Her bare feet were hooked over Jared's midsection. Pulling them free, she swiveled on her knees to face him, pushed back to sit on her heels and gave him a straight-armed shot to the shoulder. "What the hell do you think you're doing? I could have broken my neck."
Rubbing at the spot she'd just smacked, he fixed sleepy eyes on her and yawned. "Well, Iwas sleeping before you tried to break my ribs." His cheek resting on the arm curled above his head, he reached out his free hand to cup her bare thigh just above her kneecap.
"In thehallway, like a bum in a doorway." She jerked her leg from his light grasp. "What are you, nuts?"
"Quite possibly. But if you read the sign driving up the road, you know the elevation here is seventy-one hundred feet. Only someone completely nuts would sleep outside where it's fortysomething freaking degrees when there's a nice warm hallway right here. Not to mention room to stretch out." Pushing up on his forearm, his heavy-lidded gaze tracked a path from her legs to her faded red boxers to her tank top to her scrubbed face, making her aware of how awful she must look. "And who's going to see me at two-thirty in the morning?" he asked without heat. "I set my watch to be out of here before most people stir."
"Most people. But it'd only take one early riser to catch you."
"Big deal. I'll tell 'em my wife kicked me out. Trust me, honey, if it's a guy, that'll do the trick. The man hasn't been born who doesn't understand the lack of logic in the female mind."
She shot him a look that should have dropped him in his tracks, but unfortunately looks really couldn't kill. "I oughtta kick you again just for drill."
Reaching behind her, he wrapped his hand around the foot she'd nailed him with and kneaded his fingers along her arch. His forearm was warm against her leg, his touch firm as it dug into just the right muscles, and her fatigue swirled away like water down a drain. But when his thumb brushed the curve of her butt where it rested on her heels, she shifted away.
He shrugged and brought his hand back to scratch his stomach. "You only get one free shot, short stuff, and you've already used yours." Then he gave her a wheedling smile. "You've got a nice big room. Why don't you let me sleep on your couch instead?"
"I don't have a couch."
"Your floor, then."
"Dream on, Hamilton."
"C'mon, what's the worst that could happen?" Then his green eyes suddenly went heavy with something other than exhaustion. "You afraid I might make a move on you?"
"What?" Disquieted, edgy, she surged up on her knees. "Of course not!" That truly hadn't occurred to her, but once the image was planted in her mind, it stuck there like a burr to a saddle blanket.
He moved onto his knees, as well, and he towered over her, the sudden expanse of his hard chest in a soft gray T-shirt her only view. "I think you are," he said in a low voice, and she jerked her gaze up to lock on his. "I think you're afraid I might try to kiss you." He looked her over from her lips to her breasts to her bare legs. "Maybe put my hands on you."
"That's crazy! I never-" And she hadn't, not once since she was a kid who'd learned better than to hang on to unattainable dreams-and even then her fantasies had never traveled any further than an innocent press of lips. But her own gaze glanced off his mouth now, dropped to his hands.
She jumped to her feet. "You're certifiable! Get out of my way. I'm not listening to this crap." Pushing past him as he, too, stood up, she fumbled with the key card, unable to get back into her room fast enough.
She thought she felt his fingers brush one of her curls, and when the light finally turned green, she pushed the door wide in her haste to get away from him. But Jared's hand was right there, splayed against the painted panel to prevent her from closing the door firmly in his face when she whirled back to do precisely that.
"Where's the fire, Peej?" he said softly. "I merely asked if you were worried about my intentions. I didn't say you needed to be. I'm a professional. I don't slap the make to my clients."
"I'm not your client," she snapped, then could have kicked herself. But, this had been agame? Humiliated for thinking he had been putting the moves on her-and worse, that she'd responded to them-she thrust her chin up and took a giant step forward to prove to him-to herself-that no cut-rate Romeo could intimidateher. "Still, that's good to hear. I was beginning to think you'd lost every standard you once had."
"Not a chance, baby," he murmured, smiling faintly.
For the briefest instant, her traitorous gaze drifted toward his lips, but she quickly jerked it away. "Good night," she said flatly.
This time when she stepped back and leaned her weight against the panel, he let her shut the door between them. Face hot, blood burning hotter, she stalked into the bedroom and threw herself facedown on the bed.
It was a long, long time before she finally fell asleep.
P.J.'S RIGHT, JAREDthought for about the hundredth time eight hours later.You arecertifiable. Approaching the cutoff where Highway 160 met up with I-5 outside of Medford, he scowled at the tailgate of her truck as she roared up the road in front of him. Then his thoughts bounced back to the same damn situation he'd been stewing over since two-thirty this morning. The one that had thrown him and P.J. and their history and his reason for being in her company into one big jumble.
It was messy enough already. What the devil had he been thinking to bring sex into the equation?
He'd love to claim it was all part and parcel of their ongoing attempts this past week to outdo each other. But even though he hadn't hesitated to give Peej the impression that it had been nothing more than a golden opportunity to one-up her, he couldn't sell that story to himself. Because rattling her and making her aware of him hadn't been a result of any genius design on his part. He'd simply touched her, looked at her in those worn little red boxer shorts and snug tank top, and his brain had short-circuited and his mouth had started spewing out the thoughts that had been crowdinghis mind, not hers.
Then he'd had the stones to tell her he was a professional. God, that was rich. He'd be lucky if she didn't slap a sexual harassment charge against him.
His brows snapped together. Whathad he been thinking? His professionalism had long been one of, if notthe most important aspects of his life. So why the hell was he endangering everything he'd worked so hard to accomplish to play who's-on-top-now with P.J.?
Because while it might feel like fun and games, it was threatening his self-respect. And unnecessarily so-he'd known a week ago he didn't need to personally accompany her until the tour officially began. But it had been surprisingly enjoyable to match wits with her, and his life had been so fucking serious for such a long time. And, okay, so maybe he felt more alive than he had in ages, but that was a piss-poor excuse. He only had two things he could count on in his life-his family and his work. That wasn't so frigging much that he could afford to blow off one of them.
Thinking of the other fifty percent reminded him of an event he'd missed at home. Happy to divert thoughts that kept circling like vultures waiting for the corpse, he picked up his cell phone from the seat next to him and punched his sister's number.
The phone on the other end of the line rang three times before it was picked up. "Hello," Victoria said and her voice, warm and familiar, was a balm to his raw nerves.
"Hey, Tori."
"Jared! How are you doing? Have you seen P.J. yet?"
"I'm fine. And yeah, I've seen her."Several times, in a number of situations.
She laughed. "Dumb question. Of course you have. John told me you were traveling with her-I just forgot for a minute."
"Ah, caught you at work, did I?"
"Yes. I'm trying out a new design, so my thoughts are a little scattered. It's a Greek temple. Very different, but fun. Although I'm having a tough time imagining what kind of dolls will feel at home in it."
"Maybe Goddess Barbie or Toga Ken. Or maybe it's actually for an adult. Your dollhouses are so amazing I'm guessing they aren't always ordered for kids."
"You sweet-talker, you." Then her voic
e turned brisk. "But enough about me. Tell me all about P.J."
"She's still fast on her feet and a smart mouth. Other than that, not much to tell."
"Not much to-Jared Hamilton! Don't tell me you haven't rekindled your friendship!"
Shit.This was exactly the conversation he'd hoped to avoid. "I'm here on a job, Victoria."
"And your point is? That little girl was the closest friend you ever had. You can't seriously be holding yourself as emotionally distant from her as you do from everyone but me and Rocket and the kids."
"Christ. What is it with you guys? Like I told John, we were close, but that was a lifetime ago.She tossed the friendship away, not me!" But feeling cracks developing in his normally smooth facade, he pulled himself up short. Drawing in a calming breath, he ordered himself to picture the Rocky Mountains. He was a glacier peak, impregnable and remote. He did not lose control.
Calmer, he felt a bite of satisfaction at how composed and patient he sounded when he said, "Look, is Esme around? That's the reason I called."
"Aw, sweetie," she said in a voice so understanding that for a moment it endangered his hard-won composure. "Hang on a second. I'll see if I can find her."
The telephone went on hold, and Jared pictured his sister in her attic studio tracking Esme down via the intercom system wired into every room of her and Rocket's big, rambling Denver home.
Then the line opened up again and his niece's voice said, "Hullo, Uncle Jared!"
"Hey, pipsqueak. Or should I say college graduate pipsqueak? Congratulations, kid. I'm sorry I missed the ceremony, but a gift is in the mail."
"Lovely. But as it happens, you didn't miss a thing." Traces of her first six years in England colored her voice. "I didn't graduate."
"What?" He took his eyes off the road for an instant to give the phone a blank look. "What happened?"
"Turns out my high school French classes don't count toward my foreign language obligation because I failed the competency test I took for college entry. Only no one bothered to tell me that until just now, which I think is complete and utter bollocks. Regardless, I'm stuck taking a French class summer quarter."
"Sorry to hear it, Es." He waited a beat, then said, "Send me back my prez."
"You wanker!" She laughed. "Just try to get it back. You always give great gifts."
"So you're taking one class this summer. That sounds cushy enough. What are you doing the rest of the time, lounging by a pool?"
"I wish. I'm working part time at Daddy's."
"He's letting you muck around at Semper Fi?" He injected the proper horror into his voice. "A girl who couldn't even graduate college? What are the chances of there being a business to come back to when I'm finished with this job?"
"Pretty decent, considering Gert doesn't let me do a damn thing without supervision. Shouldn't she be retired by now? She must be eighty years old."
"Seventy-four. And retire to do what? Crochet doilies?"
"You sound just like her." Amusement laced her voice. "And I have to admit, the woman's a machine. I'm running my arse off just trying to keep up with her."
"She keeps us all slapped into shape," he agreed. "Well, listen, kid. I'm running into traffic and it looks like there's some road construction ahead, so I'd better hang up and pay attention. Keep your nose to the grindstone and I'll see you when we get to Denver."
"Mum got us tickets to Priscilla Jayne's concert. She said I met her once, but I don't remember. I've listened to her new CD, though, and it's actually good."
He grinned. "I'll be sure to pass on your effusive praise."
"That didn't come out right. I guess I just thought all country music was twangy, but hers isn't. I really like her voice and her songs tell great stories. I'm looking forward to hearing her in concert."
"She puts on a helluva show," he said, thinking of her energy knocking them dead in honky-tonks across three states. "I'll see if I can't get you backstage passes."
"Sweet."
When they disconnected a minute later, Jared emptied his mind of everything but the need to concentrate on the sudden backup on a stretch of freeway that moments ago had been nearly empty.
Once traffic opened up again, however, his mind went straight back to the subject it had been worrying since the wee hours of the morning. He was like some damn hamster on a wheel, he thought with disgust, running his ass off to get nowhere. He had to knock it off.
One thing was certain, though. He was glad the tour was finally starting.
Because it was bound to be a whole lot easier getting back on professional footing with a mess of people around to dilute the effect of one-on-one time spent with P.J.
CHAPTER SIX
Priscilla Jayne Kicks OffSteal the Thunder Tour
"WELL, LOOK WHO'S HERE," said a familiar voice as P.J. strode onto the stage in the Portland venue later that afternoon. "Hey, little girl. Early as usual, I see."
She grinned at Hank Hartley, who stood a short distance away tuning his banjo, his fiddle carefully nestled in its open case at his feet. He gazed at her with warm hazel eyes from beneath the brim of his ever-present leather bush hat, a small return grin playing around his lips. "Sound check's not for another twenty minutes, babe," he informed her.
"What can I say, H.H.? Promptness is a hard habit to break." She raised her eyebrows at him. "But I don't have to tellyou that. You got here even earlier than me."
Laughing, he crossed the short distance still separating them and hauled her into his wiry arms. Strong as a bear at forty, he gave her a big hug that left her feet dangling off the floor and the neck of his banjo digging into her spine. She drew in his familiar scent of tobacco, aged leather headgear and wrist straps, and Drakkar Noir cologne. The top of her head bumped the underside of his hat and, reaching up to hold it in place with one hand, he set her gently back on her feet.
"I'm sorry about your mom and all the shit with the press," he said gently.
"Aw, thanks, Hank." She touched the little sandy-brown soul patch beneath his bottom lip, the single silky surface in a hundred-miles-of-bad-highway craggy face. "It's been a:challenging few weeks."
"I bet." Gently he hooked one of her curls behind her ear. But several strands snagged on fingertips callused from years of playing stringed instruments and pulled free again. With a whispered curse, he smoothed it back to join the rest. Then, looking beyond her, his eyes narrowed. "Who's this?"
She knew who she'd see before she turned. But she glanced over her shoulder anyway. Jared stood several feet away, hands in his pockets and his posture relaxed, observing them.
Sighing, she turned back to Hank. "My watchdog," she admitted and briefly explained Wild Wind's burning desire to insure their investment.
"Thehell you say!" Easygoing eyes gone hard, he stepped around her and, pausing only long enough to lay down his banjo, strode toward Jared. "Listen, pal-"
Alarmed, she sprinted after him. While Jared might be a full head taller and didn't appear particularly worried, she'd once seen Hank flatten a man a good deal beefier than Mister Oh-so-nonchalant Hamilton would be even if he supersized his meals for the next ten years.
Idiot that he was, Jared looked completely unruffled as he faced the irate musician-his only concession to the approaching threat to pull his hands free of his pockets. "You're taking issue with the wrong man," he said evenly as Hank rocked to a halt in front of him. "Take it up with Wild Wind. I'm just doing the job they hired me to do."
"Good for you." Hank gave Jared a flat stare. "But she's right where she's supposed to be, isn't she? So you can take a hike."
For a second Jared's posture lost its easy slouch and a dangerous expression flared in his eyes. Then he shrugged and walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the left wing.
P.J. watched him go, telling herself she didn't feel disappointed. Hell, no-that would be just plain ridiculous. Shesaluted Hank for routing him-she should have thought of that whole I'm-here-so-now-you-can-go-away deal herself. As for the big ho
llow space in her stomach, she just wished she'd grabbed something to eat was all. The sound check could take quite a while depending on how good the acoustics were and how well the new backup band meshed with her way of playing.
Joining Hank, she slipped her arm through his. "My hero," she said, batting her lashes at him.
He snorted.
"Have you seen Eddie or Nell yet?"
"Last I saw Eddie, he was romancing the front-office girl. Haven't spotted Nell."
"I'm here," a soft voice said and they both turned. A plump, medium-height woman materialized from the shadows of the right wing, where her medium-brown braid and medium-dark clothing had rendered her invisible.
"Nell!" P.J. dashed across the stage to give her only real female friend a fierce hug. "I'm so glad to see you." Stepping back, she held Nell at arm's length. "Now, are you sure you want to do this again this year? I mean, why be tour manager when you can make more money and work less hours as a songwriter?"
"What, and give up all this glamorous travel?" Nell looked around the stage, bare of everything except Hank's instruments and pieces of the bandstand that the roadies were setting up for the extra musicians Wild Wind had hired for the tour, then out at the empty theater.
Following her gaze, P.J. saw with a jolt that Jared hadn't left at all. He sat in the front row, one ankle propped on his opposite knee. The only other person out there was the sound man in his booth at the back of the main floor. Having introduced herself to him earlier, she dragged her attention from the last guy she'd expected to see front and center and returned it to her friend. "Is the bus here yet?"
"Yes. I just spoke to the driver and he's pumped. Apparently he's a huge country-music fan and is looking forward to driving you. Thinks you're darn near as good as Patsy Cline."
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