Tarzan & Janine (3 page)

The voice from behind startled her into forgetting her lines and temporarily losing her balance. The bull dipped, and she started to slip. She dropped her arm and grabbed the rough hemp rope encircling the bucking bull.

When she’d righted herself, she glared at the tall man at her side. “Please don’t talk to me, sir.”

“What if I have a question about the product?” he countered, a smile curving his mouth.

Taking another dip, she loosened her grip and pressed her free hand to the microphone on her lapel. “I have a script to follow, and you’re not in it. Please don’t distract me,” she whispered fiercely, loud enough for him to hear, but not for other conventioneers passing by. She forced a bright smile, directing it toward the audience.

“Pardon me, ma’am. I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from your job.”

Her gaze narrowed, but he didn’t appear to be mocking her. “Good. Now please move along before you get me fired.” Janine scanned the room full of people, looking for her boss, before returning her gaze to the man beside her.

He was kind of cute. Tall and dark with a grin that could melt a girl’s bones into a gooey puddle. He spread his large hands wide, an innocent look on his smiling face. “Now, how could I get you fired? You’re positively brilliant.”

Exasperated by his persistence, and at herself for getting all tingly when he was near, she replied, “All I know is I need this job to make my rent money, so don’t blow it for me.”

“All right, but first tell me your name.” He leaned back against the bull’s control panel and crossed one ankle over the other.

The man’s brown-black eyes held a wicked gleam she found hard to resist. “Janine Davis. Why do you ask?” she said, fighting hard not to notice how sexy he was because the bull’s rhythmic motions jounced her breasts and drove her lower parts hard against the saddle. Sensations she had no business noticing began to build along with the thrumming heat flooding her veins.

“I wanted to know the name of the woman I need to thank.”

Curiosity won out. Her annoyance at his interruption forgotten for the moment, her head tilted to the side as she continued rocking back and forth on the bull. “Thank me? Why?”

“Because of you, I made the best deal imaginable with old BS-Squared herself.”

“Who’s BS-Squared?” she asked.

“Barbara Stockton of Barbara Stockton’s Beauty Secrets. You know—B. S. B. S...”

Janine frowned.

“Two BS’s is BS-Squared.” He shook his head. “Never mind. You’re my new good luck charm. I just made the best deal of my career.”

A movement behind the gorgeous cowboy caught Janine’s attention, and her heart nearly stopped. Her boss was headed her way. With her hand squashing the microphone to her breast, Janine whispered, “Uh, sir, don’t look now, but...” She jerked her head in his direction.

He ignored her attempt to interrupt and continued, “So you see, I have you to thank for keeping my mind on business with old BS-Squared.”

Janine cringed. Why hadn’t he taken her hint and shut the hell up? She let go of the rope around the bull’s middle and waved, pasting a smile on her stiff lips. “I wouldn’t thank me now,” she sang.

“Why?” The tall man’s eyes widened and his jaw slackened. His gaze locked with Janine’s. “She’s right behind me, isn’t she?”

“Uh huh.” Janine nodded. “Uh...hi there, Ms. Stockton.” She bit the corner of her lip and fluttered her fingers in a strained attempt at a light-hearted greeting.

The cowboy swung around, his elbow knocking against a lever on the control panel.

The bull leapt into high speed.

Janine squealed and grasped for the rope—for something to hold on to—but her hands flailed uselessly in the air.

After three raucous bucks, the bull spun, knocking the man from the stage to land flat on his butt on the floor in front of Barbara Stockton. At least he’d earned his just desserts.

Janine smirked and would have clapped her hands if she weren’t in trouble herself. The bull jerked one direction, then lurched and spun another, flinging Janine through the air.

She screamed and twisted, attempting to land on her feet. Instead, she fell face-first on top of the man who’d caused all this.

“Ooomph!” Their chests met with enough force to knock the wind out of them both. Stunned, and fighting for her breath, Janine resisted the urge to hide her face against the cowboy’s broad chest. She wished a gigantic black hole would open up and suck in her humiliated self.

Unfortunately, Janine felt the intensity of her boss’s glare before she pushed up on her hands and turned to smile sheepishly. “See? The hairspray holds even through the worst of conditions.”

Ms. Stockton’s expression was not amused. “My, my, isn’t this touching. The hired help flirting with the used car salesman.”

Janine had a gut feeling the tightness on the older woman’s face did not bode well. Turning her anger to the cause of this debacle, she glared down at the man lying beneath her.

When Janine looked down at Tanner, all he could think about was her thighs straddling the only un-stunned part of his body. Her full, rounded breasts pressed intimately against his chest.

Barbara Stockton’s outraged expression didn’t even faze him when Janine struggled to sit up. He could feel himself harden in response to her denim-covered bottom rubbing against his groin. How much torture could a man take and survive?

A clicking noise next to his ear finally got his attention. The sound was a shoe tapping against the floor—Ms. Stockton’s shoe. When his gaze made the trip up the long sleek legs of his client to rest on her angry face, his stomach plunged.

“This whole scene reeks of low class. And I make it a habit to deal only with high-class operations...” BS-Squared’s eyebrows rose as she stared pointedly at him, then turned to Janine, “...and individuals. I’m afraid your services are no longer required, Miss Davis. Collect your wages and get out of my sight.”

“But Ms. Stockton—” Janine pushed to a sitting position astride Tanner.

A pretty little frown making her even more adorable in Tanner’s books.

The CEO held her hand up. “Just leave.”

A wad of guilt twisted in Tanner’s gut.

“And, Mr. Peschke?” BS-Squared’s lips moved with careful, cutting precision. “The deal is off.” Executing a perfect about-face, she left the room and the disaster Tanner had created in her wake.

Tanner groaned and let his head flop back against the floor, welcoming the slight pain. His dad was going to kill him.

“Thanks for nothing, mister.” Janine finally got her feet beneath her and rose.

Tanner stood and flashed a scowl at the crowd gathered around them, and they quickly dispersed. He turned to Janine. “I’m sorry about that. Hitting that switch was an accident.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re a walking accident looking for a place to happen.” Her words were clipped and angry. “Now, what am I going to do? This was the best-paying acting job I’ve had in a while.”

That was his cue. If he wanted to keep his good luck charm, boost profits and do it his way, he had to convince Janine to go along with his plan.

Brushing off his hand against the side of his leg, he held it out. He gave her the smile his grandmother had told him could
tempt the birds from the trees
. “Janine Davis, have I got a deal for you.”

Chapter Two

Joe Peschke checked his watch, memorized the placement of the checkers, and rose from the game table. “It’s time. I’ll put on the television if you’ll get the beer.”

Bartholomew Biacowski, known to his friends as ‘Beans’, short for bean pole on account of his tall, slim frame, stood and lazily stretched then scratched his little potbelly.

Joe wasn’t fooled. He’d seen Beans glance slyly at the game before heading to the kitchen. Keeping sight of the table from the corner of his eye, Joe flipped through the channels to the local television station where he regularly bought advertising time. Tanner had promised the commercial would run right before the late night newscast. Joe relaxed when Beans returned without finding some excuse to stop by the game table first.

Beans handed a beer to Joe and then settled into one of the matching armchairs in front of the fifty-two-inch television Joe had splurged on prior to the previous year’s Super Bowl game. “So, what did Tanner say this ad was gonna be like?”

“He didn’t. Said it was a surprise, and that I’d like it.” Joe rolled his eyes and shot a doubtful grin in Beans’s direction. “Tanner’s been doin’ live ads for the dealership for the past two years, and I haven’t liked a single one.”

“Why ya lettin’ him do them, then?”

“I don’t know. I guess ‘cause it gives him somethin’ he thinks he’s doin’ well. It makes him happy.”

“How long you gonna mollycoddle that boy, Joe?” Beans took a long pull from his beer.

“I promised Judith on her deathbed, I’d look out for him.”

“Yeah, but I’m sure she meant until he was growed. That boy’s twenty-eight. By most people’s standards—a man. When ya gonna stop wipin’ his butt for him and make him stand on his own two feet?”

“Yesterday.” Joe smiled. “You’d a been proud of me, Beans. I finally put the screws to him.”

“Oh? How’s that?”

“Told him he had to show a profit in the next three months, or he’d never get General Manager,” Joe said, settling back into his chair.

Beans’s eyebrows rose, his beer bottle poised midway to his mouth. “You told him that?”

“Yup. About time that boy figured out the business or got on with his life. Can’t have him hanging around the dealership losin’ me money.”

“Joe, have you ever thought that maybe he wasn’t cut out for the car business?”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “But he’s my only son. If I can’t leave the dealership to him, who else?”

“You could sell it and retire,” Beans suggested. “We could get ourselves a boat, sit out in the Gulf, and fish for the rest of our days.”

“I’ve thought of that, too, but I wanted to give the boy one last chance.”

“So how long do you think he’ll last before he figures out he’s just not gonna cut it?” Beans asked.

Joe chuckled. “About two months.”

“I’ll bet ya a six-pack, he doesn’t make it one.” Beans tipped up the beer bottle, draining the last drops, and then belched his satisfaction.

“A six-pack? Let’s not be cheap. I’ll bet you an entire case of your favorite brew, he makes it two months before he throws in the towel.” Joe adjusted the volume on the television and leaned forward. “Shhh. Here it comes.”

“Stay tuned for the late news with Jenny Masters and Brian Frazier, brought to you by Peschke Motors.”

“I can’t believe I let him talk me into this,” Janine grumbled. Adjusting the straps tied around the back of her neck, she glanced at her image in the mirror of the ladies restroom at Peschke Motors. She had to admit the top of the miniscule jungle-woman costume looked great, fitting her breasts a bit tight, accentuating their fullness. The matching brown suede bottoms, a cross between short-shorts and a skirt, was another matter altogether. The thing barely covered her cheeks and was sure to give the cameraman an eyeful of her ass. So much for anyone taking her acting seriously.

Janine sighed. She’d fought a losing battle against her over-abundant curves ever since she’d “blossomed” at age twelve. Her life-long dream to become a serious actress appeared like an impossibility. At every audition, the casting directors couldn’t see past her breasts to her acting ability. They wanted her to play in their beds, not act in their plays.

The few who’d bothered to audition her, as well as an acting coach she’d spent a summer studying under, had suggested she go for the vamp roles—and anything a Pamela Anderson-type might be considered for. Janine’s confidence had been dented by their well-meaning advice, but she knew she was capable of more than blonde-bimbo performances. If her idol, Marilyn Monroe, could rise above her caricatured image to impress critics before her death, then Janine Davis could, too. Not that she was in a hurry to die to earn those accolades.

She’d prove everyone wrong—when she got enough money together to move out to Los Angeles. In the meantime, she was trying her luck in Austin, the newest cultural center frequented by famous actors from Hollywood. She hoped to be discovered while appearing in the local plays she’d been auditioning for, if she could actually convince a director to let her have one of the leading roles. But auditioning didn’t pay the rent, and commercials were the closest thing to “real” acting as she could get right now and make a living.

Where was that Tanner Pesky, anyway? She was due in front of the cameras in less than five minutes, and there was no way in hell she was wearing this little, jungle-print handkerchief. She tugged at the bra of the itsy bitsy outfit in an attempt to cover as much of her chest as she could.

A knock on the door made her groan.

“It’s time, Miss Davis,” came a male voice, not Tanner’s, through the hollow panel of the bathroom door.

“I’ll be right out,” she called. Alternating between tugging down the hem of the bottoms to cover her fanny, and pulling up the top to cover her breasts, she stormed out of the bathroom, across the showroom floor, and out into the lighted car lot.