“Thank you.” She sectioned a piece of his hair, slid a piece of foil under it and painted it with the smelly color from her bowl. Then she folded it up and secured it while she went on to another section.
“Ever want to paint canvases or furniture full time, instead of hair?”
“I love what I do, Governor.” And it was true—she did. But had she ever dreamed of more free time to paint? Of course.
“Please,” he said, “call me Jack.”
Oh, right. Because I’m The One. “Okay, Jack. So now that you’ve read an entire dossier on my life and times, why don’t you share some of your history with me?”
“Good point. Where would you like me to start?”
The governor now had little foil wings at each of his temples, which unfortunately didn’t diminish his sex appeal. They just made him look like some kind of goofy—but hot—space alien. She tried not to laugh.
“What’s your secret dream?” she asked him.
“To be a rock star,” he said promptly. “Can’t you see me with head-banger hair and tattoos on my chest and maybe some KISS makeup?”
He would have to bring up the subject of his chest again. “No.”
“Not even a little bit?”
She shook her head. “Sorry.”
“You’re crushing me, here. Absolutely crushing me.”
“Governor—Jack—you’re so Republican that you squeak.” And he was, judging by his looks alone. However, now that she thought about it, his actions toward her hadn’t been very conservative at all.
“I’ve never squeaked in my life.” Jack straightened and she remembered the breadth of his chest and the corded muscle of his arms. “And what do my politics have to do with anything?” He looked offended.
She cleared her throat. “Well, it’s just that…I think most rock stars vote for the other side.” And then there’s me—I didn’t even make it to the polls during the last election. She wasn’t proud of that.
“You’re stereotyping.”
She shrugged. Maybe she was.
“You’re trying to tell me that because of my politics, I’m not allowed to dream about being a rock star? That makes no sense at all.”
“Yes it does,” she insisted. “Rock is all about rebellion and anger and doing what feels good—calling bullshit on the establishment. You are the establishment! You’re up there in Tallahassee trying to legislate morality, which by the way is never going to work….”
“You know,” he said calmly, “I don’t think you have the faintest idea of what I do in Tallahassee. I don’t think you have a clue what a Republican is, and I know you don’t understand my personal agenda.”
Marly swallowed, set down her color bowl and brush on a table, and folded her arms. “Oh, really? What is it?”
Jack poked his tongue into his cheek and cocked his head at her. “In one sentence or less, I’m for streamlining big government, sweeping educational reform and the restructuring of our tax system. Does that sound evil to you?”
“Depends on the specifics.” But inwardly she was cynical. Streamlining big government was Republican code for “throwing out all social programs” and the restructuring of our tax system clearly meant “giving breaks to the rich while worsening the financial situation of the poor and middle class.” She only just refrained from curling her lip.
“Well, if you had about three days to listen, I’d explain it all to you. Now, what other crazy ideas do you have about Republicans? That we’re all religious nuts and right-leaning and only have sex in the missionary position—solely for reproductive purposes?”
“No—”
“Because I can assure you that none of those things are true of me—and especially not the last one.”
His blue gaze bored into her and all of a sudden Marly found herself remembering that the man did have a little hair on his toes. Hmm, wonder if Shirlie’s right about that toe hair/size connection?
How was it possible for the blasted man to look sexy with foil wings on his head? Nobody looked good in foil. Except for him! He was in the most emasculated position possible—at least with clothes on—and yet he vibrated with testosterone. He wore it like a tailor-made suit.
It was lowering to have to place herself on a level with Nicky and Shirlie, but the shoe fit: Marly wondered with sudden intensity what Jack Hammersmith looked like completely naked, and whether there was truth in advertising. Rock Hudson was gay, she reminded herself. She unstuck her tongue from the roof of her mouth. “Governor, would you like something to drink while we’re waiting?” The color had to stay in for a few minutes longer.
“Jack,” he said again. “And that would be great. Just water, please.”
“Will Frick and Frack need to test it for toxins or killer microbes?”
“You tell them that if they stick their tongues into my drink, they’ll be guarding the mail room next week.”
“I’d be delighted.” Marly left the room, slipping again through the twin slabs of muscle outside the door. They didn’t so much as blink at her.
Peggy, After Hours’ massage therapist and third owner, was humming in the kitchen. “Hi, sweetie.”
“You’re humming again,” said Marly, oddly touched. She hadn’t seen Peggy this happy in forever. She was definitely in love.
“Oh. Sorry. Am I getting any more musical? Probably not.” She grinned. “So do you really have Jack Hammersmith back there for color? I saw the limo and the security detail.”
Marly nodded. “Yeah, those are hard to miss. Can you believe it? This is great PR for us.”
“Just watch out,” Peg warned her. “I hear the guy is relentless when it comes to good-looking women.”
Marly shrugged. “He’s already tried—I’ll give you the juicy details later.”
Peg rolled her eyes. “I can’t wait. Hey, Troy and I have a couple of spare tickets to the Dolphins’ game. You want to come?”
Marly would rather be thrown naked into a bed of fire ants than attend a football game. “Thanks so much, but I’m off to visit my da—uh, parents. You should ask Shirlie.”
Peggy frowned. “Well, I think she still has a thing for Troy.”
“I have two words for you—elbow and macaroni. Remember?”
Peggy froze and then started laughing. “Oh, God. I forgot about that. I was furious at him, and she kept pushing.”
“Well, I think she’s over him, because she’s now trying to estimate the size of the governor’s package.”
“My sympathies!”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Marly returned to the treatment room with two glasses of ice water, and when the muscle heads squinted at them she repeated what Jack had said. Again they exchanged glances silently and let her by.
“Frick and Frack really don’t like the idea of the mail room,” she reported.
He grinned and accepted the water with thanks. They each sipped, eyeing each other warily, and then she announced that it was time to rinse the solution from his hair.
“This isn’t a regular salon sink back here, so it’ll be a little odd,” she told him. “But come on over.” She pulled the little squares of foil off and then had him bend forward. She put his head under the faucet and shampooed his hair thoroughly, while strange psychological currents eddied around them. He smelled just as good as he had yesterday morning, a little muskier because the day had worn on. The scent was a combination of soap, deodorant and a curiously citrusy fragrance—heady, refreshing and expensive. She wondered if it was a custom blend.
It felt distinctly weird to be running her fingers over this man’s scalp, massaging it, when he’d said the things he’d said to her. The forced proximity to someone she wanted to keep her distance from was uncomfortable.
Nevertheless, she did her job, keeping the shampoo out of his eyes and working it in and out of his hair twice before conditioning it.
The guy even looked handsome upside down, whereas most people looked ridiculous with their jowls jostling their e
yelids.
Finally, finally, she was done, and she wound a towel around his head. Usually a shampoo girl would have done all this, but they were, after all, trying to protect his privacy.
She sat him back down in the chair, removed the towel and combed his hair neatly into a side part. She reached for a blow-dryer, but he put his hand on her arm. “No, thanks. I don’t want it all fluffy and sprayed into place like plastic.”
“Okay. Then—I guess we’re done here, as long as you like the color.”
“I like it,” Jack told her. “But you and I aren’t done by a long shot.”
She eyed him coolly, saying nothing, even though his calm arrogance irritated her.
“Will you have dinner with me?”
“Jack, I’m honored. I really am. But…let me just say that your reputation precedes you.”
He got that sheepish expression on his face once again. “I know they call me The Hammer.”
“Yeah. And I’m sure you have no idea why. Sorry, but I’m not up for, um, a quickie. To put it bluntly.”
“I keep trying to tell you that it’s not like that. Really.”
She just looked at him.
“Kiss me, Marly. If you don’t feel anything, then I’ll walk right out of here and I won’t bother you again. On the other hand, if you do—and I’m counting on you to be honest, here—then you go to dinner with me one night this week.”
5
KISS HIM? Marly stared at Jack. If you feel nothing, then I’ll walk right out of here and I won’t bother you again.
The problem was that she knew she was going to feel something—already did, as he approached her with only the barest minimum of a question in his eyes. Mostly what was in them was the calm certainty of an alpha male about to take possession of something he wanted. And even though she resented being the object of that possessive gaze, a frisson of excitement flashed through her, too.
Jack reached her within three steps and caught her chin in his hands, angling his head over hers.
She closed her eyes, still thinking, No, I’m not doing this. But then she was. His lips touched hers and a hot streak of lightning hit her in the gut. Shocked, she half pulled away, but his hands still cupped her jaw. He looked into her eyes, slowly and deliberately, and then kissed her again, this time deeply.
Her mouth parted under his and the electricity licked at her gut again as he explored her mouth with his tongue, moved his hands into her hair and pulled it loose. His fingers were heaven on her scalp and at the sensitive skin of her neck. Her nerve endings tingled and sent a deep shiver of pleasure along her spine. He dropped his hands to her waist and hauled her against him so that her breasts flattened against the wall of his chest.
Her nipples tautened almost painfully and heat rushed through her as Jack stroked her tongue with his own and then gently bit her lower lip. She tried to stroke his jaw, his ears—but he grabbed her wrists, pinning them behind her with one hand and backed her against the wall.
Then he devoured her again. When he raised his head and gazed down at her, the look in his eyes wasn’t remotely civilized. His pupils had enlarged and his irises had gone smoky, not quite focused. His breathing shallow, he still managed to get one word out. “Damn,” said The Hammer, his voice rough. “You are The One.”
She was tempted to believe him, but it was just too easy. She opened her mouth to speak but he plundered it again, stealing her breath and whatever words had been on the tip of her tongue. He bruised her lips and licked her clean of logic or thought. He left nothing but her response to him.
And when next he raised his head, she could only stare at him. Jack stared back. Then, eyes heavy-lidded with desire, he traced one thumb over her right nipple.
If he hadn’t still been holding her wrists, she might have slid boneless down the wall.
Her expression, her tiny catch of breath, must have told him all he needed to know. Because before she could even process what was happening, he had her tank tops bunched under her armpits and he’d fastened his mouth over her bare nipple.
This time her knees refused to support her and only his hand locked around her wrists and the muscular thigh he jammed between her legs held her up. She sucked in oxygen in a long, ragged breath.
Jack’s tongue slid over and around the pink bud, while Marly closed her eyes and let the room fall away. Sensations rushed from her breasts to the juncture of her thighs and back again, losing her in a Bermuda Triangle of desire.
Kiss? This was no ordinary average kiss. This was a full-on sensual assault.
“You’re crazy beautiful,” Jack murmured, and then took her other nipple into his mouth. She sagged again onto his thigh and gave herself to pleasure.
When he raised his head and looked into her eyes again, she could only blink stupidly at him.
“Have dinner with me, Marly.”
It wasn’t a question, it was a command. And even though she hated being told what to do, even though she wore Rebel blue toenail polish, she nodded her head. “Okay, Jack. I’ll have dinner with you.”
HE WAS GREATLY relieved at her answer. His response to Marly Fine ricocheted off the charts. The way her lips yielded to his, the feel of her in his arms, the scent of her hair and the taste of her skin—in combination, it was enough to make a man lose his mind. There was something exotic and untamed about her that quickened his blood and drove him to possess her. If that was primitive and not politically correct, too bad. He literally ached to have her, to drive into that lithe, sweet body of hers.
But Jack got control over himself and straightened her clothes, even though what he wanted to do was to rip them off her and keep her naked for all time, preferably swimming in a vat of warm baby oil….
Her dark hair framed her face and hung down her back. God, he loved her hair free and flowing over her shoulders. He loved the fact that she didn’t seem to wear any makeup besides a little lip gloss—which, thanks to him, wasn’t there any longer. Her lips swollen and her nipples plainly visible even through two layers of fabric, she looked like a gorgeous Gypsy, one that he’d follow anywhere.
“Which evening are you free?” he asked. “Is tomorrow too soon?”
She tucked the loose tendrils of hair behind her ears and put an index finger to her lips, tracing them as he had done with his tongue. “Yes. Tomorrow is too soon.” She was going to see her parents over the weekend. “I need some time to…How about Tuesday?”
Tuesday he was supposed to be at a charity dinner to raise money for further diabetes research. But without any hesitation Jack said, “Tuesday is perfect. Pick you up at eight?” He’d paid five hundred dollars for the privilege of being bored stiff all night. They had his money already, so should he feel guilty for feeling a stomach virus coming on? Nah.
She nodded. “Um, so…is this a double date?” She gestured at the door behind her. “I mean, will the boys be coming along?”
Jack frowned and shrugged apologetically. “It’s hard for me to dodge security. But I’ll tell you what, I’ll make sure they’re either out in the car or at a table across the restaurant, okay?”
An evil impulse sparkled in her eyes. “Would they like dates? One of them seemed impressed with Shirlie’s…attributes. And we have a very cute single manicurist here, too. Or if one of them swings the other way, I’m sure our stylist Nicky would be happy to—”
His lips twitched. “Maybe next time.” He looked regretfully at his watch. “I’m going to have to go—I have a speech to make to a young Republicans group.”
Marly wrinkled her nose and seemed about to make a caustic comment, but he put his hand out, palm up. “Hey, I know what you’re going to say. But it’s better for kids to be politically active early and learn that they can make a difference. Don’t you think Republicanism is better than utter apathy?”
She looked undecided at that, and Jack laughed. “I’m going to teach you the upside of conservative politics before we’re through, Marly.”
“Yeah? How do you k
now that I won’t impart the wisdom of liberal thinking to you, instead?”
She looked so fierce and yet so adorably kissable. “Well,” he said with caution, “I foresee a lot of spirited discussions ahead.”
She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes.
“Better not puff your mouth up like that or I’ll kiss it right off,” Jack told her, moving toward the door. They now both looked presentable enough to finally open it.
“You like the silver in your hair?”
He nodded. “I do. Well, as much as I can like the concept of doing anything to my hair. It’s a pain in the ass and isn’t exactly a manly sport. But thank you—that was a good recommendation.” He hesitated. “So, will you give me your phone number before I leave?”
“I’ll be here, mostly. So just call After Hours.”
Interesting. She was still keeping him at arm’s length, even after that kiss. She didn’t want to give up any more personal information—not that he couldn’t get her number through back channels quite easily if he tried. But he wanted her to give it to him herself.
“All right then,” he said, trying to dismiss the kernel of disappointment. “I’ll call you.”
She nodded and he walked out.
He’d no sooner gotten into the car than Turls was on his case via cell phone. “Hi, Turly.” Her fussy tones made him smile.
“You will recall, I’m sure, sir, that it is Miss Hilliard’s birthday in two weeks.”
Was it? He’d forgotten. “You’re right—it is her birthday in two weeks.”
“And I’m sure, sir, that you’ve already had the fore-thought to buy her a gift?”
She knew very well that he hadn’t. “Turls,” he lied, “I’ve been racking my brain for days, and I can’t think of what to get her. I’m a guy. We’re not good at this type of thing.”
“Would you like me to find something for you, sir?”
“Yes, that would be fabulous—you know Carol’s taste better than I do. What would I do without you, Turls?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, sir. By the way, you do have Miss Hilliard’s party marked on your calendar? It’s coming up.”
After Hours Bundle Page 23
