style="font-size:15px;"> “You’re flattering me.”
JJ shrugged.
“If you’re so hot for him, JJ, come on the tour and you sleep with him.”
“If only…”
“Come on. You hate tours as much as I do.” Kathleen would never sleep with Dan, but she was annoyed to notice that the rumba her heart was doing had added a maraca rhythm.
“You’re thinking about it,” JJ said, a dog with a bone. “You’re all pink.”
“That’s the wine. Wine stimulates circulation. You’re flushed, too. Just look at yourself.”
JJ stared into the mirror, then ran her fingers roughly through her bobbed hair. “God, I look like an ancient diner waitress. I should start calling everyone ‘hon.’”
“You already do.” Kathleen leaned in to study her agent’s face. “There are incipient wrinkles developing. Let me give you my cell-plumping cream.” She extracted the excruciatingly expensive tube from her satchel and handed it over to JJ. “The Web site’s on the label to order more.”
Wrinkles weren’t JJ’s only problem, she saw. “You need more vitamins.” She picked up a strand of her hair and rubbed it between her fingers. “Not enough protein. Are you eating?”
“Not so much. Barry and I are on the outs.”
“Barry the Brooder? No wonder. You have to take care of yourself, JJ. You’re in charge of your own happiness.” That was one truth she knew from the inside out.
She took out her business-card holder and extracted a card she gave to JJ. “This is a food delivery service—homemade stuff, all fresh and vitamin-rich. Set yourself up for a month to see how you like it.”
“I’m fine. Really.”
“Then consider it an early birthday gift from me.”
“I just had my birthday. You’re making me feel guilty. Here I send you on this book tour and you’re giving me gifts.”
“Just take care of yourself and forget the guilt. Guilt is unhealthy. Talk about producing wrinkles. Oh, and here's that hypnotherapist's card. For the smoking.”
“You’re too good to me,” JJ said, taking the card, her face warm with an affection that made Kathleen feel uncomfortable.
She liked JJ a lot, but it was best to keep things professional. “I’m buttering you up so you’ll get me an even better deal on my next book.”
“Easy breezy if you do a Converting Dr. Moderate book. Let’s get back to the table before somebody scarfs up my bananas Foster. Bananas have calcium, right?”
“Potassium. But that’s good, too.”
“What’s with you, Kathleen?” JJ said. “You look funny.” She stubbed her cigarette in one of the pots of cut flowers. Kathleen grimaced.
“Just feeling the pain of those poor blooms. Let’s go.”
She went for the door before JJ saw right through her.
3
THE NEXT NIGHT, Dan held the door so Kathleen could climb into the back seat of the car-service limo. They’d just finished the launch party at the Barnes and Noble on Fifth Avenue, which Rhonda had informed them was “the best, most star-studded bookstore in Manhattan.”
Kathleen’s smile as she slid into the seat sent heat through him. He was so easy. He joined her, cramming himself against the far door to nix the urge to bury his nose in her thick hair, which she’d worn his favorite way—loose and wavy.
How could he advise his patients to control their urges, when he was ready to jump the woman? Damn this book tour. Damn the way her skirt rode high on her thigh. Damn him for noticing.
Kathleen drummed her fingers on the book in her lap—his book, back cover up, showing his photo with that chilly, superior expression on his face Kathleen used to criticize in their quarrels. Like you’re above us mere mortals.
That wasn’t fair. Sure, he reflected at length on problems and assessed all factors before making a decision. Did that make him dispassionate? Hardly. But he wasn’t surprised Kathleen hadn’t understood that. She was all impulse and urge.
And heat. Lots and lots of heat.
She’d been generous, too, and kind. Like tonight when she’d bought his book and stood in line for him to sign it—a gracious gesture he’d been too dazed to duplicate. Book-signings and their attendant rituals were a new and mortifying experience.
Kathleen sighed a rich sigh and wiggled into the seat, as if to get comfortable, then turned her head on the headrest and looked at him. “I love fabric seats, don’t you? I have black velvet in my car. Pimpish, I know, but it feels so good against bare skin.”
Bare. He didn’t want to think of that word around Kathleen, let alone hear it come out of her silky lips. Her wiggling around had shifted her skirt up a bit. Nothing obvious and she was clearly unaware of it. He wondered if she was wearing panties.
Ouch. “I never really thought of it that way.” The over-warm car seethed with her perfume. He watched her pulse throb softly in her neck, wanted to press his lips there, taste her skin with his tongue. “Stuffy in here,” he mumbled and rolled down his window.
Rhonda barreled into the front seat beside the driver, slammed her door and looked at them over the seat. “That was fabulous. Great turnout. You two were a hit. Everyone was there.” She rattled off the news outlets in attendance, practically bouncing in her seat.
“Sounds good,” Dan said. He was used to speaking at small workshops, so he’d been rigid with tension at the crowd.
“We sold tons of books,” Kathleen said. “Good job, Rhonda.”
“Thank you, Kathleen. You were a joy to work with.” Rhonda beamed at her. “You, too, Dan. Absolutely.” She cleared her throat. He’d been tongue-tied and sluggish, he knew.
Kathleen had gleamed like a jewel as she bantered with reporters and with him when they were formally announced and invited to speak. She’d been lively and engaging and he’d been awed by her performance.
My advice is to buy both our books and decide which makes you feel better, she’d said. Of course, my books come with a coupon for a sample of imported chocolates. She’d turned to him then. I don’t suppose you supply any coupons, Dan? That would be too indulgent, correct? She’d offered him a bonbon, eyes twinkling with mischief and delight.
He’d declined, awkward as a kid at his first dance…which pretty much nailed his whole performance. He’d sold far more books than Kathleen—hers had been out for a while, after all—but she’d ruled the event, start to finish. Somehow, that seemed right.
“You need to loosen up, Dan,” she said to him now. “Next time, take the chocolate I offer you and say something about falling off the wagon.” She leaned into his shoulder, then pulled away. The tiny moment of pressure
