The late afternoon passed into early evening in a blur of noisy conversation, tasty food, and flowing wine. A tidy little woman named Ellen, who turned out to live next door, joined them, as well, and Jax was tickled to note she took the burden of Mack’s scrutiny off of him. From the moment she walked into the living room, bearing a plate of cookies, Mack turned his attention to her.
The older man’s gaze tracked her every move as she greeted Treena and handed over the heaping plate. When she came into the living room where they were seated a moment later, he gave her a comprehensive once-over, and the introduction to Jax was barely out of the way before he said, “Festive as ever, I see. You ever considered dressing in something besides basic crow? You make Heckle and Jeckyl look flamboyant by comparison.”
“Who?” Jax asked.
Ellen’s pretty smile dimmed and her cheeks went pink, but her chin shot up. “Mr. Brody is referring to cartoon characters from the ’60s, Jax. But as usual his lips move without actually saying anything worth hearing.” She turned back to Mack. “Heckle and Jeckyl were magpies, you old fool, not crows.”
It went downhill from there, and Jax sat back, sipped his club soda and watched. He continued to observe them with fascination during dinner.
While he was hardly the biggest ladies’ man in the universe himself, he had Mack beat all to hell. For a second he even considered pulling the old guy aside to give him a pointer or two on improving his mating technique. God knew his current one sucked.
But it wasn’t his problem, and it was time for him to leave, anyway. He found himself curiously reluctant to go, but he pushed his chair back and rose. “I’m sorry,” he said when conversation at the table abruptly died and everyone stared up at him. “This has been great, but I have to get ready for my game.”
“Ah, so that’s why you haven’t been drinking, huh?” Mack said at the same time Carly wished him good luck.
“It was nice to meet you, dear,” Ellen said. “Be sure to grab a few cookies for the road.”
Treena rose to her feet, as well, as he took the older woman at her word and filched a couple cookies off the plate. “I’ll walk you out.”
She stole several glances at him as they headed toward the door. “I’m not sure whether to apologize or congratulate you on your forbearance,” she admitted.
She felt guilty for the way she’d let herself be surrounded with her friends to avoid the possibility of intimacy with Jax. She’d given in to a cowardly impulse because there was just something about this guy that made her ache to present her best, and her abilities in the bedroom didn’t do that. She knew men looked at her, heard what she did for a living, and made huge assumptions about her sexuality. But no matter how great it started out, it always seemed to end up a big, fat disappointment for all concerned—and it was usually her fault because she just couldn’t seem to let go and really cut loose. She didn’t want to see the same disappointment on Jax’s face that she’d seen on others.
She wondered what he thought of the afternoon’s impromptu gathering, but couldn’t tell from his noncommittal expression. So she tried to find out in a more roundabout manner. “This isn’t exactly what you signed on for.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said easily, stopping at the front door to look down at her. “I had a good time. Well, the jury is still out on Mack, since one look at me and he turned into a junkyard dog. But Carly and Ellen are great, and the meal—that was sheer heaven, Treena. My only complaint is that—with all the others here—I had no chance to do this.”
His long-fingered hand wrapped around the back of her neck. With a tug, he tumbled her against his chest and lowered his head, stamping his mouth firmly over hers.
Like their kiss in the parking garage, it only took one touch of his lips, one confident sweep of his tongue across her own, for her brain to go into meltdown. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him back, and between one pounding heartbeat and the next her entire world was reduced to hot, seething sensations and swirling colors. She pressed closer.
Then his hands, strong and firm, gripped her forearms and deftly disengaged her hands from where she’d plunged them into his soft, thick hair. He moved her back a step.
She might have been embarrassed, might have felt the slap of rejection, except that she could see his chest rising and falling beneath the snug blue T-shirt as his breath heaved in his lungs.
“Holy shit,” he said hoarsely. “Ho-ly—” He cut himself off and took a step back, as well. One hand reached for the doorknob, while the other raked his sun-streaked hair back from his brow. “Jesus, Treena, you’re more potent than a straight shot of bourbon. It’s going to take me every minute between now and the start of the game to get my head on straight.” He opened the door and stepped through, but paused on the other side to look at her. Suddenly, he leaned back in and pressed a quick, hard kiss on her lips. “I’ll call you,” he said.
Then he turned and strode away.
Pressing her fingers to her lips to retain the feel of his kiss, she leaned out into the hallway and watched him until he disappeared down the stairway. Then she closed the door and leaned back against it, smiling dreamily at the High Scaler on the mantel, which she could just see through the archway. Perhaps there was a guy on Planet Earth with whom she could cut loose.
Eventually, when it began to sink in that she couldn’t simply prop herself against the door for the rest of the night, she smiled goofily. Then, drawn by the clink of dishes and animated voices coming from her small dining table, she drifted back to rejoin her guests.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ELLEN DIDN’T SLAM the door behind her when she returned to her apartment later that evening. She’d lived far too many years with her husband, Winston, who had liked things on an even keel, to radically change her behavior at this late date. She closed the door with deliberate gentleness.
In her mind, however, she banged it so hard it rattled the windows, shivered the timbers, and shook the entire building on its foundation. “Dress like a crow, my sweet fanny!” She strode straight into her bedroom and over to the mirrored doors of her closet.
Fine, she thought fiercely as she checked out her reflection. I wore black tonight. Big deal. It was a good, basic color, the foundation of every woman’s wardrobe. One could dress black up or down. Still, she had clothes in lots of other colors. Sliding open the doors, she rattled hangers one by one along the bar, taking stock.
She had black, black, navy, black, brown, black—aha!—taupe and beige, navy with white piping, black, forest green, black and brown, golden brown, and…black. She also had several crisp white blouses of various styles interspersed. Her shoulders sagged. Oh, dear. She’d never realized her wardrobe was quite so…dark. So unstimulating.
The doorbell rang and, grateful for the interruption, she abandoned the closet. Opening her door, she was surprised to see Treena standing on the other side. “Well, hello there. It seems like an age since I’ve seen you.”
Treena laughed. “I know, long time, no see.” She extended the cookie plate. “I just wanted to return this while I was thinking about it. Otherwise it’s bound to sit on my counter gathering dust for the next week or two.”
Instead of accepting the dish right away, Ellen stepped back into the small entryway and invited Treena in. “And, really,” she insisted when her young friend complied, “you didn’t have to wash it.”
Treena’s mouth quirked. “I’d hardly call it washing—it was more a matter of rinsing off a few crumbs. Believe me, a lot more effort went into making the cookies than washing the plate. Your baked goods are always so yummy.”
Ellen closed the door, took the plate, then led Treena to the living room where she invited her to take a seat. “Speaking of yummy,” she said as she continued into the kitchen with the dish, “your Jax is very attractive.”
Delicate color bloomed in Treena’s cheeks. “Well, I don’t know if he’s my Jax, but he really is a treat for the eyes, isn’t he?” She coll
apsed gracefully onto the chintz divan. “I can’t figure out why that is, exactly. It’s not like he’s movie-star handsome or anything. Taken one by one, his features are fairly average, but there’s just something about the total package. It’s largely his attitude, I think—the cool assertiveness, the confidence. Combine that with the features that are outstanding: that great body, the nice hair and those truly gorgeous eyes—” she flashed a sleepy smile “—and ‘yummy’ is an excellent word.”
Then she collected herself and straightened up on the couch. “But back to the cookie plate,” she said briskly, nodding at it in Ellen’s hand as she was about to set it atop the stack in the cupboard. “You do know, don’t you, that I’m not the one who actually washed it. You must have noticed Mack doing the dishes.”
Ellen released the plate faster than she’d shake loose a rabid toad. Luckily it was close enough to the stack that it only rattled a little. “Don’t speak to me of that man. He said I dress like a crow.”
“Yeah, that was pretty low. You shut him up pretty fast, though, when you informed him Heckle and Jeckyl were magpies.”
Yes, she had. She noticed, however, that Treena wasn’t exactly jumping in to defend her style. “Do you think my clothes are drab?”
“I think they’re…elegant. And, um, classic.”
“But drab,” she insisted, realizing to whom she was speaking. She walked over to the couch. “Of course you do—you love color. In fact, you’re pretty much the queen of color.”
Amusement deepened the ironic tilt of Treena’s lips, scoring a tiny groove in her cheek next to the corner of her mouth. “I suppose I am. And okay, I admit I’d like to see you in more than your usual blacks and earth tones. But it’s not like I’d want you to quit wearing those.” She reached for Ellen’s hand, urging her with her soft grip to sit next to her on the sofa.
She complied, and Treena’s eyes held a gentle smile in their honey-brown depths as they studied her. “There’s no need to change your basic style,” she reiterated. “Because it is definitely you: elegant and sort of posh. But a discreet use of color would really accentuate your classical pieces, with the added bonus of supplementing the outfits you already have. You’ve got such lovely skin and that dramatic salt-and-pepper hair. And hazel eyes offer so many color combinations that it opens up all sorts of possibilities for accessorizing. A lavender tank top or blouse, for instance, would look great with most of your shorts, as well as with your dark suits. So would a soft coral. And sea-foam green, or sage, or an old gold like my living room walls would bring out your eyes.”
The younger woman suddenly sat upright. “Oh! I have a brilliant idea.” She jiggled Ellen’s hand as her cheeks flushed with enthusiasm. “Tomorrow Carly and I have a mutual day off. I have studio time booked in the morning, but then we’re going shopping. Come with us.”
Ellen pulled back slightly. “Oh, darling, thank you for the offer. But I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“Well—” she waved a hand at the dancer “—look at you. Then look at me. Not only am I old enough to be your mother, we have totally different body types. Not to mention that our sartorial choices are polar opposites. I doubt we shop at the same stores.”
Treena laughed, and it was so deep and infectious that Ellen couldn’t help but smile in return.
“We aren’t going to Spandex R Us,” the redhead said. “Come with us. I bet we can find you a few pieces that will satisfy all our tastes.” She gave Ellen’s leg a poke. “Unless…you got a hot date?”
She smiled. “No.”
“Then what have you got to lose? At the very least you’ll have a few laughs with us.”
“Yes, that’s something I’m definitely guaranteed with you and Carly. But shop for bright clothing? Winston would roll in his grave.”
“Why, was he a big fan of funeral weeds?”
For some reason when Treena poked fun at her colorless wardrobe, it struck her as funny, and a burble of laughter rolled up her throat. It was nothing like the way she felt when that testosterone-laden, socially challenged Brody man did the same thing. “He was, yes. Winston truly believed black was the classic color—that one could never go wrong with it.”
“What a fun guy,” Treena said drily.
A smile curled Ellen’s lips as a host of memories flashed across her mind. “Oh, he had his moments.”
Her friend grimaced. “I’m sure he did, and it was insensitive of me to imply otherwise about a man I never even met. I just think unrelenting black is kind of, well, dull, and it’s time we glammed you up a bit. C’mon,” she urged. “If not for me, then think of how bent out of shape it will make Mack.”
She’d been wavering, but Brody’s name made her snap erect. “You think I want to give that rude man the satisfaction of thinking anything he said drove me to change my style?”
“Oh, trust me, Mack’s got such a lust on for you that if you flash a little color, maybe a hint of cleavage at him, he’ll be lucky if he has a functioning brain cell left to ask if anyone got the number of the train that hit him.” She laughed, deep and bawdy, as if someone had just told her a deliciously dirty joke. “I’m betting it’ll be all he can do to remember his own name, let alone that anything he said may or may not have instigated a couple of changes in your wardrobe.”
A lust on? Treena was mistaken. Ellen smiled wryly. Ah, to be at an age again where everything boiled down to sex.
Nevertheless, her heart picked up its beat, and feeling suddenly, inexplicably lighter than she had in quite some time, she said slowly, “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to pick up one or two colorful pieces. Not that I care what that old goat thinks,” she hastened to add. Okay, that was a big fat lie, but she refused to regret it—let alone take it back—for she didn’t see the point of making herself look foolish in her young friend’s eyes.
“Of course you don’t,” Treena agreed. “You’re doing this strictly to give yourself a lift. If Mack has a problem with black, let him get himself a hot pink shirt.”
“Yes,” she agreed fervently.
“So, we’re in accord, right?” Treena climbed to her feet. “I’ll call Carly and let her know you’re coming with us. I think, in the interests of time and to avoid having to deal with too many cars, I’ll just take the bus to the studio. Carly already said she’d drive, so you two can pick me up at ten-thirty.” She strode for the door. “Oh, this is going to be fun. Wear comfortable shoes. We’re gonna shop till we drop.”
And before Ellen could have second thoughts and perhaps recant her decision, her friend had breezed out the door.
TREENA WAS LESS than thrilled to arrive at the studio the following morning and discover Julie-Ann there, but after exchanging curt nods they staked out opposite ends of the long narrow room and quite effectively ignored each other. She found the younger woman’s choice of music obnoxious, but Julie-Ann had gotten there before her, and the unwritten rule in these situations always favored the first to arrive.
With anyone else Treena would have hammered out a musical compromise, but she didn’t even try with the young dancer. This was her final day off and she had zero desire to start it off with a pissing match. So she let it go with a mental reminder to bring her Walkman next time.
Within moments, she was so deep into the practice session, she barely even remembered that the other dancer was there. She ran through one series of steps after another, constantly changing combinations and monitoring herself closely in the mirror. By the time Carly and Ellen arrived she was fairly satisfied with the morning’s session. She completed her final set, picked up her towel and, dabbing the sheen of sweat from her face and chest, walked over to join her friends, smiling at the physical disparity between them.
Carly easily exceeded six feet in her high heels, and her spiky blond hair made her look like some Valkyrie warrior goddess—an image that was enhanced by the hammered gold bracelet circling her upper arm. Cream-colored sharkskin slacks and an electric blue halter top
clung to her lush curves. Next to her Ellen was a petite, elegant sprite in a black silk suit and sensible pumps.
The elegant sprite broke into applause and smiled radiantly at her. “I know you’re a dancer, of course,” she said. “But I tend to forget from day to day exactly how much talent that encompasses. It is such a joy to watch you in action.”
“Good improvement on your high kicks,” Carly agreed.
Ellen beamed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve watched the two of you dance together. I’m definitely going to attend your show again soon.”
“Why wait?” Carly said. “We’ll give you a little demonstration right now.”
“In your street clothes, dear? I couldn’t ask that.”
“It’s no biggie.” Carly kicked off her shoes and unzipped her pants, peeling them off. She handed them to Ellen, who looked as if she couldn’t decide whether to be horrified or fascinated by the younger woman’s total lack of self-consciousness as Carly stood easily before her in nothing more than a pair of panties and a tight top.
“I’m going to take a wild stab here and guess you don’t control the music today,” Carly said in a low voice to Treena as she stepped back into her heels. Then raising her voice, she said, “Julie-Ann! Can we borrow the stereo system for one song?”
“Certainly,” Julie-Ann said with such saccharine good will it made Treena’s teeth ache. She came over to join them as Carly headed across the room to select music. “Hello,” she said to Ellen and stuck her hand out. “I’m Julie-Ann. I’m the captain of Carly and Treena’s dance troupe.”
Treena was saved from having to make polite, insincere conversation when the intro to one of their regular show numbers began. Excusing herself, she met Carly out on the floor. They turned as one to face Ellen—just in time to hear Julie-Ann say, “I’ll just go join them. Then you’ll really have a treat.”
Shit.
Before the young woman could make good on her intention, however, Ellen put a hand on her arm. “No, keep me company, dear. You can explain what the steps are as the girls do them.”
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