He was cool, this one, Stanna thought as she smiled up at him and breathed, "Yes." His proximity was getting to her, throwing off her equilibrium. She was affecting him too, if his flashing aqua eyes and hungry body language was any indication.
At her answer, he moved closer still, until she tasted his breath. The humid heat of it made her want to surrender to him, give herself over to the promise his eyes so eloquently made to her. His body was as close to hers as it could be without touching.
They had touched, last time. Now what made her catch her breath with excitement was the realization they were each capable of ending the exquisite tension, but neither of them were willing to. It was a display of power on both sides, and she trembled inwardly at what it might imply about a more intimate encounter.
He ended it by taking a slow step back. And another, making their distance respectable. "Ready?" he asked, tipping his head toward the door.
If he only knew how ready. She immediately chastised herself for the thought. "Ready," she answered, glad that her voice came out evenly.
He was so enticing, she thought as she watched him scoop up his briefcase. He turned on a confident pivot, smoothly moving in that jungle prowl toward her and the door. She waited an extra beat in response to his "after you" gesture before preceding him out the door. She knew he watched her with his knowing falcon eyes, and she tried to stamp out her excitement.
Her heartbeat accelerated. How ridiculous. How inadvisable. She shouldn't be doing this, no matter what her body was telling her. However, she’d be silly to turn down the chance to influence him about Men's Weekly. But on the other hand, the man already had more power than he knew over her emotions. Getting into the dangerous realm, actually. But then again, she found herself trusting his basic integrity.
Her thoughts see-sawed. Go for it. Don’t even dare.
It played hell with her equilibrium. "Jake, I'm not sure this is the best time--"
"Hey guys, heading out?" Michael strutted into their path, preening in front of Jake so obviously that Stanna would have laughed if she weren't so distracted. He gave Jake a quick, subtle lowered-eyelid/lip pout, but the expression was gone so fast she might have imagined it.
"Yep. Stanna and I are taking off. What’re you doing here after five o'clock?"
"Working on this cover concept you'll just love, Jake. I mean, it's a primo-magnifico eye-grabber. The boys out there will simply devour it. I really hope you like it..." Michael's flirty, little-dog-lost pathos had Stanna wanting to pat his head and reassure him – or maybe kick him out of the way – but Jake had a better idea.
"That's great. I wasn't too happy with the other concepts offered in the art meeting. Show it to me tomorrow, but don't stay too late. 'All work...'" Jake touched her back gently, and they were moving again.
She heard Michael's poignant sigh behind them, but was pretty sure Jake missed it. She suppressed a grin.
They rode down the elevator. Memories of the previous week, and the week before it, crossed her mind. Things change fast, she realized suddenly. With the replacement of the editor, much of what she'd taken for granted had altered. For example, here she was with a man who changed faces: one minute he was a chauvinist pig who threatened her job, the next he was the thoroughly competent magazine manager, and the next he was a potential boyfriend who made her weak in the knees.
He had to change his mind about modern men, and Men's Weekly, if he were to be that last one.
Jake walked ahead of her, leading her to the reserved space where his Wrangler was parked. He tossed his briefcase into the back then chivalrously opened the passenger side door for her. She admired the forest green slightly metallic color and ruggedness of the Jeep. It suited him.
"Nice Jeep." She tossed her own case to join his in the back, then told him with a smile, "You know I'm going to hammer at you about the magazine. The new theme won't stick in the long term."
He grinned back confidently, as if he'd been expecting her to say exactly that. "It will. I'll make it stick."
She hopped up into the cloth-covered bucket seat, smoothed her skirt. She lined up all her arguments, prepared her rebuttals, and was ready to really launch into him as he leaped into the driver's side seat.
But then he leaned over and kissed her.
CHAPTER SIX
It was a peck, a hard, on-the-lips silencing kiss. It ended as soon as it began, and he sat back grinning at her while he turned the ignition key. The rumbling engine prohibited talk.
She reached over and turned off the ignition.
He was actually surprised, Stanna noticed in bafflement. His eyebrows shot up and he looked at her like he didn't know quite what to make of her.
It was sort of funny. But not really.
"You don't want to talk, you want to make out!" she accused scathingly.
"I wouldn't mind doing both." His innocent voice made it sound like a joke, like the most casual thing in the world. His eyes were warm and sparkled deviously.
A smile tugged at her mouth, but she suppressed it. "I would mind." Overruling the part of her brain that hummed for more of his kisses, she flipped open her door and hopped out, grabbing her briefcase and heaving the door shut so quickly behind her that it nearly caught her skirt.
He watched her impassively, his head tilted slightly. He looked so capable and masculine behind the wheel. She had the impulse to jump back in and go with him wherever he went, however he wanted to get there.
But she restrained herself. "I'll talk with you about the magazine anytime," she offered diplomatically.
"Tomorrow. At lunch." His voice was distant and professional, without the smallest touch of the heat and warmth threading it just moments before. He started up the engine immediately, and tossed her a goodbye smile that didn't quite touch his eyes.
Jake kicked himself all the way out of the parking garage, from the subterranean 4th level on up the spiral to the sudden bright square opening to the larger outside world. He shifted his Jeep into third gear, accelerating onto Wilshire Boulevard toward the freeway.
He didn't know who he was madder at: Stanna, for not responding to his casual gesture of affection, or himself for rushing things. He really did want to talk about the magazine with her. She had a unique perspective.
He should’ve moved slower.
Weaving expertly in and out of the commuter traffic, Jake pondered the situation. She didn't seem mad, at least. Not really. She'd handled him promptly and firmly, as if he were a wayward high-school date, he realized with chagrin.
Which was pretty much what he'd acted like.
Damn it, she brought out the impulsive side of him he'd last seen when he’d dated Jolene.
His blood chilled in reflex. The woman’s image, her glossy full black hair and matching mysterious eyes rose in his mind. Just a memory. Just Jolene laughing freely as she plucked at his dinner jacket and spoke in her intriguing, accented South American purr: "I'm going to marry you, handsome man." He smiled bitterly at the irony of that statement, for it was less than two months later he'd discovered just what manner of woman he’d nearly given his name to.
Jolene was a friend of a friend, and he’d thought her some kind of angel sent to him in the rough week after his parent's funeral outside of Denver. Comforting without being intrusive, warm yet seductively affectionate, Jolene's presence grew from something he enjoyed to something he wasn't completely happy without. He'd never been more in love.
She'd played him well.
Her exotic, mysterious demeanor included spending days at a time away from him, and not talking about her past. Jake didn't question it. He was far too busy cherishing her to pressure or cross-examine her.
It was a Sunday when his world fell apart.
"I'll be at confession, darling. Which is all your doing," she teasingly scolded him that morning and kissed him goodbye. She didn't know she'd left her small tan wallet behind.
She was just driving slowly away when he discovered it. It occurred to him
she was driving without a license, not to mention cash and credit cards, without her wallet. He grabbed his keys and pursued her in his Jeep. She drove quickly once she hit the main road -- more quickly than he’d seen before, to the point of reckless driving. Surprised, Jake accelerated to keep up.
She wasn't heading to church, of course.
When she pulled off the road in a poor section of downtown, he knew where they were. This was the area she'd told him she lived with her sisters. For the first time it occurred to Jake he hadn't met any of them yet. During the delirious months they'd seen each other, she'd always come to him or met him. She had a job with odd hours, a dull one about which it bored her to speak.
She pulled behind a ratty converted motel apartment complex, but by the time Jake pulled around she'd already gone inside.
Drifts of garbage clotted the ground. The cries of cranky children and the familiarly accented reprimands of cranky mothers filled the dusty air. Rust stains and weeds were the sole exterior apartment decorations, unless one counted the beat-up cars up on cinder blocks. He parked his Jeep next to Jolene's familiar late-model RX-7, noticing how hers was the best car in the ragged little lot.
He’d actually felt a stab of remorse for not realizing the conditions she lived in. She lived in this rattrap with her sisters? She was the most patient, loving person he'd ever met, to not breathe a word of complaint, or nag him in the slightest for the marriage he knew she wanted. He resolved in that moment to ask her to marry him.
He leaped down from his Jeep, her wallet in hand. He heard her sultry laugh and smiled as he rounded the corner.
His smile froze.
She hadn't seen him. Her arms, completely covered by the white silky "church" outfit, were locked around the neck of a stranger, and her lush lips pressed and parted over his. Stunned, Jake only watched.
She giggled, breaking from him coyly and taking his hand. "If that's a preview, I want the main course," the man said roughly, yanking her to him once more. "I'm paying enough for it," he complained, maneuvering her towards the door at her back. Jake tried to make sense of his words, and when comprehension set in his world tilted crazily.
How could it be? Not Jolene! Maybe it was a sister, a twin! Forgetting he'd followed her, forgetting everything but the desperate relief of his solution, he stepped closer. Of course she had a twin. It had to be a lookalike. His Jolene loved him, only him, and they would have a good laugh over this misunderstanding together.
Then her dark eyes met his, and widened. Her hand let go of the man's immediately. Jake saw, and understood. It was the moment ice began to coat his heart in numbness. He couldn't deny what he saw.
He dropped her wallet where he stood, taking one last look at the tableau of her creation. The strange man just looked impatient and yelled something at him he didn't hear. But Jolene. He saw a callous, hard look encase her face, an expression he'd never seen before on anyone. Her game was over, her plan to trap him in a cushy marriage thwarted, so her pretense disappeared. He saw a cold man-hater whose only lust was for playing him. And who knew who else.
She regarded Jake without even the tribute of regret. He was only a lost opportunity to her, worthless now.
Nothing more for me here. Numb detachment gave Jake the ability to turn his back and walk away.
The numbness never really went away. That creature had managed to crawl too far into his heart for it not to affect him, especially at such a vulnerable time in his life on the heels of his parent's death. From that point forward, men were his only confidants. He dropped his few female friends when he found he couldn't look at them without wondering what nasty secrets they hid. Men could be trusted.
Women couldn't.
It was that simple.
Sometimes he met women he respected and admired. Sometimes he'd even had casual relationships with them. Nothing serious on his end. He preferred it that way. When the women inevitably manipulated him with varying degrees of subtlety, creating serious issues where none existed, he ended it.
He'd never seen Jolene again. He was better off for the lesson, he told himself. Too many of his male readers could benefit from his experience. Even if he could impart just a little healthy male skepticism in them about women, he'd be doing them a huge service.
He had Men's Weekly, and it would be his voice in addition to his single biggest investment.
Stanna, as desirable and intriguing as she was, had better not mess with that.
Every time they met, she messed with it, Jake thought in bemusement more than a month later.
It was at another of their now-established weekly lunches that they faced off across a square table at the local Italian spot.
"My latest column talks about the issue of men's freedom from women, otherwise known as the cold-foot conundrum. I mean, guys want all the benefits of a relationship. Sex, ego-stroking, a date on Saturday nights, etc. But too often guys don't stick around when the woman wants to get more serious than casual dating. I want to ask them, 'What are you afraid of? Think the grass will be greener later on, when you’re older?' That's a shabby way to treat a faithful, loving woman!"
Stanna's musical voice was soft but it resonated clearly in the small restaurant. Her ivory skin seemed to glow rosily with vigorous emotion, and Jake looked at her with admiration even as he shot down her idea: "Every week with you it's the same. Guys are the insensitive jerks and women are their innocent victims. Get real. Sorry, but that doesn't fly with me or my readers. You're just lucky that I kept your basic idea: the issue of men's freedom from women. It's a necessity for a man to be free to have space and quiet for introspection. It needful to see the truth about their woman, so he can make the decision to stay or leave on his own. Otherwise he shouldn't settle down. That's what I think."
"Your readers will take that as license to keep their feet cold forever. Sometimes one has to just go for it, have faith and leap into it. Adopting your attitude, the guys’ll refuse to commit until they're eighty years old."
"Maybe that's how long they need to be sure." Seeing her frustration, Jake relented enough to explain gently, "I think it's in their best interests. But I was fair when I edited the column. You know I was." It was too watered-down and toothless for his taste, the defanged blend of her ideas and his. Compromises were so boring.
The column really needed to be completely pro-men, to be extreme and exciting. He revised enough each week to satisfy himself that his readers would approve, and enough to piss Stanna off, but he knew a compromise when he saw one. He wondered why he went to the trouble every week when he could just hire a ghostwriter to doctor her column to his specifications and wash his hands of the whole affair.
It wasn’t completely about the money. Stanna was good. He supposed he'd grown to like her enough to want to train her to be a proper Men's Weekly columnist. Though he could tell it would take longer than originally anticipated, with those feminist ideals of hers.
He smiled, winking at her as he grabbed for the bill and dug in his wallet. Stanna quickly threw in her half of the tab. Just as he had the last five times, Jake immediately tossed it back at her. Something about the way he did it, as if the bills were worthless little Frisbees, appealed to her.
She grumbled still. "You could just leave me alone to write my own column, the way Ian did."
Jake snorted. "Leave you unsupervised? No ma'am." He rose sinuously from his chair, the strong fingers of his left hand resting on the cheerfully red-and-white checkered tablecloth. Jake radiated a calm confidence that drew respectful glances from men, and covetous ones from women. "Besides, I don't want to leave you alone." His deep, teasing voice went straight through her, the way it always did.
They locked eyes for a long, heated moment.
Jake's broadcast a flirtatious challenge. She knew her own cool gray eyes were leveled on him with undisguised interest. She couldn’t help it. She felt flushed, and her heartbeat was speeding again. He made her feel so utterly present and accounted for.
He just reminded her of the kinds of bad-news guys she knew how to handle. She sensed the danger. That was why she always felt so fully alert with him, she told herself. That's why her very hair follicles seemed to sense his presence. Alpha-male chauvinists had that unfortunate effect on her. And Jake was the alpha-est alpha-male of the bunch, and fun, too, which made him immeasurably more appealing. When they were casual and joking together, she had to forcibly remind herself that it was just business.
He was her boss. And he still didn't like her column. That made him a dangerous foe, someone to feel very alert around. He was a smart man but a misguided one who embraced the wrong philosophy regarding men and women. He was her noble opposition.
She was on the side of good, while he was on the side of... evil?
Come to the dark side, Luke...
Just managing to stifle her giggles at the image of Jake in Vader's black cape, Stanna let her eyes broadcast her humor.
"Share the joke?" His warm insinuating voice immediately dissolved the Star Wars image. Darth Vader could never sound so disturbingly sexy.
"I was just thinking that you're a bad badguy."
"A bad, bad guy?"
"Completely."
"And this is good?" Jake's quizzical response made her laugh.
"Of course." Pushing back her chair and standing, she reached for her wallet on the table. On impulse, she touched his hand. It was firm and warm. "Thanks for lunch.” He didn't move, but radiated a strong stillness. She had the sudden impression that she'd just put her hand on a lion's back. A wild lion.
Playing it out, she merely patted him irreverently and took her hand back to herself. She felt lightheaded.
He didn't move. He gazed at her, evaluating. One corner of his mouth pulled into a slight smile. She couldn't move, couldn’t make the everyday gestures of turning, walking toward the door, heading back to work. She couldn't move until he let her.
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