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She raised a brow. “Lucky us.”
“By the way, the movie idea, and my dinner invitation, were very real. I want to see you again, beyond more of…this.”
She hesitated, leading him to wonder if she really was out for sex and nothing else. For some reason that thought didn’t hold as much appeal as it usually would for Jack. Sex and no strings had seemed fine for him up until a few months ago.
Hell, up until today. When he’d met her eyes across a nearly deserted street.
“We’d better go,” she said softly. “The workman who left this stuff might remember he forgot to lock up and come back.”
Sensing her desire to change the subject, Jack let it go. The subject of what they each were looking for in a relationship could be left for another time. Kate was unlike other women he’d known. She obviously knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid—nor apologetic—about going after it. Her cool exterior and calm demeanor hid a passionate woman with a naughty streak.
“Hope he didn’t come back a while ago and quietly watch.”
A decidedly wicked grin curved the corners of her lips up. “Well, what’s a stage for, if there’s no audience?”
Yes, a definite naughty streak. He could hardly wait to get to know her better.
After they dressed, they left the theater and stood outside, next to her SUV. Jack hated to see her leave, though he knew he’d see her soon. “So you’ll get home sometime tomorrow?”
She nodded. “And you fly home late tonight.”
He wished he didn’t have to go back to his mother’s house to pack. The simple solution to his regret at parting from this amazing woman was to drive back to Chicago with her. But he didn’t suggest it. He sensed Kate wanted some time alone to sort things out. He didn’t need any alone time. He had not one single doubt about what had happened. He was fully prepared to ride out this incredible wave to see what might happen next.
“I’ll call you the day after tomorrow,” he assured her.
“We’ll see.” She turned away, looking down the silent, shadowed street. “You don’t have to, you know. You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to. So there should be no guilt.”
“I’m not feeling guilty.” He brushed a strand of hair off her brow, wishing the streetlights around here worked so she could see the sincerity in his eyes. “I’m missing you already.”
She shrugged, appearing unconvinced. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to hers. Her hands snaked around his neck, and she deepened the kiss, as if making one of her memories—this time, the feel of him in her arms. He made one, too.
“I will call. So can you give me your number and save me from having to dig through my neighbor’s recycling bins, trying to find a month-old newspaper with your name and store address?”
She chuckled. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a small pink card and handed it to him. He palmed it. “Thanks.”
She got into her car, then lowered the window. “I had a great time tonight, Jack. Thanks to you, from now on when I think of Pleasantville, I’ll have much more pleasant memories.”
He leaned in to kiss her one more time. “I’ll see you in two days. I promise.” He watched as she drove away.
Still holding the business card in his hand, he headed back to his mother’s house. He hadn’t even closed the door behind him when she waylaid him in the foyer. “Where have you been? And who were you kissing? Elmira Finley called this afternoon and said you and some stranger made a spectacle of yourselves outside the Tea Room!” She paused only long enough to take a long sip of her drink. Her favorite cocktail—a glass of vodka with a thimbleful of orange juice to turn the thing a murky peach color.
He walked past her. “I wouldn’t call it a spectacle.”
“How could you? And who was she? Nobody recognized her.”
His sister Angela entered from the living room and gave him an amused look. “So, the golden boy gets a turn as black sheep.”
“Who, J.J.?” his mother stressed, ignoring Angela.
Jack glanced at the business card, which he’d tucked into his pocket. Jones. Katherine Jones. Of course. Her thick, long, dark hair and name had made him think of Catherine Zeta-Jones when he saw the picture in the paper. “Her name’s Kate Jones.”
