. “Who’s out there?”

Jack rose to his feet, still bringing his hands together in a slow and lazy clap. “We meet again,” he said as he walked down the aisle to greet her.

“Oh, no, did you hear me?” She looked thoroughly disgruntled as she narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

He climbed the steps leading up onto the stage. “Yep.”

She cringed. “For your information, I know I can’t sing. So don’t even try to pretend you don’t think I sounded like a howling female cat in heat.”

Hmm. Interesting image—a female in heat. Particularly with the flush of color in her face, the sheen of sweat on her brow and the clinginess of her damp clothes against her amazing body.

She looked aroused. Sultry. Alive. He’d love to hear her purr. “You didn’t sound like a cat.”

“Well, then, a mutt braying at the moon,” she continued with a surly frown. “Don’t humor me.”

“Not humoring you. Honey, you really can’t sing. But, boy, you obviously know how to dance.”

The compliment didn’t ease her frown. Instead she practically glared. “So, are you following me? Should I worry I’m being stalked by the kissing bandit?”

“I wasn’t stalking. I saw your SUV outside and came to investigate. Besides, I’m wounded. Here I thought you liked our kiss.” Her cheeks flushed and she averted her eyes. Gotcha! He stepped closer until their bodies nearly touched. “I certainly did, and I’ve been thinking all afternoon about how much I wanted to see you again.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“We could change that. Come have dinner with me, Kate.”

“I’m really not hungry, thank you.”

“Just coffee, then. Let’s go sit somewhere and talk for hours while we pretend we’re not both thinking about what happened this afternoon.”

She raised a brow. “Oh, you’ve been thinking about that? I’d nearly forgotten all about it.”

“Liar.”

“If it helps your male ego to think so, go right ahead.”

He laughed out loud. “I’m not an egotistical man, Kate. But I know when I’m being kissed back.” He stepped closer, into her space, but she wouldn’t back down. “Admit it. You definitely kissed me back.”

“Only to give the old biddies something to chew on with their tea and crumpets,” she said with a determined frown.

“Ah, ah, you’re breaking my heart here.” He held his hands out at his sides, palms up in supplication.

“I somehow doubt that. You’re a complete stranger. One who accosted me in public this afternoon.”

A definite overstatement. “Not accosted. Surprised.”

“You surprised me all right. Don’t guys like you usually wind up kissing a celebrity or streaking through the Academy Awards, then get committed to the funny farm sooner or later?”

He rolled his eyes. “Do you always keep your guard up? Except when you’re singing your heart out in an old abandoned theater, that is?”

“Do you always go around kissing women you see on the street?” she countered.

He shook his head, becoming very serious. “Never. Not until today. Not until you.”

She broke their eye contact first, suddenly looking nervous. “Look, this is probably not a great idea, us being here. I don’t even know you.”

“Would it help if I give my word I’m not a psycho serial killing…or serial kissing…nutcase?”

She shrugged. “If I’d thought that I woulda pushed you into the orchestra pit and run like crazy out of here.”

“I’m glad to know you trust me. Now, about the coffee…”

“Don’t you ever give up?”

“Not when I’m faced with something this important.”

He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t ask him to. They both knew what they meant. There was something happening here, something living and warm and vibrant flowing beneath them. She just wouldn’t admit it.

“I won’t say I’m not tempted. But I am on my way out of town,” she said slowly. “Heading home.”

“To Chicago?”

She paused. “How did you…”

“Well, I know there’s no way you live in Pleasantville.”

“True.”

“And I recognized you.”

“From where?”

“I’m from Chicago, too.” He saw her eyes widen. In interest? Or maybe relief? “I saw the article in the business paper a few weeks back. You own some hot new women’s store, right? The picture was striking.” He looked down at her body, her chest still heaving as she brought her breathing back to normal. His mouth went dry. “But it didn’t do you justice.”

She froze as he looked at her, probably seeing the pulse in his temple as he stared. Beneath his gaze, two sharp points jutted against her silk blouse, telling him she was as aware of him as he was of her. “I liked that picture,” she said, unable to disguise a shaky tremor in her voice.

“I did, too. For a businesswoman. A Katherine.” He watched as she smoothed her skirt with her palms. She then checked the waistband to be sure her blouse was tucked in. “But today, when you landed in my arms, you didn’t look like a Katherine. Then…and now…you’re Kate.”

Almost as if she was unaware of her movements, she slid one hand up higher, up the smooth, soft-looking skin of her arm, until the tip of her finger rested in the hollow of her throat and her forearm on the curve of her breasts.

Her nipples jutted harder now, brought to tighter peaks by the scrape of her own arm across them. Did she realize it? Was she conscious of the silently seductive invitation she issued? As if she read his thoughts, she tapped her index finger against her throat. Lightly. Drawing his gaze there once again.

“So you read about me.” She sounded breathless. Clearing her throat, she continued. “My store. Is that why you followed me? Why you kissed me?”

He shook his head, still watching the pulse tick away in her throat, right beneath the tip of her finger, wondering how she tasted right there. Wondering how she smelled. Wondering if she’d whimper when he gently licked the moist spot. And mostly wondering when he’d be able to take her in his arms again. Though, this time the decision would be hers. As much as she might believe otherwise, Jack didn’t believe in taking what he wanted. It was much more pleasurable to be given such a gift.

“I followed you because of the way we looked at each other.” Like they were looking at each other now. “I kissed you because you landed in my arms.” As he wanted her to now. “What can I say? You were a beautifully wrapped present and I couldn’t resist. Who could resist a beautiful woman so obviously in need of a kiss?” Like now .

She took a tiny, step back. He let her go. Not crowding. Not encroaching.

“You let me leave. You didn’t try to stop me.”

He smiled. “I let you go because after you told me your name, I remembered your face and the article and knew I could find you again once I got home to Chicago.”

Her eyes widened. Tap went the index finger. Tick went the pulse. Down went the heat—through his gut, into his groin.

“So you read the article?”

He shook his head, being honest. “Not really. I just remember your face, your first name and something about a store. You sell women’s lotion and things?”

She chuckled, a warm and truly amused laugh that rose from her throat. “And things.” Before he could question the naughty twinkle in her eye, she’d turned and looked out into the dark auditorium. “When did the Rialto close?”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure, really. I don’t come back too often. But I think it was seven or eight years ago.”

“You have family here?” She lowered her voice, betraying her keen interest. “You’re from Pleasantville?”

Jack nodded, but didn’t offer more information. He certainly wasn’t about to reveal who his family was. If Kate had spent time in town, she’d know the Winfield name. The last thing he wanted was someone else bringing up his father’s death. And whatever scandal the town gossipmongers had been whispering about any time his back was turned in the past few days.

Besides, he liked the anonymity of this night. It seemed right, especially here, in the old abandoned theater, so rich with atmosphere and antique glamour.

“Yeah. But, like I said, I got out years ago, as soon as I could. And I avoid coming back as much as possible.”

Her rueful nod said she completely understood what he was saying. Then she smiled, a small, friendly smile that made him think for some reason she’d let down her guard. Because he’d admitted he didn’t like this town?

“I used to love this building. It was my favorite place in Pleasantville.” She walked across the stage, her footsteps echoing loudly on the wooden planks. “I used to come for the first showing of a new movie, then hide in the bathroom to stay and watch it again and again.”

“Ah, a daredevil,” he said with a laugh.

A reminiscent smile curled her lips. “The ticket taker, the old one with the poofy black wig, caught me once.”

“Miss Rose?”

She nodded. “Yes! That’s it. Miss Rose. She was so funny, the way she’d talk about the movie stars, as if they were really here, living behind the screen.”

“So what’d she do about you hiding?”

“From then on out I didn’t have to hide—she always let me stay, but told me not to let on to anybody else.” She looked down at her hands. “I’d forgotten about her.”

Interesting. She looked happy and sad at the same time, as if it pained her to find positive memories about her years in Pleasantville. He could relate. Since his father’s death, especially, Jack had tried to reconcile the kid Jack who’d left town with the man who’d come back.

Seeing a table right behind the partly open, red-velvet stage curtains, he pointed. “Anything interesting back there?”

Kate stepped between the curtains, and he followed her into the murky backstage area.

She picked up her purse, which was lying on the sturdy old wooden worktable beside the curtain. But, thankfully, she didn’t immediately turn and try to leave. “ Flashdance, ” she said out loud, looking at a stack of papers lying on the table. “And Dirty Dancing . I think I actually saw that one in this theater.”

“I could have guessed you liked dance movies.”

She grinned. “What can I say? I can’t hold a tune, but I can move to one.”

“Did you take lessons?”

“Yeah, I started when I was really little, back in Florida.”

“Florida? I thought you were from here.”

“We moved here when I was six. After that, I took lessons when I could, before the only dance teacher in town got married and moved away.”

He winced. “Don’t remind me. My sister went into mourning and my mother wanted to sue the teacher for breaking her lease on the studio…just as a way to try to get her to stay.”

As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn’t. He still didn’t want to get into any discussion about his family. Stepping closer to the table, he was easily able to distinguish the names on the old, crinkled, dusty advertisements. It wasn’t completely dark back here—after all, the curtain remained open and the stage was brightly lit. Still, it felt very intimate. Almost cocooned.

“I wonder why no one ever took all these wonderful old movie posters. Look, here’s Clint Eastwood.”

He glanced at the title. “Don’t think I’ve seen that one.”

“High Plains Drifter . Not one of his most popular.” She stared at the poster, looking deep in thought.

“Spaghetti western?”

“Sort of. He’s a ghostly man who comes back to a horrid little town to get vengeance on the townspeople.” Her eyes narrowed. “They think he’s there to save them. In the end, he destroys them and rides away, disappearing into the mist.”

He reached around her and pulled the poster away to see the next one. She didn’t watch, appearing completely unaware of anything except the Eastwood picture, at which she still stared.

“Here’s a James Bond one…from several Bonds ago.”

She finally shook her head, ending her reverie, and glanced at the poster in his hand. “Sean Connery. He’s still so hot.”

“You have a thing for older men?”

She cast a sideways glance at him. “No.” Then she studied the poster again. “I think it’s his mouth. He’s got the kind of mouth that makes women wonder what he can do with it.” She looked at Jack’s lips, looking frankly interested.

“What he can do with it?”

She nodded. “Some men are strictly visual. While women might like being looked at, we’re more elemental creatures. Some women like to be…tasted.”

Jack dropped the poster, staring intently at her. “Are you one of them? Do you like to be…tasted?” He wondered if she’d dare to answer. If the color rising in her cheeks was brought about by sexual excitement, or simply nervousness.

“Yes, I do,” she admitted, her voice husky and thick.

Definitely sexual excitement.

“And you? Do you like to taste? ” she countered.

Yeah, he really did. Right now he wanted to dine on her as if she were an all-you-can-eat buffet and he a starving man.

Which was exactly the way she wanted it. She, the woman, in complete control. He, the drooling male, at her feet. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but there was no doubt Kate liked being the one in charge when it came to sex. Perhaps that’s why she’d kissed him the second time today. As if to say, “Okay, the first one was yours. Now, here’s what I’ve got.”

Two could play this sultry game. He shrugged, noncommittal. “I enjoy input from all my senses, Kate. Taste, of course. Good food. Cold beer. Sea air. Sweet, fragrant skin. The salty flavor of sweat on a woman’s thigh after a vigorous workout.”

She wobbled on her high-heeled shoes.

“And sight, of course. I think men are focused on the visual because we like to claim things. We like to see what we’ve claimed. Whether it’s a continent, a car, a business contract. Or a beautiful woman in a red silk teddy.”

She swallowed hard, then pursed her lips. “Some women don’t want to be claimed.”

He touched her chin, tilting it up with his index finger until she stared into his eyes. “Some women also think they don’t want to be kissed by strangers in broad daylight.”

She shuddered. “Touché.”

“I’m a sensory man. I also enjoy subtle smells.” He brushed a wisp of hair off her forehead. “Like the lemon scent of your hair, Kate. And sounds. Gentle moans and cries. Not to mention touch. Soft, moist heat against my skin.”

Kate leaned back against the table, as if needing it for support. Her breathing deepened. He watched her chest rise and fall and color redden her cheeks.

“Yes, some men are definitely capable of appreciating all their senses.” He crossed his arms, leaning against the table, next to her, so close their hips brushed. “So, Kate, tell me, a man who knows how to use his mouth. Is that really your only requirement?”

She licked her lips. “I suppose there are…other things.”

“Other things?”

His fingers? His tongue? His dick, which was so hard he felt as though he was going to shoot off in his pants?

“His…” This time she ran her hand down her body, flattening her palm against her midriff, then lower, to her hip.

“Hands?” he prompted, staring at hers.

She nodded. “And one most important thing of all.”

He waited.

“His brain.”

Jack grinned but didn’t pause for a second. “Did I tell you I graduated with honors from U.C.L.A. and have my masters in architectural design?”

She laughed again. A light, joyous laugh, considering they were having a heavy, sensual conversation about oral sex and other pleasures. He found himself laughing with her.

“I like you,” she admitted, her smile making her eyes sparkle. Then she paused. Her smile faded, as if she’d just realized what she’d said and regretted saying it. A look of confusion crossed her face. It was quickly replaced by cool determination. As if tossing down a gauntlet, or trying to shock him into backing off, she tipped up her chin and said, “I mean, it’s been a long time since I met a man who made me laugh and made me wet in the same sixty seconds.”

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