It Takes a Rebel (12 page)

the cool night air, although she conceded that Jack's oversize fingers fastening the chin strap of her helmet probably contributed

to the gooseflesh. He slipped off his leather jacket and settled it over her shoulders. The silky lining of the heavy coat still

resonated with his body heat, giving her insight as to how it might feel to be enveloped in his arms. Alex tried to drive the

ludicrous thought from her mind, but his nearness set her reason on tilt, and set her skin on fire.

"Ready?"

She realized that he'd already climbed onto the machine, released the kickstand, and was waiting for her to join him.

Alex swallowed. "What do I do?"

"Left foot on this footpeg, swing right foot over the seat, then get a hand hold."

She managed all of it rather shakily, except for the hand hold. "What do I hang on to?" she asked, nearly panicked when he

started the bike engine.

"Me," he tossed over this shoulder, then gunned forward, forcing her to fling her arms around his waist. "Try to enjoy it."

She tried, but she didn't. The bite of the chilly fall wind nipped at her exposed neck and hands. Traffic sounds rang in her

ears. She buried her face between his shoulder blades, and the beating of his heart made her feel mortal and small—if they

crashed, they'd be killed for sure. And she hadn't planned to die hanging on to a man she didn't even like.

But gradually, she did relax, and finally opened her eyes. Her senses were heightened, her pulse elevated, her awareness of

the man she clung to, keen. The fuzzy warmth of security seeped into her chest—Jack wouldn't allow anything to happen to her.

The vibration of the motorcycle combined with being jammed up against his body lent a heaviness to the juncture of her thighs,

shocking her, but rendering her powerless to resist the sexual energy of the man and the machine. When he wheeled into her

driveway and cut the engine, she was too weak to climb off without his support.

"I'll walk you up," he said gruffly, looking around the dimly lit parking lot.

She didn't protest because he seemed to have acquired a black mood since they'd left the restaurant, and appeared anxious to

be rid of her. He probably thought that she was an inconvenience, or that she was a wimp about riding the bike, or that she was

keeping him from a rendezvous with that redheaded tart he'd been laughing with at the bar when she arrived. Regardless, she

matched his stiff gait and maintained silence until they reached her apartment door. Jack took her keys and unlocked the

deadbolt, then gave her an awkward smile as he handed them back to her.

"Thanks for agreeing to meet with me," he said curtly. "I hope this project turns out to be productive for both of us."

Alex looked up, and swallowed hard. The man was gorgeous, for sure, his dark eyes nearly black in the filtered light of the

hallway, his short hair appealingly rumpled from his helmet, his cheeks ruddy from the cool wind. She shrugged out of his

jacket and handed it to him, self-consciously smoothing her own disheveled hair. "Thanks for the ride home. And I, too, hope

this project is productive for both of us."

He didn't move, and neither did she, afraid she would sway into the sexual pull emanating from him. Something was

happening here, and although she couldn't put a finger on it, her body seemed to know. His Adam's apple moved. His mouth

twitched, as if he were about to open his mouth and … and…

"Goodnight, Alex."

Say goodnight. Relief and something else less identifiable coursed through her, and she reached for the doorknob.

"Goodnight, Jack." Heart thudding in her ears, Alex pushed open the door, then froze, a scream dying at the back of her throat.

"What?" He was by her side immediately.

"There!" she shrieked, cowering against him. Across the room, the silhouette of a man stood out clearly against the light

pouring in from the windows.

Alex's heart jumped to her throat as Jack thrust her behind him. "Who's there?" he shouted.

The intruder didn't answer, didn't move.

"Go call the police," he barked.

She felt the muscles of his arm bunch beneath her death grip. When she realized he meant to confront the person, fear

paralyzed her. He lunged across the room, tackling the dark figure. Jack's grunt reverberated through the room as both men fell

to the floor. Horror descended when she heard the sound of a gunshot, and a corresponding groan from Jack.

"Jack!" she screamed. Police forgotten, she lunged for the light switch—she had to help him.

As light spilled into the room, she ran forward, then stopped at the scene before her, her hand to her open mouth.

Uncontrollable laughter bubbled out, so intense she had to bend at the waist.

Jack lay sprawled facedown on top of Lana's blow-up doll Harry, who had suffered a blowout when he'd been tackled. Jack

gingerly turned his head, blinking under the wattage of the row of track lighting running overhead, then pushed himself up,

staring down at the doll's half-inflated leering face. "What the hell?"

Alex could only shake her head and laugh harder.

He frowned and lumbered to his feet, feeling his ribcage. "I'm glad you find my pain so amusing."

She sobered a tiny bit, hiding her laughter behind her fist. "Are you injured?"

One side of his mouth pulled back in a wry grin. "Just my pride."

"If it makes you feel better," Alex said, laughing anew as she walked over to the victim sagging against the floor, the life

hissing out of him, "Harry got the brunt of it."

"Harry?"

"Er, Horny Harry, to be exact." She picked up the unfortunate rubber doll, glad his somewhat alarmingly anatomically

correct body was covered by a pair of baggy pajamas, although his hard plastic erection was obvious beneath the thin fabric.

Jack pursed his mouth. "And does Reddinger know he has such, um, stiff competition?"

Alex threw him a withering glance. "He's not mine."

His eyebrow quirked upward. "Reddinger, or Harry here?"

He maintained a teasing expression, but she had the strangest feeling he was half-serious. "I was talking about Harry," she

said lightly. "My neighbor Lana asked if she could bring some of her things over, but I didn't realize she meant him."

He emitted a low, rolling laugh. "Sounds like a lonely woman."

"It's a long story. Are you sure you're okay?" she asked as she stowed Harry safely in a chair.

He nodded. "On hindsight, I'm glad you didn't call the police."

She wet her lips, suppressing another smile. "Now I know why they call you Jack the Attack."

"Oh, now that's hilarious. And I was beginning to think you didn't have a sense of humor."

Alex warmed, realizing that in the past few hours they had gone from near-enemies to sharing a moment of laughter in her

apartment

"Nice place," he said, his head pivoting. He hesitated a second longer than necessary when his gaze passed over her bed in

the far corner.

Alex ignored the zing of electricity that barbed through her. "Thanks."

"Do you live alone?" His voice held only casual curiosity.

"Yes."

"Then you play?" He nodded toward the baby grand piano.

"Not really. It was my mother's."

"Was?"

"She died a few years ago."

His brow clouded. "I'm sorry. I know how tough it is to lose a parent."

She nodded, unable to speak past the lump of emotion that lodged in her throat at his earnest tone—they did have something

in common, she and this rebel.

Silence stretched between them, gazes locked, until he looked past her and gestured to the still-open door, a smile hovering

on his handsome face. "Well, I guess I'd better be going."

Alex grasped the back of a bar stool and stood rigid until he walked by, closing her eyes as his energy field passed over her.

At last she made her feet move, and she followed him to the door, strangely reluctant to see him leave, yet unable to identify

why. "Jack."

He turned around, his hand on the doorjamb. With his back to the light in the hallway, his face was cast in shadows.

Flustered, she gestured toward her tiny galley-style kitchen. "W-would you like a cup of coffee? It's the least I can do for

someone willing to brave a prowler on my behalf." Was that her voice squeaking? Was that her heart thumping?

His dark eyes glittered and she thought he was smiling, but couldn't be sure. "You were right earlier about us keeping this

relationship strictly professional," he said, "and no matter how much I'd like to stay for, um,
coffee
, I think it would seriously

compromise our deal." He touched his hand to his forehead in a mock salute. "But I appreciate the offer, boss, more than you

know."

Mortification bled through her veins when she realized he thought she was propositioning him. For the second time that

evening, Alex banged the door shut in his face.

Chapter 9

« ^ »

"
A
t least he knows who's in charge," Lana said, forking spinach salad into her mouth.

"Believe me," Alex said, "when he called me 'boss,' it wasn't out of respect." She sneezed into her napkin. "And that damn

motorcycle ride gave me a cold. Yesterday was the first sick day I've taken since I had mono when I was eighteen."

"Didn't Jeff Summers have mono about that same time?"

Alex frowned. "So?"

"Ah, so your
last
hell-raising boyfriend made you sick, too."

"Jack Stillman is
not
my boyfriend, Lana. I'm engaged for heaven's sake!" Then she pursed her mouth. "But now that you

mention it, he does remind me of Jeff—what a loser he turned out to be."

"So either bad boys are gritty and germ-laden, or they wear down your resistance," Lana teased.

Feeling sour, Alex severed a miniloaf of bread with a small serrated knife then set it back down on the restaurant table. Jack

Stillman's words from two nights ago still rang in her ears. "How that man interpreted 'would you like a cup of coffee?' to mean

'would you like to have sex with me?' I'm not sure, but it's indicative of his gutter mind and abounding arrogance."

"Maybe you were giving off signals," Lana said with a shrug.

"That's ridiculous."

Her friend eyed her. "You don't find him attractive?"

She averted her eyes. "Well … I'm not blind. He's nice looking, as much as I can remember." She'd recalled every contour of

his face, every expression, at the oddest times over the past couple of days.

"You're blushing."

"I am not."

Her friend laughed. "You know, Alex, the rest of the world entertains a naughty thought once in a while and even
survives
.

Lighten up. It's okay to lust after this guy."

Alex scoffed. "Lana, I'm in love with Heath. We're getting married, remember?"

Lana leveled her violet eyes across the table. "So you've set a date?"

She squirmed on the tiny chair. "Not yet, but soon."

After a few seconds of pregnant silence, Lana said, "I just hope you're not settling for Heath because you think it's the right

thing to do."

She sighed, a little annoyed with the psychoanalysis. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Lana put down her fork. "Alex, I know you. You miss your mother, and your father is so … distant, it's natural that you would

turn to Heath for the security of a warm, fuzzy family."

Alex swallowed the lump of emotion that had formed in her throat. "What's wrong with wanting security and a family?"

"Not a thing. As long as you truly love the man."

"But I do love Heath."

A dreamy expression came over her friend's face. "But does he make you feel
passionate
and
alive?"

She attempted a laugh. "Lana, passion isn't the glue of a lasting relationship. You were passionate about Bill Friar, and look

what a mistake it would have been to marry
him
."

Lana held up her hand, stop-sign fashion. "Right you are. I'll keep my mouth shut."

"Good," Alex said with a smile. Her friend resumed eating, unaware that her words had dredged up worries Alex thought

she'd put to rest when Heath had proposed. Suddenly her friend burst out laughing. "I just wish I'd been there when Jack tackled

Harry—oh, that's hysterical." She dabbed at her eyes with her napkin.

Glad for the change in subject, Alex smiled wickedly at the memory of the great Jack humbled. "It was a bright moment in my

week. Is Harry repairable?"

"He blew a nut, but with a little duct tape, hell be as good as new. I'm not sure why men need two of those things anyway. By

the way, when will you see your hero again?"

She frowned, uncomfortable talking about Jack Stillman on the heels of discussing her wedding. "We're meeting in less than

an hour to select his wardrobe for the commercial shoot."

"Oooh, dressing and undressing—sounds like fun to me."

"Fun? We'll be lucky to find something big enough to accommodate his ego."

Lana wagged her eyebrows. "Do you need an assistant?"

Alex pointed her pinkie across the café table. "It's shameless women like you who keep shameless men like Jack Stillman on

a pedestal."

"Yeah, well, it's uptight women like you who keep Metamucil on the shell."

"I'm trying to be professional about this."

"And it sounds to me like he's abiding by your wishes. After all, he could've stayed for coffee the other night and not have

respected you the next morning."