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Jack Kilroy was wigging out.
“Do I have one of your muppet-haired cousins to thank for this?”
“What? No…” She gave it a moment of her consideration before affirming her previous denial. “No one I know would do something like that. That’s just…no.”
“This is a complete disaster.” He punctuated his conclusion with a violent hair rake and another scowl. It looked good on him, of course.
“I can see how it might be,” she said, not seeing it at all. Though she was starting to appreciate what Cara meant when she called her boss a divo.
His jaw bunched so tight a simple touch might break it. “I’m supposed to be keeping it clean, playing it safe until I sign this contract.”
“What contract?”
He waved his hand as if she should know what the hell he was talking about. “This new show I have in the works. It gets me off cable and onto network. It’s huge and I’m not supposed to do anything to jeopardize it.”
“And kissing a woman in a bar jeopardizes it? This isn’t the 1950s.”
“No one cares what you do when you’re on cable, but network is another ball of wax entirely. All that drama with Ashley was fine back then, but this show is family friendly and I’m not supposed to be drawing any negative attention.”
“But it can’t be as bad as all that. We didn’t do anything X-rated.” Her memory rewound to the kiss. It had been hot—it had been Madras curry hot—but that was about all.
Jack still stomped, his eyes fiercely glued to the phone. Except for that explosion of heat when he dragged her into the bar corridor to show her his cave paintings, he had only ever projected a hazy sense of cool. Now he was acting so…Italian.
A couple of moments later, he took a timeout from his hissy fit and looked up. “I’m overreacting, aren’t I?”
“Just a smidge, but it’s very entertaining.”
He plopped down next to her, flattening the heel of his hand to his forehead. “Take a look.”
The recording started about halfway through and except that she knew she’d been there, she wouldn’t have recognized the participants. Jack’s hand was already all over her butt—the small screen totally worked in her favor there—and her own hand gripped his silky hair. The distant soundtrack was provided courtesy of the boys from U2, and as the video played, her body anticipated the syncopated backbeat of moans and whimpers.
In the present, his thigh pressed against hers and she tensed while sexual awareness raced through her. Hands, mouths—gulp—other body parts all grasping and sucking and grinding.
Idly, it occurred to her that kissing was rumored to burn calories and tone facial muscles. The Kilroy Kissing Workout. Finally, an exercise regimen she could get on board with.
“It’s not exactly chaste,” he murmured. Chaste it was not, more like smoking. They got to the point in the performance when she wrapped her leg around his thigh. Yum.
“Weak spot,” she whispered. “What?”
“When I did that, you moaned. It’s one of your weak spots.” She couldn’t meet his eyes.
In the video, they parted, exchanged now-forgotten words, but almost immediately, they were kissing again. That’s when her hand had started an unauthorized solo mission down his chest, his abs, past his waistband. Oh dear, she had gone there and someone had captured it frame for damning frame.
She covered her face, then splayed her fingers to find Jack zoned in on her, his eyes dark with intent. Neurons in her brain fired like a round of applause. Her nipples beaded, her breasts ached. She had never wanted a man with such desperate, taut need. The thought of being kissed by him, or worse, not being kissed by him made her shake.
For a moment they did that age-old dance where neither could decide which were was compelling, eyes or mouth. Eyes or mouth. Eyes or—oh, thigh. His sudden move made her jump like water drops on a griddle or maybe it was the distant loud thumping sound that jolted her.
The Ghost of Illicit Kisses Past. She could almost hear the clanking of chains.
The pounding got louder.
“Jack Kilroy, open this door right now.” Cara.
He frowned, then inhaled with a wince. “That’s all right, I don’t need all that hair.”
“What?”
“Chest hair. Some skin, too.”
