“Thirty-six.”
Reggie returned, reporting that a tailor would meet them at the dressing rooms.
“Thank you, Reggie. I need you to record the items of clothing as I select them.”
Jack squirmed. As she selected them?
Reggie produced a rolling clothes rack, and appeared poised to follow her around.
She walked to the suits first, walking her fingers through them. “The brown Twain, the light blue Dion, the olive Tremont’s.” Alex moved from rack to rack, rattling off colors and labels for slacks, shirts, ties, sweaters, jeans, belts, socks, underwear, shoes and a couple of items he’d never even heard of, all of it conservative and stuffy. She frequently consulted Reggie, whose opinion she seemed to respect.
“Follow me,” she said, explaining that a couple of dressing rooms had been set aside for the fitting. He and Reggie traipsed behind her as if carrying the ends of her fur-trimmed robe. Jack did, however, manage to snag a package from an underwear rack as he trotted by. If he had to be subjected to this dress up game, why not shake up Alex a teensy bit?
The dressing room area was a secluded clearing of gleaming gray marble. A love seat faced two changing stalls with louvered three-quarter doors. Jack suspected that special male customers were treated to this private alcove during extensive shopping trips. Alex directed Reggie where to place the rolling clothes rack, then thanked and dismissed him.
Alex consulted the list Reggie had assembled, then without ceremony, transferred a stack of clothing from the rack to his arms. “We’ll start with underwear so the tailor can take your precise measurements.”
“You don’t trust the ones I gave you?”
Her smile was deceptively sweet. “Men have a way of exaggerating in one direction or the other.”
He lifted his eyebrows, but her expression was threatening, as if she dared him to make a smart remark. Amused by her solemn demeanor, Jack simply smiled and moved obediently into the dressing room. The louvered door covered him from shoulders to knees, allowing him to watch Alex watch him beneath her lashes as he removed his shirt. Masculine pride welled in his chest as he tossed his shirt on a bench. Twenty-two was a distant memory, but thanks to good genes and occasional exercise, he’d been able to maintain a decent physique.
“Did you get your car released?” he asked.
She sneezed into a handkerchief, then nodded. “Yes, in exchange for ninety-five dollars.”
He whistled low. “You should have let me buy your dinner.” When she didn’t answer, he added, “Next time.” Again, she didn’t answer. Shrugging, Jack removed the black thong underwear from the package he’d nabbed and proceeded to stuff himself into the scrap of Lycra. Damn, men actually wore these things? A jock strap was more comfortable. After much adjusting, he stepped back to appraise his bulging reflection. Not half bad for a has-been.
He glanced over the door to where Alex sat in the middle of the love seat, legs crossed primly, expression humorless. “Mr. Stillman, I don’t have all day, and you still have a lot of clothes to try on.”
Incredibly, his body leapt at the sound of her chiding voice—he’d never been turned on before by a scolding. He sucked in a breath through his teeth and said, “Coming.” Chuckling at his own word choice, he stepped out, adopting a most innocent look on his face.
*
At the sound of the door clicking open, Alex looked up … and the pen slipped out of her suddenly loose hand. At first glance, she feared he was naked, then realized with no small amount of relief that his privates were covered by a minuscule amount of stretchy black fabric. He stood before her, hands on hips, legs shoulder-width apart. His bronze body was finely corded and accented with patches of dark hair on his chest, stomach and thighs. He had the physique of an athlete, all right—any athlete. Long-limbed and so finely put together, his body seemed tuned for any type of physical activity. Sexual awareness zipped through her, warming her erogenous zones.
At last, she dragged her gaze from him and pretended to study the list Reggie had assembled. “I … don’t recall seeing that particular … garment … on the list.” Was that her voice, high and breathless?
“They were on the pile,” he said simply. His shrug displaced all kinds of muscle. “This modeling stuff is new to me—am I supposed to turn around or something?”
On treacherous ground, Alex swallowed, striving to calm her jumping pulse, the desire that had pooled low in her stomach. Perhaps if she didn’t have to look him in the eye… “That … would be fine.”
He turned to stand with his back to her, his legs wide apart. The skinny strap of the thong left nothing to the imagination, and why should it, she asked herself, when the reality was so impressive? The sole flaw on his body, if it could be called a flaw, was a black tattoo high on his right shoulder, a pair of wings about the size of a silver dollar. The lower regions of her body thrummed outrageously at the sight of those wings, given movement and texture by the bumpy muscle beneath his smooth skin.
“You … can turn back around now,” she said, struggling for composure. In hindsight, she should have started with suits. Where the devil was that tailor?
He didn’t move, except to lift a hand to scratch his temple. “Gee, boss, I don’t think turning around would be such a great idea at the moment.”
The meaning of his words sunk in, sending heat to her thighs. Then she heard footsteps on the other side of the privacy screen and breathed a sigh of relief that the tailor had arrived.
“Hello, my dear—oh!”
Alex turned just in time to see her father’s eyes widen as his gaze landed on nearly nude Jack. Worse, Heath walked in behind her father and adopted a similar expression. Her heart jumped to her throat and she jumped to her feet when she realized how compromising the situation looked. “Father, Heath—what an unexpected surprise.” She hugged the clipboard to her chest and pasted on a serious expression.
Jack looked over his shoulder and lifted his hand in greeting, but otherwise didn’t move a muscle. “How’s it going, Mr. T? Reddinger?”
“Fine, Jack,” her father said, his voice laced with amusement as he gave her a questioning look. Heath just continued to look from her to Jack. Or rather, from her to Jack’s backside.
Wanting to disappear, she instead conjured up a sublime smile for Heath. “Wh-when did you get back in town?”
“Not long ago,” he replied absently.
“And not soon enough,” her father muttered for her ears only.
She frowned at him and shook her head in warning. “Heath and I were both looking for you, my dear,” her father said in a louder voice. “Tess told us where to find you.”
She was going to fire that woman. “Jack and I were just starting to choose his wardrobe for the photo shoot and the commercial.”
“Let’s try to keep the censors off our back, shall we?” Al said cheerfully.
“Father,” she said, exasperated. “We’re waiting for the tailor.”
“When he gets here,” her father said, peering around Jack, then clapping him on the back, “let him know our boy is a left-handed dresser.”
Alex closed her eyes briefly, her cheeks flaming.
“Alex,” Heath said. “May I see you outside?”
“Of course,” she said, unreasonably nervous, but delighted for an excuse to flee the preposterous scene. Once they stepped around the corner, Heath scanned the area, then grabbed her hand, pulled her into an alcove, and kissed her soundly. Surprised at his uncharacteristic behavior at work, Alex laughed and drew back, hiding her unexplainable irritation. “What’s this all about?”
“I missed you,” he said, his gaze intent. “And I guess it did something to me when I saw you with a half-dressed man.”
She scoffed, feeling prickly. “That’s ridiculous. I can barely stand the man.”
“Good,” he said, giving her a crooked grin. “I’m sorry I missed our dinner at Gerrard’s.”
Alex fidgeted, reluctant to admit she’d used their
reservation, even sat at their table, with the man she could barely stand. Heath wouldn’t understand the circumstances, she reasoned—Jack giving her a ride home, then tackling a would-be attacker in her apartment. It all sounded too … intimate.
Anxious to spend time with Heath and erase the memory of Jack, she smoothed his jacket lapel and tilted her face up at him. “How about us taking the afternoon off tomorrow and using my father’s box at Keeneland for opening day at the races?”
Heath smiled. “Terrific. I’ll pick you up at your apartment at noon.”
Alex exhaled in relief—just the two of them. By the time she got through this disconcerting afternoon, she’d be ready for a day without the presence of “Jack the Attack” Stillman.
*
“Whew,” Jack said to Reggie upon emerging from the dressing room. “Am I ever glad that is over.” The binding thong had been nothing compared to the torture of behaving himself around Alex all afternoon while she pulled and poked at his clothing, suggesting alterations that the tailor marked with a gazillion little razor-sharp pins. “That tailor missed his calling in acupuncture.”
Reggie laughed good-naturedly. “When my mom told me you were going to be the new spokesman for Tremont’s, I was hoping I’d have the chance to work with you, sir.”
“Call me Jack. ‘Sir’ makes me feel like I’m a hundred years old.” Jack leaned one arm on the counter. “Listen, Reggie, speaking of your mother, is she, uh—”
“Unstable?” the young man asked with a grin.
“Well, the thought had crossed my mind.”
“To be honest, all of us kids have just gotten used to her eccentricity. She travels around the country, stays with one of us for a while, then moves on to another.”
“How many siblings do you have?”
“Nine.”
“Wow. No wonder she acts like a general.”
“Yep, she’s a go-getter. If it makes you feel any better, though, she’s a smart lady.”
“Yeah, well, no offense, but I think I have too many smart ladies in my life right now.” He looked around.
“Ms. Tremont left.”
“Probably went to let the air out of my tires,” he muttered.
Reggie laughed. “She said she was going to accessories to buy a new hat for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Opening day at Keeneland. Said she and Mr. Reddinger are using her father’s box seats.”
Jack always wondered who sat in the expensive box seats, and now he knew. Personally, he thought the cheap seats had the best access to the betting windows, but then again, the people in the boxes attended the horse races mostly to socialize, to see and be seen, not to wager their beer money on the trifecta.
“Sounds fun, doesn’t it?” Reggie asked, his voice wistful.
“It’ll probably rain,” Jack said sourly, then thanked Reggie for his help and moved toward the escalator. He wasn’t sure why the thought of Alex spending the day with Reddinger bothered him so much—they were a couple before he came on the scene and probably would be long after his stint with Tremont’s ended. Nursing an increasing bad mood, he stepped onto the down escalator only to see Al Tremont on the opposite escalator, being carried up.
“Jack, I was hoping you hadn’t left,” the beaming man called, turning as they passed. “I forgot to ask you earlier if you would join me tomorrow in my box at Keeneland for opening day.”
Jack’s ill humor vanished. He cupped his hands around his mouth so his voice would travel across the distance widening between them. “Thanks—I’ll be there!”
*
Chapter 10
« ^ »
Tuesday wagged her finger. “With work coming out of your big ears, you’re going to spend the afternoon at the racetrack?”
“It’s business,” Jack insisted.
“So if your brother calls, I can tell him where you are?”
He balked. “That might not be prudent.”
She put one hand on her hip, arm akimbo, and nodded. “Mmm-hmm. I thought so.”
Jack gave her his most charming grin. “But I feel lucky. In fact, I’m planning to win enough money to get new equipment for the office.” He gestured around, then stopped and squinted. Several vines and ferns, plus two palm trees accented shelves and corners in the front office. “Where did all the plants come from?”
“I have a green thumb,” she said, then handed him a stack of papers. “Sign, lick and mail.”
“Tuesday.” Jack ran his hand down the length of his face. “There is no job! I can’t pay you for working here.”
“Five dollars,” she said, pulling out a file drawer. Rows of new color-coded hanging files swayed gently.
“What?”
“Put five dollars on the daily double for me, horses two and five.” She turned a placid smile in his direction. “And that’ll be my pay for the first two weeks.”
“What if it doesn’t come in?”
She shrugged. “Life is a gamble.”
Jack pursed his mouth—he could live with that. He walked through the doorway into the back office where the auditor still claimed Derek’s desk. “How’s it going, Mr. Stripling?”
The man scowled. “If you must know, terribly.” His voice and hands were shaking, and the boardlike device was still strapped to his back by a cord around his waist and chest. Jack poured himself a cup of coffee from the little refreshment center Tuesday had established on a sturdy table she’d confiscated from the supply room—coffeemaker, tea bags, creamer, sugar and fresh minibagels every morning. He’d considered hinting for jelly donuts, but decided not to push his luck. Her one rule had been not to touch the single china cup and saucer sitting nearby—it had been her mother’s and was to be used only in emergencies, she instructed. Jack wasn’t exactly sure what kind of an emergency would require fine china, but he hadn’t argued. He lifted his mug in the other man’s direction. “More receipt problems?”
“No, not more receipt problems,” the man snapped. “Unbeknownst to me, your office manager has been plying my tea with some repulsive concoction of dried leaves—she’s probably trying to poison me.”
“Tuesday,” Jack yelled, stirring cream into his coffee. “Are you trying to poison Mr. Stripling?”
“No,” she yelled back.
Jack took a bite out of a blueberry bagel and shrugged. “You heard her.”
Stripling’s face reddened to a deep crimson. “I’m on the verge of convulsions here.”
Tuesday appeared and sashayed by, rolling her eyes as she headed toward the bathroom. “It’s called energy, tax man. That’s what ginseng does for a body.”
Jack dropped into his chair, chewing. When the door closed behind her, he said, “So that’s what she’s on.”
“Mr. Stillman,” Stripling croaked, his eyes bulging. “This will not look good in my report.”
“Yeah, well, life’s a bitch.” Jack unfolded the paper and snapped it open to the day’s racing form. “You play the ponies?”
“I most certainly do not.”
He made a sympathetic sound. “Too bad. Races five and eight have great-looking long shots.”
After a stretch of silence, Mr. Stripling cleared his throat, then offered, “My father was a groom for Spectacular Wish.”
He flicked down the corner of the paper. “No kidding?”
The little man shifted in his chair, his expression slightly less unpleasant. “I do not kid.”
“Then you have to place a bet, because the third horse in the eighth race is the granddaughter of Spectacular Wish.”
He had the man’s attention. “Through mare or sire?”
“Sire.”
“Maiden race?”
“Yep.”
“What are the odds?”
“Sixty to one.”
“Let me see that form,” the man said, and stood up with amazing agility for a man bound to a board.
*
“Lovely hat,” Heath said with a smile.
/> Alex touched the wide brim of her chocolate-colored straw hat. “You don’t think it’s too big?”
“No. I think it’s very chic.”
“We’re pushing these for fall, so I thought I’d advertise.” She stepped back to allow him inside her apartment. “You look nice yourself.”
He wore classic horseman colors: hunter green slacks and a tan shirt, with a navy-and-green-plaid cotton sweater tied around his neck. “Thanks,” he said, looking boyish as he gave the bridge of his small glasses a nudge.
“Just give me a minute to change my purse.” Alex agonized between two purses, finally settling on a brown leather tote to go with her cream-colored water-silk dress, fitted through the torso, but with a long flowing skirt. At the last minute, she tossed a brown leopard-print scarf around her shoulders.
“Jacket?” Heath asked.
“No, I—” Alex looked up and stopped, staring at the black leather coat Heath held by the collar. Jack’s coat. Oh, no. “Wh-where did you find that?” she asked, stalling.
Mouth pursed, he nodded to a table behind the door. “Under there.”
“Really? It … must be one of the things Lana dropped off.” She smiled wide—convincingly, she hoped.
“It’s a man’s coat.”
Her smile dissolved. “Well, she’s been stealing things lately—it’s all very weird.” Alex looked at her watch and gasped. “Oh, fudge. Look. We’d better get going if we don’t want to miss the first race.” With one motion, Alex yanked the coat out of his hand and tossed it over a chair. “You know how bad parking can be.” She steered Heath back into the hallway and closed the door behind her.
And Heath, bless his trusting heart, didn’t ask another question about the jacket. Just to make sure, she chattered the entire drive about news and nonsense, since all the work-related topics that came to mind seemed to lead back to Jack: The vacated vice presidency … proving herself by taking on difficult tasks … the Jack Stillman project. Sliding sales … a new ad campaign … the Jack Stillman project.
“It’s crowded all right,” Heath noted as they waited in a long line of cars to access the preferred parking area. “I’ll drop you off, then park and meet you at our seats.”
IT TAKES A REBEL Page 10
