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When she stomped off in her tennis shoes, however, Greg pulled himself together and chased after her.
Careful to keep his distance, he ran alongside her, layering on the “charming chat.” He’d never had any woman refer to his blunt manner of speaking as anything remotely close to charming.
“Jackie.” He waited until she shot him an evil glare. Was he so totally sick that the green daggers she shot his way turned him on? “I won’t apologize for being interested, because I am.”
She harrumphed and tugged her tail closer, checking the street for a cab that probably wouldn’t appear at this hour.
“But I only meant to say I wanted to escort you to your home, to make sure you got there okay.” He watched her as she thought over his words. He could practically see her recount their conversation mentally, her eyes darting across the landscape, unseeing, as she reviewed the exchange in her mind.
She slowed to a stop. “You meant you wanted to take me home…to my home?”
He halted in front of her, still careful not to crowd her. “Yes.”
“So you didn’t mean to imply for a minute that you were spending the night with me?”
Was it his imagination, or did she sound vaguely disappointed?
“I just don’t like the idea of you wandering around the city in that torn getup all by yourself. You might attract the wrong kind of attention.”
“Then I appreciate the offer.” A smile spread across her whole face.
“My car is just up here on the left—”
“I never accept rides with strangers though.” She rocked back and forth on the heels of her tennis shoes. “I don’t know you that well.”
“But how can I see you home if you won’t let me drive you?” He looked up and down the street. “I haven’t seen a cab since we left the bar.”
“You uptown boys.” Shaking her head in mock despair, she reached underneath the folds of her oversized toga and came up with two silver coins. Tokens in fact. “Welcome to my world, Greg. You’re going to love the metro.”
Great. Just great.
He’d known Jackie for all of half an hour and already she was making him revisit a past he wanted to leave far behind. How could a woman turn his life upside down so fast?
Still, he was powerless to say no. Some die-hard notion of honor told him he couldn’t leave Jackie until he knew she was safe. He squeezed his eyes shut for a bracing two seconds, then plucked one token out of her hand.
He had the feeling he was in for the ride of his life.
JACKIE SWITCHED HER tail from one hand to the other, watching Greg sway along with the green line subway train. She’d secured her pants and buttoned Greg’s shirt as high as it would go, but she still wore her tablecloth as a shawl for good measure. They’d already changed trains once, and now they were headed toward Jackie’s apartment near Boston College.
What a night.
She couldn’t believe she was being escorted home by Mr. Way Too Corporate, Greg De Costa. She still thought his name sounded familiar. Maybe she’d just read about him in the business pages of the Globe or something.
He looked incredibly out of place here. After he’d insisted she wear his dress shirt, he’d bought a Boston Bruins shirt for himself from a street vendor near the subway station. The black and yellow shirt made for an interesting contrast with his pleated dress pants. He’d stuffed his tie in his pants pocket.
But even with his offbeat garb, Greg managed to look worlds apart from the Friday night subway crowd. Jackie had laughed when he whipped an old-fashioned monogrammed handkerchief out of his pocket and dusted off a seat for her before she sat down.
Greg was all class and manners, the sort of man her parents would adore. The sort of man Jackie normally avoided more than tea parties.
Of course, staying away from Greg would be a lot easier if he didn’t look so appealing even in the tackiest tourist T-shirt.
Jackie hugged her arms closer to her body.
“Warm enough?” Greg asked, tugging on a corner of the tablecloth.
Given the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra, Jackie had thought it would be best to keep something more than Greg’s cotton dress shirt between her and the rest of the world. Just knowing that he’d worn the same shirt an hour ago over his own bare chest did shivery things to her body, especially with the woodsy notes of his cologne teasing her nose.
She nodded, her voice rusty in her throat. She could not afford to catch a chill the night before auditions. Not to mention, she kept hoping for a big callback on Monday from WBCI, Boston’s biggest network affiliate station. She’d made a killer demo tape for them last week, and they were supposedly eager for new voice-over talent.
The voice-over work could be her long-awaited big break, especially given that she’d probably blown the audition for the herbal store with her impromptu jungle-themed song.
Oh well. Win some, lose some. Jackie lived by her own luck, and she had a good feeling about the network job.
“The next stop is Boston College,” Greg reminded her, swiveling in his seat to catch a glimpse of the signs outside the window as flashes of light zipped past them in the darkened tunnel. “Is that where we want to get off?”
His leg brushed hers as he moved, the rattle of the train car pushing them together all the more. The summer-weight wool of his pants scratched lightly against her thigh and what remained of her fuzzy leggings. She’d tied the leftover top of her shredded costume around her waist to serve as a belt, but Jackie kept checking and rechecking the knot. It wouldn’t surprise her if she lost the pants, too. It had been that kind of night.
“Yes, this is me.” Jackie stood carefully, clutching a pole for support as the train’s brakes hissed to a stop. “But you don’t need to walk me home, Greg. I’m just glad I didn’t have to ride the metro by myself like this.”
He glared at her with a look that said she was being more difficult than she had any right to be, a look her parents had perfected a long time ago. Was it her fault she didn’t do everything in life with perfect aplomb?
“I’m coming with you,” Greg reproved her, following her off the train and into the subway station.
A lone guitarist strummed a lively tune, entertaining a small crowd who’d been waiting for the green line. As the musician lost his audience to the train Greg and Jackie had just departed, Greg tossed several bills into the guy’s hat.
“That was very nice of you,” Jackie whispered as they walked away across scuffed ceramic tiles. The train groaned into motion behind them, drowning out the guitar as they climbed the steps to street level.
“Subway entertaining is a tough field,” Greg informed her, surprising her with his empathy for a guy who looked like he hadn’t washed in several days.
Greg appeared to scope out the street scene around them, then situated himself between the traffic thoroughfare and Jackie. She wondered what he thought of her neighborhood. Did it look old to his eyes? Or were the sturdy brownstones full of character to him the way they always had been to Jackie?
He scarcely touched her as they strolled through the warm spring night, but his presence loomed all around her as he steered her around a few late-night pedestrians, nudged her forward when lights changed from “Do Not Walk” to “Walk.”
“Have you ever entertained in a subway?” Jackie asked, easily slipping into “flip” mode now that she was nervous and combating attraction full steam again.
“No. But I spent a summer entertaining in a rowdy bar, so I can project those difficulties multiplied.”
The battalion of flip remarks dried up on her tongue. The image of Greg as a nightclub performer didn’t match her impression of him at all. Maybe he was an artist in disguise. A fact that would make a fling with him more of a real possibility.
She wouldn’t risk dating some corporate yes-man who ignored his own dreams in deference to the almighty dollar, but maybe she could take a chance on an artist who supported himself with a day job.
“You? Barroom entertainment?” Some of her nervousness vanished as she reprocessed her vision of Greg De Costa. Maybe he wasn’t as highbrow as she’d initially thought. Maybe he wouldn’t shudder at the thought of a little adventure in life. Or misadventure, as so often was the case with Jackie.
“It was a long time ago.” Greg looked up at the buildings as they trekked down Jackie’s street. “What did you say your number was?”
“Three sixty-three.” She didn’t want to go home just yet. She was only just starting to find out the interesting stuff. “What kind of entertaining did you do?” The flip demon made a small resurgence. “Were you a stripper?”
He shook his head, but he couldn’t hide the beginnings of a grin. “Hardly.”
“A guitarist?”
“I played piano.”
Nothing could have doused her interest faster. Both her mother and father played classical piano, touring with various philharmonics and orchestras when they weren’t teaching out of their palatial Back Bay home.
Jackie played everything but the piano. Her favorite instruments were things like banjos and steel guitars. Instruments that drove her parents insane and proved to Jackie she wanted different things out of life than what they’d already achieved.
“I see.” She started hunting for her building in earnest, realizing she’d been foolish to think Mr. Corporate would appreciate something outside the traditional realm. He probably had a Steinway in his living room, first class all the way.
“I take it you don’t like the piano?” Greg asked, his pace slowing as they drew toward Jackie’s door.
Her brownstone was the only one on the block with a burgundy-colored door and big bushes of purple heather out front. Both were her touches, little extras her elderly landlord was only too happy to receive.
The street was quiet. There wasn’t much activity on Jackie’s block, even on the weekends. The college students lived a few blocks over, far enough away to keep the noise level down, close enough to support lots of inexpensive restaurants and artsy pubs.
Right now, the only noise she heard was Greg’s silky baritone and the soft hum of the streetlights.
She shrugged. “I like the piano.”
“Let me guess, you prefer the piccolo. Or maybe a big set of cymbals.” Greg stuffed his hands in his pockets and tilted one shoulder into a nearby streetlamp.
“As it happens, I love a good pair of cymbals. And I can play a mean kazoo.”
“Do you always take the road less traveled, Jackie Brady?” He studied her with the aid of the streetlight, his brown eyes probing hers for answers she wasn’t ready to give.
“What does it look like?” She twitched her whiskers by scrunching up her nose and maneuvering her lips.
“It looks like you’re hell-bent for mayhem, lady.” He lifted himself away from the lamppost and walked closer to her. Slowly. Steadily.
Her heart picked up a jaunty beat, drumming heat through her in an insistent rhythm.
Jackie was ready. Willing. Hungry for a taste of Greg.
What did it matter if he could play piano? If he lived in corporate paradise and liked to stick to the rules? Jackie could still kiss him.
She could still see where a kiss led.
She could still fantasize about losing her virginity to a man who could unlock her passionate nature and free the artist inside her.
He paused a foot in front of her, his square shoulders and tanned arms making her insides turn warm and liquid.
She was probably supposed to wait for him to kiss her, but Jackie had never been one to play by the rules.
Especially not when a risk this tempting was so close at hand.
GREG HAD EVERY INTENTION of kissing her.
He’d been dying to taste those lips ever since she’d strutted through Flanagan’s in whiskers and cat ears.
He just hadn’t planned on doing it so fast.
Just when he’d been sizing up the situation, taking in the details of her curves and nuances so he could wring out every possible bit of pleasure from it for both of them, Jackie dropped her tablecloth. Before he could fully appreciate the view of her braless body underneath his shirt, she plastered herself against him for the most mind-blowing kiss he’d ever experienced.
She was like a sensory explosion, swamping every inch of him with tantalizing sensations. Her lips swayed over his in slow undulations, leaving him no choice but to seek entrance to her mouth for a more thorough taste.
Sweet and complex. Jackie tasted like a dessert wine and left him hungering for more.
But all the while he tried to drink in her taste, she was tormenting his chest with the soft nudge of her breasts. No elaborate contraptions of Lycra or spandex hid her from him, only the cotton of their shirts. Taut crests peaked against him, reminding him of what she looked like naked. He could envision those breasts, those upturned nipples, perfectly.
And the memory was killing him.
“Jackie.” He pulled away in slow degrees only because he had to. They were in the middle of the sidewalk for crying out loud. “Jackie?”
He kissed her one last time, or so he told himself it would be one last time, before backing up a step, still holding her hands. He wanted to go upstairs with her and unveil her body at his leisure, not maul her in full view of her neighbors.
He hadn’t counted on seeing her eyes still closed, her lips still thrust forward even after his retreat.
Something inside him turned to mush at the sight. He hoped like hell it was only his brain.
“Jackie?” He squeezed her fingers in his hands.
She smiled before she opened her eyes. “Hmm?”
The sound of a window opening somewhere in the building behind them reminded Greg of their public surroundings.
Greg stepped close again, more than willing to continue this inside her apartment even if they were as compatible as oil and water. They obviously had serious chemistry going despite being as different from one another as night and day.
He always did have a hard time learning a lesson.
He could take one more chance on a woman without getting overly distracted, right? He’d go to work in the morning, listen to his desk full of demo tapes, and crawl back into bed with Jackie. A relationship didn’t have to interfere with his work, damn it.
“Do you mind if I come inside?” It didn’t seem like that big of an assumption in light of the kiss she’d just given him.
“What?” Her green eyes sharpened into focus immediately.
“I mean, do you want me to come upstairs with you?”
Greg was surprised to realize he was practically holding his breath. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted a woman this bad. Had he ever wanted a woman this much?
“Maybe we’d better not.” The flash of innocence in her eyes as she declined sent warning bells clanging in his head.
Greg ignored them.
Jackie released his fingers, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she’d just shot him down harder than anyone else ever had.
She scooped her tablecloth off the sidewalk and wrapped it around her.
“But maybe we could see each other again?” she prompted, her throaty voice practically purring with feminine satisfaction.
