“Thank you for taking me to the gallery,” she said as they unwrapped the sandwiches.
He passed her an open bottle of beer. “It was the least I could do for taking your father away from you Saturday.”
Alex bit into her sandwich and attempted a carefree shrug. “My father is free to spend his time as he pleases.”
He dragged a French fry through a mound of ketchup. “You don’t have to pretend. I enjoyed spending time with my old man, too. I would have been disappointed if I’d been in your shoes.”
She smiled sadly. “It’s easier with sons. Dad and I don’t seem to be able to connect.”
“Except at work?”
Surprised by his interest, she nodded. “Even though we don’t always see eye to eye, it’s the one passion we share.”
He drank from his beer and settled back in his chair. The off-white shirt he wore looked crisp and new, and suited his coloring. The rolled up sleeves revealed his thick forearms. The man seemed comfortable in any setting. Part of her envied his nonchalance, his ability to move through life on his own terms.
“Alex, is the company really your passion?” he asked. “Or are you simply doing what you think your father expects of you?”
Although rankled, she tried to laugh. “That’s a ridiculous question.”
“Is it?”
“Yes,” she insisted, then focused on removing the label from the cold bottle in one piece. “I mean, maybe at first I wanted to be close to Dad, but now…” She glanced up and sighed. “Well, I’ve come to realize that Dad doesn’t care or even seem to notice how much I do at the store, so now I work strictly for my own fulfillment.”
“I’m sure Al loves you very much,” Jack said, his voice gentle.
She gave him a wry smile. “So much so that he’d rather spend time with you, a virtual stranger, than his own daughter.” Her heart lurched. “You don’t know how many times I’ve wished I’d been a boy.”
Jack leaned forward, his mouth curving wide. “If I may say so, what a terrible waste that would have been.”
She appreciated his attempt to lighten the mood and tingled under his compliment. “I probably sound like a spoiled little girl.”
“Not at all,” he assured her. “You must have been close to your mother.”
“Yes,” she murmured. “I suppose most children gravitate more toward one parent.”
“I agree. I was closer to my father.”
“You miss him.” Not a question, because she knew he must.
Jack’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Every day that the sun rises.”
So honest, she thought, shaken by his decidedly un-macho topic of conversation.
“But,” he added, lifting his beer. “I’m fortunate to have some of Dad’s canvases to remember him by. Let’s finish up here so I can give you that tour.”
His grin restored the cheerful atmosphere. They polished off their food in between discussing details for the commercial shoot the following day. Considering the strange way her body reacted every time she looked across the table at Jack—whom she was beginning to see in a new light—she decided to stick to neutral subjects like the ad campaign.
After discarding the leftovers, they carried their half-full bottles of beer back into the house. With her heart thumping in anticipation, Alex followed Jack slowly from room to room as he commented on the multitude of canvases and pointed out particular favorites of his, especially his father’s. Because the rooms were void of furniture, they were free to walk around and admire each one. In one room which was obviously meant to be a small dining room, dozens of canvases were stacked and leaning against one wall.
“My vault,” he offered.
“Jack,” she breathed, afraid to touch anything, but wanting to see every piece. “You have enough work here to fill a small museum.”
His smile was modest. “Maybe I’ll open one when I’m old and gray. Meanwhile, I’ll have to put them in storage.”
She was struck by the simplicity of his life. A worn couch and chair in the living room, along with a nice stereo system, represented most of the furniture in his house. If he owned a television, it was hidden. A thin layer of dust covered everything, and the air was a little stale. The man was not fastidious—quite a contrast to Heath’s compulsively clean, white decor. It was clear Jack spent his money on art, not trappings. And she suspected that over the years he had amassed a collection worth a small fortune.
The last room they came to was his bedroom. Alex hovered in the doorway and tingled as she scrutinized his intimate space, silently admiring the simple lines of the walnut bed and matching dresser, trying to ignore the rumpled nondescript comforter that covered his body at night. Again, canvases claimed every available space on the walls, and were stacked on the floor.
“Is this your easel?” she asked, stepping inside for a closer look at the wooden piece sitting next to the dresser.
“No, it was my father’s.”
She swallowed at the catch in his throat. “Do you paint?”
He smiled. “No. Unfortunately, I don’t have my father’s great talent.”
“I looked over the drawings you left yesterday—they’re quite wonderful.”
He seemed pleased, but shook his head. “My work is strictly commercial grade. Besides, I’d rather collect. An artist can become too consumed with his own work to fully appreciate the work of others.”
She regarded him, his long, lean frame draped casually in the doorway. An educated, charismatic man who seemed at ease in a corporate boardroom, but preferred to work at his small family advertising agency. An ex-jock who rode a motorcycle, but collected art. She smiled, shaking her head. “You are full of surprises, Jack Stillman.”
His eyes changed, and his lips parted, and in a split second the atmosphere changed from comfortably friendly to sexually charged. Her body softened and warmed, and with jarring clarity, she remembered what it was like to be made love to by this man. She panicked, her breath catching when she realized that she wanted him to touch her again. At a loss, she turned her back, feigning fascination in the etching on the dresser mirror.
“Alex.” He was behind her, pulling her hair away from her neck.
“Jack,” she whispered, leaning back into him. “We shouldn’t.”
“I know.” But the warm succulent kiss he lowered to the curve of her neck sent blood pooling to her breasts and thighs. His erection hardened against the swell of her hip as he reached around to cup her breasts. “I can’t help myself,” he said. “I want you, Alex.” She moaned and lay her head back against his chest, undulating against him.
Within seconds he had unfastened her overalls and freed the buttons of her blouse, exposing her coral-colored lace bra. He pulled down the bra to expose the globes of her breasts, the hardened tips aching for attention. He nipped at her earlobe as he squeezed the pink peaks, mimicking the pressure, layering the sensations until Alex was writhing against him.
“Look at you, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured into her hair.
Their reflection riveted her, his hands large and tanned against her creamy skin. Desire buckled her knees, and she knew she was lost. “Jack … make love to me.”
He groaned against her neck and slid his hand down over her bare stomach and inside her panties. The movement also served to strip her of the overalls, which she stepped out of, opening herself to Jack’s fingers. As he plied her wetness, she reached behind her to tug at his clothing, which led to a frenzy of undressing. When they were both nude, Jack donned protection, then leaned into her from behind, grazing her sensitivity with his erection, whispering how much he wanted her. Already weak with wanting, Alex was riveted to the mirror that reflected their movements from the waist up.
White skin and brown, swollen breasts and big hands, narrow waist and broad shoulders, their bodies complemented each other perfectly, moving in synch, grazing sexes until their passion reached a fever pitch. “Now, Jack,” she whispered, wild for the length of him insi
de her.
He lifted her until she half lay on the dresser for support, then probed her wetness before sliding inside.
“Ahh,” he breathed, harmonizing with her moans. Every nerve ending sang as he began to make love to her with deep foraging thrusts. Emotions flitted over his face—need, pain, pleasure. She gave in to the sawing rhythm he set, and her climax burst around her with shocking haste. Amidst the blinding, delicious shock waves, she was aware that he, too, had surrendered to a quick, powerful release, evident by his contracted muscles, guttural moans and intense expressions.
Slowly, slowly, they recovered together. Alex sucked in a sharp breath when he withdrew and lowered her to her feet. He was gentle, making sure she could support her weight before he released her. They dressed in silence, the snaps and scrapes of various fasteners sounding loud in the acoustics of awkwardness.
Alex welcomed the sting of remorse when it hit her, but she didn’t waste time berating herself—she’d known what she was doing, knew the ramifications of another encounter with Jack. In for a penny, in for a pound. Indeed, with every look they’d exchanged today, she’d felt herself growing farther from Heath, and closer to Jack. Her desire for him was so great, the certain dead end of the road she was traveling seemed not to matter. She’d never felt more out of control in her life—her newly discovered capacity for self-indulgence scared her to death.
“I—” She jumped at the sound of her own voice. “I think you’d better take me home, Jack.”
She wanted him to object, to give her some indication that their fast and furious lovemaking meant more to him than a simple score, but he simply nodded, his expression unreadable.
During the agonizing ride across town, Alex felt worse and worse. She tried to hold on while maintaining as much distance between their bodies as possible. By the time they reached her building, however, Alex had recovered enough to realize it was up to her to repair their working relationship, if possible. After all, tomorrow was the all-important commercial and photo shoot—they’d be together for several hours.
When he stopped the motorcycle, she slid off the bike quickly and unstrapped her helmet as he killed the engine. Dusk was beginning to settle, and his face was swathed in gray shadow.
“Jack—”
“Alex—”
They both stopped and smiled awkwardly.
“Can we just—”
“—forget what happened?”
Alex swallowed, then nodded. “That would be best. My God, I’m engaged and you’re…”
“Happily single,” he supplied with a wry grin. “Alex, I’m incredibly attracted to you, but you’re right—we’re moving in opposite directions here. I’m sorry if this has complicated things for you and…”
“Heath,” she supplied. “That’s none of your concern, Jack.” Her tone was more abrupt than she meant it to be, but Jack didn’t need to know her plans regarding her compromised engagement. Inhaling deeply, she attempted to change the subject, and the mood. “Thanks again for taking me to the gallery. And for sharing your collection.” Other things they’d shared leapt to her mind.
“You’re welcome.”
Silence stretched between them for several seconds before he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow at the studio.”
She nodded as she backed away. After a short wave, she turned and, despite her urge to run, managed to walk calmly to the stairwell. But as soon as she was out of sight, she broke into a jog, hating the tears that burned her eyes. Humiliation washed over her in waves as she recalled the incident—humiliation not because she’d once again had sex with Jack, but because she’d enjoyed it. Reveled in it, even.
After slipping into her apartment, she sat in the dark for a few seconds, wondering how her life had swerved so out of control in the past few days. She missed her mother’s counsel, and she wished she felt close enough to discuss private matters with her father. Besides, she was all grown up, and vying for a vice presidency—why couldn’t she sort out something so simple as her taboo attraction to a rebellious playboy?
Ping.
Alex looked over at the sliding glass window and waited for the second pebble to make its mark before she walked outside to lean over the balcony railing, crazily cheered. “You’re determined to break something, aren’t you?”
The white of his teeth flashed in the near-darkness. “Sorry to bother you,” Jack called up, “but I wanted to say…”
“Yes?” she asked, her heart thumping.
“That I hope Reddinger knows what a lucky man he is.”
Stunned into speechlessness, she could only stare as he waved, then climbed onto his bike and drove away.
*
Chapter 15
« ^ »
“Sorry I’ve been traveling too much lately,” Heath said over the phone. “Do you have a busy day planned?”
Alex doodled on a notepad on her desk, jumpy and miserable, wanting desperately to find comfort in Heath’s voice. This was the man who cared about her, the man who shared her views and her values, the man who wanted to marry her. And didn’t she want someone to be close to? Someone to grow old with?
Yes, more than anything.
But she’d jeopardized her chance for a trusting, long-term relationship by indulging in foolishness with Jack Stillman. Now what?
Alex tried to sound as normal as possible, despite her teeming unrest. “This afternoon is the commercial and photo shoot.”
“That was pretty quick scheduling,” Heath said.
“Jack knows the producer, some guy named Richardson. He pulled a couple of strings to get the studio time and, frankly, I’d just as soon get it over with.”
“Well, the man will be in his element.”
His tone picked at her tangled nerves. “What do you mean?”
Heath scoffed. “He’s a natural performer. He knows how to manipulate people to get what he wants out of them—sympathy, admiration, a job.”
She bristled at the idea that she was just another person taken in by Jack’s undeniable charisma. “Funny, but he strikes me as being a very genuine person.”
“Alex,” he said, his voice colored with irritation, “I would expect this naiveté from Al, but not from you.”
“Naiveté?”
“Come on, Alex, he’s been working the two of you from the beginning. Al swallowed his bait hook, line and sinker, but I thought you were more objective. I wouldn’t put it past this guy to try to make a pass at you.”
Alex swallowed hard. “I think you’re giving him a little too much credit.”
“Being a con man is a gift. Just be glad he can put his talent to good use for Tremont’s in front of the camera.”
Funny, she didn’t feel glad. And the feeling of non-gladness lasted throughout the morning, her mood matching the lousy weather as black clouds rolled in from the west. Heath’s words ran over and over through her head. She’d suspected from the beginning that Jack was playing her father, yet somewhere along the way, she had fallen under his spell, too. Was it his plan all along to seduce her for leverage? And how easily had she played into his hands?
Confused and fidgety, Alex reviewed everything she knew about Jack Stillman, beginning with her first visit to his dilapidated office. He’d told her and everyone else that he’d arranged the conditions purposefully to set up his presentation the next day. She hadn’t believed him, but neither had she called his bluff. Perhaps another look at his operations would resurrect all those doubts which had kept her objective and sharp in the beginning. And did she ever need some objectivity.
She glanced at her watch, noting the time she’d have to leave for the studio. But since Jack’s mode of transportation would be hampered by the ominous weather, she’d simply leave early and pick him up at his office on the way to the studio. Maybe the stark reminder of his less-than-stellar enterprise would give her a badly needed dose of reality.
Jack Stillman would never be the kind of man she wanted and needed in her life.
*
<
br /> Jack considered taking a cab to the office Monday morning, but decided the short ride in the driving rain might clear his head of tormenting visions of Alex and their extraordinary lovemaking.
Was he ever wrong.
He arrived at the office around nine-fifteen, soaked, and chagrined to see that Tuesday’s and Stripling’s cars were both there.
“You’re late,” Tuesday announced when he opened the door and walked in, dripping.
He removed his leather jacket and shot her an annoyed glance. “I almost drowned getting here, thanks for your concern.”
“Don’t shake that wet coat in here,” she warned. “And my only concern is collecting my money for Friday’s daily double.”
“Got it right here,” he assured her, tossing the coat in the hallway corner, then closing the door. Jack withdrew an envelope, and handed it to Tuesday. “Twelve hundred fifty-five dollars. Pretty good wages for a job that doesn’t exist.”
She opened the envelope for a quick peek, then sniffed. “I’m worth twice as much,” she said, then nodded toward the back. “Tax man’s here, a quaking nervous wreck that you didn’t bet his horse to place like he told you.”
Jack wheeled to walk to the back office, and crashed through a set of black swinging saloon doors that hadn’t been there before. He turned around and walked back through to the front office. “What, may I ask, are these?”
“I decided I need my privacy up here,” Tuesday said, stuffing her money deep into the neckline of her dress. “The doors break up the space properlike.”
Actually, they looked pretty darn good. “Where did you get the doors?”
“Found them in the Dumpster,” Tuesday said. “Slapped a coat of paint on them, and they’re as good as new. Marion helped me hang them this morning.”
“Marion?” Jack’s eyebrows shot straight up. “After nearly crippling the man, you’re on a first-name basis?”
“He’s feeling much better. I gave him another adjustment last night, and he threw away the board.”
“Last night?” Jack asked, then held up his hand. “Wait, I don’t want to know.” Sounded as though everyone was having success in the romance department except him.
IT TAKES A REBEL Page 16
