Morning Man

by Barbara Kellyn

  Cover Copy

  On-air chemistry brought them together, but sexual chemistry keeps them apart.

  After draining her savings, moving 300 miles and being dumped on arrival by her boyfriend, Dayna Cook vows to stop falling for the radio jocks she works with. But when her new boss reassigns her to co-host Hot Country 103’s morning show with irresistible Tack Collins, Dayna’s hormones backpedal.

  Wake Up with Tack and Dayna kicks into high gear and so does the duo’s mutual lust. Their boss says sleeping together will kill the sexual tension driving listeners to tune in to their show, and clamps down with a chastity belt of an offer: stay out of bed until the ratings period ends in exchange for a big, fat bonus. For Dayna, it means a sure-fire way to get back on her feet–and back at her ex. For Tack, it means the longest, most frustrating summer of his life.

  Sizzling attraction deviates in unexpected direction fraught with jealous radio groupies, a remorseful ex-boyfriend and a resentful former co-host as Tack and Dayna discover genuine feelings create more static than casual sex ever could.

  Warning: Adult language, verbal foreplay and prolonged delay of sexual gratification–but sooo worth it!

  Teaser

  With a surge of passion, he grabbed her bottom with both hands, pushed her up against the music stacks and branded her with a searing kiss that left them both breathless.

  Tack squeezed his eyes shut, knowing he would have to summon superhuman strength to be able to hold back for eight more seconds, let alone the entire eight-week ratings period. It would mean the longest dry spell he’d had in years and he questioned what kind of hold Dayna already had on him to make him even consider such a preposterous arrangement. But then he saw her gazing up at him with those gorgeous long lashes and dark shining eyes, and by the lurch in his chest, he knew he was a goner.

  Her face lit up. “I promise, Tack, I’ll make it worth your while after Labor Day.”

  “Damn right,” he grumbled.

  Morning Man

  By Barbara Kellyn

  Morning Man

  9781616503680

  Copyright © 2012, Barbara Kellyn

  Edited by Piper Denna

  Book design by Lyrical Press, Inc.

  Cover Art by Valerie Tibbs

  First Lyrical Press, Inc. electronic publication: April, 2012

  Lyrical Press, Incorporated

  http://www.lyricalpress.com

  eBooks are not transferable. All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  PUBLISHER'S NOTE:

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  Published in the United States of America by Lyrical Press, Incorporated

  Dedication

  Dedicated to Team Awesome, my true loves and light; to Mom, Dad and Sis, who always believed in me and still encourage my stories; and to Peter, for reminding me that being a writer is not a small accomplishment.

  Acknowledgements

  Heartfelt thanks to D.C. and P.K. for once again volunteering to be beta readers and loving this story as much as I do. I also thank my lucky stars for being taken under wing by editor Piper Denna, who shares my sense of humor and lends her gift of clarity to make good ideas even better.

  Chapter 1

  Dayna took great comfort in being isolated in a nine-by-twelve closet again. Despite the fugly brown shag carpet covering the walls and the lingering odor of feet, the tight, womb-like surroundings were appropriate given the brand new outlook she’d birthed four days earlier.

  “The news has been brought to you by Zippy Lube, reminding you to add life to your vehicle with added savings. Visit your nearest Zippy Lube today and get five dollars off a signature oil change. I’m Dayna Cook. Now back to more continuous country hits with Willie Williams on Hot Country One-oh-three.”

  The on-air light switched off as Carrie Underwood began crooning in Dayna’s ears. She slid off her headphones and left the echoless booth to finish the lunch she’d hastily left behind at the news desk.

  “Sounds good,” said Willie, poking his head out the control room door. “You’re fitting in nice around here.”

  She smiled. “Thanks. I think it’s going pretty well, too.”

  “Can I get an updated weather in the next five minutes? Then I won’t bug you for a bit.”

  “No problem, Willie.” Since she’d started working with the veteran announcer two days plus an hour ago, Dayna had caught on to the fact that he still preferred an on-page forecast over reading from the computer next to the board. She snuck another bite of her ham on rye before delivering a rip-and-read report to the studio.

  “Aw, thanks, you’re a peach,” Willie said, taking the page from her hand. “Say, what station did you say you came here from?”

  “Power Ninety-nine in Buffalo.”

  He smirked. “Ah, so you’re a rocker chick? You must love this non-stop country.”

  “Actually, it’s quickly growing on me. The new stuff is practically crossover pop, only with more references to Jesus and Mama.”

  “Yeah, they don’t make ’em like George Jones anymore.” He momentarily turned his focus to the console, nudging the slide control to bring up the opening riff of a Sugarland hit. “So, how’d you end up in Columbus?”

  She stared at her feet and shifted uncomfortably. “Oh, it’s just that age-old tale. You know, the one about the stupid girl who leaped before she looked.”

  True. She’d picked up her life, crammed it into the back of her ladybug red VW Beetle and made the three-hundred mile trek along I-90 to be with CJ. He had landed a gig doing afternoon drive at Mix 96 and promised that once he got settled in Ohio, she could join him and they would resume where things left off last fall. It had been the plan for the past seven months. It had been the plan two weeks ago when Dayna informed CJ that she’d found a job doing news and the odd weekend shift at a local country station. It had been the plan as she pulled up to his house, got out of the car and bounded up the porch steps. It had been the plan until CJ answered the door.

  “I’m here, can you believe it?” She’d wrapped her arms around his wiry frame.

  “Yeah, so I see.” He laughed half-heartedly as he gave her a peck on the lips.

  She pulled back, alarmed by his obvious lack of enthusiasm. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

  “Don’t be silly, of course I am.” He looked past her shoulder to her car, the back windows jammed tight with suitcases, duffle bags and boxes containing everything she owned. “Wow, you’re loaded for bear, ain’t ya?”

  “After eleven years in radio, I’ve finally caught on to the importance of traveling light. No need to lug a piano around the country now, is there?” She took a step back to admire the reddish-brown brick two-story, with white trim and shutters that looked like the piped edges of a gingerbread house. “This place is great. It’s even bigger than I imagined.”

  “Aw, it’s nothing special.” CJ shrugged as his hands dug deep into the front pockets of his jeans.

  Dayna grew concerned by the uncertainty on his face. “Ceege? What’s wrong?”

  “Come on inside. I think we need to talk.”

  His unsettling response did very little to appease her worry. The spring-loaded
door squeaked open and he ushered her into the living room, steering her toward the sofa covered in a garish flower explosion of oranges and browns and draped with a mint green crocheted afghan. To grandmother’s house we go.

  “You’re completely freaking me out,” she said, as much about the hideous furnishings as about his demeanor. She perched on the edge of a seat cushion while CJ planted himself on the corner of the coffee table.

  He sighed, running his fingers through the black bristles of his brush cut. “Look, Day, there’s no easy way for me to say this…”

  Her left eye twitched something awful. The occasional spastic tick had started to occur more frequently in the past week, so she knew the move had pushed her mental needle over into the extreme red zone of her stress gauge. Now, she feared it was a warning sign from her cerebral cortex that her brain was about to pop.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t think this thing is going to work out.”

  Panic set in. “What thing? What’s not going to work out?”

  “I mean us. Living together. It’s not what I want anymore.”

  “You don’t think it’s what you want anymore?” She balked. “Since when?”

  “A while now, I guess. I’ve realized how much I value having my own space.”

  Code for how much he liked screwing around behind her back, she figured. “But I’m here. I moved to Columbus so we could be together.”

  “I know, I know. And I feel shitty for not saying something sooner. But you were so intent on this, I didn’t have the heart to say no.”

  She tried not to cry. Or pound his boyish good looks into ground beef. How had CJ neglected to mention having a not-so-sudden change of heart? How could she have missed the signs? Well, okay, he had been a little off lately. Distant. She always called first, not the other way around. And there was that niggling feeling when he claimed he hadn’t heard of a single radio job opening for her. In six whole months. “You couldn’t have dropped a hint that you wanted to break up before I wrapped my entire life in bubble wrap, shoved it into a box and drove it across two state lines?”

  “I’m sorry, Day.”

  “Sorry? You’re sorry?” She slapped her hands on her thighs, summoning Herculean effort to keep from lunging for his throat. “I’m starting a new job on Monday. I have no money and no place to live. Am I supposed to sleep in my car?”

  “Listen, you can stay here tonight. Hell, stay a week or two if you need.”

  “Thanks CJ, that’s so fucking generous of you.”

  “I mean it. The pull-out is yours until you can find your own apartment.”

  “I couldn’t scrape together enough for a night in a fleabag motel, let alone rent a decent apartment,” she said. “I might need a little more than a week.”

  “Well, bunk here as long as you need,” he said. “But just to make it perfectly clear, we’re over.”

  “Oh, we are sooo over. No doubt about that.” She fell back into the pillow behind her, more aggravated by having gone through the hassle of moving than about being dumped on arrival by CJ. What did that say?

  He patted her knee good-naturedly. “Come on, we had a pretty good run there, didn’t we?”

  “So what went wrong?” she asked. “Was it something I did?”

  “No, no. It’s not you, it’s me.”

  “It’s not you, it’s– That’s the best you can do?” She pressed two fingers against her temple, rotating clockwise to slacken the tendons that had gripped her eyeball since she walked through the front door. “When will I learn to stop falling for you jocks? All you ever do is break a girl’s heart.”

  “At least we’re getting this all out in the open before things went any further, right?”

  “Sure. I thank my lucky stars you didn’t break the news on our wedding night. Or maybe in the delivery room while I was pushing out a kid.”

  “Yeah, right. As if we’d ever–” He averted his eyes and cleared the laughter from his throat. “Well, I’m glad you’re taking this well because I really thought you were gonna freak. But you haven’t screamed, cried or thrown anything.”

  “I don’t get mad, I get even, CJ. So if I were you, I’d sleep with one eye open.”

  Four days later, Dayna was no longer numb from CJ’s revelation, thanks to the ache in her lower lumbar from sleeping on that damn lumpy pullout. There was also the pressing matter of her grumbling stomach that needed to be taken care of.

  “I’m going to finish my lunch, Willie. See you at the top of the hour,” she said, reaching for the studio door. Before she tugged the handle, it flew open and she instinctively jerked back to spare her face from being flattened. “Hey, watch it!”

  “Oof!” A loud grunt came from the other side.

  The second time the door opened, Dayna kept back a safe distance. In poked an ox of a man with a close-cut beard and dark blonde hair peeking out from under his trucker hat. She was mesmerized by the sheer size of him, at least six-three with broad, lumberjack shoulders, before she fell into the depths of his gorgeous, lake blue eyes.

  “Jeez, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, sure,” she said with a startled smile. “I wasn’t going to need my nose for the rest of the day anyway.”

  “I’m real sorry. I thought Willie was the only one in here,” he said in a husky baritone that made her palms sweat.

  “Have you two met?” Willie asked from behind the console. “Dayna Cook, this is Tack Collins, co-host of The Rise Guys morning show.”

  Her stomach dropped. Ohhh, so you’re the infamous Tack Collins I’ve been hearing about.

  “Hey there, sugar,” he said with swagger as he looked her up and down. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

  The girls around here have already warned me all about you, Don Juan, so forget it, she wanted to say, but thought better of it. “Hi.”

  “Dayna started Monday,” Willie explained. “She does the news noon to seven.”

  Tack flashed a sexy, roguish grin. “Well, that explains why we’ve missed each other. I get off at ten every morning.”

  I hear you get off every chance you get. She bit her tongue as she glanced up at the oversized clock on the wall. “It’s after twelve.”

  “Uh, yeah, I know. I just came back to cut some promos.”

  “Please don’t let me keep you.” She pulled back on the door handle. He propped it open with one hand, forcing her to duck under his brawny arm to exit.

  She returned to her work station, chewing through her sandwich while scrolling through a list of wire stories for the one o’clock news package. After another bite, she highlighted a piece on a new recycling program when she was startled by the rustling of newspaper behind her. She turned and caught Tack rearranging the sections of that day’s Dispatch she had purposefully strewn about. “What are you doing? I need those.”

  “Making room to get better acquainted, little lady.” He looked down with those entrancing baby blues that had surely hiked up more than a few skirts in their time.

  She snatched away the metro section before he crushed it under his bulk as he leaned on her desk. “Sorry, but I can’t stop to chit-chat. I have work.”

  “So, Willie tells me you’re new in town. From Buffalo?” He folded thick, tanned forearms leading up to a pair of massive biceps.

  Dayna caught herself staring before she yanked her attention back to the desk. “I worked in Buffalo for a few years, but I’m from someplace else you’ve never heard of.”

  “Try me.”

  She shunned his obvious attempt at distraction by swiveling to face her computer again. “A town called Kingston, about fifty miles south of Albany.”

  “You’re right. I’ve never heard of it, but I’ll bet it’s real pretty.”

  “It is.” Her eyes stayed locked on the screen, hoping he’d take the hint and scram.

  “Haven’t been upstate myself, although a few years back, I went to the Big Ap–”

  “Look, I’m busy right now,” she snapped. “Can
I ignore you some other time?”

  “Ooh, you’re a real live wire,” he said, the surprise registering in his voice. “I like that.”

  Her chair spun one hundred and eighty degrees. She leapt up to look him in the eye, easily managed given his slouched posture. “I know what you’re doing and you’re totally wasting your breath.”

  He gave her a good ol’ boy smile. “What am I doing?”

  “Turning on the charm,” she said. “I’ve worked with your type for eleven years. I’ve heard every line and know every trick you could possibly have up your sleeve.”

  “You don’t know me yet, darlin’, but once you do, I think we could be real good friends.”

  “By the way, I’m not real big on darlin’, or sweetie, or baby or little lady, for that matter. If you want to undress me, you can call me Dayna.”

  Laughter rumbled in his chest. “If I want to undress you?”

  “What?”

  “You just said if I want to undress you I should call you Dayna,” he said. His gaze slipped down from her face and lingered on the front of her t-shirt.

  Oh, real nice. “No, I didn’t. I said if you want to address… Never mind. Didn’t you say you had some voiceover work to do?”

  “Yeah, but not ’til one o’clock.”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, that’s when the big hand is on the twelve and the little hand’s pointed to the one.”

  He smirked. “Thanks very much. I was going to take off, but seeing how much you’re enjoying my company, I think I’ll wait out the rest of my time right here.” His eyes trained on hers before straying to her chest again.

  “Like what you see?” she sniped.

  “Huh?”

  She pointed to her face, wanting to embarrass the hell out of him for blatantly ogling. “My eyes are up here, asshole.”

  “No, I wasn’t. I mean, yeah, I was, but–”

  “You were checking me out this whole time, weren’t you?” She shook her head. “Well, don’t leave me in suspense. Whaddya think? Nice rack?”