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Naturally Naughty
Leslie Kelly
Kate Jones: This sexy, successful businesswoman has getting even on her mind–and a target in her sights….Jack Winfield: He has a dysfunctional family, a demanding career…and a bad case of the hots for the gorgeous new stranger in town…. This place isn't big enough for both of them. Kate Jones, the girl from the wrong side of the tracks, is home–and she's got an agenda.To get revenge on the man who humiliated her mother, Kate's going to seduce that man's son–the town's golden boy, John Winfield Jr.–and then leave him drooling in a puddle of lust. Only, little does she guess when she finds herself seduced by a sexy stranger named Jack that the tables have just been turned….



“You can’t just go around kissing strangers,” Kate said
Jack held out his hands. “You said you weren’t married.”
“What if I were engaged? Or a nun? Or what if I didn’t like men?”
“Engaged isn’t married, so I’d say tough luck to the guy.” Grinning, he continued. “You as a nun would be a crime against nature, definitely worth ignoring.” He glanced down at her, his stare taking in her hardened nipples and her trembling legs. The musky scent of aroused woman teased his nostrils. “And not liking men isn’t in the realm of possibility,” Jack finally said smoothly. “You want me pretty badly.”
Her jaw dropped and he tipped it back up with the tip of his finger. “Now, for introductions. I’m Jack. It’s very nice to meet you. And you are…?”
She ignored his question. “You followed me.”
He didn’t try to deny it. “Guilty as charged.”
That stopped her. “Why?”
He shrugged. “Fate? Instinct?” Then he lowered his voice, whispering into her ear as he leaned in closer, aligning his body with hers. “Or maybe so I could see what color eyes my children are going to have.”



Dear Reader,
When the new Blaze line launched last year, I knew I wanted to be a part of it. Anyone who’s read the stories I write for Temptation know I have no problem turning up the heat. But whenever I sat down to work up a story, I had trouble coming up with the right premise. My critique partner, Jill Shalvis, was having the same problem. But with the encouragement of our wonderful editors at Harlequin, we put our heads together and came up with the outrageous stories of two cousins who want to wreak a little havoc by opening a sex shop in their old hometown. Throw in a little sexual revenge, and the BARE ESSENTIALS miniseries was born.
I loved working on this project with Jill. It challenged me as a writer to work with another author’s characters and story line. I’d also like to say a special thank-you to Harlequin for allowing us to be a part of this trend of simultaneously released books in a miniseries. So look for Jill’s book, Naughty But Nice , out right now.
I love to hear from my readers. Please write to me at P.O. Box 410787, Melborne, FL 32941–0787, or drop me an e-mail through my Web site www.lesliekelly.com. And don’t forget to check out tryblaze.com.
Happy (and hot!) reading,
Leslie Kelly

Naturally Naughty
Leslie Kelly


To Jill Shalvis—
a great critique partner, an even greater friend.
Thanks for always being there.
And, as always, to Bruce.
Thanks for the Christmas gifts/tax write-offs.
Research has never been more fun.

Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue

Prologue
Ten Years Ago
H OLDING HER PINK taffeta dress up to her knees, Kate Jones trudged toward home wishing the ground would open up and swallow her. Live burial seemed better than spending one more night in Pleasantville, Ohio. Her cousin’s favorite expression came to mind— This town’s about as pleasant as a yeast infection .
Without a doubt, this evening would have a place on Kate’s list of all-time worst experiences. No, it wasn’t nearly as bad as when her dad had died, or when her mom had brought her here to live, a town where their family was treated like dirt. In terms of teenage experiences, however, tonight was bad. Kate had been resoundingly dumped. On prom night no less.
You should have stayed , a voice whispered in her brain.
Kate snorted. “Stayed? After being jilted by Darren for Angela Winfield, wickedest witch on earth? Right!”
Cassie wouldn’t have run away . No, her cousin would have popped Angela one, kicked Darren where it counted, and told them to stick it where the sun didn’t shine. Too bad she’d left early.
She passed another dark house. Its inhabitants were probably cozy in their beds, reflecting on their pleasant days. They wouldn’t think twice about her trudging in the street. Who’d expect anything else from a trashy Tremaine? Her last name might be Jones, but no one let her forget her mother’s maiden name. In spite of being a straight-A student who’d never gotten into any real trouble, people here believed Kate must have hit every no-good branch on her way down the Tremaine family tree.
Turning off Petunia onto Pansy Lane, Kate grimaced for the half-millionth time at the dumb street names. I’d love a giant bottle of Weed-B-Gone . She could think of a creeping pest she’d like to zap. Darren.
“Darren’s a conceited jerk.” Kate knew she shouldn’t have gone with him, especially since his mother hated her. But just for one night she’d wanted to be part of the in crowd. She’d wanted to be cool and popular, instead of the nice, quiet girl who tried to disguise her family’s poverty by getting good grades and working harder than anyone ever expected.
Tonight at the prom Angela had pawed all over Darren, urging him to ditch Kate and leave with her instead. The whole school knew Angela put out. And despite being a trashy Tremaine, Kate did not. Hmm, such a tough choice for Darren—Angela the tramp from the most respected family in town? Or Kate the pure, from the trashiest one? What was a horny eighteen-year-old boy to do?
He’d left so fast Kate’s head had spun.
Kate was nearly home when the rain started. “What did I do to deserve this?” she said as drops hit her face. She was long past the point of caring about her panty hose. Nor did she worry about her makeup smearing—her tears had accomplished that.
The rain was just one more insult in a rotten night.
Spying her family’s duplex, she prayed her mother was asleep, and Cassie home in the adjoining unit where she and Aunt Flo lived. If Cassie was home, Kate would knock on her bedroom wall, which butted right against Cassie’s in the next unit. They’d communicated by knocking on it since they were little girls. She’d signal her to sneak out back for one of their late-night gab sessions and fill her in about her lousy prom night.
Then she noticed a parked car out front. When her mother emerged from it, Kate wondered who Edie could have been out with so late. As a man exited she said, “Mayor Winfield?”
Yes, Angela’s father. Rich, jolly John Winfield who kept her mother busy cleaning his fancy house on Lilac Hill. Once again the mayor thought nothing of working Edie late in the night, as if she didn’t already spend forty hours a week scrubbing other people’s toilets. Kate raised a brow as the mayor played gentleman and walked her mother to the door.
Walk away , her inner voice said. But she couldn’t. Moving closer, she’d reached the steps when they began to kiss.
Kate moaned. Her gentle mother was having an affair with the very married mayor? John Winfield was the patriarch of the town, a family man, father of Angela and of town golden boy, J.J., who’d gone away to college years ago and hadn’t returned.
After their kiss Winfield said, “I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’ve made life bearable for me all these years.”
Years? Mr. Mayor, the pure saintly leader of Pleasantville, has been having an affair with his cleaning woman for years?
“Here,” Winfield continued, reaching into his pocket. “Your paycheck. I’m sorry it’s so late, sugar, you know how she is.”
A sweet smile softened her mother’s face. “I’m okay, John. If she’s overspent again and you’re in need, I can wait a bit.”
Kate shook her head in shock. The phone bill hadn’t been paid. They’d had canned soup and tuna sandwiches for dinner all week. And her mother was giving back her paycheck to the richest man in town? Worse…the son of a bitch took it.
Blinking away tears as she acknowledged her respectable, much-loved mother was the willing mistress of a married man, she darted around back. Kate instinctively headed toward the ramshackle tree house where she and Cassie had played as kids, seeking comfort like a child would seek her mother’s arms. Kate whimpered as she realized she no longer had that option. Her mother wasn’t the person she’d always thought she was.
Looking up as she approached, she saw a glow of light from within and the burning red tip of a cigarette.
Cassie . Kate paused. She simply could not tell her cousin what she’d witnessed in front of the house. Cassie and Kate had long ago accepted the truth about their mothers. Cassie’s mom, Flo, was the wild charmer who’d let them have makeup parties at age seven, and bought them their first six-pack. They loved her, no matter what the town thought of her outrageous clothes and numerous affairs. But Edie had been the real nurturing mother figure, the kind one who’d dried their tears and encouraged their dreams.
For Kate, Edie would never be the same. How could she destroy Cassie’s image of Edie, too? In spite of her outward toughness, Kate knew Cassie would be very hurt by this. As hurt as Kate had been. So no, she couldn’t tell her. Not now. Maybe not ever.
“Kitty Kate, you down there?”
Wiping away her tears, she climbed the rope ladder. Inside the tree house, Cassie’s golden hair was haloed by candlelight. “Hi.”
“Hey.” Cassie took another long drag of her cigarette.
“Got another one?” Kate sat next to her cousin, noting the way their dresses filled up nearly every inch of floor space in the tiny house. Hers a boring pink. Cassie’s a sultry black that screamed seduction and showcased her curvy figure.
“Last time you smoked you ralphed all over the bathroom.”
Feeling sick enough already, Kate didn’t risk smoking. “You okay? You skipped out on prom pretty early.”
“Yeah. I’m sure the gold-plated set missed me real bad.”
Kate ignored the sarcasm. “I missed you. What happened?”
Cassie gave a bitter laugh. “Biff said we were going to a party. Turns out he had a two-person, naked party in mind.”
“Perv.”
“Total perv. Then he gets pulled over for drunk driving.”
“You were drinking?” Kate raised a surprised brow, knowing Cassie thought alcohol made guys stupid and mean.
“No. He wanted to get beer, so we stopped at the store before the prom. He said I should buy it since I look older. Friggin’ moron. Like the clerk wouldn’t notice I was wearing a prom dress.”
“What’d you do?”
“I pretended I couldn’t. He found somebody else at the prom who gave him some.” Cassie squashed out her cigarette and leaned her head against the wall. “Look, Katey, I don’t want to talk about this. Why are you here? Shouldn’t you and Darling Darren be celebrating as king and queen of Pea-Ville High right now?”
Kate told her everything, leaving out what had happened when she got home. “Guess we both had disastrous prom nights.”
Cassie took Kate’s hand. “Did I say Darling Darren? I meant Dickless Darren. I hope you told him to eat shit and die.”
“I told him he deserved a girl like Angela, and took off.” Frankly, she liked Cassie’s comeback better. If she’d thought about it long enough, maybe she could have come up with it. But Kate was so used to being the sweeter of the Tremaine cousins, she generally refrained from mouthing off out loud, as she often did in her brain, or when alone with Cassie.
“Good for you.”
Cassie opened an old, dusty Arturo Fuente cigar box in which they hid the stashes of stuff they didn’t want the moms to find. It held candles, diaries, even a Playgirl they’d dug out of Flo’s trash can a few years ago. “I hate this stinking town.”
Remembering the way she’d felt as she watched Mayor Winfield and her mother, Kate completely understood. “Ditto.”
“I’d give anything to get outta here. Make it big, make lots of money, then come back and tell them all to stuff it.”
Kate had the same fantasy. Hours spent in the old Rialto Theater had introduced her to places she wanted to go, people she wanted to meet. Women she wanted to become. Far away from here. “Wouldn’t that be something? The trashy Tremaine cousins coming back and stirring up some serious trouble,” Kate said. “You know what I’d do? I’d open up a shop right next door to Mrs. McIntyre’s Tea Room. And I’d sell…dirty movies!”
Cassie snickered. “Go all out, triple-X porn, baby.”
“And sex toys. Darren’s mom could really use a vibrator.”
“You wouldn’t know a vibrator if it fell in your lap. Turned on . So, first stop in the big city, we buy sex toys.”
Kate giggled. “And when we’re rich and famous, we come back here and shove ’em right up certain people’s noses.”
Cassie reached into the box, grabbing Kate’s diary. “I’ve been sitting here listing all the things I’d do to get even with some people in this town. Why don’t you make one, too?”
“A list?”
“Yep. We each list the things we’ll someday do to the cruddy populace of Pleasantville, if we ever get the chance.”
The idea made perfect sense to Kate. “Publicly humiliate Darren McIntyre and Angela Winfield,” she said as she wrote.
As they wrote Kate watched Cassie’s smile fade as she thought of something else. Kate couldn’t stop her own thoughts from returning to her mother. John Winfield.
She ached, deep within, at the loss of her own childhood beliefs.
Tears blurred her vision as she secretly added one more item to her list. For Mom’s sake, get even with the Winfield family…particularly John Winfield . She didn’t know how, but someday she would do to that family what they’d done to hers…
Cause some serious heartache.

1
Present Day
A S SHE PULLED UP in front of the Rose Café on Magnolia Avenue, Kate Jones took a deep breath and looked around at the heart of Pleasantville. Heart. Probably the wrong word. The town hadn’t possessed that particular organ when she’d left ten years ago. Judging by what her mother had told her in their last phone call, she feared it hadn’t grown one in the intervening decade.
The street appeared the same on the surface, though was perhaps dirtier, its buildings grayer than she remembered. Warped, mildew-speckled boards covered some of the windows of the once-thriving storefronts. Very few people strolled along the brick sidewalks. The cheerful, emerald paint on the benches lining the fountain in the town square had faded to a faint pea-green. A reluctant grin crossed her lips as she heard Cassie’s voice in her head. Welcome back to Pea-Ville .
Hers wouldn’t be an extended stay. She had a job to do, then she’d drive away forever. Reaching for the door handle of her SUV, she paused when she heard her cell phone ring. “Yes?”
“Kate, I’m going crazy. Tell me you’re on your way home.”
“Armand, I’ve only been gone one day,” Kate said with a laugh, recognizing the voice of her high-strung, creative business partner. “Besides, you were crazy before you met me.”
“Crazy and poor. Now I’m crazy and rich and I can’t take this kind of pressure. You are going to pay for leaving me in charge. Nothing that happens at Bare Essentials while you’re gone is my fault. Understood?”
“Nothing’s going to go wrong in two or three days. Tell me what happened so we can fix it.”
“The shipment didn’t arrive from California. We’re down to one Bucky Beaver. And he was featured in the ad this weekend.”
Oh, yes, the world would indeed stop revolving without their bestselling special toy. “I don’t think it’s a problem of catastrophic proportions. We sell lots of other products.”
“None that were featured in the ad. I can see an entire girl’s college softball team coming in to stock up for an out-of-town game, and finding the shelves bare.” She heard Armand groan. “I see riots. Stampedes. Ten-inch rubber dildoes lobbed at my head until I am knocked unconscious. Imagine having to explain that to the handsome young police officer in his tight blue suit with his jaunty black cap when he comes in response to my frantic call.” He paused. “Hmm…maybe this isn’t such a crisis after all.”
“Definitely not, but just call the supplier anyway.”
“Maybe I should ask your cousin to use her connections…”
“Cassie’s still in Europe. I think.” Kate wasn’t quite sure where her famous model cousin was working this week. She’d tried to track her down after getting her mother’s news and had left messages with Cassie’s agent and publicist. So far, no word. Cassie almost seemed to be in hiding. Another worry.
“So how’s business today?” she asked.
“As thriving as ever,” he replied. “Two different bridal parties came in this morning, hence the shortage of Buckys.”
“I do love those wedding showers.”
“Dewy brides and do-me bridesmaids. A delightful, money-spending combination.”
“Absolutely. Now, have there been any calls for me?” She wondered if Edie had tried to reach her again from her new home in Florida. Their last conversation had ended somewhat abruptly.
Edie hadn’t told her all the details of what some people in this town had put her through during her last weeks of residence. What she did say had made Kate wince. She gave her full opinion on the matter, though never revealing she knew the truth of Edie’s relationship with Mayor Winfield.
“None that matter. But I warn you, if Phillip Sayre calls again, I’m stealing him for myself. So you better hurry your pretty fanny back here to Chicago.”
“You’re welcome to him. One date was quite enough for me. The man has a huge ego.”
“You know what they say, big ego, big…”
“I think you mean big hands. Or big feet. In any case, I don’t have any interest in finding out when it comes to Phillip. Who needs a big, sloppy real one attached to an arrogant, untrustworthy man, when a small, clean vibrating one with no strings attached is sufficient?”
Armand tsked, though she knew he wasn’t shocked. After all, he was one of the few people with whom Kate felt comfortable enough to reveal her occasional less-than-nice-girl qualities.
“Playing with the merchandise?” he asked.
“Ah, you caught me. How can I sell it if I can’t attest to its effectiveness?”
“As long as you paid for it first and weren’t sampling the wares then putting them right back on the shelves.”
Yuck! Kate snorted a laugh. “Okay, you win, you nasty thing.” Armand always won in games of sexual one-upmanship.
“Besides, small vibrating ones don’t have hands or mouths.”
“Some have tongues,” Kate pointed out with a grin, remembering one of their more popular models of vibrator…a wagging tongue. Cassie had seen it during her last visit to the store in Chicago and had declared it the most disgusting thing she’d ever seen. When Kate had turned it on to show her what it could do, Cassie had bought two of them.
“I’m hanging up now. Be good,” Kate said.
“Impossible. Don’t you be good, either. It’s bad for you.”
Kate smiled at Armand’s kissy sounds as she cut the connection. She remained in the driver’s seat, missing Armand. He was the only man in her life she had ever completely trusted.
A shrink might surmise that it was because Armand was gay, and therefore not a romantic possibility, which allowed Kate to open up and trust him.
The shrink would probably be right. Trusting men had never been her strong suit. One more thing to thank Mayor Winfield for, she supposed. Not to mention the few men she’d dated over the years, who had never inspired thoughts of true love and Prince Charming. More like true greed and Sir Fast Track.
“So, do I get out or restart the car and drive away?” she asked herself, already missing more than just her friend and partner. She also missed her apartment overlooking the water. She really missed her beautiful, stylish shop with its brightly lit, tasteful decor, such a contrast to some of the more frankly startling products they sold.
Two stories high, with huge front glass windows, soft lemony-yellow carpet and delicately intricate display cases, Bare Essentials had done what everyone had sworn couldn’t be done. They’d taken sex and made it classy and elegant enough for Michigan Avenue.
Yes, she wanted to be home. Actually, she wanted to be anywhere but here.
Could she really go through with it? Could she walk along these streets, enter her mother’s house and go through her childhood things so her mother could list the place for sale?
Well, that was the one good thing. At least Edie had finally gotten out, too. Though Edie had taken frequent trips to the city, she’d resisted moving away from Pleasantville for good. No, it had taken Mayor Winfield’s death, his subsequent will and some vicious gossip to accomplish that feat.
Kate thought she’d outgrown the vulnerability this place created in her. She wasn’t the same girl who used to hide in the tree house to cry after school when she’d been teased about her secondhand clothes. She was no longer a trashy Tremaine kid from the wrong side of town. She and her cousin had bolted from Pleasantville one week after high school graduation, moving to big cities—Kate to Chicago, Cassie to New York’s modeling scene—and working to make something of themselves.
Kate had long ago learned the only way to get what you wanted was to work hard for it. Being smart helped, but she knew her limitations. She wasn’t brilliant. And as much as she hated to admit it, she wasn’t talented enough to pursue her teenage dream of a career in theater, though she’d probably always fantasize about it.
No, common sense and pure determination had been the keys to achieving her goals. So she’d worked retail jobs by day and gone to school by night, taking business and accounting courses, sneaking in a few acting or performing credits when she could.
Then the fates had been kind. She’d met Armand, a brilliantly creative lingerie designer, at exactly the time when Cassie’s career had taken off and she’d had the means to loan Kate the start-up money for a business.
An outrageous, somewhat dramatic business.
Combining her need to succeed, her innate business sense and her secret love for the flamboyantly theatrical, she’d dreamed up Bare Essentials. Though originally just designed to be an upscale lingerie boutique to feature Armand’s creations, bringing in other seductive items—sexy toys, games for couples, seductive videos and erotic literature—had really made Bare Essentials take off like a rocket when it opened.
The fabulously decorated, exotic shop had taken Chicago by storm. With the right props, location and set design, what could have been a seedy, backroom store was instead a hot, trendy spot for Chicago’s well-to-do singles and adventurous couples.
Coming back to Pleasantville should have been absolutely no problem for the woman who’d been featured in Chicago’s Business Journal last month as one of the most innovative businesswomen in the city. Still, sitting in the parked SUV, she felt oppression settle on her like two giant hands pushing down on her shoulders. The long-buried part of her that had once been so vulnerable, made to feel so small and helpless and sad, came roaring back to life with one realization.
She was really here.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. “Home lousy home,” she whispered. Then she stepped into Pleasantville.

A S HE SAT gingerly on the edge of a plastic-covered sofa in the parlor of his childhood home, Jack Winfield considered committing hari-kari with the fireplace poker. Or at least stuffing two of the cow-faced ceramic miniatures his mother collected into his ears to block out the sound of her chewing out the new housekeeper in the next room. Sophie, the luncheon salad was unacceptably warm and the pasta unforgivably cold .
As if anyone cared about the food’s temperature when its texture was the equivalency of wet cardboard.
“She’d never forgive me if I got blood on the carpet.”
He eyed the poker again. Maybe just a whack in the head for a peaceful hour of unconsciousness? At least then he could sleep, uninterrupted by the prancing snuffle of his mother’s perpetually horny bulldog, Leonardo, who seemed to have mistaken Jack’s pant leg for the hind end of a shapely retriever.
“Sophie,” he heard from the hall, “be sure Mr. Winfield’s drink is freshened before you start clearing away the dishes.”
“Sophie, be sure to drop a tranquilizer in his glass, too, so Mr. Winfield can get through another day in this bloody mausoleum,” he muttered.
He rubbed a weary hand over his brow and sank deeper into the uncomfortable sofa. The plastic crinkled beneath his ass. Sick of it, he finally slid off to sit on the plushly carpeted floor. Grabbing a pillow, he put it behind his head and leaned back, wondering how long it had been since he’d relaxed.
“Three days. Five hours. Twenty-seven minutes.” Not since he’d returned home to Pleasantville for this long weekend.
Jack didn’t like feeling so caged-in. He needed to be home, in his own Chicago apartment, away from grief and the smell of old dead roses and talcum powder. Away from his mother’s tears and his sister’s complaints.
Actually, when he thought about it, what he really needed to bring about sleep and a good mood was a seriously intense blow job. Followed by some equally intense reciprocal oral sex. And finally good old, blissful, hot, headboard-slamming copulation.
He hadn’t been laid in four months and was feeling the stress. It almost seemed worth it to call his ex and ask her to meet him at his place the next day for some we’re-not-getting-back-together-but-we-sure-had-fun-in-the-sack sex.
Home. Chicago. Late tonight. And not a moment too soon.
Jack supposed there were worse places to visit than his old hometown of Pleasantville, Ohio. Siberia came to mind. Or Afghanistan. The fiery pits of hell. Then again…
“You’re sure you have to leave tonight?” his mother asked as she entered the room. “I thought you were going to stay longer than three days. There’s so much to do.”
“I’m sorry, Mother, you know I can’t.”
Tears came to her eyes. If he hadn’t seen them every hour or so since his birth, they might have actually done what she wanted them to do—make him change his mind.
Sadly enough, his mother simply knew no other way to communicate. Honest conversation hadn’t worked with Jack’s father, so she’d relied on tears and emotional blackmail for as long as Jack could remember. His father had responded with prolonged absences from the house.
Dysfunctional did not begin to describe his parents’ relationship. It—and his sister’s three miserably failed walks down the aisle—had certainly been enough to sour Jack on the entire institution of marriage.
Relationships? Sure. He was all for romance. Dating. Companionship. From shared beer at a ball game, to candlelight dinners or walks along the shores of Lake Michigan on a windy afternoon, he thoroughly enjoyed spending time with women.
Not to mention good, frantic sex with someone who blew his mind but didn’t expect to pick out curtains together the next morning. Someone like his ex, or any number of other females he knew who would happily satisfy any of those requirements with a single phone call. Not calling any of them lately had nothing to do with his certainty that he wasn’t cut out for commitment or happily-ever-after. It had everything to do with his father’s death. Work and his obligation to his family had been all he’d thought about for several months.
“Why can’t you?” his mother prodded.
“I’ve got to wrap up the mall project I’m working on. You know I’ve planned some extended vacation time in July. I’ll come back and help you get things settled then.” Unless I get hit by a train or kidnapped by aliens…one can hope, after all.
Nah. Trains were messy. And after watching the “X-Files” for years, the alien thing didn’t sound so great, either. He really couldn’t get into the whole probing of body orifices gig.
So, a summer in Pleasantville it would be.
Thinking of how he’d originally intended to spend his long summer vacation—on a photographic big-game safari in Kenya—could almost make a grown man cry. Pampered poodles instead of elephants. Square dances instead of native tribal rituals. The chatter of blue-haired ladies sitting under hair-drying hoods instead of the roar of lions and the crackle of a raging bonfire. Small town, pouting blond princesses with teased up hair instead of worldly beauties with dark, mysterious eyes.
He sighed. “I think I’ll take a walk downtown. To walk off that great lunch.” What he really needed was to escape the stifling, decades-old, musty-rose-tinged air in the house.
“Just be careful, J.J.”
Jack cringed at the nickname that his mother refused to give up. No one but his parents had called him J.J.—or John Junior—in twenty years. Still, he supposed he could put up with it if it made her happy. She could probably use some happiness right about now; she’d taken his father’s death very hard.
“And it looks like it’s going to rain. Take your rubbers.”
He almost snorted. If she knew how badly he wanted to use a few rubbers—though, not the kind she imagined—she’d faint.
Kissing her on the forehead, he shrugged away a pang of guilt. He needed a brief break from her sadness to deal with his own. Besides, he wanted to get out of the house before his sister got back. With the three of them together, the absence of the fourth became all the more obvious.
His mother would sob quietly. His sister would wail loudly. And Jack would remain strong and quiet. He grieved for his father, too. But always alone, always in silence.
No, they hadn’t been on very good terms lately. His father had never forgiven Jack for accepting a scholarship and moving to California fifteen years before. Even after grad school, when he’d gotten a job with an architecture firm in Chicago, he’d managed to avoid all but a handful of visits. The most recent, four months before, had been to attend his father’s funeral.
He’d always figured there would be time to mend that fence, to try to make his father understand why he couldn’t stay here, couldn’t continue the family tradition and become king of Nowhereville. He’d never said that, of course, knowing the old man would have been cut to the quick at an insult to his town. He’d reminded Jack at least once a week growing up about his ancestors, who’d lived here since before the Civil War.
His mother’s roots ran even deeper, a fact she enjoyed bringing up whenever his father had started pontificating.
Funny. Walking past his father’s study, eyeing the brandy decanter and the old man’s favorite glass, he realized he’d have gladly listened to his father pontificate if it meant seeing him once more. Amazing how there always seemed to be time for one more conversation right up until time ran out. That realization had helped a lot lately in dealing with his emotional mother.
He considered it a new life’s lesson. Tomorrow might not ever come, so don’t put off what you want to do today. Grab it now or risk losing the chance forever. John Winfield, Junior…Jack to his friends…planned to stick to that mantra.
Starting today.

T HE FIRST THING Kate noticed during her walk downtown was the absence of the pungent odors of the Ohio General Paper Mill. The unpleasant aroma used to hang over the town, which had once seemed appropriate to Kate and Cassie. The mill had closed three years ago, according to her mother. That had caused the town’s bad economic situation. Kate couldn’t even conjure up any satisfaction about it. She felt only a sharp tinge of sadness, particularly when she saw the sorry condition of the town square and the courthouse. Pleasantville might not have been pleasant for the Tremaines, but it had actually once been pretty.
As she walked, she got a couple of curious looks. No one recognized her, not that she’d expected anyone to. She was no longer the pretty-in-a-quiet-way, nice girl she’d once been. That was one good thing about her move away from Pleasantville. She no longer felt the need to always be the good girl. Without Cassie around to be so flamboyantly bad, Kate had become free to speak her mind. She sometimes went out of her way to shock people, even if it was really only a defense mechanism to keep others from trying to get too close, as Armand claimed.
There were one or two people she wouldn’t mind seeing. Some of her mother’s friends had been kind. And Kate’s high school drama teacher, Mr. Otis, had been one of the smartest people she’d ever met. She imagined he was long retired by now.
Feeling hot, Kate went into the deli for a drink. She didn’t know the couple who ran the place, and they were friendlier than she’d expected. She began to relax. Maybe ten years of dislike had created an unrealistic anxiety about her trip back here.
After the deli, she continued her stroll. Heavy gray clouds blocked all but a few watery rays of sunlight and kept the unusual spring heat close to the ground. The soda helped cool her off, but her sleeveless silk blouse still clung to her body, and her ivory linen skirt hung limply in the thick humidity.
A few buildings down, in what used to be a record shop, she noticed a new business. A nail salon, judging by the neon hand in the window, which beckoned customers inside. From an angle, the middle finger on the hand appeared abnormally long, almost as thought it was flipping the bird to everyone on the street. Then she saw the name—Nail Me. “Well, now I’ve got to go in.”
“Pull up a chair, angel face,” she heard. “You want your fingers, your toes or both? I’m runnin’ a special.”
Kate had to grin in response to the welcoming smile of a skinny girl, who looked no more than eighteen, sitting on a stool in the empty shop. “Uh, I don’t actually need a manicure.”
The young woman, who had bright orange hair and at least a half-dozen pierced earrings in one ear, sighed. “You sure?”
Kate nodded and held out her hands, knowing her regular manicurist would throw a fit if she ever went to someone else.
The girl whistled. “Nice.” She then pointed to some chairs in a makeshift waiting area. “Have a seat anyway. You’re a stranger, I can give you directions to anyplace you need to go.”
“I’m familiar with this town. I’ve been here before.”
“And you came back voluntarily?”
Kate chuckled. “You’re not a fan of Pleasantville?”
“It’s all right,” the girl said, shrugging. “Could be a decent place, if it would move out of the 1940s and into the new millennium. Just needs something to shake things up.”
The return of a trashy Tremaine could do the trick…not that Kate would be here long enough to renew any acquaintances.
“I wanted to see how the place has changed. I really should go now, though.” She’d seen enough of downtown. Time to stop putting off the inevitable and to go out to her mom’s house.
Bidding the girl goodbye, she exited, crossing Magnolia Avenue to walk back to her parked SUV. She’d only gone a few yards when someone across the street caught her eye.
A man. Oh, without question, a man. A tiny wolf whistle escaped her lips before Kate could stop it. Mister, you are definitely in the wrong place .
No way did this blond god belong here. He should be in Hollywood among the beautiful people. Not in this Ohio town where some men considered changing from crap-covered work boots into non-crap-covered work boots dressing up for a night out.
She sighed as she realized even her thoughts had regressed. Kate Jones, successful business owner, did not generally think about crap-covered anything.
Unable to help herself, she looked across the street at the man again. He appeared tall. Of course, to Kate, most people appeared tall since she stood five foot four. The stranger’s dark blond hair caught the few remnants of sunlight peeking through the gray clouds. It shone like twenty-four-carat gold. Though she wasn’t close enough to determine the color of his eyes, she certainly noted the strength of his jawline, the curve of his lips. And a body that would moisten the underwear of any female under ninety.
Knock it off, Kate. He’s going to catch you staring.
She couldn’t stop herself. She had to look some more, noting the tightness of his navy shirt against those broad shoulders and thick arms. Not to mention the tailored khaki slacks hugging narrow hips and long legs.
They hadn’t grown them like this when she’d lived here.
From behind her, she heard a man shout, “Hey, Jack!”
The blond man looked over, probably searching for the person who’d shouted. But his stare found Kate first.
She froze as he spotted her. So did he. Though several yards of black paved street separated them, she could see the expression on his face. Interest. Definite interest. A slow smile. A brief nod.
The person who’d called to him was a man, so she figured Mr. Gorgeous—Jack—was smiling and nodding at her . And staring just as she had at him. An appreciative stare. An I’d-really-like-to-meet-you stare. A totally unexpected stare, considering her frame of mind since she’d pulled into this place a half hour ago.
She smiled back, simply unable to help it. Damn, the man had dimples. Someone needed to come along with a big street sweeper and clean her up, because, unless she was mistaken, she was melting into a puddle of mush from one heartbreakingly sexy grin.
“Hi,” he said, though she couldn’t hear him. She could tell by the way his lips moved. Those lips…Lord save her, the man had to kiss like a sensual dream with a mouth like that. And those thick arms to wrap around her. The hard chest to explore.
An old, seldom-heard voice of doubt mentally intruded. He must be talking to someone else. Why would he be talking to me?
Once Kate had reached Chicago, it had taken her a while before she’d begun to accept that men might really want to look at her …even when her stunning blond cousin was in the room. She almost couldn’t get used to it, even now. Sure, she knew she had always been pretty. Sweet Kate. Quiet Kate. Smart, dark-haired, petite Kate with the pale, delicate face and the boring chocolate-brown eyes who’d always been too easily wounded by the meanness of others. Nothing like show-stopping bombshell Cassie, who was every 36–24-36 inch a Tremaine, with a mile of attitude and a ton of confidence.
Yet this Mount Olympus-bound hunk had stopped to flirt with her? He tilted his head to the side and raised one eyebrow. When he pointed to her, then to the sidewalk on which he stood, she knew what he was asking. Your side or mine?
Remembering where they were, she stiffened and shook her head. Forget it. No way are you going to even say hello. Do what you have to do and get outta Dodge, Katherine Jones. You’ve got no time to get all drooly over the local Don Juan .
He stepped closer, toward the curb. By the time his feet hit the street, Kate realized he was coming over, though not to talk to the man who’d hailed him. No, his stare had never left Kate’s face. She forced herself to move, hurrying down the sidewalk.
She peeked over her shoulder only once. A mixture of relief and disappointment flooded through her as she realized the man who’d hailed him had planted himself firmly in the path of the blond hunk. He couldn’t follow her even if he wanted to.
Did he want to? Doesn’t matter . She kept on walking.
A plop of rain landed on Kate’s shoulder. She experienced an instant of déjà vu, remembering walking the streets of Pleasantville on a rainy night when the raindrops had warred with her tears to wash away her makeup.
Seeking shelter, she turned toward the nearest doorway. Somehow, without realizing where her steps had carried her, she found herself standing outside McIntyre’s Tea Room. “Oh, no.”
The Tea Room, owned by Darren McIntyre’s mother, had been the worst spot for any Tremaine ten years ago. The old guard of Pleasantville—the Winfields and the other Lilac Hill set, considered this “their” territory. Kate’s mom and her friends had been more comfortable at the beauty parlor in the basement of Eileen Saginaw’s house, so it wasn’t until Kate had gotten friendly with Darren that she’d ever even been in the Tea Room.
“Still the same,” she mused, looking at the small, discreet sign in the window. Next door, though, Mr. McIntyre’s menswear shop was gone, closed, dark and empty.
Don’t, Kate. Just don’t . Casting one more quick look up the street, she saw the handsome stranger watching her from over the shoulder of his companion. He wouldn’t follow her, would he? Well, he certainly wouldn’t follow her into the Tea Room, a notoriously female establishment.
Knowing she must have some liking for self-torture, she walked up the wood steps to the awning-covered porch and reached for the doorknob. Once inside, she had to pause for a moment as sense memory kicked in and her mind identified the smells of her youth. Yeasty bread. Raspberry jam. Spiced teas. Some old lady perfume…White Shoulders? Lots of hair spray. Dried flowers.
She had to stop in the foyer to take it all in.
This place, at least, was hopping, every table full. She recognized some faces, though they’d aged. Physically, nothing had altered. From the white-linen tablecloths to the lilac-tinted wallpaper, the room looked the same as the last time she’d been in it. All it needed was a glowering, frowning-faced Mrs. McIntyre to flare her nostrils as if she smelled something bad whenever Kate walked in, to make her trip down memory lane complete.
No one paid a bit of attention as she stood watching. They were all, it appeared, engaged in a room-wide debate over some poor soul they kept calling shameless and shocking.
Things hadn’t changed here at all.
Knowing there was absolutely nothing in this place for her, Kate turned to leave. Before she could walk back out the door, however, she heard the only word that could have stopped her.
Tremaine.

2
A S H ARRY B ILLINGSLEY , the town’s ancient barber, engaged him in conversation, Jack watched every step the brunette took. She walked quickly, almost tripping once on an uneven brick, as if she wanted to escape the rain. He knew better. She wasn’t running from the rain. When she peeked over her shoulder at him, he knew she was avoiding him .
Something downright electric had happened a few moments ago when their stares had met across Magnolia Avenue. There’d been an instant connection, a shared intimacy though they were complete strangers. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before.
Obviously she had been just as affected. Only instead of intriguing her, as it had him, their silent, thirty-second exchange had bothered her, scared her even. Her feet had turned cold and she’d run off.
No matter, he’d be able to find her again. The woman stood out here like a bloodred rose in a bouquet of daisies.
A few months ago he might not have let the charged stare across a deserted street affect him. His new attitude toward life, however, made finding the brunette and talking to her a must. No more letting opportunities slide. Now, when Jack Winfield saw a good thing, he was going to go after it. He somehow knew the stranger could be a very good thing indeed.
Jack tried to brush off Harry as politely as he could. “Yes, but I really have to go now. Maybe we can talk in July when I come back for a longer stay.”
Harry continued. “Your father made some mistakes. Stirred up a lot of gossip around here with his will and Edie Jones.”
Gossip. His least favorite word, and it was used as currency in this town. Jack had never listened to it and never would. So his father had left his maid a small bequest. Only in a town like this could that be considered gossip-worthy.
Watching as the dark-haired stranger in the sexy green blouse went into the Tea Room, he cringed. Of all the places she could have picked, why did she have to go into that hen’s nest?
“I’m sorry, I really have to go,” Jack said, finally simply walking away in the middle of Harry’s long-winded monologue. He didn’t care to hear about any old town scandals, especially not if they involved his father, the former mayor.
Following a stranger down a public street wasn’t Jack’s M.O. In fact, he didn’t think he’d ever done it. But something about this stranger…this perfectly delightful stranger…made him certain he could follow her anywhere. He simply had to see her, up close. To determine if her face was really as delicate and perfect as it had appeared from across the street. If her eyes were possibly the same dark, rich brown as her long hair.
Shrugging, he walked to the entrance of the Tea Room and stood outside the door. For a second he wondered if old lady McIntyre would come out and shoo him away. She used to shout at all the boys who’d plant themselves on the stoop, hoping a customer with a take-out bag would hand over some free sweets.
Never happened, as far as he recalled. The snob set of Pleasantville was notoriously tight-fisted with their sweets.
Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he proceeded to wait. “You’ve got to come out sooner or later.”
It took less time than he expected. Before he even realized what was happening, the door to the Tea Room opened and she barreled out, crashing straight into his arms.
Just as if she belonged there.

“O H , I’ M SO SORRY !” Before Kate could step away from the person she’d crashed into, she quickly reached up to dash away some angry tears blurring her vision.
That these people could make her cry infuriated her. Somehow, though, anger and sharp hurt for her mother had combined to bring moisture to her eyes while she stood in the Tea Room listening to her family being torn apart yet again by a bunch of small-minded, small-town witches. It was either turn and hurry out or throw a big screaming hissy fit telling them all to jump on their broomsticks and fly straight to the devil.
She couldn’t have said which course of action her cousin Cassie would have chosen. But for Kate, who’d become quite adept at maintaining a cool and calm composure, it was think first, react second. Kate didn’t believe in hysterical fits—particularly not when she had tears in her eyes. She did, however, believe in well-thought-out retaliation. Someday .
Finally turning her attention to the person she’d nailed, she sucked in a breath. “You.”
Mr. Gorgeous. Jack. This is so not my day .
“Nice to meet you too,” he said with a sexy grin, as if they were exchanging handshakes instead of being practically wrapped around one another on the steps of the Tea Room.
He made no effort to move away, seeming content that her hand was on his shoulder, her belly pressed to his hip and her leg between both his thighs.
Of course, Kate didn’t move, either. Funny thing the sudden lethargy in her limbs. Particularly considering the sharp heat shooting from the tips of her breasts—which brushed against his shirt—down to her stomach. Lower.
“Did I hurt you?” she whispered.
“Only my ego when you ran away from me a few minutes ago.”
Kate blinked, but remained still, somehow unable, or perhaps unwilling, to break their intimate contact. Her breaths grew deeper as she watched him stare at her. His gaze studied her long, dark hair, her face, her mouth. His eyes glittered and a smile played about his sensual lips, as if he liked what he saw.
As did she. Up close, he was even more devastating than he’d been from across the street. Tanned skin, square jaw, beautiful green eyes with lashes a cover model would envy. Her fingers tightened slightly into his cotton shirt.
Move, Kate. Put your hands in the air and step away from the hunk.
“Are you married?” he asked.
She shook her head. But before she could ask him why he wanted to know, before she could do anything—including disengaging their much-too-close-together bodies—he moved closer. Kate thought she heard him whisper the word, “Good,” just before he caught her mouth in a completely unexpected kiss.
Kiss? A gorgeous stranger was kissing her, in broad daylight, outside Mrs. McIntyre’s Tea Room?
That was as far as her thoughts took her before she shooed them away and focused on what was happening.
Yes, the kiss was unexpected. And unbelievably pleasurable.
She didn’t try to step back, didn’t shove him away and slap his face as she probably should have. Instead she let him kiss her, let this incredible stranger gently take her lips with his own. Soft and tender at first, then more heated as he slipped his hands lower to encircle her waist and pull her even tighter against his body. As if they weren’t already so close together a whisper couldn’t have come between them.
As the kiss went on, she briefly wondered if she’d fallen asleep, if she was still at the motel where she’d spent the previous night. Maybe she’d popped one too many nickels into the Magic Fingers and they’d gotten her all worked up so she was having an amazingly intense, erotic dream.
Kissing had never been this good in real life. Besides, no man this perfect could exist in this nightmare of a town.
So she could be dreaming, couldn’t she? And if it was merely a dream, couldn’t she, uh, kiss him back?
She softened her mouth and tilted her head. Feeling the flick of his tongue against the seam of her lips, she whimpered, continuing to tell herself that this couldn’t be happening. The beeping of a passing car horn and the musty damp-wood smell of the old porch on which they stood were merely realistic elements of her dream. These weren’t real lips now tugging gently at hers, tasting her, exploring her. She hadn’t fallen into the arms of a complete stranger…and stayed there quite happily.
Feeling a few drops of rain plop down from the striped awning over the Tea Room’s porch onto her face, she focused on their descent down her cheek. Cold water. Warm kiss. Gentle tongue. His clean, male scent. Hard chest pressing against hers. A thrilling bulge in his pants pressing firmly against her lower belly, which made her rise up on her tiptoes to line things up a little better. The sudden hot flood of moisture between her thighs. Definite car horn beeping. Nosy-faced old lady stepping around them to go down the steps to the sidewalk.
The clarity of detail assured her she was not dreaming.
Insanity . She didn’t care. His breath tasted minty as his mouth caressed hers, gently, then deeper. She moaned slightly, deep in her throat, no longer able to pretend this wasn’t real, knowing she had to either just go for it, part her lips and let their tongues tangle and mate, or else shove him down the steps.
Kate’s rational side said to shove. For once she told it to shut the hell up.
Her entire body hummed with energy. She lifted her leg, sliding it against his, delighting in the friction of her stocking against his trousers. As he moaned and pushed closer, she considered how simple a thing it would be to lift her leg to his hip, to let him pick her up until she encircled his waist with her thighs. To slide onto the wonderfully hard erection straining against the seam of his pants.
She wanted to. Desperately. If only there were no car engines, broad daylight…and the minor fact that he was a complete stranger.
He finally pulled away and smiled gently at her. She shook her head hard and gulped, noting the slowness of a passing car, the curious stare of a face in the window of the Rose Café across the street. Finally she took a wobbly step back. “You’re insane.”
He stepped forward. Following her. “No, I’m Jack.”
Kate shook her head, still bemused. “You kissed me.”
“I’m so glad you noticed.”
“You can’t go around kissing strangers on the street. How could you do that? Just…just…kiss me?”
He shrugged. “You said you weren’t married.”
“What if I were engaged? A novitiate? A lesbian?”
“Engaged isn’t married, so I’d say tough luck to the guy.” Grinning, he continued, “Novitiate would simply be a crime against mankind, definitely worth ignoring.” He glanced down at her trembling body, his stare lingering on the hard tips of her breasts, scraping so sensitively against her blouse. Then at her legs, which she had to clench together to try to stop the trembling. Not to mention the hot, musky smell of aroused woman.
“Lesbian isn’t even in the realm of possibility,” he finally said, his voice nearly a purr. “You want me pretty badly.”
Her jaw dropped. He tipped it up with the tip of his index finger. “Now, introductions. Remember? I’m Jack. It’s very nice to meet you. Who are you, and what in God’s name are you doing in Pleasantville?”
She ignored the question. “You followed me.”
He didn’t try to deny it. “Guilty.”
That stopped her. “Why?”
He shrugged. “Fate? Instinct?” Then he lowered his voice, almost whispering as he leaned even closer until his body almost touched hers from shoulder to knee. “Or maybe so I could see what color eyes my children are going to have?”
Kate opened her mouth, but couldn’t make a sound come out.
The man was unbelievable. Outrageous. Sexy. Charming and heart-stoppingly handsome.
And still standing much too close. So close she could see his pulse beating in his neck and the cords of muscle on his shoulders. His upper arms were thick beneath the tight navy cotton of his shirt, so different from the Chicago health club addicts she sometimes dated. As if he didn’t work out for his health, but because he was the kind of guy who just needed to pound something once in a while.
Her breath caught as she imagined his sweaty, hard body pounding something. Pounding into something. Into someone.
Focus!
“How do you know I don’t already have a live-in guy and three kids somewhere?” she finally asked, hearing the shakiness in her voice. She took another step back, needing air, needing space, needing control of her own mind, which seemed muddled and fuzzy as she examined the tanned V of skin revealed by his shirt. Had she really been kissed by him? Held in his arms? And, damn it, why hadn’t she thought to move her fingers to that V to tangle in the light matting of chest hair just below his throat? Cool it, Kate!
“Do you?”
Yes. Tell him yes. Then run like hell . “No.”
He smiled. “I didn’t think so. So, tell me your name, tell me your phone number, and let’s go to dinner.”
Dinner. Only a few hours till dinnertime and she hadn’t even made it to her mother’s house yet.
“No. I can’t.”
“You take my breath away, run right into me, ruin my pants and you won’t even tell me your name? Cruel.”
“Cruel. Yeah. Welcome to Pleasantville,” she muttered.
“Ah, I suspected you weren’t a native.”
Remembering his other comment she asked, “What’s wrong with your pants?” She glanced down, noting the rigid bulge in his crotch, and had to gulp. Yeah, she guessed their embrace had ruined the fit of his pants, anyway.
He obviously saw her stare and lifted a brow. Then he turned, pointing ruefully at his taut backside hugged close in the expensive khaki trousers. Expensive, wet and dirty khaki trousers. Somehow, during their embrace, he must have leaned back against the soggy wood porch railing.
“You’re making it worse,” she noted, watching as he tried to brush off the dirt, but only succeeded in smearing the stains around.
“You could offer to help.”
Uh, right. Her hands. On his perfect male butt. Brushing against those lean hips. Trying not to squeeze his firm thighs. She swallowed hard. Glancing at him, she saw laughter in his eyes. Green eyes, dimples, thick blond hair, a body to stop traffic and what looked to be a good solid eight inches of hot and ready hard-on just waiting to be let loose.
On a public street. In broad daylight. In Pleasantville .
Sometimes life simply wasn’t fair.
“Sure, take off your pants and I’ll drop them off at Royal Dry Cleaners for you,” she finally managed to say, striving for nonchalance.
“That’d cause some eyes to pop, wouldn’t it?” he asked with a wicked grin. “You really want me to take them off now?”
She felt heat stain her cheeks. “I mean, you can…go somewhere and change.”
He chuckled. “I was teasing you. It’s not a problem. Besides, Royal closed several years ago. Pleasantville has no dry cleaner anymore.”
“A shame, given this town’s dirty laundry,” she muttered.
He gave her a curious look, but she certainly wasn’t going to elaborate.
“So, are you going to make it up to me?”
“I’m sorry if my running into you caused you to fall headfirst onto my lips and then back into the railing to ruin your pants,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
“Apology accepted,” he said succinctly, as if he’d had nothing to do with what had just happened.
She found herself almost grinning. Finally she admitted, “My name’s Kate.”
He brushed a strand of hair off her face, his fingers warm against her temple. Her heart skipped a beat.
“It’s nice to meet you, Kate.” He somehow made the simple words seem much more suggestive than they were. It’d be nice to have you, Kate . And, oh, it’d be nice to be had.
Before she could reply, Kate heard the Tea Room door open. Three women emerged, eyeing them curiously.
“I have to go,” she whispered, feeling the blood drain from her face. How this stranger could have made her forget the things she’d heard in the Tea Room, she didn’t know. The memory of the vicious gossip came back full force now, though.
Gossip about her mother. Her aunt. And the men in this town who apparently had left them each money or property.
According to the harpies, Edie had been left a fortune by Mayor John Winfield. Which, they believed, had to have been a payoff for a secret, torrid love affair.
Kate mentally snorted. The man had left Edie a measly thousand bucks. As far as Kate was concerned, that didn’t even cover the interest on all the late paychecks over the years.
It was almost laughable, really. The town in a tizzy, rumors of a scandalous affair. It could have been downright hilarious…if only it hadn’t been true. Kate suspected she was the single person who understood that, just this once, the vicious, mean-spirited Pleasantville grapevine was spreading a rumor actually based in truth.
The old saying about the truth hurting had never been more appropriate. In this particular case, the truth made her ache. She’d never completely gotten over the shock and hurt of that life-altering moment when her childhood illusions had shattered and her mother’s saintly image had become all too human.
“Don’t leave.”
She turned her attention back to the amazing stranger. He didn’t plead, didn’t cajole or coerce. He simply stared at her, all gorgeous intensity, tempting her with his smile and the heat in his eyes.
“I have to go somewhere. I’m only in town for today.” She wondered if he heard the anger and hurt in her voice. Did he see her hands shaking as she watched the audience inside the doorway of the Tea Room grow and expand?
Then, perhaps because the audience in the doorway was expanding, or perhaps because she simply wanted to know if he’d really kissed as well as she’d thought, she leaned up on her toes and slipped a hand behind the stranger’s—Jack’s—neck.
“Thanks, Jack, for giving me one pleasant thing to remember about my visit back to this mean little town.” His lips parted as she pulled him down to press a hot, wet kiss to his mouth. She playfully moved her tongue against his lips, teasing and coaxing him to be naughty with her.
He complied instantly, lowering his hands to her hips, tugging her tightly against his body. The kiss deepened and somewhere Kate heard a shocked gasp.
As if she cared.
Finally, dizzy and breathless, she felt him let her go. Somehow, a simple “Up-yours” to the occupants of the Tea Room had turned into a conflagration of desire. She found it hard to stand. Her whole body ached and she wanted to cry at the thought of not finishing what she’d so recklessly restarted.
“I’ll be seeing you, Kate,” he promised in a husky whisper.
And somehow, not sure why, she felt sure he was right.

A FTER SHE GOT IN her SUV and drove away, Jack stood on the porch for several moments. He ignored the people exiting the Tea Room—his mother’s cronies who’d probably already called her. And the men staring unabashedly from the barber shop—his late father’s buddies who probably wanted to change places with him.
They’d all watched while he’d done something outrageous. He’d seen a chance, seen something he wanted, followed his instincts and kissed a beautiful stranger. In his years playing the male/female sex/love game, he’d never done something so impulsive. Yeah, he’d probably had a few more women in his life than the average guy. But he’d never been as deeply affected by one, just from a heated stare across a nearly deserted street.
Jack still had the shakes, remembering the feel of her in his arms, the way she’d tilted her supple, firm body to maximize the touch of chest to chest, hip to hip. Man to woman. Her dark eyes had shone with confusion, but had been unable to hide the unexpected flare of passion. “Kate,” he whispered out loud.
He felt no sense of urgency to go after her since he knew who she was. As soon as she’d said her name, he’d remembered her face from the picture in the Chicago paper a few weeks ago.
He hadn’t read the article, and couldn’t remember much—only that she owned some trendy new women’s store on the Magnificent Mile. But he definitely remembered her face, and her name—Katherine…Kate—because, with her thick, dark hair she’d reminded him of an actress of the same name. Kate Jackson? No…but something like that. He couldn’t place the last name yet, but he felt sure he would.
What on earth she was doing in Pleasantville he couldn’t fathom. But tracking her down really shouldn’t pose much of a problem at all. A scan of the newspaper’s Web site archives and he’d be able to find the article easily enough.
His return to Chicago tonight couldn’t come soon enough.

K ATE DIDN’T PLAN to spend much time in her mother’s house. Edie had packed up everything she really wanted when she’d moved to Florida a few weeks back. The place was immaculate, the cabinets emptied and the furniture covered. All Kate had to do was go through her own personal belongings and load what she wanted to keep into her SUV for the drive back to Chicago.
There wasn’t much. Edie was a practical person, not an overly sentimental one. So there weren’t scads of toys or Kate’s first-grade papers to sort through. Just some precious items. Family pictures. Her first doll. The stuffed bear her father had given her for her sixth birthday—that was a month before he’d been killed in an accident involving his truck.
She carefully packed a carton with those things, rubbing the worn fur of the bear, remembering how she’d once been unable to sleep through the night without it curled in her arms. Leaving it behind when she’d left town had been an emotional decision, not a logical one. She’d left to escape her childhood, to escape the burden of her family name and the sadness over her mother’s situation. She’d left everything that might connect her to this place, telling her mother over the years to feel free to get rid of her old stuff. Thankfully, Edie never had. She’d known exactly what to keep. And, judging by the absence of most of her high school junk—with the exception of the programs from plays in which Kate had appeared—what to throw away.
When she’d nearly finished, Kate noticed the old Arturo Fuente cigar box in the corner of her old room. Opening it, she felt a smile tug her lips as she saw two diaries, an empty pack of cigarettes, the stub of a burned-down candle. Even the tattered, musty Playgirl . Surely her mother hadn’t opened this box—the magazine would have been long discarded, otherwise.
The memory of prom night descended with the impact of a boulder on her heart. That night had marked the end of teenage illusions. It had enforced adult consciousness, made her see her mother as a woman not merely a parent. Over the years she’d come to accept that moment as something everyone had to go through. While she’d been deeply disappointed, it hadn’t affected her strong feelings for Edie. She loved her as much now as she ever had. And, deep down, she was thankful for having learned the valuable lesson about the fickleness of relationships and the heartbreak of love by seeing what her mother had gone through. It had saved her from ever having to experience it firsthand.
“Glad you got out, Mom. Now, find some great retired guy down in Florida and grab yourself some happiness.”
Flipping idly through the Playgirl , she cast a speculative glance at the centerfold. “Not bad.” She liked her men long and lean, though not hairless and smooth-chested like this guy. Though flaccid, he definitely had a decent package, reminding her that it had been a long time since she’d had sex. She’d been surrounded by fake penises of all shapes, colors and sizes for so long, she hardly remembered what a real one looked like.
“No big loss,” she mused out loud, still staring. She hadn’t been kidding when she’d told Armand a small, clean vibrating one was her preference these days. She enjoyed sex. But it seemed to be an awful lot of work for an orgasm she could give herself in five minutes flat. Okay, so she’d never stayed with a man enough to really fall in love and couldn’t judge how “making love” compared to sex. Frankly, deep down Kate suspected she would never fall in love—since love would have to involve trust and vulnerability. She wouldn’t allow anyone to make her vulnerable, not after seeing what it had done to her mother for a couple of decades.
So sex it was. And sex alone had suited her fine for some time now. As a matter of fact, her favorite new toy—and a hot seller at her store, Bare Essentials—was a tiny vibrator that snapped to the end of her finger and handled things quite nicely. Small enough to carry in a tiny case in her purse, it was safely hidden in a side pocket right at this very minute.
She might just have to dig out her small friend tonight at the hotel. An orgasm would help blow off some tension. Though it had been a long time since she’d had sex with a man—more than a year…okay, two —Kate certainly hadn’t lacked for orgasms. “A woman owns her orgasms,” she told the photo. “She can take them anytime she wants and doesn’t need to be gifted with them by some guy with a big dick, a little brain and no heart.”
Though, she had to admit, sometimes the real thing could be awfully nice. She closed her eyes, thinking of her day. Of Jack. Definitely not a little brain, judging by his quick wit and self-confidence. His friendly charm hinted at a man with a heart.
And, remembering the way he’d felt pressed against her body, he definitely had a big…“Snap out of it, Kate.”
But she couldn’t. Closing her eyes, she leaned against her old bed. She licked her lips, remembering how his tasted. She moved her hand to her breast, remembering how his chest had felt pressed against hers. She shifted on the floor, aroused again, her thoughts moving back to what she’d felt that afternoon.
She’d wanted him. Still did, judging by the hot dampness between her legs. Remembering she had brought her purse with her up to the bedroom, she reached for it, finding the zippered side pocket. Retrieving the vibrator, she snapped it onto the tip of her middle finger, and moved up onto the bed.
“Maybe it’s been too long since the real thing,” she said. There were benefits to sex with someone else. Touching. Deep, slow, wet kisses that curled her toes…like those she’d shared with Jack this afternoon. And she totally got off on having a man suck her breasts. Her nipples were hard now, just thinking about it. She envisioned a mouth. His mouth.
But her tiny friend would do for now. She moved her hand lower, down her body, under her skirt. Along the seam of her thigh-high stockings.
“Jack,” she whispered as she brought the tiny, fluttering device to the lacy edge of her silk panties. “Who are you, really?”

3
A SHORT TIME LATER , after straightening herself up in the bathroom, Kate went back to work on her belongings. She grabbed the cigar box, snapped the lid closed and put it with the rest of her things. Loading everything in the car was a simple task, and she was finished a short time later.
Not even suppertime. In and out of Pleasantville in a matter of hours. A simple, unremarkable end to one long, painful chapter of her life. Well, unremarkable except for one thing. “Jack,” she whispered. Did he live here in town? He must if the barber knew him. So he was best forgotten. She had no desire to get to know someone from Pleasantville. No matter how amazing a someone he might be.
Judging by what had happened in the bedroom, however, she imagined he’d be starring in her fantasies for a while. Her private interlude had done little to ease her tension. Orgasms were lovely. But she also found herself really wanting some hot and deep penetration. Unfortunately, she hadn’t purchased any of the larger and more realistic-looking toys she sold at her store. “Might have to do something about that when I get home.”
Before she left for the last time, she turned to look closer at the neighborhood. Her old street looked better than it had ten years ago. Obviously some new families had moved in. Most of the duplexes, which had once been considered the wrong side of the tracks, were neat and freshly painted. A rain-speckled kid’s bike lay in front of a house up the block. Pretty flowers bloomed in the beds across the street. It appeared the lower- to middle-class residents here refused to give in to the apathy and depression that had sucked dry the downtown area. She smiled, hoping the kids growing up here walked with their heads held high.
Out of curiosity, Kate went back up to the porch to peek into the window of Aunt Flo’s duplex. It was, as she expected, empty. Her aunt had hooked up with the rich man she’d always wanted and had gone off to live with him somewhere in Europe.
Good for the Tremaine sisters.
Kate got into her SUV and drove away, fully intending to drive straight out of town. There was nowhere else she needed to go. Yes, she might see a friendly face, such as Mrs. Saginaw or Mr. Otis. But, with her luck, she’d run into someone who’d greet her with a smile, then whisper about her family behind her back. As had most of the people she’d gone to high school with.
But Kate hadn’t counted on one last tug of nostalgia. As she pulled off Magnolia onto Blossom, she spied the sign for the Rialto Theater. She sighed over the boarded windows and dilapidated sign. “Oh, no.” The one spot in town she remembered with genuine fondness, and it had obviously gone under long ago.
Some demon pushed her right foot against the brake pedal and she brought the car to a stop. The cloudy, murky afternoon had actually begun to give way to a partly sunny early evening. Lazy late-day sunlight flickered off the broken bits of glass and bulb remaining in the old marquis. Casting a quick glance up the street, she saw no one else around. Obviously whatever was left of Pleasantville’s prosperity lingered up on Magnolia. Only closed storefronts and boarded-up buildings framed the sad-looking, historic theater.
She got out of the car, telling herself she’d just glance in the giant fishbowl of a box office, but she couldn’t resist going to the front door. Rubbing her hand on the dirty glass, she cleared away a spot of grime and looked in. To her surprise, the door moved beneath her hand. Reaching for the handle, she pushed on it, and the door opened easily. It seemed unfathomable to her that the graceful historic building should be left abandoned, but to leave it unlocked and unprotected was downright criminal.
She bit the corner of her lip. It was still light enough out that she could see clearly into the lobby. A ladder and drop cloth stood near the old refreshment counter, along with tools, plywood and paint cans. Someone had obviously been working.
“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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