Читать книгу Can't Help Falling In Love - Wendy Etherington - Страница 16

FRIDAY NIGHT, Jack slid into the seat next to Skyler just as the mayor called the Independence Day Committee meeting to order. “What’s the emergency?”

“I have no idea,” she whispered back. She shrugged her shoulder—bare except for her dress’s bright pink spaghetti strap. The rest of the thigh-skimming dress clung to her curves and matched perfectly with her heeled sandals and toenail polish.

Delicious. He considered dropping a kiss on her icy pastel pink lips, but knew public affection was definitely a move in the wrong direction. He focused on positive thoughts. Their date might be a secret, but she’d prepared carefully for the event. Definite good sign. In the past few days, he’d managed to dispel the niggling spark of worry that she didn’t want to be seen with him. She was worried about his job. She cared. Her motives were sweet. She wasn’t using her brothers as an excuse. She didn’t have to remind him of the “good girls” in high school, who flirted with him on Saturday nights, then ignored him during school, where he’d certainly not been a part of their clique.

“Okay, people,” the mayor said, rising from behind his desk. “I know it’s Friday night, and I know y’all have plans, but we’ve got ourselves a crisis.”

Eyes wide, Jack had a hard time concentrating on the man’s serious tone. Mayor Franklin Collins was dressed as Elvis—the Vegas years—in a white-sequined jumpsuit, gold necklaces and huge rings on his fingers. The First Lady didn’t disappoint in complementing her husband. She had the voluptuous figure, exaggerated makeup and headdress of a Vegas showgirl.

Jack leaned close to Skyler’s ear, inhaling the sweet, flowery scent clinging to her skin before he asked, “What’s with the costumes?”

Before she could answer, a male voice called out, “Hold on, honey.” Roland swished into the room. At least Jack thought it was Roland. He wore glamour-girl makeup, a blond wig and a gold-sequined evening gown, so only the voice was recognizable. The pet store owner waggled his fingers in Skyler’s direction as he crossed the room.

Jack glanced from the mayor, to his wife, then back to Roland. He asked Skyler, “Did I miss a dress code meeting?”

“No.” She met his gaze, her blue eyes twinkling. “The mayor’s an Elvis fanatic, and Roland performs at a local bar on the weekends. His act is a riot, sort of Ru Paul meets Tony Bennett.”

“These are the people who voted against a lingerie shop?”

“No,” she whispered back. “The mayor only votes if there’s a tie, which there definitely wasn’t. Roland was my only supporter. The rest of the committee—led by two Baptist deacons—trounced the idea.”

The mayor waited while Roland arranged himself in his chair, crossing his unshaven legs. “Could we get back to the problem at hand?”

Everyone fixed their gaze on Mayor Collins. How they could do so without busting out laughing, much less not cracking a smile, Jack had no idea. He bit the inside of his cheek.

“A local band wants to play at the festival,” the mayor announced.

And? Jack waited for the other shoe to drop.

“They’re calling themselves The Metal Heads this year,” the mayor said wearily, shaking his head. “Last year they were The Punk Heads, the year before that The Dixie Heads, before that The Rock Heads.”

A collective groan rippled through the room.

“Not them again,” one of the other committee members said.

“I got rid of them last year,” Roland called out. “It’s somebody else’s turn.”

Before Jack could ask what was so awful about The Metal Heads and why this was an important enough crisis to delay his and Skyler’s date, the mayor turned to him to explain. “They’ve been trying to get into the festival for the past three years, each year with a different act and collection of horrible songs.”

Roland tapped his red-tipped fingernails against the arm of his chair. “The year they went country they planned their opening song to be ‘I Shot My Dog Then Got Runned Over by a Train.’”

Ouch.

The mayor sank onto the edge of his desk. “This year they can’t wait to play ‘I Bashed My Mama with My Guitar Last Night.’”

Double ouch.

Still, this problem seemed easy to fix. Everyone agreed The Metal Heads were a bad idea entertainment-wise. They could just send them a letter—thanks for your interest, but after a decisive vote by our committee…blah, blah, blah. Problem solved.

Jack dusted his hands together and rose. “No problem. I’ll send them a rejection letter and—”

“Won’t work,” the mayor said. “Last year, after they got their letter, they camped out on the steps of City Hall for three days and nights until I listened to an entire set of their songs.” He shuddered.

“They’re really very sweet,” Skyler said, looking troubled.

“And desperate,” Roland put in.

“You know…” the mayor began, staring up at Jack. The beginnings of a smile crept to his lips.

Uh-oh. Jack had the feeling he was about to pay for his impulsive volunteering.

“You could turn them down, Jack. But in person.”

Everyone in the room focused on Jack. Their gazes followed his height and breadth carefully. Obviously, they all thought brawn would come more in handy than brains. The story of his life.

Mrs. Collins clapped her hands, gazing up at her husband adoringly. “Oh, Franklin, you’re brilliant!”

Everyone rose, obviously considering the matter settled, chattering about their plans for the night. Within minutes, only he and Skyler stood in the mayor’s office.

“I’ll help you,” she said, laying her hand on his arm. “They sometimes play on the street corners for tips…at least until Wes threatens to arrest them.”

Jack glanced down. Her fingertips felt cool and delicate against his skin. Flowery perfume drifted to his nose. He inhaled deeply, and smiled at the heat invading his blood. “Forget The Metal Heads for now.” He grabbed her hand, urging her to spin. “Turn for me, ’tite ange.”

He could see her outfit was actually a top and a miniskirt. Of course, she hadn’t worn exactly what he’d suggested. His ange was such a rebel. And she had great legs.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, pulling her close.

She glanced toward the door. “Thanks.”

“We’re alone.”

She smiled, but nervously. “I know.”

Setting his jaw, he fought the urge to comment on their “secret” relationship. It was no big deal. He didn’t need to claim her. He didn’t need her at all.

He wanted to stay focused on his career. But Skyler was fun and smart, and the contrast between her “good girl” and “bad girl” sides intrigued him. And the way she was biting her lip and glancing around as if they might be caught touching at any moment just shouted for him to give in to his own bad side.

He cupped the back of her head, leaning close. “We’re very alone.” Her eyes widened, and before she could give him a reason not to, he kissed her.

Her mouth softened, and a sigh escaped her lips. He slid his tongue against hers, slow and easy, wanting, maybe even needing, to lose himself in her sweetness. Her womanly curves pressed against his body as she gripped the front of his shirt, her fingers clenching and releasing, like an itch she was desperate to scratch. She was going to drive him totally crazy. He wanted her, needed her, absolutely had to have her.

Who was he kidding about his career being his top priority? Every time he touched her, he couldn’t even remember what he did.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, dragging her closer. Her head dropped back, and he left her lips to trail hot, openmouthed kisses against her jawline. Against his chest, her heart pounded like a freight train. Every inch of his body had hardened, and he was considering the sturdiness of the mayor’s desk when she gasped his name.

“J-Jack,” she said, her tone breathy and uneven.

He nibbled her lips. “Mmm.”

“We shouldn’t be—”

He slid his tongue against hers, and she moaned, pulling back.

“—doing this here,” she finished breathlessly.

Jack made an effort to tamp down the devil—the one Sister Katherine had fought unsuccessfully to rid him of in his formative years—sitting on his shoulder, urging him on. “Wild Jack” wasn’t the kind of man for an angel.

Still holding her against him, he tucked her head beneath his chin and savored the sensation of having her close. He drew deep breaths and fought for control of his body. Why did she have to feel so special, so right next to him?

He’d kissed her to prove to her she wanted him in spite of the danger, that he could override her cautious nature, only to confirm for himself that no matter how much he wanted her, he sure as hell didn’t deserve her.

He released her, taking a physical and mental step away from temptation. “I’m sorry.”

She angled her head. “For?”

In some ways she seemed so innocent—big blue eyes, petite frame, pale hair and skin—but as he watched those eyes narrow he remembered her looks were deceiving. A determined businesswoman resided beneath that angelic package. In addition to scandalous purple panties. Hell. His gaze automatically dropped as he wondered what delights that pink skirt hid. Had she asked him a question?

He tunneled his hand through his hair. “Uh, I just didn’t mean for things to get so, um, out of control.” Oh, that was real smooth, Jack.

“It’s not your fault. I wasn’t exactly fighting you off.” She grinned. “That whole might-get-caught part was kind of fun actually.”

He grabbed her hand, tugging her through the doorway and down the hall. “Glad you approve. I’ve got lots of fun ideas.” He led her to the parking lot, and, as he tucked her into the passenger’s side of his Jeep, the slit in the back of her skirt bared her thighs to a sweat-inducing height.

Oh, yeah. He had lots of ideas.