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IAN CARLISLE WAS OBSESSED with a woman he'd never met. A woman who seduced him every night with her alluring voice, fired his interest and libido with the provocative and sometimes erotic topics she discussed on the air, and aroused him with their sizzling banter and sexy debates.
Lately, she'd become a part of his dreams and fantasies, too, and that's when he knew he was in deep. It wasn't enough that he came home to her every evening, now he was taking her to bed with him every night. Unfortunately, he still woke up alone, and most times hard and aching for that illusive fantasy. She provided an irresistible attraction that kept him coming back to her night after night.
With ten minutes to go before her radio show time, he stepped into his glass-and-chrome shower stall. He welcomed the cool rush of water on his taut, heated skin after spending an hour working off the stress of a long day negotiating a major deal for his investment firm. Now his head was clear, his body relaxed, and his thoughts focused solely on her.
He soaped up his body, scrubbing across his chest and torso, and down to his thighs. Anticipation rippled through him, heightening the need to hear her sultry voice and discover what she had planned for tonight's show and her audience's listening pleasure. Excitement unfurled deep in his belly at the thought of yet another night of teasing debates and sexy challenges.
Their nightly ritual was like an illicit affair, verbally risqué and physically arousing. The kind of flirtation that was fun, frivolous and daring. A playful, lively distraction that took his mind off work and the painful memories that had a way of creeping up on him in the evenings when his penthouse was too quiet.
That's how he'd come across Erica McCree's radio show nearly a month ago. Desperate to fill the oppressive silence in his huge, empty house, he'd flipped on his stereo for music and instead he'd found her. Amusing, sassy, seductive, she not only made the hot summer Chicago nights hotter with her candid talk about sexual issues, she inflamed him, as well. And it had been a long time since any woman had affected him so strongly and on such a basic, masculine level.
Not wanting to miss Erica's opening intro, he shut off the water, stepped out of the shower and dried off with a fluffy forest-green-colored towel that matched the bathroom's decor. Pulling on his favorite pair of sweat shorts, he headed into the living room and turned on his stereo system with a flip of a switch on the wall. A serious male voice filtered from the speakers placed strategically throughout the front rooms with a brief up-to-date newscast, which would then segue into Erica's evening talk show, Heat Waves.
Taking advantage of the extra minutes, Ian padded barefoot across the polished hardwood floors leading into the kitchen to retrieve a cold beer. Grabbing a long neck of his favorite brew, he shut the refrigerator and twisted the cap off the bottle. Unerringly, his gaze was drawn to the piece of paper attached to the surface of the white enameled door by a magnet for pizza delivery. The color publicity photo of Erica McCree he'd printed from the radio station's website stared back at him, eliciting a slow burn of desire he was accustomed to feeling when it came to her. After enjoying Erica's company on the air and candidly debating intimate issues with her as if they were old lovers, he'd been curious to see what she looked like, to know if her appearance matched her incredibly rich voice and uninhibited personality.
He'd been surprised, but not at all disappointed with his discovery. He liked what he saw, was fascinated by the contrast of the unabashed image Erica projected on the air and the photo of the real woman. While she came across as an experienced sex critic on her show, there was something soft and feminine about her in the picture, coupled with an underlying mystery that captivated and intrigued him. Deep brown eyes highlighted with gold flecks sparkled with an abundance of amusement, and the sassy tilt of her head caused silky waves of honey-blond hair to brush her shoulders. Without a doubt, the mischievous smile curving her glossy lips gave him the impression she was hiding a wealth of secrets from her listening audience.
And he wanted to unveil every single one of them and discover who the real Erica McCree was – talk-show vixen with experience to back up her provocative topics, or a sensitive woman masquerading as an accomplished siren? It was a question he didn't have an answer to – yet.
The newscaster finished his update and weather report, informed listeners to stay tuned for the upcoming segment of Heat Waves, then made a smooth transition into a jingle for a local furniture store.
Ian headed back out to the living room, stopped by the floor-to-ceiling windows dominating one long wall and took a swallow of his beer. At sixteen floors up and just off Lake Shore Drive
, he had a million-dollar view of Grant Park and Chicago Harbor. The twinkling lights of sailboats and yachts drifting on Lake Michigan were an awesome sight to behold, especially at night. A wry smile touched his mouth when he considered his choice of drink and the old, threadbare sweat shorts he wore, both of which were at odds with the luxury and opulence surrounding him.
He shook his head, still amazed that he'd come so far. From a scrappy, poor kid whose mother was more interested in her next quick fix rather than the welfare of her son, to a wealthy CEO of an investment firm that had been turned over to his care when David Winslow, his mentor and surrogate father, had retired. Poverty was far behind him now, yet Ian still couldn't quite get used to the fact that he had more money than he knew what to do with. How he'd gotten to this point in his life sometimes seemed like a blur, most likely because he'd allowed the guilt and pain of a more devastating, personal loss to blunt his emotions.
For years after his fiancée's death, getting through each day had been a laborious task of forcing his mind to focus on nothing but stocks, bonds, mutual funds, and making big money for his clients. He hadn't realized the tedious, monotonous rut he'd dug himself into … until Erica McCree. Their on-the-air connection and chemistry gave him a boost of energy and enthusiasm that no investment deal could compare with. She gave him something to look forward to at the end of a mentally exhausting day – excitement, thrills and a physical craving that made him feel alive again when he hadn't even realized just how dead he'd been inside.
With a deep breath, he finished his beer and turned back to the living room just as Erica announced her intro and the topic of her show.
"This is Erica McCree, and you're listening to WTLK and Chicago's most titillating talk show, Heat Waves, which pretty much sums up the weather lately. Hot. Sultry. Humid." Her voice grew soft and seductive, her next words rolling off her tongue like a satisfied purr. "Hmm, sounds like a night of great sex, doesn't it?"
Husky, feminine laughter drifted around Ian, courtesy of his sound system, warming him in a way the outside weather couldn't. Awareness and heat made a mockery of the cool shower he'd taken and the air-conditioning lowering the temperature of the air swirling around him.
"I'd like to share a story with you, which will lead into tonight's discussion. Recently I went out on a date and the guy I was with spent most of it on his cell phone," she told her audience, her tone more amused than annoyed. "And when he wasn't talking to a third party, he was checking out other women. However, at the end of the date he expected more than a good-night kiss. He didn't get it, by the way."
This time Ian chuckled, at Erica's impudent attitude and the fact that she seemed to take delight in rejecting the other man's advances after being ignored most of the night. Not that he could blame her for turning the guy down. Indeed, the infatuated part of him reveled in the knowledge that she'd spent that particular night alone.
"The whole incident got me wondering, what does a man find sexy about a woman? What catches his interest, what keeps him calling, and what ultimately turns him on – in bed and out? So, guys, what turns you on about a woman and keeps you coming bac
k for more?"
She let the dangling question ignite imaginations as a light jazz tune rolled into another advertisement. Ian set his empty beer bottle on the end table, grabbed the portable phone and settled himself on the couch. Luxurious brushed-suede fabric caressed his bare skin and added to the anticipation within him as he contemplated Erica's question. What made him return to her show night after night? What kept him calling? What ultimately turned him on?
She'd find out soon enough, when it was their turn to debate tonight's topic.
Minutes later she was back on the air with a caller. "So, Derek, what grabs your interest and keeps your fire burning when it comes to one special woman?"
"Long legs that end in stilettos and big breasts in tight shirts rock my world."
"I take it you're not concerned about intelligent conversation at this point," Erica commented jokingly. "Do her breasts have to be real, or can they be artificially enhanced?"
"Doesn't matter. The bigger, the better."
"Hmm, well, I think you just took half the female population out of the running, myself included." Humor infused her voice, making Ian imagine an indulgent grin spreading across her face. "Thanks for your opinion, Derek. Next up is Larry. What turns you on?"
"I like a woman who's a quiet, demure lady in public, but a slut in the bedroom."
"So, you want your cake and be able to eat it, too?" Erica said without missing a beat.
"That's one way of putting it," Larry replied, his voice gruff and macho. "Women should be seen and not heard in public, and accommodating to my needs in bed."
"I didn't realize some of us were still living in the Dark Ages," she replied lightly, in a way that couldn't be construed as insulting. "I'm sure the woman you're looking for is out there somewhere, so keep up the search. Good luck, Larry."
She disconnected that line and picked up another. "Welcome to the show, Kent," Erica continued, introducing the next caller and keeping the flow of conversation upbeat and lively. "What's your opinion on this subject?"
"I'm attracted to the way a woman walks, which is what grabbed my attention with my current girlfriend. If she's confident and secure about herself it'll show in the way she holds her head high, her straight shoulders, and the subtle sway of her hips. Confidence is a huge turn-on for me, especially when that assertiveness carries into the bedroom and sex."
"Wow, I like that," she said sincerely, seemingly mulling over her latest caller's perspective on what turned a man's head. "Ladies, take note. I think Kent has a very valid point you might want to consider in your own attempts to catch a man's eye. Let your body do the talking. Confidence is sexy, especially when it's worn on the outside. It'll make him wonder what's beneath that layer of confidence, and it wouldn't hurt to back up that self-assurance with something equally confident and sexy when he strips away that outer layer. Garters, teddies, barely-there panties – the possibilities are endless, and without a doubt he'll appreciate the extra effort."
Unbidden, images of Erica in sinful, sensual lingerie projected in Ian's mind like an intimate centerfold. He envisioned her lying across his bed, silk and lace contouring to gently rounded curves, and sheerer material caressing her soft skin and accentuating everything feminine about her – breasts, hips, thighs. Her rich hair would flow over his pillow, and the come-hither look in her eyes would match the inviting smile on her lips that said, I want you.
The fantasy teased Ian's senses and his blood pumped heavily in his veins. Shifting on the couch as his body responded to that visual stimulation, he shook those erotic thoughts from his head and continued listening to the show. He found himself entertained and enlightened by the various responses other men offered Erica – along with a few women who deemed it necessary to share their point of view about the question of the night. The callers' answers were diverse and insightful, and Erica's comebacks were playful, spontaneous and sometimes a little outrageous.
At ten-forty-five, Erica broke for a commercial. Right on cue, Ian picked up his cordless phone to call into the station. It was his turn to state his opinion on the matter and seduce Erica's imagination with his definition of what he found sexy about women – about her – and what kept him coming back for more.
He hit the speed dial and waited for the fun to begin.
*
ERICA TURNED OFF HER mike, slipped off her headset and leaned back in her chair with a long sigh. She lifted her hair off the back of her damp neck, hoping for relief from the stifling air in the small, crowded soundproof studio where the DJs broadcasted their shows. The station's ancient air conditioner was on the fritz again, which wasn't a surprise to any of the employees on the fifth floor of the downtown Chicago building. After chugging all day to ward off the summer heat wave, the unit was now spitting out sporadic spurts of cool air, making her body alternate between gratitude and hot flashes depending on the unit's temperament.
Right now, she had a sheen of perspiration on her warm skin, which was sticky and clammy, but felt great when she caught one of those rare gusts of cold air from the cantankerous air conditioner. She'd worn a denim miniskirt and thin blouse, and since no one was left at the station except herself, the station's producer and program director, Carly, and the rent-a-guard outside, she'd stripped down to her cotton tank top. Anything more and she'd be walking the fine line of indecency, not that any of her callers would ever know.
She kept an eye on the computer monitor flashing in front of her, watching the time limit on the current reel of commercials before she had to be back on the air. Opening a side drawer, she found a scrunchie and pulled her hair into a high ponytail, then glanced to the left where Carly occupied the glass-enclosed booth next to hers and was screening incoming calls for the next segment.
The radio station was a small operation with few frills, and everyone had more than one job to perform in order to keep things running smoothly. While the pay was mediocre, Erica was doing what she enjoyed and was completely self-sufficient – unlike her mother and sister, who had no idea how to support themselves. And she was gradually making a name for herself.
Three years ago she'd moved from California to Chicago after breaking off a live-in relationship that had turned too controlling. The relationship had nearly stripped her of everything that was important to her and made her realize she was better off alone. With a degree in communications to her credit, she'd landed her first DJ job at a blues station, working the grueling, 2:00 to 6:00 a.m. graveyard shift. After two years of being blatantly passed up for various promotions and premium time slots, she'd started searching elsewhere for employment. She'd applied at WTLK on a whim and was offered a job.
She'd always wanted to be a radio talk-show host, and the then station's owner, Marvin Gilbert, had given her free rein for her time slot – bless his weak heart that had given out on him three months ago. He'd backed her decision to bring something sexy and fun to the station's program, while Virginia, his snooty young wife of two years had frowned upon airing such a "trashy" show. In fact, there wasn't anything she'd liked about the station, the programming or the people who worked for her husband.
Now that Marvin was gone, it remained to be seen what Virginia had planned for the station and WTLK's employees. Most of them figured they'd be out a job by the end of the year.
"You okay in there?" Carly asked, her voice transmitted through a speaker on Erica's control console.
She checked the advertisement reel and had two minutes left before it was show time again. "It would be nice if Virginia would spring for a new air-conditioning unit so we all wouldn't melt or suffer from heat stroke the rest of the summer."
Carly made a sound of disgust. "Being the tightwad that we always knew she was, she's made it perfectly clear that she isn't going to spend a penny on this station and repairs if she doesn't have to. Not with Marvin cold in his grave and her sitting on only a quarter of the inheritance she believed he was worth."
Unable to help herself, Erica smirked, remembering Virginia's chi
ldish tirade after Marvin's will had been read and she'd realized he'd frittered away a good amount of his money. She'd been appalled to discover that the most valuable thing she now owned was a run-down radio station that was barely making ends meet and turned over a very small profit.
"I miss the old geezer," Erica said with a sigh.
"Yeah, we all do," Carly agreed with a hint of sadness, then screened another caller for Erica's show.
Reaching for her water bottle, Erica took a drink of the lukewarm liquid that wet her parched throat but didn't quench her thirst. "Damn, but it's hot in here," she muttered, wishing she had more time to get a cup of ice from the machine down the hall.
"Well, prepare yourself, sweetie. The temperature is about to rise." Carly waggled her brows lasciviously. "Hottie alert on line three."
Erica glanced at the clock on the wall to check the time, and knew immediately who her good friend was referring to. "You have no idea whether Ian is a hottie, or not."
"How can he not be with that deep, orgasmic voice that makes a woman's pulse pound?" From the other side of the thick glass that separated them, Carly feigned a rapturous shiver that made her whole body shimmy. "And I'm not just talking about the pulse in my wrist!"
Erica rolled her eyes, but couldn't deny that her nightly caller had that same effect on her, too. But it wasn't only his bedroom voice that made her nerves tingle and her body crave a dozen shameless kinds of desire. It was his effortless way of making her feel as though she was the sole focus of his attention, that their sensual debates were just a prelude to something more forbidden and satisfying.
A ridiculous thought, considering she had no intention of ever meeting him in person. It wasn't that she considered him an overzealous fan, but she didn't want to spoil the rare chemistry and connection that sizzled between them on the air. He was a delicious, exciting fantasy, one she shared with her listeners. She'd learned years ago that it was safer to indulge in sexy daydreams and erotic night fantasies than to get involved with some men. Her fantasies usually surpassed anything reality could offer. Case in point was the self-centered jerk she'd recently dated who'd inspired tonight's topic.
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