with a laugh.
A reminiscent smile curled her lips. “The ticket taker, the old one with the poofy black wig, caught me once.”
“Miss Rose?”
She nodded. “Yes! That’s it. Miss Rose. She was so funny, the way she’d talk about the movie stars, as if they were really here, living behind the screen.”
“So what’d she do about you hiding?”
“From then on out I didn’t have to hide—she always let me stay, but told me not to let on to anybody else.” She looked down at her hands. “I’d forgotten about her.”
Interesting. She looked happy and sad at the same time, as if it pained her to find positive memories about her years in Pleasantville. He could relate. Since his father’s death, especially, Jack had tried to reconcile the kid Jack who’d left town with the man who’d come back.
Seeing a table right behind the partly open, red-velvet stage curtains, he pointed. “Anything interesting back there?”
Kate stepped between the curtains, and he followed her into the murky backstage area.
She picked up her purse, which was lying on the sturdy old wooden worktable beside the curtain. But, thankfully, she didn’t immediately turn and try to leave. “ Flashdance, ” she said out loud, looking at a stack of papers lying on the table. “And Dirty Dancing . I think I actually saw that one in this theater.”
“I could have guessed you liked dance movies.”
She grinned. “What can I say? I can’t hold a tune, but I can move to one.”
“Did you take lessons?”
“Yeah, I started when I was really little, back in Florida.”
“Florida? I thought you were from here.”
“We moved here when I was six. After that, I took lessons when I could, before the only dance teacher in town got married and moved away.”
He winced. “Don’t remind me. My sister went into mourning and my mother wanted to sue the teacher for breaking her lease on the studio…just as a way to try to get her to stay.”
As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn’t. He still didn’t want to get into any discussion about his family. Stepping closer to the table, he was easily able to distinguish the names on the old, crinkled, dusty advertisements. It wasn’t completely dark back here—after all, the curtain remained open and the stage was brightly lit. Still, it felt very intimate. Almost cocooned.
“I wonder why no one ever took all these wonderful old movie posters. Look, here’s Clint Eastwood.”
He glanced at the title. “Don’t think I’ve seen that one.”
“High Plains Drifter . Not one of his most popular.” She stared at the poster, looking deep in thought.
“Spaghetti western?”
“Sort of. He’s a ghostly man who comes back to a horrid little town to get vengeance on the townspeople.” Her eyes narrowed. “They think he’s there to save them. In the end, he destroys them and rides away, disappearing into the mist.”
He reached around her and pulled the poster away to see the next one. She didn’t watch, appearing completely unaware of anything except the Eastwood picture, at which she still stared.
“Here’s a James Bond one…from several Bonds ago.”
She finally shook her head, ending her reverie, and glanced at the poster in his hand. “Sean Connery. He’s still so hot.”
“You have a thing for older men?”
She cast a sideways glance at him. “No.” Then she studied the poster again. “I think it’s his mouth. He’s got the kind of mouth that makes women wonder what he can do with it.” She looked at Jack’s lips, looking frankly interested.
“What he can do with it?”
She nodded. “Some men are strictly visual. While women might like being looked at, we’re more elemental creatures. Some women like to be…tasted.”
Jack dropped the poster, staring intently at her. “Are you one of them? Do you like to be…tasted?” He wondered if she’d dare to answer. If the color rising in her cheeks was brought about by sexual excitement, or simply nervousness.
“Yes, I do,” she admitted, her voice husky and thick.
Definitely sexual excitement.
“And you? Do you like to taste? ” she countered.
Yeah, he really did. Right now he wanted to dine on her as if she were an all-you-can-eat buffet and he a starving man.
Which was exactly the way she wanted it. She, the woman, in complete control. He, the drooling male, at her feet. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but there was no doubt Kate liked being the one in charge when it came to sex. Perhaps that’s why she’d kissed him the second time today. As if to say, “Okay, the first one was yours. Now, here’s what I’ve got.”
Two could play this sultry game. He shrugged, noncommittal. “I enjoy input from all my senses, Kate. Taste, of course. Good food. Cold beer. Sea air. Sweet, fragrant skin. The salty flavor of sweat on a woman’s thigh after a vigorous workout.”
She wobbled on her high-heeled shoes.
“And sight, of course. I think men are focused on the visual because we like to claim things. We like to see what we’ve claimed. Whether it’s a continent, a car, a business contract. Or a beautiful woman in a red silk teddy.”
She swallowed hard, then pursed her lips. “Some women don’t want to be claimed.”
He touched her chin, tilting it up with his index finger until she stared into his eyes. “Some women also think they don’t want to be kissed by strangers in broad daylight.”
She shuddered. “Touché.”
“I’m a sensory man. I also enjoy subtle smells.” He brushed a wisp of hair off her forehead. “Like the lemon scent of your hair, Kate. And sounds. Gentle moans and cries. Not to mention touch. Soft, moist heat against my skin.”
Kate leaned back against the table, as if needing it for support. Her breathing deepened. He watched her chest rise and fall and color redden her cheeks.
“Yes, some men are definitely capable of appreciating all their senses.” He crossed his arms, leaning against the table, next to her, so close their hips brushed. “So, Kate, tell me, a man who knows how to use his mouth. Is that really your only requirement?”
She licked her lips. “I suppose there are…other things.”
“Other things?”
His fingers? His tongue? His dick, which was so hard he felt as though he was going to shoot off in his pants?
“His…” This time
