by Linda Wisdom
“Who’s talking about Miss Big Business?” Tank shook his head at Greg’s stupidity. “I’m talking about Jill. She’s the one whoâs been giving you trouble since day one, if you’d care to admit it. Hell, anyone with brains could see the broad’s got the hots for you as much as you do for her. What I can’t understand is why neither of you won’t do anything about it. She’s sure more woman than some of those female robots you go out with.” Tank felt he had the right to an opinion, since Greg had brought many of his woman friends into Mahoney’s for a drink. Tank had later let him know he didn’t think much of any of them. He pushed even further. “I bet she’s one hot little number in the sack.”
Greg’s lips tightened at the thought of a few of Jill’s former lovers. Tank didn’t miss his reaction.
“That’s the worst way to ruin a good friendship and excellent business relationship,” Greg muttered, unwittingly admitting the many times he had thought of Jill in a much more personal way.
“If you believe that, I’ve got a bridge out in the bay I’d like to sell ya.” Tank shook his head, amused with the logic of Greg’s argument, which left nothing open for typical human behavior. “Buddy, you don’t share a house with a doll like Jill and not fantasize about how she’d be in bed. If you don’t do that, you’re sure not normal.”
Greg smiled at Tank’s sharp observation. He hated to admit it, but there were times when an erotic fantasy would take over without any warning.
It was pretty easy to do when he and Jill shared late-night snacks or breakfast with robes as the dress code. How many times had a tousle-headed Jill entered Greg’s kitchen dressed in her favorite silk kimono which barely covered the essentials, and how many mornings had he shown up at her place to find her wearing nothing more than an oversize T-shirt? How had he remained sane all this time?
“You still goin’ with that dame with the bigâ”
“Nope,” Greg answered swiftly. “Rita and I parted company tonight.”
“Is Jill still seeing the Wimp of Wall Street?” Tank clearly believed in speaking his mind.
Greg chuckled, since he had seen Cal in the same light. “No.”
“So what’s holding you back now?” The large man demanded. “Get outta here!” The smile in his eyes took the sting out of the order that bordered on a drill sergeant’s roar. He shook his head briskly when Greg reached into his pocket to pay for his drinks. “I don’t accept payment after hours. Go home.”
When Greg arrived home he was surprised to find Jill’s bedroom lights still shining. A typical night owl, she was known to stay up until dawn reading one of her gory murder mysteries, only to show up for work in the morning bleary-eyed and out of sorts. Greg had often teased her, saying she probably couldn’t go to sleep after reading one of her favorite thrillers. He hadn’t expected her energy level to resume so soon after her surgery.
In the comfort of his bedroom it didn’t take him long to undress and fall into bed, only to have some very erotic dreams starring Jill and himself.
The next morning, when he had returned from his run, Greg found a note from Jill tacked on his door reminding him of his promise to take her to the doctor that morning.
Promptly at ten o’clock a freshly showered Greg appeared at Jill’s door and escorted her down to his car.
“I don’t see why I have to see Dr. Simmons again,” Jill complained during the short drive to the medical center. “I saw him not that long after I was discharged from the hospital. I feel fine. This is really a waste of time.”
“He just wants to see for himself how well you feel,” he told her, pulling into the parking lot.
Luckily Jill’s wait wasn’t very long and the examination was even shorter. Dr. Simmons told her he was proud of her fast recovery but also warned her against overdoing her activities.
“And no dancing or even yoga just yet,” he reminded her, wagging a finger at her.
Jill nodded, not wishing to ruin her recovery when it was so far along.
“It sounds like you’re well on your way to returning to your usual crazy self,” Greg told her as they walked back out to the parking lot.
“Thank goodness.” She blew out a breath of relief. “Oh, I forgot to ask how your date with Rita went last night.” When Jill saw the thunderous expression on Greg’s face, she could have pinched herself. “Forget I asked,” she muttered, looking down at her feet.
Greg continued walking, unable to forget Rita’s accusations and hating to admit that her words were more than a little true.
Jill noticed the bleak expression in Greg’s eyes and figured Rita had to be the cause. In the hope of cheering him up, she smiled and looped her arm through his and hugged herself against him.
“It appears we don’t have the best of luck with the opposite sex, old boy. Don’t worry, I won’t throw you to the wolves.”
Greg halted so abruptly that Jill would have fallen if she hadn’t been holding on to his arm.
“Do me a favor, just worry about yourself for once,” he snapped, his dark features threatening an upcoming storm. “Damnit, Jill, can’t I have any privacy in my life without you pushing in to give unwanted advice?” He jerked open the passenger door and practically pushed her inside.
Well aware she had said too much, Jill remained quiet during the drive back to the house until a shop facing the street caught her eye.
“Stop the car!” she commanded.
“What?” Greg almost slammed on the brakes, looking wildly at his passenger.
“There’s the cutest sweater in that boutique over there. Can you find a parking space so I can check on it?” Jill asked.
Greg counted to ten. “You almost give me a heart attack because of a lousy sweater?” he shouted. “I thought you had lost something valuable or were in pain. Why couldn’t the doctor have taken out your buying tendencies along with your appendix?”
“Please?” she wheedled.
He sighed heavily. “Okay, there’s a spot over there. Just do me a favor, will you? Don’t make up for lost time. This car can only hold so much.”
Jill did make up for her time away from the stores by buying two pairs of pants, a pair of jeans with embroidery on the pockets, a shirt and three dresses along with the infamous sweater. Greg gave thanks out loud that it wasn’t his credit card getting the workout.
The next day Jill argued with Greg that she felt well enough to resume work on their new book. In fact, she was more than ready to do something to relieve a great deal of the energy stored up in her body. She promised to be downstairs the following day, ready for work.
Promptly at ten-thirty, Jill’s idea of the beginning of a workday, she appeared in the doorway of Greg’s office.
“Good morning,” she greeted him cheerfully.
He looked up and groaned at the sight of bright red yoga pants, oversize gray sweatshirt and worn black ballet slippers. Her hair was pulled back in a careless ponytail, and she was happily munching on a candy bar.
“One, morning is almost over. Two, how can you stand there eating candy so early in the day?” Greg demanded.
With a shrug of her shoulders Jill entered the office and perched herself on top of the worktable beside Greg’s desk.
“This has everything breakfast cereal has.” She motioned with the peanut, caramel, chocolate, and nougat concoction. “It’s known as instant energy food, according to the ads. How are the ideas for the new book coming along? Are you ready to go back and forth with them?”
Greg shook his head. “Nothingâs coming out rightl. We need to come up with a new angle. Have any ideas?”
After Jill finished her candy bar she pulled her legs up and settled herself in a cross-legged position on the table. She dusted her hands off and tossed the crumpled candy wrapper into the wastebasket with a shot guaranteed to turn any basketball player’s eyes green with envy. “Story conference time.” She smiled prettily. “Let’s see, what shall we have good old Harry do this time?”
Greg lean
ed back in his chair and propped his feet on the desk. Jill slyly studied the length of jeans-clad leg from hem to waist and found everything to her satisfaction. She hid her smile as her thoughts continued wandering along the same vein until she sternly brought them back to serious business.
An hour later Greg was engrossed in fashioning a chain of colored plastic-coated paper clips. Jill was busy applying a bright coral shade of polish to her nails.
“Why don’t we have him run for president?” Greg spoke up.
Jill thought for a moment, then shook her head. “It sounds good, but maybe we should wait on writing one like that until an election year.”
“How about him taking a train trip?”
She didn’t even look up from her task. “We did something similar two years ago.”
“He could visit the circus.” A bright red paper clip was hooked onto a green one as the chain trailed down to the gray carpet.
“Nah.” She replaced the polish brush in the bottle and carefully screwed the top shut. She held up her nails, studying them carefully. “I’m going to have to make an appointment to get these done ASAP. They’re really a mess.”
“He could rob a bank.” Laughter sparkled in Greg’s eyes.
“Cute, Greg, real cute. Parents would love us showing their kids how to pull off the perfect heist.”
Greg straightened, snapping his fingers when his hot idea sprang forth. “I’ve got it! He’ll climb the Empire State Building!”
Jill shot Greg a wry look. “Seriously Greg? You do know thatâs been done and done very well. Are you thinking of planes attacking Harry too? That he kidnaps a damsel in distress.â
He shrugged as if it was no matter. “Okay, hotshot, come up with something better,” he challenged.
Jill smiled sweetly. “He can visit Santa Claus at the North Pole.” One shoulder rose daintily in a coy gesture of triumph.
Greg’s brows knit together in concentration as he thought over her suggestion. “He could help make the toys, whip the elves into shape and perhaps even substitute for Rudolph on Christmas Eve. It just might work, and if we can push writing it, it could come out for Christmas a year from now.”
“Of course it will work.” She replied, insinuating that there was no doubt her idea was pure genius.
“Okay.” Greg tapped keys to wake up his sleeping computer. “How’s he going to get up to the great white outdoors?”
Jill leaned her chin in her cupped palm. “Perhaps he wants to tell Santa in person what he wants for Christmas?” She leaned over and rummaged in a nearby drawer. “What happened to the candy bar I left in here?”
“You probably ate it.”
Greg typed with the time-honored system of hunt and peck. He sighed, hoping Jill would take pity on him and do the typing, but she was too engrossed in hunting for her candy bar and throwing out suggestions for him to type into the rough outline they would start with. Actually she was purposely ignoring his plight. She was well aware that if she gave in to him too often, she’d end up doing all the typing, and she had suffered through too many temporary jobs involving heavy typing to get caught in that trap again. Thanks to Greg’s skillful maneuverings, she had typed the entire manuscript of their first book. She had learned her lesson after that.
They worked on the outline until mid-afternoon, before breaking for a late lunch of chicken salad sandwiches at Jill’s place. Greg added an apple to eat with his sandwich and Jill added a slice of blueberry pie to her lunch.
“I think we have another winner,” she decided, finding Greg’s face much more interesting to look at than her pie. She continued to study him under the cover of her lashes.
“Do I have something on my nose?” Amusement laced his voice.
Jill squinted, carefully dissecting every microscopic inch of his face. “You nicked yourself shaving,” she diagnosed finally. But she found it difficult to ignore the strange feelings coursing through her veins as a result of her careful investigation of Greg’s face. “You seem to do that a lot. Perhaps you should use an electric razor.”
He looked at the large calendar on the wall near the refrigerator, with the many notes she had jotted in the large boxes.
“How long will you be out of your dance class?” he asked absently, watching her carry the dishes to the sink, rinse them off and place them in the dishwasher.
“Six weeks,” she replied, wiping her hands on a dishtowel, carefully folding it and draping it over a nearby towel rack. In a matter of minutes the kitchen was sparkling clean. “The trouble is, we’re having a performance in a couple months, and if I want to still participate I’ll have a great deal of catching up to do when I return to class.” She spooned the last of the chicken salad into a plastic container and placed it in the refrigerator.
“Guess you better pack your tutus in mothballs so nothing happens to them before you return to class.” His dark eyes danced with amusement.
“You should talk. Some of your athletic clothing isn’t all that great to look at.” She stuck her tongue out at him.
Greg sprawled in the chair, laughing at Jill’s return to childhood. “How about dropping over to Mahoney’s tonight for a couple of drinks?” he invited.
“Evelyne’s coming over.” She turned away, not seeing the disappointment flicker across his face.
“She could come along.” His invitation was halfhearted.
Jill turned back, laughing at the scowl he wore. “Oh, Greg, don’t sound so grumpy,” she chided, walking over and looping her arms around his neck. “Tell you whatâwhy don’t we go down to Fisherman’s Wharf or Pier 39 for lunch tomorrow?”
“Damnit, Jill!” he rasped out. “You don’t have to treat me as if I’m some kid who has to be pacified!”
Jill stood back, stunned by yet another display of bad temper from a man who rarely raised his voice. Generally Greg was the most even-tempered man she had known, which was the opposite of her own volatile nature, but lately he had been very edgy.
“She really got to you, didn’t she?” she asked in a hushed voice that couldn’t quite mask her sorrow.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re upset over Rita dumping you,” Jill clarified.
“Your surgery seems to have badly impaired your brain.”
At his nasty comment Jill felt tears fill her eyes. This was an experience she wasn’t accustomed to.
“I just wish I knew what I did to make you so angry with me, Greg,” she sniffed, wiping at the tears with the back of her hand. “I don’t know why you persist in yelling at me all the time, but I do know I don’t like it.” Due to her tears, her eyes turned a liquid midnight blue.
“Jill, give me a break,” Greg begged, taking her into his arms and cradling her against him. “You know I can’t handle it if you start crying.”
“Then why are you acting like some kind of crazed monster?” she sobbed, linking her arms around his waist.
“I don’t know, babe.” He sighed, nuzzling the soft silk of her hair. “It’s just been a bad few days for me.”
“Maybe so, but you’re not being fair to me. I still don’t feel good, and crying hurts my stomach.” She unconsciously snuggled closer to him. “This is all your fault.”
Greg never felt so helpless as when a woman cried. It was even worse listening to Jill, since she wasn’t a woman to use tears to break down a man’s defenses. All he could do was gently rub her back and croon soft words in her ear until she calmed down.
At the same time he was acutely conscious of the strawberry fragrance lingering in her hair from her morning shampoo and the light floral scent of her perfume. He was also aware of her breasts pressing warmly against his chest and her hips cradled intimately into his. He clenched his teeth when he felt the heated stirrings begin deep down in his body.
“Jill, are you okay now?” It took all his self-control to sound normal, but he had to get away from her before his arousal became known.
“No.” She sniffed, pul
ling away. “My face is red and blotchy, my eyes are swollen and I have a headache.”
He chuckled at her complaint, grateful that the tension left his body before Jill noticed it.
“Mahoney’s tomorrow night then?” he asked. Jill nodded. “Why don’t we go over the outline in the morning to smooth the rough edges? That way you can rest this afternoon and be ready to go in the morning. That is, if you can manage to push yourself out of bed before noon,” he ended on a teasing note.
She made a comical face. “You are so funny.”
“Yeah, such a great guy, too.” With that he sauntered out of the kitchen and out of the apartment.
But Jill wasn’t laughing. It wasn’t the first time she had seriously considered taking one of his outrageous remarks at face value. There was no doubt about Greg’s good looks. He certainly had enough adoring women to prove it. Jill had often commented that no woman in her right mind would want a man who thought living room chairs were meant to hold his laundry, but, surprisingly enough, a majority of his lady friends were more than happy to push aside their liberated status to cook meals for him, fold and put away his laundry, drop off and pick up his dry cleaning and clean up his kitchen in between Mrs. Hathaway’s visits. Jill also noticed that none of them ever complained about Greg’s less than immaculate habits. She wondered if it had to do with a latent mothering instinct or their hopes heâd decide he couldnât do without them.
She was still pondering her more than usual interest in Greg when Evelyne arrived, carrying a bottle of white wine and a bag of sugar cookies meant to melt in the mouth. Jill’s contribution to their meal was a spinach quiche.
As they later relaxed with their dessert of wine and cookies, Jill spoke aloud some of her thoughts regarding Greg.
“I always knew the two of you wouldn’t be able to ignore each other much longer.” Evelyne smirked. “I’m surprised your pact of just remaining friends has lasted this long.”
“Ha! If you think I want to join the likes of Rita, Sheryl, Renee, Ginny, and more other women than I’d care to count, you’ve got rocks in your head,” Jill argued, then groaned when she saw the gleam in her friend’s eye. “No, Evelyne, no more hocus-pocus. I do not want to listen to any more of your predictions.”
