“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