Naturally Naughty

Finally he turned toward the stage, at the bottom of the theater, where the organist had played in the silent picture days. And he saw her. Kate. Singing as though there was no tomorrow.

Jack began to smile. Then to chuckle. He approached the stage, remaining quiet. She still hadn’t seen him, so he took a seat a few rows from the front, watching her performance.

Lordy, the woman could not hold a tune. But what she lacked in pitch, she made up for in volume. The rafters nearly shook and he finally recognized the song. Vintage Pat Benatar. She even had the rocker’s strut.

No, she couldn’t sing, but damn, the woman had some moves.

“I would definitely like to hit you with my best shot,” he murmured, knowing she couldn’t hear over her own voice.

Her legs looked impossibly long beneath her short ivory skirt as she gyrated. She was bent at the waist, holding an imaginary microphone and singing into her fist. Her thick, dark hair fell forward, curtaining her face. From here, he had a magnificent view of the curve of her ass and hips as she bent lower, with parted legs, rocking on her high white heels. Then even lower, until the hem of her skirt rose higher, revealing the top of one thigh-high stocking.

Jack swallowed hard, knowing another inch or two and he’d be seeing whether Kate favored bikinis or thongs. Deciding to alert her to his presence, he prepared to stand. Before he could, however, she tossed her head back, and stood upright to finish the song. She thrust her chest forward. He shifted in his seat, watching the silkiness of her sleeveless blouse brush against the pronounced curves beneath.

When she finally finished, he simply had to applaud. She heard, obviously, and looked down toward the seats like a kid who’d been caught shoplifting bubblegum. “Who’s out there?”

Jack rose to his feet, still bringing his hands together in a slow and lazy clap. “We meet again,” he said as he walked down the aisle to greet her.

“Oh, no, did you hear me?” She looked thoroughly disgruntled as she narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

He climbed the steps leading up onto the stage. “Yep.”

She cringed. “For your information, I know I can’t sing. So don’t even try to pretend you don’t think I sounded like a howling female cat in heat.”

Hmm. Interesting image—a female in heat. Particularly with the flush of color in her face, the sheen of sweat on her brow and the clinginess of her damp clothes against her amazing body.

She looked aroused. Sultry. Alive. He’d love to hear her purr. “You didn’t sound like a cat.”

“Well, then, a mutt braying at the moon,” she continued with a surly frown. “Don’t humor me.”

“Not humoring you. Honey, you really can’t sing. But, boy, you obviously know how to dance.”

The compliment didn’t ease her frown. Instead she practically glared. “So, are you following me? Should I worry I’m being stalked by the kissing bandit?”

“I wasn’t stalking. I saw your SUV outside and came to investigate. Besides, I’m wounded. Here I thought you liked our kiss.” Her cheeks flushed and she averted her eyes. Gotcha! He stepped closer until their bodies nearly touched. “I certainly did, and I’ve been thinking all afternoon about how much I wanted to see you again.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“We could change that. Come have dinner with me, Kate.”

“I’m really not hungry, thank you.”

“Just coffee, then. Let’s go sit somewhere and talk for hours while we pretend we’re not both thinking about what happened this afternoon.”

She raised a brow. “Oh, you’ve been thinking about that? I’d nearly forgotten all about it.”

“Liar.”

“If it helps your male ego to think so, go right ahead.”

He laughed out loud. “I’m not an egotistical man, Kate. But I know when I’m being kissed back.” He stepped closer, into her space, but she wouldn’t back down. “Admit it. You definitely kissed me back.”

“Only to give the old biddies something to chew on with their tea and crumpets,” she said with a determined frown.

“Ah, ah, you’re breaking my heart here.” He held his hands out at his sides, palms up in supplication.

“I somehow doubt that. You’re a complete stranger. One who accosted me in public this afternoon.”

A definite overstatement. “Not accosted. Surprised.”

“You surprised me all right. Don’t guys like you usually wind up kissing a celebrity or streaking through the Academy Awards, then get committed to the funny farm sooner or later?”

He rolled his eyes. “Do you always keep your guard up? Except when you’re singing your heart out in an old abandoned theater, that is?”

“Do you always go around kissing women you see on the street?” she countered.

He shook his head, becoming very serious. “Never. Not until today. Not until you.”

She broke their eye contact first, suddenly looking nervous. “Look, this is probably not a great idea, us being here. I don’t even know you.”

“Would it help if I give my word I’m not a psycho serial killing…or serial kissing…nutcase?”

She shrugged. “If I’d thought that I woulda pushed you into the orchestra pit and run like crazy out of here.”

“I’m glad to know you trust me. Now, about the coffee…”

“Don’t you ever give up?”

“Not when I’m faced with something this important.”

He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t ask him to. They both knew what they meant. There was something happening here, something living and warm and vibrant flowing beneath them. She just wouldn’t admit it.

“I won’t say I’m not tempted. But I am on my way out of town,” she said slowly. “Heading home.”

“To Chicago?”

She paused. “How did you…”

“Well, I know there’s no way you live in Pleasantville.”

“True.”

“And I recognized you.”

“From where?”

“I’m from Chicago, too.” He saw her eyes widen. In interest? Or maybe relief? “I saw the article in the business paper a few weeks back. You own some hot new women’s store, right? The picture was striking.” He looked down at her body, her chest still heaving as she brought her breathing back to normal. His mouth went dry. “But it didn’t do you justice.”

She froze as he looked at her, probably seeing the pulse in his temple as he stared. Beneath his gaze, two sharp points jutted against her silk blouse, telling him she was as aware of him as he was of her. “I liked that picture,” she said, unable to disguise a shaky tremor in her voice.