“What will you wear home?” she asked mostly just to distract herself from thoughts she had no business thinking.
Namely her lips tracing a path along ridges of muscle defining his abs.
In the middle of that image, a vision growing more explicit by the second, Jackie remembered a popular musician’s myth that you couldn’t create works of great passion until you lost your virginity.
A silly superstition of course. But the musician’s counterpart to an old wives’ tale was well known to those in the business. She’d had a fading diva for a music teacher once who’d told her she wouldn’t be able to sing until she’d screwed.
Jackie had written off the bawdy advice with a laugh. Funny how that wisdom came roaring back in her ears as she stood drooling over Greg’s very male physique.
What was the matter with her?
“I’m a guy. I don’t need to wear a shirt home,” Greg assured her. “Besides, I live two blocks from here.”
Jackie shook herself to ward off a sudden onslaught of sexual images. She’d never suffered from too much drooling over any man, or really regretted her doggedly persistent virginity either, for that matter.
But the pangs of awareness shooting through her now had her wondering if maybe she’d been saving it up for a little too long.
They’d reached the bottom of the stairwell, and Greg shouldered his way through the heavy door onto the street. Darkness had fallen, but the streetlights still made it seem brighter outdoors. They stepped out into a short alleyway, a few feet from the street that ran along the front of the bar.
“No ladies’ room here,” Greg observed. “There must not be any access to the rest of the building from this side. Did you want to go back in the front doors?”
No. No. And hell no.
How did she get herself into these fixes? She truly did have a formidable IQ. And she had managed to ace college with a summa cum laude stamp of approval on her degree. Why did things like this always happen to her?
“No. I’ll just go with the tablecloth, thanks.” She wondered if she looked as ridiculous as she sounded. Whiskers, a tail and a tablecloth. No doubt she looked twice as ridiculous. “I can drop it by the restaurant Monday after I have it cleaned.”
A crowd of frat boys singing some college fight song stumbled out of the bar, passing the alleyway. They never noticed Jackie and Greg, but Greg stood between her and the street just in case.
She didn’t know much about this guy, but she had to admit he seemed like a gentleman. She knew lots of men who would have been more than happy to let her bumble her way out of the shredded kitty suit incident without benefit of table linens. Greg had been really nice to charge to the forefront for her.
“Look, Jackie…it is Jackie, right?” He lifted one eyebrow in query.
“Jacquelyn Brady. Jackie for short.” She offered her hand again, clinging to normal rules of polite society for a change. She seemed to have broken too many rules in one evening to be anything less than well bred for the rest of the night. “Nice to meet you.”
“Greg De Costa.” He shook her hand and flashed her a wicked grin along with a mouth full of pearly whites. “Likewise.”
Was it her imagination, or did the name sound familiar? Jackie was bad with names, but she never forgot a face. And she was positive she’d never run into Greg before. She wrote off the twinge of recognition she’d felt upon hearing his last name.
“Now that we’ve covered the introductions, I really think I’d better go.” She had auditions in the morning. She had a song to write tonight.
Mostly, she needed to escape Greg De Costa and his way too seductive chest before she did something she regretted. Like inch down her tablecloth and plaster herself to him for a good-night kiss he wouldn’t soon forget.
Greg dug into his pants pocket and emerged with a cell phone as thin as a credit card. “Do me a favor and call Zing-O-Gram first to be sure Gregory doesn’t get the surprise of a lifetime at his birthday party.”
How could she refuse? Jackie hated to think somewhere a six-year-old boy was getting an eyeful ten years too early. Almost as bad was the thought that somewhere in Boston there was a six-year-old boy whose special surprise never arrived.
Jackie would stay with Greg just long enough to straighten out the mix-up before she went home. Then she’d put her tennis shoes in high gear so she could put some serious space between her and a slick charmer like Greg De Costa.
She needed to escape those dangerous abs.
And those sexy suspenders.
And the stupid voice in her head that kept suggesting the time had arrived to follow her old music teacher’s advice and unleash the power of her singing voice.
3
GREG WATCHED JACKIE conduct her half of the phone conversation, admiring the way she could cradle the receiver, gesture wildly to express herself and still hold the tablecloth in a death grip.
How could he not admire a woman who possessed the body of a goddess and the ability to multitask?
He had to admit, Jackie Brady was very appealing, even if she spoke “disaster” with the fluency of a second language.
But he was only going to try and convince her to let him drive her home.
And maybe angle for a good-night kiss.
He just wanted one taste of those cat-woman lips and then he’d be able to walk away. No doubt a woman like Jackie with her penchant for trouble could have a man chasing his own damn tail in no time.
No way was Greg getting sucked into that again. He had recently dated a co-worker who thought Greg could help her advance from weather girl to head meteorologist. She’d ended up broadcasting a hurricane update with a picture of Greg’s face glued in the eye of the storm and had nearly cost him his job. Then there was the lady lawyer. A safe enough choice right? She’d chased ambulances right along with Greg’s camera crews, only too happy to have an “in” on late-breaking news.
So, even though Jackie happened to have the most phenomenal breasts he’d ever seen, the most tantalizing voice he’d ever heard, he didn’t have any intentions of pursuing anything with her. He was swearing off women until he could get his professional life back in order. He could settle for a kiss though, couldn’t he?
The door to the stairwell opened behind them just as Jackie hung up the phone. His brother stepped halfway into the alley, propping the heavy exit door with one shoulder.
“The real stripper is here,” Mike announced, scarcely articulating the words around a pink rose clamped between his teeth. He shot a sheepish grin at Jackie. “No offense to you, of course, miss.”
Jackie smiled right back at him, sparking a pang in Greg he could only guess was jealousy.
“None taken.” She tweaked the stem of Mike’s flower. “I’m glad to see Rosie is back on track at the right assignment.”
“And how.” Mike clutched his heart as if he’d fallen in love all over again. “Rosie’s a beauty, Greg. You coming upstairs?”
“No thanks. I’m taking Jackie home.” Greg knew without a doubt any other woman would pale in comparison to Jackie, no matter how many more alphabets Rosie boasted for a cup size.
Mike offered up a drunken salute while Jackie made a strangled sound and started backing away.
Greg had to jog to catch her. “Wait up, Jackie—”
She turned on him in a flurry of red hair and white linen. “Why? So you can take me home?” Her green eyes sparkled fire like some