“Good point. Where would you like me to start?”
The governor now had little foil wings at each of his temples, which unfortunately didn’t diminish his sex appeal. They just made him look like some kind of goofy—but hot—space alien. She tried not to laugh.
“What’s your secret dream?” she asked him.
“To be a rock star,” he said promptly. “Can’t you see me with head-banger hair and tattoos on my chest and maybe some KISS makeup?”
He would have to bring up the subject of his chest again. “No.”
“Not even a little bit?”
She shook her head. “Sorry.”
“You’re crushing me, here. Absolutely crushing me.”
“Governor—Jack—you’re so Republican that you squeak.” And he was, judging by his looks alone. However, now that she thought about it, his actions toward her hadn’t been very conservative at all.
“I’ve never squeaked in my life.” Jack straightened and she remembered the breadth of his chest and the corded muscle of his arms. “And what do my politics have to do with anything?” He looked offended.
She cleared her throat. “Well, it’s just that…I think most rock stars vote for the other side.” And then there’s me—I didn’t even make it to the polls during the last election. She wasn’t proud of that.
“You’re stereotyping.”
She shrugged. Maybe she was.
“You’re trying to tell me that because of my politics, I’m not allowed to dream about being a rock star? That makes no sense at all.”
“Yes it does,” she insisted. “Rock is all about rebellion and anger and doing what feels good—calling bullshit on the establishment. You are the establishment! You’re up there in Tallahassee trying to legislate morality, which by the way is never going to work….”
“You know,” he said calmly, “I don’t think you have the faintest idea of what I do in Tallahassee. I don’t think you have a clue what a Republican is, and I know you don’t understand my personal agenda.”
Marly swallowed, set down her color bowl and brush on a table, and folded her arms. “Oh, really? What is it?”
Jack poked his tongue into his cheek and cocked his head at her. “In one sentence or less, I’m for streamlining big government, sweeping educational reform and the restructuring of our tax system. Does that sound evil to you?”
“Depends on the specifics.” But inwardly she was cynical. Streamlining big government was Republican code for “throwing out all social programs” and the restructuring of our tax system clearly meant “giving breaks to the rich while worsening the financial situation of the poor and middle class.” She only just refrained from curling her lip.
“Well, if you had about three days to listen, I’d explain it all to you. Now, what other crazy ideas do you have about Republicans? That we’re all religious nuts and right-leaning and only have sex in the missionary position—solely for reproductive purposes?”
“No—”
“Because I can assure you that none of those things are true of me—and especially not the last one.”
His blue gaze bored into her and all of a sudden Marly found herself remembering that the man did have a little hair on his toes. Hmm, wonder if Shirlie’s right about that toe hair/size connection?
How was it possible for the blasted man to look sexy with foil wings on his head? Nobody looked good in foil. Except for him! He was in the most emasculated position possible—at least with clothes on—and yet he vibrated with testosterone. He wore it like a tailor-made suit.
It was lowering to have to place herself on a level with Nicky and Shirlie, but the shoe fit: Marly wondered with sudden intensity what Jack Hammersmith looked like completely naked, and whether there was truth in advertising. Rock Hudson was gay, she reminded herself. She unstuck her tongue from the roof of her mouth. “Governor, would you like something to drink while we’re waiting?” The color had to stay in for a few minutes longer.
“Jack,” he said again. “And that would be great. Just water, please.”
“Will Frick and Frack need to test it for toxins or killer microbes?”
“You tell them that if they stick their tongues into my drink, they’ll be guarding the mail room next week.”
“I’d be delighted.” Marly left the room, slipping again through the twin slabs of muscle outside the door. They didn’t so much as blink at her.
Peggy, After Hours’ massage therapist and third owner, was humming in the kitchen. “Hi, sweetie.”
“You’re humming again,” said Marly, oddly touched. She hadn’t seen Peggy this happy in forever. She was definitely in love.
“Oh. Sorry. Am I getting any more musical? Probably not.” She grinned. “So do you really have Jack Hammersmith back there for color? I saw the limo and the security detail.”
Marly nodded. “Yeah, those are hard to miss. Can you believe it? This is great PR for us.”
“Just watch out,” Peg warned her. “I hear the guy is relentless when it comes to good-looking women.”
Marly shrugged. “He’s already tried—I’ll give you the juicy details later.”
Peg rolled her eyes. “I can’t wait. Hey, Troy and I have a couple of spare tickets to the Dolphins’ game. You want to come?”
Marly would rather be thrown naked into a bed of fire ants than attend a football game. “Thanks so much, but I’m off to visit my da—uh, parents. You should ask Shirlie.”
Peggy frowned. “Well, I think she still has a thing for Troy.”
“I have two words for you—elbow and macaroni. Remember?”
Peggy froze and then started laughing. “Oh, God. I forgot about that. I was furious at him, and she kept pushing.”
“Well, I think she’s over him, because she’s now trying to estimate the size of the governor’s package.”
“My sympathies!”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Marly returned to the treatment room with two glasses of ice water, and when the muscle heads squinted at them she repeated what Jack had said. Again they exchanged glances silently and let her by.
“Frick and Frack really don’t like the idea of the mail room,” she reported.
He grinned and accepted the water with thanks. They each sipped, eyeing each other warily, and then she announced that it was time to rinse the solution from his hair.
“This isn’t a regular salon sink back here, so it’ll be a little odd,” she told him. “But come on over.” She pulled the little squares of foil off and then had him bend forward. She put his head under the faucet and shampooed his hair thoroughly, while strange psychological currents eddied around them. He smelled just as good as he had yesterday morning, a little muskier because the day had worn on. The scent was a combination of soap, deodorant and a curiously citrusy fragrance—heady, refreshing and expensive. She wondered if it was a custom blend.
It felt distinctly weird to be running her fingers over this man’s scalp, massaging it, when he’d said the things he’d said to her. The forced proximity to someone she wanted to keep her distance from was uncomfortable.
Nevertheless, she did her job, keeping the shampoo out of his eyes and