by Cathie Linz
JASON WAS WAITING for Heather in the foyer of the building housing WMAX’s offices the next evening. He saw her get out of the elevator. The only problem was that she wasn’t alone. She was talking to a taller, older and louder woman. He remembered her now. She’d been with Heather at Muddy’s.
Deciding to bide his time, Jason followed them across the foyer, waiting for the right moment to break in. Hoping to get some idea of Heather’s state of mind, he began eavesdropping on them.
“I’ve only had one,” Heather was saying.
“I think that’s the safest thing to do these days,” Nita agreed.
“But it’s hard to keep that kind of commitment sometimes. Life gets so hectic, and there are temptations.”
“Tell me about it. And as time goes on, it gets worse. You start thinking maybe it won’t matter if you stray just a little.”
“You start with a quickie lube job,” Heather said.
Jason almost swallowed his tongue.
“And that felt so good that you stray more and more,” she continued.
At which point Jason, totally distracted by now, did something he’d never done before.
THE SOUND OF A BRIEFCASE hitting the marble floor of the foyer created a noise that could be heard from one end of the building to the other. Turning to see what was going on, Heather noticed a man in a dark suit bending down to retrieve his briefcase.
“Nice butt,” Nita declared, incorrigible as ever.
Heather had to agree. Did the fact that she could appreciate the build of another man mean she was getting over Jason? She had one second of hope before realizing it was Jason she was staring at. And he was standing only a few feet from her.
She’d hoped that every day she went without seeing him was a day she’d increased her resistance to him. But he had only to show up to blow that theory out of the water. His impact on her was a powerful as ever. Even more so, because now her heart was involved, not just her hormones.
“What are you doing here?” Heather demanded.
Jason was unable to answer that question. He was still stunned by the conversation he’d overheard Heather having with the other woman. Did women really talk about their lovers this way?
Jason decided the direct approach was called for. “I couldn’t help overhearing what you two were talking about a moment ago. What were you talking about?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but we were talking about car mechanics,” Heather tried to say nonchalantly, but she was anything but nonchalant at the unexpected pleasure of seeing Jason again. Stay cool, she told herself. The body, however, ignored her.
“You’re seeing a car mechanic?”
“I’m going after work, yes. Why?”
“No reason. Is he the one? The someone else you said you were in love with?” Jason asked, anger tinging his voice despite himself.
“Oh, this is ridiculous,” Nita interrupted impatiently. “She’s taking her car in for a tune-up, not her body. She’s not in love with anyone else. She loves—”
“Nita!” Heather wailed.
“Her job,” Nita substituted.
So Heather had lied to him about being in love with someone else. That came as no surprise to Jason. After all, she’d been lying from the moment he’d met her. He still didn’t know how Heather had tracked him down to Muddy’s, but he did know why she’d done it—because of the damn bet.
He’d thought she was different from the other women who’d chased after him. No, she hadn’t chased him, she’d chased the city’s sexiest bachelor. It didn’t matter to her who that was.
Which made him even more intent on exacting his revenge.
Jason hated being made a fool of—anyone in his family could have told Heather that. His brother, Ryan, was an inveterate practical joker. Growing up, Jason had been the butt of more than a lifetime’s worth of pranks. He hated being conned above all else, besides being lied to. Heather had committed both cardinal sins.
Well, she might specialize in talk, but his specialty was persuasion. It was one of the things that made him such a good prosecutor. And he’d persuade her right into his trap, teaching her a lesson she’d never forget.
“Heather is really pretty old-fashioned about most things,” Nita was telling him. “Doesn’t go all the way on the first date, that kind of thing.”
“I’m leaving now,” Heather stated. “I refuse to stand here while you two dissect me.” Pivoting on her heel, she strode off.
“Well, that went pretty well,” Nita congratulated Jason, giving him a hearty pat on the back. “I’m glad you decided to come after her. Heather is one in a million. You might like knowing that her favorite chocolates are Godiva’s and her favorite flowers are Double Delight roses. The florist in this building carries them both.”
“I heard that,” Heather shouted from across the lobby.
“I meant you to!” Nita shouted back.
THE FLOWERS STARTED arriving the next morning—a dozen Double Delight roses, creamy with deep red edges. Heather should have sent them back, because the next day two dozen roses were delivered. She was just glad that Bud was on vacation this week and wasn’t aware what was going on.
The chocolates didn’t come until that afternoon. The box was huge and golden, with the word Godiva engraved on top.
“You certainly got some guy’s attention,” Linda, her cubicle mate, said.
“You know what this is, don’t you?” Heather said, even as she opened the box and dug in, starting with a dark chocolate truffle. “It’s a perfect example of mee foo saa,” she mumbled while devouring the candy.
“Mee foo saa?” Linda repeated with a frown.
“The meat-for-sex theory,” Heather said, once her mouth was empty.
“I must have missed that one in my marketing classes.”
“Prehistoric men would hunt and bring back the choicest pieces of meat for their women, who would reward them with sex. Modern men do the same thing with gifts like flowers or candy.”
Linda shrugged. “You know how it is. Men want sex. We women want romance.”
“Ah, but men use romance to get sex,” Heather stated, holding out the box of chocolates to Linda.
Linda gave her a dubious and humorous look as she accepted the offer of a candy. “You’re saying they use romance…and meat?”
“What are you two talking about?” Nita demanded as she walked in and leaned against the wall of the cubicle.
“Heather’s meat-for-sex theory,” Linda replied.
“Doesn’t work,” Nita stated. “I’ve tried it.”
“IT’S THURSDAY AFTERNOON and you’re listening to Love on the Rocks. Today we’ve been talking about the thrill of the chase. I’m telling you, this issue dates back to Greek mythology, when the god Apollo pursued a cute nymph named Daphne. The more she ran, the more he wanted her.” Heather tapped her finger against the mythology book she had spread out on the table in front of the console. “So give us a call and tell us your tale of pursuit. The number is 555-Love. Go ahead, Tina from Tinley Park.”
“You were just talking about dating Greeks. Well, I dated a Greek guy once and—”
“I said the thrill of the chase dated back to Greek mythology. I wasn’t talking about dating Greeks.”
“Oh, then you don’t want to hear about my date with Spyros?”
“Did he chase you?”
“You bet. And he was wearing one of those sexy string bikinis at the time. He’s an exotic dancer. Anyway, he caught me the third time around the dining room table.”
“And thus the Olympics were born,” Heather said, grinning. “Next we have Curt from Cal City.”
“This pursuit thing has to do with hunting and deer. You know, like when you see a deer in the woods you want to shoot it.”
“Well, actually, Curt, when I see Bambi, shooting the little creature is not the first thought that comes to mind.”
“That’s because you’re a woman. Men are hunters. And if you run, then you’re
fair game.”
“Thanks for that intellectual perspective,” Heather said. “I guess that explains why men chase each other in so many sports. Anything that runs, except panty hose, is fair game.”
THE CHASE CONTINUED that very night at a charity dinner dance for the American Cancer Society. Heather wasn’t expecting to see Jason there. He didn’t look surprised to see her, however.
“Nita, you traitor,” Heather muttered as they sat down at a large banquet table marked WMAX radio. “Did you tell Jason the station had a table reserved for this event tonight?”
“Moi? Would I do a thing like that?”
“You bet your booties you would.”
“My booties seem to have caught the attention of our waiter,” Nita said, rearranging the wickedly low plunging neckline on her black evening dress as she ordered a martini for herself.
“Forget the waiter. What about Jason?”
“I talk to so many people in the course of a day, I can’t recall if I said something to him or not.” When Heather growled and picked up her salad fork, Nita relented. “Okay, okay, I did tell him. He made me.”
“He held a gun to your head?”
“He called me and charmed it out of me.”
“Yeah, he’s real good at that,” Heather muttered.
“You don’t have anything to worry about. You’re dressed to kill tonight. That’s a dynamite gown.”
“I didn’t even remember I had it until I found it in my closet. The tags were still on it.” The dark plum color made her skin look like cream. At least that’s what the cabbie had told her. And there was plenty of skin showing. The dress was a classic study in seduction, the kind of gown that whispered, “Come closer, I have something to tell you.” It made her feel beautiful even if she wasn’t.
“Jason came stag tonight, just in case you were wondering,” Nita teased.
“I wasn’t wondering,” Heather snapped.
“Liar!”
“Listen, this isn’t my radio show you’re trying to produce here, this is my life,” Heather hissed.
“Who couldn’t use a little help with their life?”
“Me.”
“Right. You’ve got everything under control.” Nita made a face.
“No. Control is Jason’s thing, not mine,” Heather said defensively.
“Jason’s thing looks very good in that tuxedo. Do you mind if I go check him out a little closer?”
“Of course not,” Heather said, lying. “Go right ahead.”
“I would, but you’re gripping my arm in a vise. I think you’ve cut off my circulation,” Nita said dryly.
“I’m just trying to prevent you from making a fool of yourself.”
“Ladies.” The sound of Jason’s voice made Heather’s backbone stiffen and her hand fell to her lap. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
“It’s a surprise, all right,” Heather muttered with a dark look in Nita’s direction. Plastering on her best PR smile, she turned to face Jason.
Thankfully, he was wearing his glasses. He was made for formal clothes; they went well with his formal attitude. Then she remembered him wearing a black T-shirt and jeans, seducing her with his mouth and hands on her couch.
“Forget it!”
Her self-directed words were overheard by Jason. “Forget what?”
“Whatever it was you had in mind.”
“I had dancing in mind. After dinner. With you, the most beautiful woman here.”
His smooth compliment did not impress her because she knew it was an outrageous lie. How dare he call her beautiful! Did he think she was stupid? She looked good but not beautiful. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“On the contrary, I know exactly what I’m talking about.” Taking her hand in his, he brushed his lips against her fingers.
Where had he learned how to do that? she wondered, before belatedly snatching her traitorous fingers back. How dare they tremble, letting him know he got to her? And he did know. She could see the triumphant look in his dark eyes.
Little did he know that when the occasion warranted it, she could be a damn good ice princess. And tonight, the occasion warranted it.
So after a dinner she only picked at, she was ready when Jason came to claim his dance with her. Though she accepted, she borrowed from the best, Katharine Hepburn in Philadelphia Story. She kept her chin and her eyes raised while wrapping herself in an invisible cloak of haughty elegance and pride.
Being invisible, that cloak didn’t prevent Jason from running his fingers down her bare back to the place where her gown began. Why hadn’t she noticed how low the back was on this dress?
“For someone who loves to talk, you certainly are quiet tonight,” Jason noted, repeating his stealthy caress with seductive intent.
She stepped on his foot, accidentally on purpose. “I’m sorry,” she said sweetly. “I’m not a very good dancer.”
He smiled down at her, dimple flashing. “You’re fast enough in a pair of in-line skates.”
“So were you,” she retorted, remembering that kiss they’d shared on the park bench. She tried to take a step away from his tempting body, but he refused to let her go. This wasn’t dancing, it was embracing to music. And he was doing it on purpose, darn him.
“I don’t recall you complaining at the time.”
He was watching her, the gleam in his eye nearly impossible to resist while the huskiness of his voice was equally devastating to her defenses. She had to turn her face away from his perceptive gaze to stare over his shoulder or else risk melting all over him. “Well, I’m complaining now,” she declared. “You’re holding me so tightly I can’t breathe.”
He loosened his hold ever so slightly. “Better?”
Better would be on the other side of the room, where he couldn’t practice his seductive art on her. And he was most definitely a pro at this. He danced as well as he played the sax, smoothly but with darker undertones that drew you in and captured you before you knew it.
She had to say something, anything to get her mind off the sweet magic singing through her body as a result of being held so closely against his body. “What does your coffee mug look like?”
Her abrupt question clearly threw him. “What?”
“You heard me.” Her confidence was returning. “Your coffee mug. What’s written on it?”
“Nothing,” he replied. “It’s black and it doesn’t have anything written on it.”
“I knew it.”
“Why am I getting the impression that I just failed some kind of test here?” He’d never witnessed a regal shrug before. She had the movement down pat. “Come on, talk to me,” he coaxed her. “What does your coffee mug have written on it?”
“No Trespassing.”
He tried not to grin. “See? That was easy enough. Now how about something a little more challenging? How about telling me your hopes and fears?”
“Syndication and tornadoes.”
Jason couldn’t take his eyes off her. He’d never seen her so distant and desirable. Although she’d swept her hair up, plenty of strands still tumbled down around her face, giving her a look that made him long to run his fingers through the colorful silkiness.
“Your hair looks different tonight. There’s more gold in it”
“Shampoo-in color,” she said, hoping her prosaic answer would make him think twice about complimenting her again. A woman could only take so much. Especially a woman crazy in love—crazy being the operative word.
Bending down, he nuzzled her ear, his tongue actually darting out to circle her dainty diamond stud earring.
“Stop that!”
“You’ve still got your Balance,” he murmured appreciatively.
Where did he get an idea like that? It felt like she had two left feet and a pair of rubbery knees.
“Your perfume,” he elaborated with a knowing grin. “Balance, you said.”
“Am I supposed to be impressed that you remembered?”
�
�Impressed would be nice,” he agreed, loosening his hold on her slightly, but remaining close enough that his thighs continued to brush against her with every sway to the music. His hand traveled up her bare back again. “Responsive and melting is even better.”
“Don’t hold your breath.” Her words would have sounded more forceful had her voice not been trembling.
“You’ve already taken my breath away. I don’t have any left.”
Heather didn’t have much resistance left, but it was just enough to see her back to her chair after the music stopped. A second longer and she’d have been a goner. As it was she’d left his arms with a mixture of reluctance and relief that did not bode well for her future peace of mind.
JASON WAS UP TO his elbows in paperwork when Anastasia stopped by his loft Friday night. She always entered a room like a tornado and tonight was no exception. “You told me that if I dropped these nonprofit organization forms off, you’d look them over for me.” Her golden eyes gleamed at him hopefully.
“What lost cause have you taken up this time?”
“Historic preservation and it’s not a lost cause. Speaking of lost causes—” she lowered her voice to a whisper while glancing around the living room “—where’s Dad?”
“He had tickets for the Cubs game tonight. And you should show more respect for your father.”
“He should show more common sense,” she retorted in exasperation. “Mom is really mad at him this time.”
“For what?” Jason ran his hands through his hair, which was only slightly darker than his sister’s. “Because he grunts? The man has been grunting forever.”
“Dad told you this was about his grunting? He’s denser than I thought and so are you for believing him.”
“Then what is this about?”
“Communication. Appreciation. The only time he talks to mom is when he’s complaining about how she does the wash or cooks dinner. Now that he’s home all the time, she thought they’d be able to do things together, but he just sits in front of the TV like a couch potato. She’s told him how she feels but he doesn’t listen. Like someone else I know.” His sister gave Jason an impatient glare. “You said you were going to talk to him.”