“It was a long time ago.” Greg looked up at the buildings as they trekked down Jackie’s street. “What did you say your number was?”
“Three sixty-three.” She didn’t want to go home just yet. She was only just starting to find out the interesting stuff. “What kind of entertaining did you do?” The flip demon made a small resurgence. “Were you a stripper?”
He shook his head, but he couldn’t hide the beginnings of a grin. “Hardly.”
“A guitarist?”
“I played piano.”
Nothing could have doused her interest faster. Both her mother and father played classical piano, touring with various philharmonics and orchestras when they weren’t teaching out of their palatial Back Bay home.
Jackie played everything but the piano. Her favorite instruments were things like banjos and steel guitars. Instruments that drove her parents insane and proved to Jackie she wanted different things out of life than what they’d already achieved.
“I see.” She started hunting for her building in earnest, realizing she’d been foolish to think Mr. Corporate would appreciate something outside the traditional realm. He probably had a Steinway in his living room, first class all the way.
“I take it you don’t like the piano?” Greg asked, his pace slowing as they drew toward Jackie’s door.
Her brownstone was the only one on the block with a burgundy-colored door and big bushes of purple heather out front. Both were her touches, little extras her elderly landlord was only too happy to receive.
The street was quiet. There wasn’t much activity on Jackie’s block, even on the weekends. The college students lived a few blocks over, far enough away to keep the noise level down, close enough to support lots of inexpensive restaurants and artsy pubs.
Right now, the only noise she heard was Greg’s silky baritone and the soft hum of the streetlights.
She shrugged. “I like the piano.”
“Let me guess, you prefer the piccolo. Or maybe a big set of cymbals.” Greg stuffed his hands in his pockets and tilted one shoulder into a nearby streetlamp.
“As it happens, I love a good pair of cymbals. And I can play a mean kazoo.”
“Do you always take the road less traveled, Jackie Brady?” He studied her with the aid of the streetlight, his brown eyes probing hers for answers she wasn’t ready to give.
“What does it look like?” She twitched her whiskers by scrunching up her nose and maneuvering her lips.
“It looks like you’re hell-bent for mayhem, lady.” He lifted himself away from the lamppost and walked closer to her. Slowly. Steadily.
Her heart picked up a jaunty beat, drumming heat through her in an insistent rhythm.
Jackie was ready. Willing. Hungry for a taste of Greg.
What did it matter if he could play piano? If he lived in corporate paradise and liked to stick to the rules? Jackie could still kiss him.
She could still see where a kiss led.
She could still fantasize about losing her virginity to a man who could unlock her passionate nature and free the artist inside her.
He paused a foot in front of her, his square shoulders and tanned arms making her insides turn warm and liquid.
She was probably supposed to wait for him to kiss her, but Jackie had never been one to play by the rules.
Especially not when a risk this tempting was so close at hand.
GREG HAD EVERY INTENTION of kissing her.
He’d been dying to taste those lips ever since she’d strutted through Flanagan’s in whiskers and cat ears.
He just hadn’t planned on doing it so fast.
Just when he’d been sizing up the situation, taking in the details of her curves and nuances so he could wring out every possible bit of pleasure from it for both of them, Jackie dropped her tablecloth. Before he could fully appreciate the view of her braless body underneath his shirt, she plastered herself against him for the most mind-blowing kiss he’d ever experienced.
She was like a sensory explosion, swamping every inch of him with tantalizing sensations. Her lips swayed over his in slow undulations, leaving him no choice but to seek entrance to her mouth for a more thorough taste.
Sweet and complex. Jackie tasted like a dessert wine and left him hungering for more.
But all the while he tried to drink in her taste, she was tormenting his chest with the soft nudge of her breasts. No elaborate contraptions of Lycra or spandex hid her from him, only the cotton of their shirts. Taut crests peaked against him, reminding him of what she looked like naked. He could envision those breasts, those upturned nipples, perfectly.
And the memory was killing him.
“Jackie.” He pulled away in slow degrees only because he had to. They were in the middle of the sidewalk for crying out loud. “Jackie?”
He kissed her one last time, or so he told himself it would be one last time, before backing up a step, still holding her hands. He wanted to go upstairs with her and unveil her body at his leisure, not maul her in full view of her neighbors.
He hadn’t counted on seeing her eyes still closed, her lips still thrust forward even after his retreat.
Something inside him turned to mush at the sight. He hoped like hell it was only his brain.
“Jackie?” He squeezed her fingers in his hands.
She smiled before she opened her eyes. “Hmm?”
The sound of a window opening somewhere in the building behind them reminded Greg of their public surroundings.
Greg stepped close again, more than willing to continue this inside her apartment even if they were as compatible as oil and water. They obviously had serious chemistry going despite being as different from one another as night and day.
He always did have a hard time learning a lesson.
He could take one more chance on a woman without getting overly distracted, right? He’d go to work in the morning, listen to his desk full of demo tapes, and crawl back into bed with Jackie. A relationship didn’t have to interfere with his work, damn it.
“Do you mind if I come inside?” It didn’t seem like that big of an assumption in light of the kiss she’d just given him.
“What?” Her green eyes sharpened into focus immediately.
“I mean, do you want me to come upstairs with you?”
Greg was surprised to realize he was practically holding his breath. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted a woman this bad. Had he ever wanted a woman this much?
“Maybe
