Too Sexy For Marriage

by Cathie Linz

  Dark Knight? As in Jason Knight? It was him.

  Well, Heather had wanted to get Jason’s attention, and for a moment there she’d gotten it. She certainly hadn’t planned on having some conventioneer yell across a crowded nightclub that she wanted to have sex with Jason. But the bottom line was it had worked. The Dark Knight, aka Jason Knight, had indeed looked her way, and she’d felt the electricity clear down to her toes.

  Heather was amazed at what a difference glasses and a suit and tie made in the man’s appearance. In that magazine photo his dark hair had been brushed back from a face devoid of emotion. Now his hair fell over his forehead as he closed his eyes and put the sax to his lips, coaxing the sweetest sounds from it.

  Heather was entranced. The crowd around her faded into a fuzzy background and her attention became fixed upon Jason—the movement of his body, the fluidity of his fingers, the movement of his lips against the instrument. His dark T-shirt fit him to perfection, allowing her to watch the rise and fall of his breathing as he played his heart out.

  The sweetly sorrowful music spoke to her soul. There were other musicians playing, but she didn’t notice them. She saw only Jason, standing in a pool of light. She heard only Jason and the soaring notes he was creating. She felt the melancholy mixed with the message of hope he was conveying without saying a word.

  So engrossed was Heather that she wasn’t aware of the passage of time until the house lights went up again as the musicians finished their session. Dazed, she joined in the heartfelt applause around her.

  Then she leaned toward Nita and said, “That’s him.”

  “Him who?” Nita asked.

  “Him, Jason Knight.”

  “Get out of here. He doesn’t look anything like the uptight, legal eagle photograph in that magazine. What’s in that Pink Squirrel you’re drinking?” Nita held up the glass and sniffed the contents suspiciously.

  “I’m telling you it’s him. I know it. I can feel it in my bones.”

  “What you’re feeling isn’t in your bones,” Nita retorted. “Didn’t they teach you anatomy in that fancy university you attended? It’s called lust. That guy is dangerously good-looking. And you know what that means. He’s probably either gay or married.”

  “Okay, I admit that the demographic pool of goodlooking, straight, single men is an increasingly small one, but I’m telling you that man up there is Jason Knight.”

  “If that really is Jason Knight, the editors of Chicagoan Magazine should have shown a picture of him dressed like that, all in black. They would have sold ten times as many copies. I can’t believe you recognized him. I sure wouldn’t have. So, what’s your next move?”

  “To get his attention.”

  “Honey, the conventioneer at the next table already took care of that for you.”

  “Who knew an offer of sex shouted across a crowded bar would do the trick?” Heather murmured dryly.

  “Hey, it works for me every time.” Nita grinned.

  “Do you think he’ll come over here?”

  “Not if those bleached blondes at that table down in front have anything to say about it.”

  Heather belatedly noticed the two girls waving their hands at Jason. “He seems to be ignoring them. Uh-oh. It looks like he’s packing up to leave.”

  “Then go get him, girl. We, the women who make the wheels go round at WMAX, are counting on you.”

  “WHAT, YOU LEAVING already?” Natron Jones asked Jason. He was big, black and the most talented horn player Jason had ever heard. He was also a good friend.

  “Yeah,” Jason replied. “I’ve got a full day in court again tomorrow.”

  “What about the redhead in the back who wants to have sex with you?”

  “She has red hair, huh?”

  “Man, are you telling me you’re not wearing your contacts again?”

  “I play better when I can’t see the audience. That way I can concentrate on the music.”

  “Well, how about concentrating on that redhead in the back? She’s not your usual type.”

  “What is my usual type?”

  “Cold and in control.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with control,” Jason maintained.

  “If you were so into control, you wouldn’t play with so much emotion. This woman coming at you looks like the emotional type. Here she is. Don’t squint at her, man.”

  “Jason Knight, we meet at last.”

  Jason was stunned. No one in the audience knew his real name. To them, he was only known as the Dark Knight. And he liked it that way.

  Despite Natron’s advice, Jason squinted at the woman. Her sexy voice sounded familiar to him, even if her features were a blur. He had to get her out of there before anyone else overheard her using his real name. He certainly didn’t want a horde of women invading Mûddy’s, his last private refuge. Playing the sax gave him the only peaceful moments he’d had since this ridiculous Sexiest Bachelor thing had begun.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he growled.

  “Do I detect a testosterone power surge?” she inquired with a smile. At least Jason assumed it was a smile. Without his glasses he couldn’t be sure. Maybe she had gas pains from one of Muddy’s red-hot appetizers.

  “A testosterone power surge, huh?” Grabbing his instrument case, he aimed her toward the exit as quickly as possible. “You seem the kind of woman who’d have surge protection.”

  She curled her fingers around his bare arm to stop him in his tracks. He could tell her touch wasn’t driven by outrage. He could also tell that he liked being touched by her.

  “And you seem like the kind of man who’d want to avoid walking into a pole,” she noted dryly, tugging him out of the way of the upright metal support beam near the doorway to the club. “Maybe you should put your glasses on now.” There was a tinge of laughter in her voice. “Before you hurt yourself.”

  Outside, with his wire-rim glasses firmly in place, Jason finally got his first clear look at the woman who’d threatened to blow his cover. Her hair was longer than many women favored these days, but it was the color that caught his attention. Maybe it was the artificial light from the streetlamp that did it, but her hair was like liquid fire.

  And her smile was brighter than the megawatt illumination on the corner. She wasn’t beautiful, but her face had a certain something. She had the strong jaw of a woman who knew what she wanted in life. Her lips were luscious, full and sensual, giving her the kind of mouth that was meant for leisurely hours of French kissing.

  “Who are you?” he asked suspiciously.

  “I’m the voice on your voice mail, remember?”

  He’d been getting a lot of calls at work from strange women since that stupid article with his picture had shown up in the press. He’d ignored them all.

  But he did remember this woman’s voice. It was hard to forget Kind of husky like Lauren Bacall’s.

  “Your glasses aren’t just for effect, are they?” she noted.

  “I don’t do anything for effect.”

  “That’s noble of you.” Putting on the wire-rimmed glasses should have made him appear more distant, more uptight But putting glasses on a sexy panther didn’t turn it into a pussycat, she discovered. The underlying dangerous seductiveness was still there, coming across loud and clear.

  “Why was it you wanted to see me?” Jason asked. “You never said in your messages.”

  Heather was tempted to reach out and muss up his hair. As if the fates were reading her thoughts, a sudden breeze sent his hair tumbling back over his forehead. That was better. Now he looked like the Dark Knight again. In fact, he looked so good that Heather had second thoughts.

  She didn’t like people who were too good-looking, and this guy certainly qualified. They made her feel even more plain than usual. And they tended to be self-absorbed and selfish. Her family members were prime examples. But she didn’t have to like Jason Knight, she just had to go out with him three times. Was that so hard? All the women at the radio statio
n were counting on her.

  This was fieldwork. That’s how she needed to look at it—as research. No big deal. She was a successful woman with a fantastic job and a riverfront dream condo. She could manage this assignment, no problem.

  Yeah, right.

  “Why did you want to see me?” Jason repeated impatiently.

  Why was it she was always wearing a baggy sweater and floral skirt when something important happened to her? If she’d known, she’d have worn one of her power suits, something to make her feel confident. Too late now. “Listen, can we stop someplace nearby for a cup of coffee? My treat. No strings attached. Then I’ll tell you what it is I want.”

  Boy, this asking a guy out, even if just for coffee, was harder than she thought. Her palms were sweating and her deodorant was working overtime. She vowed to go easier on her next male caller who was nervous about asking a girl out. “Look, there’s an espresso bar across the street,” she added. “What do you say?”

  “What do I say?” Jason repeated. “That I’d be a fool to refuse an offer like that.”

  “I’ll bet I’ve aroused your curiosity, huh?”

  “That’s one way of putting it,” he noted, while holding open the door to Jumpin’ Java for her.

  “Order anything you want,” she said as they stood in front of the polished wooden counter. The menu was listed on a chalkboard on the back wall. “I’ll have a decaf double mocha latte with cinnamon and whipped cream on top,” she decided.

  “Give me whatever’s got the highest caffeine content,” Jason requested. “I’ve got work to do yet tonight.”

  “That would be Arabian mocha java.”

  As they collected their drinks, Jason said, “You know, I can still remember when our only choices were decaffeinated or not. Ordering coffee used to be a no-brainer.”

  “Like wearing black all the time. I didn’t mean you,” she said, belatedly realizing he might misconstrue her comment “A friend of mine always wears black so that she doesn’t have to think about what goes with what.”

  “I do the same thing. This table okay?” He nodded toward a corner, where they wouldn’t be disturbed. Once they were seated, he said, “So what did you want to talk to me about?”

  “Can we just make small talk for a while first?”

  Jason put his right hand to his glasses and lowered his head to give her a Tom Cruise Risky Business look over the metal rim. Then he smiled. The man had dimples! A flash of one, anyway. “Small talk, huh? Sure. If that’s what you want.”

  She wanted entirely too much at the moment, and it was messing up her thought processes. She had met handsome men before so why did she feel like a tongue-tied idiot?

  She’d already almost burned her tongue when he’d given her that look and incredible smile a moment ago. Her taste buds would probably be numb for a week. So what would it be like to kiss him when her taste buds were numb? Would he bring them back to life, stimulating a miraculous recovery?

  She had to say something, had to get her mouth moving with words before she did something stupid, like lean over and kiss him. “Uh, what that guy said back at the club, it was a misunderstanding. I was talking to him about your sex—your sax,” she corrected, so quickly that she was sure he hadn’t noticed her slipup. Until she got another “look.”

  “You read the article in Chicagoan Magazine,” he said, sighing.

  “After looking at the pictures, yes. I mean, yes, I did read it, but only after a friend made me. Wait, that didn’t come out right.”

  “I wouldn’t have read it by choice, either.”

  “It wasn’t so bad. The worst they called you was a tough nut.” Her gaze lowered to his jeans and how well he filled them out Jeez, why didn’t she just plaster a sign on her forehead that said Sex Fiend? Eyeing a man’s private…attributes ten minutes after meeting him. She’d never done that before. But then tonight marked a number of firsts for her. Quickly looking away, she added, “They also said you were a legal eagle. Good at what you do.” Probably damn good at kissing, too.

  “I am.”

  Had he read her thoughts? “You are?”

  “Good at what I do. At being an assistant district attorney.”

  “Right. I knew that. About your work, I mean. Of course that’s what I mean. I wouldn’t know about you being good at other things. Except sex…the sax. I really like the way you played.” And looked.

  She took another sip of coffee. Thank goodness she’d gotten a decaf; she was already bouncing off the walls as if on caffeine-induced overdrive. She had to calm down and remember her mission.

  “Are you ready to tell me what this is all about or do you want to continue with the small talk?” he asked.

  “Continue with the small talk, definitely. Talking is my specialty. When I was a kid, my parents didn’t know how to keep me quiet. They’re elegant and beautiful, but not the chatty type. I love them, but they were downright stumped by me,” she said cheerfully. “I guess I’ve got too much…I don’t know, joie de vivre. Maybe I got my parents’ portions, too. You know, when they give out traits at birth. What do you have too much of?”

  He gave her a startled look before eventually replying. “Common sense. Or so my sister with the attitude is forever telling me.”

  “So you have a sister. I have one too. Any other siblings?”

  “I’ve also got a brother.”

  “And are they older or younger than you?”

  “They’re both the same age as me.”

  “Same age? You mean you’re…?”

  “One of a set of triplets, yeah.”

  “Wow. I’ve never met a triplet before. Do your siblings look just like you?”

  “My sister doesn’t, much to her relief,” he noted with a grin that flashed like the sun on a cloud-filled day. “We all have brown hair and eyes, but we’re not identical. I suppose you could tell that we’re related, but that’s about it.”

  “Do they live here in Chicago?”

  “My sister does. My brother is out in Oregon at the moment.”

  “So tell me, what was it like growing up as a triplet?”

  “Crowded.”

  She laughed, and the sound made Jason want to test his theory about her mouth being made for French kisses. Normally, he hated small talk, but he liked the sound of her voice. There was a throaty sexiness to it that got his attention and kept it. And her laughter was even better. Rich and raspy with a touch of sugar.

  “So being a triplet was crowded. Anything else?” she prompted.

  “No. Mostly crowded. That’s about it.”

  “You’re not a man of many words, huh?”

  Jason just shrugged.

  “Then how did you end up in the law? I thought lawyers talked all the time.”

  “We do. At work. I’m not a work now.”

  “I talk a lot. You may have noticed. I especially talk when I’m nervous. Which is a good thing, actually, because if I wasn’t good at talking I’d be unemployed. It’s part of my work.”

  “Hey, aren’t you Heather Grayson from that Love on the Rocks show on the radio?” a busboy with a skinny mustache asked as he collected empty coffee cups from the table beside them. “I saw your picture in a flyer my girlfriend brought home the other day. She’s a communications major. You’re giving a speech at Loyola later this month, right? Something about women on the radio.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Heather said, smiling.

  “You look much better in person. Wait ‘til I tell my girlfriend. Like, she’ll freak.”

  He was gone as quickly as he’d appeared.

  Jason didn’t look pleased. “Love on the Rocks?” Even his voice had changed. So had his demeanor. The Tom Cruise naughty gleam in his eye was gone. Instead, Jason looked almost…Republican. As if he were back in that conservative suit and tie from the magazine layout. “Does this invitation to have coffee with you have something to do with your radio show?”

  “Why would you think that? Have you ever listened to
my show?”

  “No.”

  “I have the two-to-six in the afternoon time slot. The show has a call-in format. I don’t have guests, unless they’re specialists in relationships. Are you a specialist?”

  “At prosecuting cases, yes.”

  “Well, I don’t need anything prosecuted. So you can relax.” Wanting to change the subject and regain their earlier camaraderie, she said, “Tell me what made you choose to play the saxophone.”

  “It chose me.”

  “Really? I like an instrument that knows its own mind. My cat is like that. He chose me. I was minding my own business, watering the azaleas on my terrace. I live on the north branch of the river and I’ve got this big terrace with great eastern exposure…Anyway, he just showed up on my terrace and demanded that I be his slave.”

  “Nice work if you can get it.”

  “The thing is you can’t own a cat.”

  “It’s not allowed in your building?”

  “No, I mean there’s no such thing as owning a cat. It’s more like they own you. And the funny thing is that you’re happy to have it that way. Now, if we were talking about a male-female human relationship with these kind of dynamics, I’d say it wasn’t healthy. But it’s not as if a cat is a freeloader. They contribute a lot to the relationship. They don’t give their trust easily, but when they do, it’s wholehearted. Like when my cat lies on his back, with his eyes closed in ecstasy like this…”She squinted in a good imitation. “He actually smiles with his eyes while nurdling his claws.”

  Jason wasn’t sure what “nurdling” was, but he got the general idea from the way Heather curled and flexed her fingers to demonstrate what she meant. Her movements gave him plenty of other ideas, too, all of them as steamy as an espresso machine. The woman was turning him on by talking about her cat! No doubt about it, he had gone too long without sex.

  Jason still had no idea why she’d invited him to have coffee, but the bottom line was he didn’t care. He wanted to spend more time with her. He’d never met another woman quite like her. Maybe it was that joie de vivre she’d been going on about before. Or maybe it was her throaty golden voice or her sexy hair or the electricity generated by her touch. Whatever it was, he wanted to experience more of it…and more of her. All of her. Every luscious inch.