Red

One corner of Jack’s mouth lifted. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She moved closer and laid her hands on his chest. She tipped her head back to gaze provocatively up at him. “I’m sorry you have to go, though.”

He placed his hands on her hips, instantly aroused. “Come with me.”

She made a sound of disappointment. “I can’t. You know that.”

He inched her closer. He wanted to kiss her, and he knew in his gut that she would let him. But he also knew it would ruin her mouth and get her in trouble. Instead, he trailed a finger over her collarbone and down to the place slippery satin ended and warm flesh began. She shuddered.

“Meet me later,” he murmured.

“Where?”

“You tell me.”

She thought a moment. “My house. Bring your books. I’ll tell my mother you’re helping me with my French.”

“I don’t know dip about French.”

She smiled, slow and sexy, and his pulse went crazy. “Don’t worry, Jack. I’ll teach you.”

She turned and walked to the door. When she reached it, she turned back to him. “Eight-thirty. I’m in the book.” Without another word, she turned and walked inside.

9

By the time Jack got home, the rush of adrenaline and anger that had enabled him to boldly face down Giovanni had evaporated, leaving in its wake shaking hands, a runaway heart and legs that felt like rubber.

Jack fell onto his bed and struggled to draw in a deep, even breath. He couldn’t put his mother’s face, her stricken expression, out of his mind. Giovanni had blamed her for her son’s actions. He had threatened to fire her, had warned that if he did, no one else in the industry would hire her.

The last hadn’t been an idle threat. He had seen the cold determination in the photographer’s eyes. Giovanni didn’t care about Sallie Gallagher or her livelihood; he wouldn’t think twice about ruining her professional reputation.

And, Jack knew, it wouldn’t take much. Getting fired once could do it. The fashion industry was a small one, one in which everyone knew everybody else’s business. He’d seen people from every area of the business have to fight their way back after having screwed up once. Time was money, the client’s money. And clients paid astronomical day rates for models and photographers and support personnel. One major shoot could cost upward of a hundred thousand dollars. Everyone had to do their job, do it well and quickly.

Jack glared at his ceiling, at the long, thin crack that ran diagonally across it. Dammit. He’d really messed things up for her. He hadn’t thought further than himself, hadn’t considered the consequences of his actions or that they might affect anyone else. It had never even occurred to him. It did now.

Gina. He squeezed his eyes shut, arousal charging through him. She had told him to “catch her later” and had promised to teach him French.

French. Did that mean what he thought it did?

Tonight could be the night. It could happen, he could lose his virginity.

He sat up and dragged his hands through his hair, his head filled with images of Gina: Gina smiling at him; Gina, her body outlined by clinging satin; Gina, her lips moist and parted. He sucked in a sharp breath. He’d been waiting his whole life for this opportunity. He wasn’t about to miss it.

Four hours later, Jack glanced at the stove, at the pot of Ragú spaghetti sauce that bubbled there. He had made a salad, Italian bread was buttered and ready for the oven.

Where was she? He looked at the clock and frowned. Almost six-thirty. At five, everyone connected with a shoot either went home or on overtime. And overtime was avoided at all costs.

So, where was she?

Even as the question moved through his head for the dozenth time, he heard the front door open. Show time. He took a deep breath, suddenly feeling six instead of sixteen. “Hey, Mom,” he called. “I’m in here.”

She came into the kitchen. Without looking at him, she dropped her purse on the counter and reached for the mail.

He cleared his throat. “Hi, Mom.”

She lifted her gaze from the mail and fixed it on him. She didn’t smile. “Hello, son.”

He swallowed hard. She was still angry. And she was hurt. He felt like a complete jerk. “I made dinner.”

“I see that.” She returned her attention to the mail. “It looks good.”

She said nothing more, and he shifted from his right foot to his left, her silence damning and uncomfortable. Unable to take it another moment, he cleared his throat again. “I’m sorry, Mom. I really am.”

She met his eyes. “Are you?”

He hung his head and stubbed the toe of his Nike against the tile floor.

“I can’t tell you how upset I am by this.” She made a sound of frustration. “What were you thinking of? Disobeying me that way, behaving like that at a shoot? You know better.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, folding his arms across his chest but hiking his chin up stubbornly. “I didn’t think. I just…reacted.”

“Do you see now why I didn’t want you there? Do you understand?” She crossed to the stove and stared at the pot of sauce for long moments, then turned to face him once more, her expression troubled. “Did you get it out of your system, Jack? Do you think you can leave it alone now?”

“What do you mean?” He drew his eyebrows together. “Get what out of my system?”

“Carlo, Giovanni, the whole thing. This obsession you have isn’t healthy. I sympathize, I do. But—”

“Obsession?” he interrupted. “You think I’m obsessed with them? Great, Mom. Just great.”

“What do you expect me to think?” She crossed to stand before him and looked him directly in the eye. “Why do you want to be a fashion photographer?”

“It has nothing to do with him.” He glared at her, so angry he could hardly speak. “I…I just like it. It’s cool.”

“Oh, Jack.”

“I hate when you say my name like that, as if you pity me.” He spun away from her, crossed to the refrigerator, then faced her once more, fists clenched. “What do you expect me to feel? Shouldn’t I be curious about my half brother? Shouldn’t I wonder about him? Is that so weird? Maybe you’d understand if your mother had put you in the same position. But she didn’t, did she?”

Sallie flinched at the blow. “You have to let your anger and your hurt go, Jack. You say I can’t understand them, but I think I can. You have to let them go.”

She crossed the room and stopped in front of him. She reached out to touch his cheek, but he jerked his head away. “Don’t let your anger at Giovanni, or me, control your life. If you do, it’ll ruin it.”

She didn’t understand, Jack thought. He wasn’t hurt, he wasn’t even angry. He hated Giovanni. And he was going to show him what a big mistake he had made.

“You know about that. Right, Mom? About ruining lives.”

She took a step back from him, looking as if he had slapped her.

Remorse barreled through him, but he knew it was too late to take back his words.