“Yes,” she replied dully, refusing to look at Jack. “It … got away from me.”
The starting gate was pulled across the track by a small tractor, and the nail-biting task of loading the horses into the gate was begun. Alex had seen more than one horse and rider injured during this most dangerous part of the race. As was customary, the second the last horse was safely inside, the front gates slammed open, and the horses shot forward.
Alex gave in to the tangible excitement, impossible to ignore as the horses stretched forward until their bodies were almost horizontal. The crowd in the grandstand jumped to their feet in waves. The noise was thunderous as everyone shouted for their chosen mount and the nimble-tongued announcer belted the names of the front runners at every turn. Less than a minute later, the race was over. Horses number two, one and seven came in to win, place and show, and a quick glance at the program revealed the odds on at least two of the entries had been long. Much to her dismay, the number six horse carrying the red-silked jockey not only crossed the finish line last, but way, way behind with a lazy, playful trot that had the audience laughing.
Alex ripped her ticket in half to the tune of Jack’s chuckle.
“I only had the show horse,” her father said, turning around.
“Nothing for me,” Heath said.
Everyone looked to Jack, who seemed remarkably calm. “Well?” Alex prompted.
His shrug was casual. “I hit the exacta.”
Alex glanced at the tote board just as the payout for the exacta—choosing the win and place horses—flashed on the screen. A two dollar bet returned three hundred and fifty dollars, and she suspected that Jack’s bet had been more than two dollars.
Her father whooped and Heath pursed his mouth. Alex simply smiled and murmured, “At least you can afford to buy me a new hat.”
He didn’t answer, simply relaxed in his chair to study the day’s racing form, punctuated, she noted, with mysterious notes in the margins, and dotted with curious circles and boxes in various colors.
“Some kind of foolproof system of yours?” she asked, squinting under the glare of the sun.
He handed her his sunglasses, and feeling stubbornly deserving, she took them. “My system isn’t quite as scientific as picking the horse based on the jockey’s silks,” he said, one side of his mouth drawn back.
Scientific or not, his system seemed to work because by the end of the third race, he’d racked up more winning tickets. Her father had hit a couple of payoffs himself, but she and Heath had nothing to show for their hit-and-miss guessing.
“What do you have in the fourth race?” she asked, waving off Heath’s offer to place her bet.
“This one’s tough,” Jack admitted, shaking his head. “The favorites are so strong, they’re bound to win and place, but they’ll only pay out a pittance.”
“So?” She leaned over, watching his finger move over the form as he pointed out subtleties in bloodline, jockeys and race length. He had nice hands, she observed, her mouth going strangely dry. Large and square-palmed, long, blunt-tipped fingers, good for catching footballs, she supposed. With a flash of revelation, she realized how Tremont’s new fine jewelry department could be showcased in the commercials in a way that would appeal to women—she could put a wedding ring on him. But as quickly as the idea occurred to her, she tabled it, struck by the feeling that a wedding ring on Jack Stillman’s finger seemed so unnatural that it might come across to the audience as being unbelievable.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, scrutinizing his hands.
She shook her head, embarrassed. “Um, nothing. I was just thinking that you must miss playing football.”
“Why would you say that?”
Alex shrugged. “It’s your identity, isn’t it? Jack the Attack?”
Jack nodded, then stood abruptly and mumbled that he needed to place another bet. Perplexed, she turned to watch him climb up the concrete steps of the grandstand, noticing hers wasn’t the only pair of feminine eyes following him. And her chest filled with unreasonable satisfaction that he was with her today.
Well, not really with her, since he’d come as her father’s guest.
A cell phone rang, causing Alex, Heath and her father all to reach for their personal devices.
“It’s mine,” Heath said, flipping up his phone’s antenna and pressing his hand against his opposite ear.
Alex took the opportunity to tell her father about Jack’s “plant” with the local sports reporter. “I don’t like it, Dad. I thought we agreed he would prove himself first—two weeks, one of which is almost gone, I might add.”
“We did.”
“Yet he’s acting as if he’s already a permanent fixture at Tremont’s. He didn’t even run that little stunt by me first!”
“But you know any publicity is good publicity as long as they spell the name of the store correctly.”
“Dad, he’s a loose cannon.”
“Which means,” her father said mildly, “that it’s up to you to keep tabs on him.”
“But—”
“Honey, like I said before, Jack Stillman is a rebel, and I think he’s just what we need around Tremont’s to shake everything up a bit. In fact—” he tilted his head and gave her a gently curious look “—if I didn’t know better, I’d say Jack had you shaken up.”
Alex swallowed hard, telling herself not to overreact, yet stunned since her father had never before broached the subject of her personal life. “But you do know better,” she corrected in a calm tone that belied her panic. Was her attraction to Jack so transparent that even her father could tell? She searched his blue eyes, so like her own, looking for comfort, trying to relay her confusion over the men in her life.
Al wet his lips and looked as if he might say something, then was interrupted by Heath flipping his phone closed.
“I hate to do this to you, Alex,” Heath said, “but I’m needed at the office.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I didn’t give my secretary enough notice to clear my afternoon calendar, and one of my appointments was already on a plane to Lexington when she called to reschedule.”
She stood and sighed. “Well, if it can’t be helped.”
“There’s no reason for you to leave,” Heath said quickly. “I’m sure your father will be glad to take you home.”
Alex looked to her father, who nodded confirmation.
“Okay,” she relented, thinking that the day hadn’t turned out anything like she’d planned. Still, she could have fun with her father and perhaps start to chip away at the wall erected between them by neglect and indifference. They both were to blame, she realized, studying her father’s noble profile—she hadn’t exactly extended herself since Gloria had come onto the scene. She vowed to make more of an effort to draw her father closer to her. And when she was a vice president, they’d be working closer together, too.
Heath distracted her from her musings with a quick kiss, and her father left to place a bet on the next race. Alex sat down, feeling restless and warm with the sun bearing down. Since her hat was no longer making the rounds, she imagined it dying a slow, painful death under the feet of tipsy spectators. Her ire rose just thinking about it.
“Shade, milady?”
She looked up to see Jack twirling, of all things, a cream-colored ruffled parasol.
His smile highlighted the cleft in his chin. “I’d hate to be responsible for freckles on that upturned nose of yours.”
Despite his backhanded compliment, the picture he presented was simply too incongruous to keep a straight face. “Feeling guilty, are you?”
“Feeling generous,” he corrected with a grin as he stepped into the box and slid the frilly umbrella into the hole behind their seats provided for the boxholders who wished to buy the pricey souvenirs. “Since I cashed in on the last race, and since it’s down to just the two of us—” Jack stopped when she placed her hand on his arm—not an unwelcome gesture, just surprising.
Jack pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “I saw Al upstairs. He said he and Reddinger had to leave, and asked if I would see you home.” He watched the emotions play over her face with a sinking realization. “You didn’t know?”
She shook her head. “Don’t worry, I’ll call Heath to come back and pick me up when his meeting is over.”
And he’d actually thought she’d agreed to—perhaps even wanted to—spend the rest of the afternoon with him, hence the ridiculous umbrella. “Suit yourself,” he said with a mild shrug, not about to admit his acute disappointment, and not sure if he understood his own reaction. Regardless, considering how close he’d come to kissing the woman—and more—the last time he’d taken her home, her alternate plan seemed wise. His promise to Derek ran through his head as if on continuous play. Determined to get his mind off the leggy beauty sitting next to him, he turned his attention to the leggy beauties on the racetrack.
Except his task proved to be harder than he expected, mostly because Alex showed more curiosity in his picks and the reasons behind them. Despite his resolve, he liked having answers to questions she asked—for once. As her interest grew, she placed a couple of bets based on his recommendations, and when their long shot horse came in to place in the next race, she grabbed his arm and jumped up and down. Impulsively, Jack whirled her around and lowered a quick kiss on the cheek. Her eyes widened, but before she could chastise him, he grabbed her hand and pulled her up the steps to collect her payout. Jack blamed his pounding heart on the quick ascent. Derek was right, he conceded—he knew the woman was dangerous, yet he couldn’t seem to help himself.
For her part, Alex quietly cashed in her winning ticket, then excused herself to the ladies’ room. When she rejoined him at their seats a few minutes later, warning bells sounded in his head because she handed him a beer, and held one of her own. Plus, to his consternation, she’d shed her panty hose somewhere along the way, which gave him even more bare skin to endure. Jack took a long sip of the beer, then held the cool cup to his cheek. Best to steer the conversation back to business as soon as possible.
“I heard you’re in the running for a vice presidency.”
“Who told you that?”
“Your secretary.”
“I should have guessed. The woman’s in love with you, you know.” She rolled her eyes.
Jack laughed. “So is it true?”
“About the vice presidency? Yes, I’m in the running, along with a few colleagues and a couple of external candidates.”
“Who will make the decision?”
“The final call is the board of directors’, although they’ll probably take the recommendation of the members of senior management and my father.”
“Sounds like you’re a shoe in,” he said carefully. She shook her head and he wondered if she knew how lovely she was—cheeks flushed, the wind picking up the ends of her hair. Her profile was classically tilted, a masterpiece that made his fingers itch for a stick of waxy pastels, or a vine of drawing charcoal to get the lines down on paper. He hadn’t drawn anything for his own pleasure in years.
“I won’t get favorable treatment simply because of my last name,” she said. “In fact, my father is so concerned about nepotism, sometimes I think he errs in the other direction.” She looked over at him with a rueful smile. “Sorry, you probably think that sounds like sour grapes.”
“No.” He wasn’t inclined to criticize the one insightful tidbit she’d offered him into her personal and professional life.
“I’m actually very grateful for having the chance to learn from my father. He’s a brilliant retailer who somehow seems to stay ahead of the trends even though he hasn’t bought a new suit in ten years.”
Jack smiled. “A great observer of the human condition.”
She nodded, then took a small sip of her beer. “Although I can’t say I always agree with him.”
He lifted his cup for a drink. “Like his decision to hire me, for instance?”
She sighed. “Jack, you and I both know that my father hired you because of a spontaneous promise he made to your father, and because of your notoriety. Can you see why I’m a little skeptical? I’ve seen your office, remember. I know how limited your resources are. If I weren’t concerned, I wouldn’t be fulfilling my responsibility to the company.”
Jack felt a stab of remorse for not stopping to consider the awkward position Alex must be in—follow her father, or follow her conscience. For the first time in his life, he wished he was successful by conventional standards, successful enough to give Alex confidence in his ability. Funny, but she was the only person—definitely the only woman—who hadn’t taken him at face value. He was going to have to earn her trust, and respect. The fact that he was the cause of the little crease in her brow caused his gut to clench. “Alex,” he said quietly, “I realize you have no reason to believe me, but I won’t let you down.”
She studied him for a few seconds, then tilted her head, a smile playing on her full lips. “I’m not certain, but I think I like this side of you.”
Jack’s pulse kicked up. “What side is that?”
“The almost-serious, professional side.”
Did a more beautiful pair of eyes exist in the world? He gestured toward her, head to toe. “I think I like this side of you.”
Her thin, arched eyebrows rose. “What side is that?”
He grinned. “The beer-drinking, bare-legged gambler.”
She blushed, then looked back to the track. “Which proves,” she said, her voice featherlight, but deadly serious, “that anyone can playact for a few hours, but at the end of the day, we are who we are.”
The bell announcing the start of the next race sounded, and her attention was diverted to the running of the maiden race that featured the granddaughter of Spectacular Wish. She leapt to her feet, cheering their underachiever on to victory. Jack was so distracted watching her and reveling in the elated hug she gave him afterward, he almost forgot to be glad for the chunk of change he’d just won. If he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn that a subtle shift in their relationship had occurred during their abbreviated conversation.
Whatever the cause, Alex did seem more relaxed as the last couple of races were run. “It’s much better when you’re winning,” she said, her eyes as bright as a child’s as he removed the parasol in begrudged preparation to leave. The crowd, mostly losers for the day, had begun to dissipate much earlier in order to avoid the rush of exiting traffic. Suddenly her mouthed rounded to an O. “I forgot to call Heath!”
Jack closed his fingers around her wrist as she delved into her purse, presumably for her cellular phone. “I’ll drive you—I need to pick up my jacket anyway.” He told himself it was a good reason to put himself in an otherwise risky situation of being alone with Alex at her place. She stared down at his hand, and he reluctantly released her.
But she didn’t retrieve her phone.
Instead, she struck out ahead of him, parasol twirling over her shoulder, and tossed back, “You’re pretty confident for a man who destroyed my new hat.”
Thoughts of hurrying to catch up with her were dismissed when he caught sight of her curvy sway. This was one woman he wouldn’t mind walking a few steps behind for the rest of his—er, for a while. “Like I said, it didn’t suit you.”
“I know,” she said, her voice sarcastic. “I look much better in a motorcycle helmet, my eyes squeezed shut, and holding on for dear life.”
“Well,” he drawled, loving the way the soft, long skirt of her dress floated up as she walked, revealing the backs of her knees and the curve of her calves. “I’m partial to that ‘holding on for dear life’ part.” He nearly plowed into the back of her when she stopped abruptly to give him a pointed look.
“Okay,” Jack pulled a snowy handkerchief from his back pocket and waved it in surrender. “I’ll behave.”
She shook her head, but he’d seen her l
ook much more angry. Unbelievably buoyed, Jack steered her in the direction of his bike, parked on a knoll inaccessible by most vehicles. He withdrew his extra helmet and helped her strap it on snugly, tucking strands of dark lush hair beneath the face edge. Her skin was velvety smooth beneath his knuckles.
“You must have lots of passengers if you carry an extra helmet,” she remarked.
He shrugged, poking at a stubborn strand next to her eye. “I suppose.”
“Any passengers who are more, um, regular than others?”
Jack stopped his ministrations, but she was studying her fingernails. Was she asking what he thought she was asking? “Just one,” he said, giving her chin strap a final tug. “In fact, I bought the helmet for her.”
“Oh.”
Tack pulled on his own helmet, threw his leg over the seat, then lifted the kickstand with an upward jerk and forward roll. He reached back to flip down the footpegs, then braced for her to climb on.
Alex frowned down at her dress. “This is going to be awkward.”
He grinned. “I promise not to look.” With fingers crossed on the handlebar grips, he turned his gaze forward—to take in the entire show in the side mirror. Between the unwieldy lowered parasol she held under her arm, the big purse, and her voluminous skirt, she was quite the performer. And her pale-colored panties, it seemed, were trimmed with scalloped lace. He stifled a groan as she settled in behind him, sitting as stiffly as one of her store mannequins.
He started the engine, then said, “Relax.” Rolling his shoulders, he reveled in the feeling of her breasts pressed against him.
She did relax, a millimeter or two, as he maneuvered through the traffic at a leisurely pace. When they came to a stop in a line of exiting traffic, Alex lifted her head and looked around.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked.
She nodded, and after a few minutes, she cleared her throat. “This, um, regular passenger of yours—she must be very important if she warrants her own helmet.”
“She is,” Jack assured her. “But then Mom has always been pretty close to my heart.” He winked at her in the side mirror, boosted by her unexpected smile. On impulse, he covered her hand curled around his waist with his own, instantly struck by the softness of her skin and his desire to entwine their fingers. “Hold on for dear life,” he warned in his most ominous voice, then begrudgingly released her hand and accelerated, cutting out of the traffic and threading the bike toward Versailles Road
IT TAKES A REBEL Page 12
