by Jo Leigh
“No. Absolutely not. I do think there can be a chemical connection between people, and that attraction exists and can be very strong. But the idea that a woman is helpless to fall into a man’s arms is ludicrous. Relationships, even brief ones, should be about making choices, and about honesty.”
“And you don’t think falling in love could just happen.”
“No, I don’t. I think that’s one of the biggest myths in our culture. Lust can happen in an instant, although it doesn’t have to be acted upon. Love only comes with time and work. It’s a woman’s choice whether she wants to have sex or not, whether she’s married or not. It’s your body. Respect it. Take care of it. Give it a treat now and again. And if you don’t have anyone to help you, do it yourself, with or without help from toys. I’ll bet there are a lot of married women out there right now who wish they’d listened. Who waited to see if the man who seduced them was actually a man they wanted to live with forever. Given the dismal marriage statistics, I’m willing to wager that for at least fifty percent of the women, they didn’t look before they leaped.”
Darlene felt those hairs stand on the back of her neck again. She had it. The perfect article. The perfect hook. “Let me get this straight. You’re saying that no man, no matter who he is, can seduce a woman?”
“That’s right. Not if a woman is honest.”
“No amount of charm, charisma, sex appeal could have any effect?”
“Not if a woman doesn’t want to be seduced. Have you ever looked up the word? I have. According to the dictionary, seduce means ‘to induce to have sexual intercourse.’ What I’m suggesting is the idea that no one can be induced. If it’s forced, then it’s rape. If it’s consensual, it’s not seduction. It’s an excuse, nothing more. No woman can be seduced without her permission. Period.”
Darlene closed her eyes for a second, just to calm herself. “How would you like to put your money where your mouth is?”
Jamie’s brows came down. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly that. You say no woman can be seduced without her permission. I say fine. Prove it.”
Jamie laughed a little. “There’s no way to do that. Every woman has to come to that decision for herself.”
“But there is a way to prove it.” Darlene’s heart hammered in her chest. This was so great. “Here’s what I want to do. I’m going to set you up with a man who’s seduced his fair share of women. More than his share. You two are going to spend time together. He’s going to lay on the charm. And then we’ll see what happens.”
“I’ll tell you exactly what will happen. Nothing.”
“I don’t think so.”
“It’s ridiculous. There’s no way I can be seduced.”
“You’re on. I think you don’t know what you’re talking about. And we’re going to see who’s right.”
“Hey, yeah, Dr. Jamie,” Lorraine said, reminding Darlene that she was still on the line. “That would be so cool.”
“What would be cool?”
“Well, like, for you to show us. To prove it.”
Darlene held back her whoop of joy. This was even better than she could have hoped for. “Right. Walk the walk instead of just talking the talk.”
“Hold on.” Jamie looked at her with utter exasperation. Darlene didn’t give an inch. Jamie turned back to the mike. “Lorraine, I wish you luck with your guy, and thanks for calling.” She punched line two. “This is Dr. Jamie. Did you have a question?”
“Yeah,” a deep baritone voice said. “I think you should do it. And I volunteer to be the guy. I could seduce you, baby. And it wouldn’t take no two weeks.”
Darlene leaned back. This was great. Just great. The article would write itself.
Jamie shook her head in disbelief as she pressed the next button. “How about line three. Pam from Chelsea?”
“Come on, Dr. Jamie. You could report every night. You know, give us an update. A blow-by-blow. Tell us what it’s like out there in the real world. We could all learn something. You’re always telling us to go for it. Now it’s your turn.”
“Thanks for sharing.” She punched the next button so hard it almost broke. “Debbi from Yonkers. Do you have something else you’d like to talk about?”
“Uh, well, yeah.”
Jamie’s shoulders relaxed. “Great.”
“I think, you know, that you shouldn’t be the one to give the nightly reports. The guy should. Or you should do it together.”
Jamie’s head fell into her hands. But then she sat up again. “This is Dr. Jamie, and we’re talking about sex. We’ll be back after these commercials.” Then she threw her headphones on the desk.
Dr. Jamie wasn’t on such solid footing now. Darlene leaned back as she took off her own headphones. Her gaze went to the production booth and Marcy Davis. The woman wasn’t looking so smug, either. The two of them were Barbie dolls, and Darlene wanted to make them squirm. Marcy turned to look at the door as a man walked into the other booth. Perfect. It was Chase Newman, the inspiration for this adventure.
He spoke to the board operator for a moment, then he turned so she could see his face. Good God, he was stunning. Fabulous jaw, dark brows over smoky, intense eyes. Just the right amount of five-o’-clock shadow. Now, he was an expert on sex. There was no question the man was a maestro in the bedroom. Those lips alone could send any woman over the edge.
She was a freakin’ genius. This was perfect. Dr. Jamie didn’t stand a chance. And wouldn’t it be fun when all of New York watched her fall on her perky little ass. He just had to be willing to play along. Darlene would make sure he was willing.
JAMIE TRIED TO SMILE at Whittaker, but she couldn’t. She wanted the reporter gone, the interview finished, her show over, and this nonsense dismissed. Where was Marcy? She should be riding to the rescue, dammit.
Whittaker did her a favor and left the room. At least Jamie could be grateful for that. But where was Marcy? Jamie’s program was going up in smoke, and Marcy had decided to take a brief vacation. Jamie was going to have to kill her. In the meantime, though, she’d better get ready to sway this conversation another way. This was her show, dammit, not Darlene’s.
Damn! Cujo’s signal to her was desperate. She had no idea how long she’d been stewing. “Welcome back. This is Dr. Jamie Hampton, and we’re here with Darlene Whittaker from Vanity Fair. Let’s talk about your lives. Is there a question about your body you’ve always wanted to ask? How about sex? Come on, guys. Masturbation. Cross-dressing. G-spots. Don’t be embarrassed.”
All the lines were blinking, but according to Jamie’s computer, Gabby Fisher was on line one. God bless her little neurotic heart. Gabby was a regular, and she wasn’t shy about taking air time. She’d fill up a good ten minutes. Just as Jamie was about to press the button, Whittaker struggled through the door and hurried to her seat.
Jamie shoved the button down, terrified by the gleam in Whittaker’s eyes. “Gabby, hi.”
“Hi, Dr. Jamie.”
“What can I do for you tonight?”
“I think it would be great to have you show us, you know, how to be strong with a man.”
Jamie cursed silently. This wasn’t going to go away. “You already know how to be strong. You don’t need me to show you.”
“I might know how,” Gabby said, her voice dejected, “but it never works out that way. I guess I’m just not like you.”
“You can be whatever you want to be, Gabby. You just need to shift your beliefs about yourself. A stunt like this isn’t going to show you anything.”
Whittaker moved her chair closer to the desk. “Are you afraid, Dr. Jamie?”
“No, not at all. But my expertise is in helping others. This isn’t about me.”
“But don’t you think it should be?”
“What, so all surgeons should remove their own gall-bladders, just for the experience?” Gabby laughed.
Whittaker didn’t. “I think you’re hiding behind that title, Jamie. I think you don’t want to put y
our money where your mouth is.”
“You’re right. In this instance, I don’t.”
Whittaker’s gaze shifted to the window, then back again. “It would make a hell of an interesting experiment. I know your listeners would learn a lot. Show them firsthand what happens when a man is out for seduction. See what happens. Instead of talking about the experiment, go into the lab.”
Jamie forced herself to keep calm—to not reach over and strangle the reporter. “I just don’t believe this is the kind of thing one can demonstrate. It’s not like baking a cake.”
Whittaker smiled at her, then turned to the mike. “Well, audience, are we going to let her off the hook? I’ll tell you something. My magazine wants this information. All the women in New York want this information. This could be the most important radio program ever. Or, Dr. Jamie, were you just blowing so much smoke?”
“I don’t blow smoke. Ever.”
“Then, that leaves only one option.”
Damn her to hell and back. Marcy was going to pay for this. And so was Fred Holt.
Jamie leaned in to her mike. “I’ll tell you all about options…right after these commercials.”
She saw Cujo jump at the unexpected change in the schedule. But he was on top of things, and a second later Big Al’s Furniture Mart announced a super, super, super sale.
She made sure her mute button was on, then turned to Whittaker. “What the hell are you doing?”
The reporter smiled so smugly that it was an invitation for a whack. “My job. Just like you’re doing your job.”
“You know this isn’t the kind of thing one can demonstrate. You’re talking about a publicity stunt.”
“Not necessarily. It could be very educational. If any of it’s true. Is it?”
“Yes, it is. But I don’t intend to be anyone’s guinea pig.”
Whittaker shook her head. “Want to bet? If you don’t do it, I’m going to smear you and your radio show into the dirt. I know that Independence Broadcasting is looking at buying your show for national syndication. And I know that one way or another, they’re going to be influenced by this piece I’m writing. So the choice is yours. Play ball, or find yourself a new job.”
“Why are you doing this?”
Whittaker smiled. “Because I can.”
Jamie caught Cujo’s hand signal out of the corner of her eye. She turned back to the mike, fuming. She wouldn’t be blackmailed. Not by this witch. Marcy would tell Whittaker what she could do with her stupid idea. But right now, Jamie had to keep control of her broadcast. “Welcome back.”
The production booth door opened. Fred Holt and Marcy walked in. Marcy looked panicked. Fred turned to face Jamie, his jaw set and his gaze filled with dollar signs. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to get the gist. Fred wanted this to happen. He wanted his station to be number one and stay number one, and as far as he was concerned, Jamie was his ticket. But surely even Fred Holt could see this was a stupid prank. He wouldn’t be manipulated by this crazy woman, would he?
Cujo flapped his arms at her, then pointed at the phone lines.
Dammit! “Gabby, you still there?”
“Yes, I’m still here. And I’m really glad you’re going to do this, uh, thing. But maybe you could explain what it is you’re going to do.”
Whittaker leaned forward. “Here’s what she’s going to do. She’s going to go out on a date. On a whole bunch of dates. Just like she was you or me. Only, she’s gonna show us how it’s supposed to be done. How a woman can’t be seduced.”
“Wait a minute. This has been fun, but come on. I don’t even have a boyfriend right now so—”
Whittaker leaned into the mike. “That’s not a problem.”
Jamie’s stomach turned. “What does that mean?”
“You’ll see.”
“Tell you what. Write whatever you want to in your magazine. I’m not playing.”
“And disappoint all your loyal fans?”
“My fans are smart enough to realize that there is no such thing as seduction, so I’ve already won.”
Darlene turned smugly toward the production booth. “Oh, really?”
Jamie didn’t want to look, but she had to. Oh man. It was worse than she’d thought. Fred Holt had moved to the window. His face was very, very pink. His gaze nearly singed her eyebrows. This was no joke. Behind him, Marcy threw her hands into the air. So much for her help.
Jamie looked at the door. She could get up and walk out. That’s all. Just walk out. But that would mean giving up her show. She loved her show. Her show was her whole life. The only thing she’d ever done for herself, by herself. And who was she kidding? She wanted syndication every bit as badly as Fred did. A national show would be the kind of achievement no one could deny—the money, the prestige, and proof she’d made the right life choice by turning her back on her parents’ medical practice.
Jamie turned to the Wicked Witch of the West Side. “All right. I’ll do it. But I’ll pick the guy.”
“Sorry. No can do. I pick the guy. You don’t want to be accused of fraud, do you?”
“Whoa. No. No way. I’m not—”
Whittaker stood up and went to the door. This time, she opened it as if it weighed ounces instead of pounds. A man stood on the other side. He walked into the booth, which immediately shrank to half its size. Jamie swallowed, trying to figure out where all the air had gone.
He stepped into the light and everything stopped, including her heart. He was quite simply the most gorgeous guy she’d ever laid eyes on. He was sex on legs, the devil in blue jeans, trouble with a capital T. He was all that and a shot of Tabasco.
“Jamie Hampton,” Whittaker said, leading him to the mike. “This is Chase Newman. The man who can’t seduce you.” “Holy f—”
Cujo lunged for the button and, for the first time in a year and a half, there was a full twelve seconds when the five boroughs, New Jersey and parts of Connecticut, Massachusetts and Vermont heard nothing but dead air.
2
CHASE FOUGHT A SMILE. He was actually enjoying Jamie’s reaction, the way her big brown eyes widened, the pink flush on her cheeks, how she nervously licked her lush upper lip. He’d seen her before when he’d come to the station, but they’d never spoken. In fact, she’d been frightened of him, moving to the far side of the hallway when he’d passed, sneaking looks at him, blushing, like now. The last time, about six months ago, he’d almost asked her why, but she’d ducked into the ladies’ room.
He liked her show, even though her message was a bunch of garbage. It was a smart move on Fred’s part to have hired her. The station hadn’t had a major ratings winner in a long time. Not that he cared. This wasn’t his thing anymore. His father had owned the station, and Chase had inherited it after the old man died. But he wasn’t a part of it now. The only reason he came here was because they gave him a small office where he collected his business mail, and let him use Fred’s secretary for some clerical work now and then. Not having a permanent residence, it was convenient.
He saw Cujo signal that the commercials were about to end. Jamie didn’t look ready. Damn, she was a pretty thing. Innocent. At least she looked innocent, which all of New York knew wasn’t true. But she sure seemed flustered as hell. She was known for her no-nonsense approach to matters of the body, for her unflinching answers to the most kinky questions. No one would mistake her for a silly female. Yet right now, she looked like a twelve-year-old with her underpants showing.
Darlene grabbed hold of him and pulled him toward one of the guest chairs. “Chase, why don’t you sit down.” The booth had been recarpeted since the last time he’d been in it. That had been years ago. Now, it seemed smaller, but like every other booth he’d seen—the thick carpet to mask sound, an oversize desk for the DJ and several mikes for group discussions. The console was computerized, a far cry from the equipment in place when his father had first started the station.
Darlene sat in the chair next to him. She gave him a set of headpho
nes and found one for herself. Jamie just kept staring at him, and he wondered how long it would be before she blinked.
His attention went back to the other side of the glass where Cujo was waving wildly, trying to get Jamie’s attention. Dead air was trouble. Chase decided to give her a break. He pressed the button to turn the guest mikes live.
Darlene caught on. “This is Darlene Whittaker from Vanity Fair. In case you’ve just tuned in, I’m interviewing Dr. Jamie for a feature article…”
Chase tuned her out as she explained the situation to the audience. He probably should have listened, given his role, but he was preoccupied. Jamie hadn’t spoken yet. She’d run a hand through her short hair, making it a little messier than she’d probably intended, but he wasn’t complaining. He liked seeing a preview of what she’d look like in his bed, hair tousled, cheeks flushed, trying to catch her breath.
There were two things that mattered to Chase. Racing and women. Not necessarily in that order. The pursuit of his two hobbies took equal amounts of time and energy. They were very similar, in fact. Both cars and women needed careful attention to make them purr. Truth be known, cars were the easier of the two. They never got emotionally involved.
“Chase, why don’t you tell the listeners something about yourself.”
He nodded, not taking his eyes off Jamie. “I drive cars. Sometimes, I live in New York.”
“Yes, well, uh, you drive race cars, isn’t that right? And didn’t you win at Le Mans last year?”
“Yeah.”
“And weren’t you also dating Charlize Theron at that time?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“She wanted a relationship.”
“And what about you?”
“I was good in bed.”
Darlene laughed, and Jamie’s blush deepened.
He leaned over and took Jamie’s right hand. It was fisted, and she tried to pull it away, but he didn’t let her. “Jamie,” he whispered, “what are you afraid of?”
She jerked her hand away, and in that act of defiance she seemed to gather her wits about her. She cleared her throat, moved her chair forward, adjusted her headphones. “Tell me, Mr. Newman. You seem to be a busy man with a full life. Why on earth would you want to do this?”
