by Jo Leigh
Was it worth it? Was having him touch her worth more than her career?
Her gait slowed as she turned a corner. She thought about the moment he’d put her on the bed. When he’d kissed her and teased her and… She hadn’t been thinking about the wager or her job or anything else. Being with Chase had shifted her focus to a very old and basic part of the brain. The place where there were no consequences, where there was no rationale or logic. Just need and supplication, heat and moisture. Primal.
The time for her to have stopped him was way before the bedroom. That’s where she should have been strong. Dammit, she never should have gone with him to the hotel. Some part of her had to have known what was going to happen.
A bus rumbled by, and even in the dark she could see the artwork on the side. It was a picture of Chase and a picture of her, superimposed so that they appeared to be gazing into each other’s eyes. Her stomach lurched as the bus screeched to a halt about fifty feet in front of her.
Turning abruptly, she headed blindly down the street, the shame so acute that she thought she might throw up. What had she done? How could she possibly face anyone?
She should leave, that’s all. Get on a plane heading anywhere, and start again wherever she landed. She could do that. Maybe she could be a secretary. One thing was for sure: she couldn’t be a call girl. Not with no experience.
She spied a bench in front of a church, and when she got there, she sank down gratefully. The area registered—she was at St. Mark’s Place. Miles from home, but so what? Home, comfort, security—they were all transitory. A moment’s indiscretion and, poof, they could all be taken away. God, what would her parents say?
Not that they’d be unhappy she was a virgin. They were her parents, after all, but the public humiliation would hit them hard. They’d hated her being on the radio in the first place, and she had a feeling, although neither of them had ever said it, that they would have preferred her using a pseudonym. They didn’t want to be associated with the show, or her. She could see it in her mother’s eyes.
Now they’d really have something to be ashamed of. Wait until Whittaker’s article came out. Oh man. It hurt to think about it.
She could have had sex on several occasions. Okay, that wasn’t true; she could have done it twice. Once in high school, when the boy she tutored, a gangly basketball player with unfortunate skin, had groped her at his living room table. And once in college, when Mitch Madden had asked her to go to the midnight performance of Rocky Horror Picture Show.
Fool that she was, she’d turned them both down. She should at least have considered her options, especially with Mitch. He’d been really good-looking, and experienced. But, no, she had to run and hide in her books, too scared even to date.
She didn’t deserve her show. She didn’t deserve her degree. Maybe it was just poetic justice. She’d felt like a fraud all her adult life, and now the rest of the world would agree.
Sighing deeply, she wondered yet again how she’d let things get so out of control. She wasn’t a fool, but she certainly had been foolish when it came to Chase. If only his touch hadn’t made her shiver, if his voice didn’t set off all sorts of wild fantasies. Every time she thought of him, her body reacted, and when she was with him, it got ten—no, a hundred—times worse.
At least now she understood what women meant when they claimed to be victims of seduction. To the unwary, the physical symptoms of attraction could feel overwhelming. But feeling flushed and having butterflies in the tummy did not mean one had to swoon into a man’s arms and let him have his way.
It was tempting, though, to abandon all responsibility, to be swept away on an ocean of lust.
She wanted him. She wanted him in a way that was completely foreign to her. It had nothing to do with her intellect, with her rational mind. Her body felt incomplete, yearning to be whole. Her breasts ached, and that was the least of her problems. She squeezed her legs together, trying to ease the discomfort there, but it was useless. There was only one thing that could fix her.
She watched a stretch limo pass by, the darkened windows hiding its secrets. Maybe there were lovers inside, doing naughty things while the driver tried not to look.
Maybe now that Chase knew the truth, she could take that next step. Risk what she’d never been willing to risk before. Maybe it was her turn to live life rather than talk about it.
On the other hand, he probably wanted nothing to do with her. He’d seen her for the phony she was. He and Whittaker were probably having a real good laugh about now.
Jamie sniffed and rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands. She’d best get used to being laughed at—and staying a virgin. Welcome to the end of the world as she’d known it. Welcome to utter failure.
SHE HADN’TANSWERED her phone or called him back, even though he’d left a half-dozen messages. So Chase had no choice but to go to the radio station that evening.
His day had been one of unanswered questions, the first of which was why he’d felt compelled to finish the champagne. But after a shower, aspirin and a hot meal, the real quandary surfaced. He had no idea what to do, how to handle things. It wasn’t like a race, where there were rules and flags and clear winners and losers. This situation was the kind he always tried to avoid. In truth, he never got close enough to anyone to find himself embroiled in their lives. He was the kind of guy you could completely depend on if everything was going well—which had made a lot of sense to him for a lot of years. Only, last night and today, some strange ideas had popped into his head.
What would his life have been like if he’d gone the other direction? Instead of keeping aloof, guarding himself against making connections, what if he’d put himself out? What if he’d let himself care? Let himself need?
After nodding at the receptionist, a woman he didn’t recognize, he headed down the long hallway. With each step, he grew more convinced that he was losing his mind. He’d be gone in a few years—why bother getting involved with Jamie? What did he care what happened to her?
But as he rounded the door into the production booth, he was hit hard, right in the chest. He didn’t want to hurt her. He didn’t want to blow her secret.
Cujo grinned at him from behind the board. “Hey, lover boy. I heard about you on WGNX this afternoon. They had a whole discussion about the bet. And half the women calling up said they’d do ya. Man, some dudes have all the luck.”
Chase smiled even though he didn’t feel the least bit lucky. Confused, yes, but lucky?
He turned so he could see Jamie. She was nearly hidden by the big fuzzy microphone and the console, but he could see half of her face. Her pale skin, those huge brown eyes, that tousled hair. Something inside him tensed, and it wasn’t just because she was beautiful. There were dark circles under her eyes. She wasn’t herself. The pain and defeat of last night had changed her posture and aged her face.
He had a lot to be proud of. He’d hurt her, now held the potential of ruining her whole career—and for what? Because he was such a jackass. He had to prove he could seduce the indomitable Dr. Jamie. But he didn’t feel victorious. He felt like crap.
“Hi, Chase.”
He turned toward Marcy and managed a smile. “How are you?”
She glanced at Ted, who was standing by the row of tape boxes reading the labels. “I’m fine.”
“How’s Jamie doing?”
“Okay. Why?”
“No reason.”
She gave him a questioning glance, but then Ted walked past her and her attention shifted. Chase watched her stare at the DJ, and it was damn clear that she was attracted to the guy. Chase guessed Ted was at least five years younger than Marcy, but she didn’t care. She looked at him like he could fix what ailed her, and give her a smile to boot.
Chase glanced at Jamie, but then Marcy headed toward Ted and Chase had to admit he was curious. She was going to say something, ask Ted a question. But it was none of his business.
Only, it was kind of hard to miss. They were real close,
too close for him to get up now without disturbing them. He just wouldn’t listen, that’s all.
Marcy touched the back of her hair. She looked at the floor, at the ceiling, then at the floor again. She cleared her throat, and even though Chase refused to look, he was pretty sure she was blushing.
“Come on, girl,” he whispered to himself. “Go for it.” Oh, hell. He had to look, just a little.
As if his words had spurred her on, she smiled brightly. “Ted?”
Ted turned to her, his face the essence of cluelessness. The man had no idea he was being pursued. Did any man, ever?
“Yeah?” he replied.
“I was thinking about, um… I was, uh, wondering…”
Ted’s brows came down as he tried to decipher the conversation.
“Lunch,” she finally blurted. “I was thinking about lunch.”
Ted’s right brow arched. “Yes?”
“Maybe you’d like to, uh, have some.” “Lunch?”
She nodded.
“With you?”
Another nod, this one breathless, from what Chase could see.
“When, tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Sure. That’d be great.”
Marcy’s shoulders relaxed as she let her breath out. “Great. Then I’ll call you. We can go to Union Pacific, if that’s okay.”
He nodded, but his face showed none of Marcy’s eager infatuation. In fact, Ted looked a little bored. Too bad. Marcy was a nice woman. Attractive, too. And she wanted him so much. She should have asked him for dinner, not lunch. Lunch was business. Lunch was an expense account. Dinner at least had the potential for dessert. For after-dinner drinks.
“I’ll make a reservation,” she said, but Ted was looking at the door, his attention slipping away with each passing second.
“Great. I’d like that. But, hey, let’s talk about it later, okay? I’ve got to make a phone call.”
“Sure,” Marcy said with a grin that was as real as Anna Nicole Smith’s boobs.
Ted didn’t catch it. He just headed toward the door. He stopped, though, just after he stepped into the hallway. “Marcy?”
“Yes?”
“Why don’t you make those reservations for dinner?”
Her smile changed completely. In fact, the woman fairly beamed. Ted grinned back, and Chase knew he’d had it all wrong. Ted, the old dog, had just been playing it cool. He knew the score.
Marcy floated across the room, unaware, he assumed, of her silly grin. His own lips curled, and he tried to convince himself that he was just reacting to their situation. That he didn’t understand that feeling, that lightness.
Shit, he was in bigger trouble than he’d thought. What in hell was he supposed to do now? How about not taking himself so damn seriously? Come on, this wasn’t the end of the world. The girl was a virgin—so what? In some cultures, that was considered a virtue.
A commercial for a local furniture store came on, and he remembered the first night he’d ever seen Jamie. He’d surprised her in the hallway, by the archives. She’d nearly jumped out of her skin. After the initial shock, as they’d stood side by side at the file cabinets, she’d looked him over, and then, as he watched, her cheeks had turned pink, her lush lips had opened and she’d leaned toward him. Not so much that she would have fallen, just enough to tell him she was drawn to him. And the surprise in her gaze turned to fear—and something more. He hadn’t thought about it until now, but he remembered feeling as though she wanted to kiss him—that in the next second, she’d be in his arms.
It hadn’t happened. A door had slammed somewhere, and she’d bolted like a fawn into the forest.
He leaned to his right so he could see more of her behind her equipment. And it occurred to him why he’d remembered that incident after all this time. Last night, on his bed, she had had that same look in her eyes. That half-frightened, half-hungry stare that made him instantly hard.
She might be a virgin, but she wasn’t happy about it. She needed to make love, and it had nothing to do with her radio show.
He was the man for the job. It was going to be fantastic.
11
JAMIE PUSHED THE MUTE BUTTON and turned the show over to Cujo. She couldn’t believe she’d made it through the first two hours. Her thoughts were scattered, she had the attention span of a gnat, and she kept expecting Whittaker to burst through the door any second.
Chase had called several times, but she wasn’t about to speak to him. He’d done enough to ruin her career, thank you, and she didn’t see the need to help him ruin it further.
After the show, she planned to work on her résumé, although hope of getting another radio show wasn’t strong. But she might be able to get a job as a therapist. Not in New York, which was okay. She wouldn’t mind moving. She’d find herself a nice college town, perhaps, and settle into private practice. Let the scandal burn itself out. She imagined that, in years to come, her humiliation would lessen, and she’d forget about Chase completely.
Her gaze moved to the computer screen, and she saw the next caller up was Dan from Great Neck. He wanted to talk about his girlfriend and her obsession with a celebrity. Cujo gave her the cue, and she leaned in, forcing herself to think about Dan, to give him her full attention.
“This is Dr. Jamie, and we’re talking about sex. Up next is Dan from Great Neck. Dan, you there?”
“Yeah.”
“Talk to me.”
“I’ve been seeing this girl for almost a year, and everything’s been going pretty well.”
“But?”
“But ever since you made that bet, she’s been going ape over Chase Newman.”
Jamie’s gaze darted to the production booth. Marcy had her back turned; she was talking to someone Jamie couldn’t see. She’d asked Marcy to shy away from any Chase calls. Had Dan told her the celebrity his girlfriend was obsessed with?
“What do you mean, Dan? How is she going ape?”
He sighed. “She’s got about a thousand pictures of the guy from every magazine and newspaper she can find. She and her friends talk about him all the time. I mean it. They don’t ever talk about anything else. It’s enough to make you sick.”
“Now, Dan, infatuations are simply that. A dazzling moment when a person assigns all their wildest dreams to someone they don’t know. That person becomes everything good and fine and wonderful, but it’s only for a short time. Because it’s not real. It can’t last. It’s an illusion. She’ll get over it soon, and when she does, she’ll look at you again and wonder how she ever thought Chase Newman could have stolen her heart. You stand by her, let her have her moment, don’t belittle her or get angry, and, in the end, she’ll see she doesn’t have to be dazzled to be happy. She can be herself, with all her flaws, and love you for all that you are.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. Trust me.”
“But isn’t there a way to get her to stop talking about him so much?”
Jamie opened her mouth, but her thoughts were interrupted by the thick, heavy door swinging open. It wasn’t Whittaker; it was Chase. All her higher brain functions stopped, and she was left with a great wallop of fear—and, unbelievably, desire. Her insides were dancing with the duel emotions, and she felt completely helpless. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she was supposed to be doing something. But she was frozen, panicked. This was it. He was going to tell the world who she was and what she’d done. From this moment on, her whole life would change. Everyone would know that she was a fraud, a phony.
Worse than that was the way her nipples hardened and her chest constricted. Adrenaline surged through her, and she wasn’t so naive as to blame it on anything but the truth. She was infatuated with Chase, just the way Dan’s girlfriend was. Only, Jamie’s problem was infinitely worse. The man held her future in the palm of his hand. She was in so much trouble.
Chase threw her a maddeningly casual smile as he sat down in front of the nearest guest mike, put on a set of headphones, grin
ned broadly at Cujo—who grinned back—and pressed the button that would put him on the air.
“Dan?”
“Yeah?”
“This is Chase Newman.”
“Oh man. Damn. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s all right. Is your girl there?”
“You mean you can’t hear her screaming?”
Chase nodded. “When she’s done, put her on the phone, okay?”
“Are you kidding? It’s bad enough now.”
“Trust me.”
Chase kept his smile as he looked at Jamie. She wondered which would be more newsworthy—Chase exposing her secret, or her having a seizure on the air. Either way, she wouldn’t come out smelling like a rose.
“Hello?” A breathless female, her voice quivering in excitement, came over the airwaves.
“What’s your name, darlin’?”
“Oh my God. Marie. My name is Marie. Is it really you?”
“Nice to meet you, Marie. I’m Chase.”
A squeal that threatened eardrums all over Manhattan made Jamie jerk her headphones off. Chase winced, but that’s all.
“Marie?”
“Oh God.”
“Marie, listen up. Jamie was right. I’m not anything special. If you knew me at all, you’d understand that.”
“Oh, come on.”
He shook his head. “It’s true. I’m not any different than Dan. In fact, I’m sure you’re better off with him than me.”
Jamie put her headphones back on and leaned in to the mike. “Why?” Maybe she could put off the inevitable, at least for a little while. Make this about Chase.
He shifted his gaze to her. “Because I don’t share well with others.”
“Go on.” Jamie kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. Any second now—she could just feel it. Her palms sweated, and she felt a trickle of moisture slither down her back.
“The truth is, Marie, I can be a real son of a bitch.”
Jamie closed her eyes, braced for the words that would change everything.
“You?” Marie asked. “I don’t believe you.”
