Tinsel My Heart (6 page)

“Damn it, Jack, you’ve been back in my life for less time than I spend Christmas shopping. Do you really think you’ve earned the right to force your two-cents’ worth of unasked-for advice on me?”

Okay, so he’d pissed her off. Jack decided to toss a little logic out and see if it smothered the brushfire he’d started. “You foisted your opinion of how I should feel about Ty on me. And why you don’t think I should hate Christmas. Seems only fair that I get to toss one of my opinions back on you.”

A big sigh, one that ruffled her bangs. And then the blue pilot light of temper in her eyes blew right out. “You’re right. Being with you again is weird. Too easy, almost, to slip into our old roles. I’m as comfortable as ever talking to you, as if the lack of contact over the years never happened.”

Crap. That set entirely the wrong tone for the rest of the evening. Or at least, the long make out session he
hoped
would happen after dinner. “Comfortable?” Jack nudged aside a braid to drop a kiss on the side of her neck. And was gratified to see goose bumps pop up below the shoved-up cuffs of her sweater. “Comfortable’s not exciting. It’s dull. Predictable. I don’t want you to be comfortable around me.”

As he continued to nibble down to her collarbone, Becca tilted her head to grant him better access. “Can I have a do-over?” she asked breathlessly.

“Sure.”

“I’m comfortable with Jack-my-friend. With Jack-the-man, I’m distinctly off-balance and excited.”

Excellent. Only fair, in fact, since he was having the same trouble reconciling the sweet-sixteen Becca he remembered with the sensual woman who quivered beneath his lips. “I’ll take that.”

No, damn it, he’d take more. Jack didn’t want to keep Becca off-balance just to prove a point. He did it so that she’d topple into his arms. Back then, he’d been infatuated with the girl, but confused about what to do with his feelings. Clueless and scared about how and when to bridge the gap between best friends and boyfriend/girlfriend. Well, he damn well wasn’t confused any longer.

How many times had they cooked macaroni and cheese together, or split a pizza for dinner as teenagers? The blast-from-the-past comfort zone of tonight had to go. He’d promised her a date. And when Jack Whittaker dated a woman, food fell
way
below fun on the priority list.

Moving his lips up her neck, he paused at her ear lobe. Tugged it between his teeth just hard enough to get her attention. “Let’s get you more excited.” Then Jack swooped. One hand planted just above her sweet ass, pulling her tight against him. The other anchored in the base of her braid. And when she opened her mouth in a surprise inhalation, he covered it.

He feasted on Becca, using all his senses. Inhaled her perfume, which sent a fresh zing straight to his dick. Marveled at the softness of the small slice of skin between her sweater and her jeans. Listened with smug satisfaction to her breathy moans. Tasted Becca’s sweetness as he teased his tongue around hers. Then Jack pulled back to look at her. To see her kiss-swollen lips. The redness at her neck from his goatee. Things that claimed Becca as his. For now. For tonight. That thought sent another surge of need to his dick.

So he lifted her off her feet. Set her on the counter, and notched himself against her. Jack’s thighs spread hers wide. Clearly on board with his idea, she wrapped them tight around him. Her hands slid up beneath his black T-shirt to roam his back. God, her fingers were soft. It made Jack want to arch his back like a contented tomcat. Instead, he angled his chest away just enough to look at her. Locked onto her aquamarine eyes blurred with passion. Then he took her left arm and slowly pushed up the sleeve of her sweater. Traced one blunt finger from the crook of her elbow to the center of her palm.

Good. Becca’s entire body shivered. God, he wanted to feel her do that when they were both naked. Jack wanted her. He wanted to make her scream his name to the sky. Still tractor-beaming her eyes, he pressed his lips to the fluttering pulse at her wrist. And then licked his way across her palm all the way to the tip of her middle finger. Jack put his lips around it. Scraped his teeth from base to tip, sucking as he went. Let out a groan of his own at the feel of her nails suddenly biting into his back.

“Is any part of you ‘comfortable’ right now?” he asked in a low, mocking growl.

“Not at all,” she sighed.

Point made, he backed off. Tugged her sleeve back down and set her on her feet. “Then let’s not delay this awesome-smelling dinner any longer.” He feathered a kiss across her cheekbone. But it wouldn’t be the last. Not by a long shot. They had all night.

“How about we finish our conversation? The one about the amazing career opportunity you’re avoiding.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “That’s a fast topic turnaround from having your tongue down my throat.”

“It’s all passion, baby. Whether for you or the theatre, I’m chock full of it.”

While she added cooked pasta to the bubbling pot of sauce, Becca said, “Okay, you get one turn. Hit me with your opinion on my life. As long as you agree to drop it for the rest of the night.” He nodded. “Fire away.”

Better not waste it beating around the bush. Obviously her friends here either didn’t know about the New York opportunity, or were too selfish to boot some sense into her. Jack took a deep breath. “Look around you. You’re still living your grandmother’s life. Would she really want that for you? It’s time for you to move on, live your own life. No, not just your own life. You need to live your own dreams.”

A long stare, as cool and hard as the ice chunks bobbing at the edge of the Mississippi River. “Is that it?”

“I guess.”

“Good.” She thrust a plate at him. “Let’s eat.”

Still holding back, huh? Well, Jack didn’t intend to let someone so obviously talented miss out on this career-changing opportunity. He’d drop it—for now. And find a way to bring it up again tomorrow, and the next day, until she saw the light. Strictly as a way to mentor, one professional to another.

He shook away a niggle of guilt as he picked up his wine glass. It had nothing to do with getting one of his oldest friends installed in his Manhattan neighborhood. Jack had no hidden agenda revolving around getting all her thick blond hair within easy reach.

At least, that’s what he told himself as he followed her into the dining room. ’Cause he had a truckload of experience when it came to sublimating his own wishes to do what was best for an old friend. And just because his efforts came up short with Ty, didn’t mean he couldn’t make a difference in Becca’s life. Jack refused to accept that both of them would throw away a bright future handed to them on a silver platter. Probably covered with one of the fucking doilies framed behind glass circling the entire room. Yeah, Becca needed to get the hell out of here...and fast.

Chapter Six

A thin crust of ice atop the snow crunched beneath Becca’s boots. It was a cheerful wintertime sound that made her think of bulging stockings and glittery gift wrap. Of course, it also made her anticipate the schnapps-spiked cocoa awaiting them later. Cutting down Christmas trees with the cast was one of her favorite holiday traditions.

Trudging beside her, however, Jack looked more like a man on his way to an execution. Well, a very sexy lumberjack on his way to an execution. She couldn’t overlook how carrying an axe on his shoulder transformed him from city slicker bad boy to rugged outdoorsman. That and the fact that he’d temporarily ditched his leather duster. One of the cast members had loaned him a parka for the expedition. Topping off jeans and a flannel shirt over a turtleneck, Jack looked as Minnesota native as everyone else. Bottom line, though, it didn’t matter what he wore. One look at Jack Whittaker set her heart pumping triple time. Even more so now that she’d seen him with his shirt off. Sure, she’d seen him like that before. But the difference between his teenaged body and the grown man was about twenty pounds of solid, defined muscle that made her drool just thinking about it. And wonder how soon she’d get to see the rest of him naked.

When he kicked at a mound of snow and grunted—grunted!—Becca decided she’d had enough of his mopiness. He hadn’t said a word since she’d picked him up. Breaking the unexpected ice between them might take a lot more than small talk, but she’d give it a whirl.

“Did you like dinner last night?”

Jack didn’t even spare her a glance. “It was great.”

Okay. More than a one-word answer, but monosyllables didn’t give her much to go on. “My mother’s a horrible cook. Luckily, Gram passed on all her kitchen magic to me, along with her recipes.”

Another grunt. Not that she expected much back and forth from him on family recipes. It was just a lead-in to a topic guaranteed to wring a smile out of him. “Dinner came out fine. I thought what happened after dinner, though, far eclipsed it.” Becca hip-checked him to drive home her innuendo.

A full hour of making out on the couch with him like teenagers had led to some pretty graphic dreams, all starring Jack Whittaker. One with him on a pirate ship with a sword and low-slung leather pants. His goatee must’ve jump-started that one. Another had them on a bed of furs in an igloo. Probably stemming from the fact she’d forgotten to turn on her electric blanket. She only hoped he’d been similarly tortured.

“Uh huh.”

Weird. She’d been expecting a knowing wink. Maybe a come-hither leer. Better yet, an invitation to do it all again after tonight’s rehearsal. He’d certainly left her house with a massive grin and a spring in his step. Becca checked over both shoulders to be sure no one could overhear. But Jack had dragged his heels so much that everyone else was far ahead of them, almost to the start of symmetrical green rows of pine trees. Still, she lowered her voice a bit.

“Didn’t you have a good time last night?”

“Was I supposed to fill out a scorecard?” he snapped. “Or did you want me to leave a review on your Facebook page? Something you can print out, frame and hang on the hallway wall?”

Shocked to the core by his hurtful response, Becca stopped in her tracks. It took Jack about ten steps to realize she was no longer by his side. Or to care. She wasn’t sure which. At least, not until he dropped the axe to the snow, whirled around and rushed back to her. Then he locked his hands around her arms. Lowered his forehead to hers.

“God, I’m sorry. That was an awful thing to say.”

Still smarting, Becca gave him a taste of his own medicine. “Uh huh.”

“I didn’t mean it. Everything we did together last night—not just the kissing—was great. More fun than I’ve had in weeks. You made me forget about Ty and just be in the moment.” Jack pressed a kiss to the middle of her forehead. “Forgive me?”

How could she not? Especially when she could see the red rims around and bags beneath his eyes. Definitely put there by misery and not sex dreams. “It’ll cost you at least five extra kisses. And a back rub.” Becca took his hand and started walking again. “What’s the matter? Are you having a fashion allergy to plaid?” she teased. And hoped the light-hearted note might pull him out of his doldrums.

It sort of worked. He snort-laughed. “As a matter of fact, it’s the puffy parka. I don’t like walking around looking like a giant marshmallow man.”

“You’re going to be lying on your back in the snow, cutting down trees. Preventing hypothermia trumps fashion.”

“I know.” He waved at the scattering of people in front of them, spreading through the tree farm with saws and axes. “I guess it’s more that I’m uncomfortable looking like everyone else. Like a Minnesotan. Like I fit in. Because I don’t. I shouldn’t be here. I don’t want to be here.”

Becca pointed at Rick Ryerson. The deputy mayor, anticipating a photo op, had for some reason donned a shiny blue snowsuit that looked like puffy overalls. His horrible toupee straggled out from beneath a Vikings knit cap. “At least you don’t look like him.”

“What a piece of work. He’s emailed me twice already. One was a warning about not going on a bender with the hotel minibar on LPP’s dime. Which isn’t costing you a cent, by the way, because I’m covering the hotel myself. You guys can’t afford to waste money on keeping me in clean sheets. The other was a request to ride next to him in the Holidazzle parade.”

“What’s really the matter?” Becca stopped in front of a bushy tree. It didn’t sit too low to the ground, so Jack would have room to wiggle underneath. “Tell me now, and then you can work out all your frustration on the tree trunks.”

He dropped to his knees and disappeared beneath the branches. “I haven’t heard from Ty. Not once. It’s been three days.” A dull thud rang out. “Christ, this is hard. I think this trunk’s frozen solid.”

Becca didn’t expect the tree to fall anytime soon, but she put a hand on the trunk to steady it just in case. “Isn’t that standard practice when you check into rehab? Not that I’m an expert or anything, but I thought patients were cut off from all contact with friends and family for the first few days. For a full physical and emotional detox.”

Another couple of thuds sent woodchip slivers flying sideways. “I can’t talk to him, but he can send me a monitored email once a day. Promised to, in fact. Did the other times he went.”

“Ty’s behind locked doors, surrounded by medical professionals. I’m sure he’s safe.” Marty Ecklund waved to them from the end of the row. She mimed a sawing motion at him, and he nodded.

“Not by a long shot. I got so worried that I called over there. Discovered that Ty checked himself out. Against medical advice. Hell, against his lawyer’s advice.”

No wonder Jack looked so worried. “After only three days? How long’s he supposed to stay?”

“Three months, minimum.”

Marty darted between two trees carrying a saw. He knelt next to Jack’s legs. “Uff da. Long way down on these old knees. How ya doing, sport?”

“Not great.”

“Try this.” He slid the saw across the snow to Jack. Then he patted Jack’s knee. “You’ll get the hang of it. There are enough of us here that you’ll probably only have to do two or three trees. Once they’re all lining the lobby and you take that first whiff of pine before the show every night, it’ll be worth it.” Surprisingly spry, the older man darted toward the voices caroling at the end of the row.

“Every night? That’s a laugh.” Jack flipped over. “I’ll be out of here before the curtain falls on opening night.”

Technically, a director—especially one brought in from out of town—didn’t have to stay for the entire run of a show. But Becca knew Jack’s calendar had been wiped clean by Ty’s stint in rehab. What was his rush? “Why?”

“Why not?” he countered. “Why the hell would I stay? My job’s done as soon as that first audience walks through the door. Did you really expect me to stick around like a crazy stage mom, clapping for joy every night?”

Expect? No. Hope? You betcha. “Maybe.”

“I hate Minnesota. I hate Christmas. Those facts aren’t news to you.” He angled his head out from beneath the branches to stare at her. “I’m not one of these trees. You can’t tinsel my heart and expect to turn me into Santa Claus.”

“I know.” But she could try. Try to free him from the bitter shell of his past.
Season of Celebration
had melted far harder hearts than his. Its effect on people truly was magical.

“Truth is, I need to leave as soon as I can. I can’t risk spending one extra day in this godforsaken state.”

* * *

Becca’s shoulders drooped. Damn it, he’d done it again. Jack tugged at the bottom of her long white parka. “Come down here.” She sat while he wriggled out from the long, poking needles.

“I’m sorry you’re so miserable.”

“I’m sorry I’m so miserable too—such a miserable bastard, I mean.” Could he be more of a tool? Jack rose to his haunches. Took her mittened hand. “Look, when I’m on a movie set, I have to watch what I say. Gotta stroke the actors. Kowtow to the investors. Placate the crew. So in my personal life, I’ve gotten in the habit of letting it all hang out. Saying the first damn thing that comes into my head. When I’m at parties, people probably think I’m drunk. When I’m with women, they’re so googly eyed at being out with the great Jack Whittaker, they don’t give a shit what comes out of my mouth, as long as they can crawl into my bed at the end of the night.”

“Sounds like you have lovely friends.” Her sharp sarcasm would’ve cut through the damn pine trunk twice as fast as the axe.

“I don’t,” he said bluntly. “I’m a workaholic. What I’ve got are people who pretend to like me because they want my influence. Women who pretend to like me because they either want my body or a role in my next picture. I make friends with everyone on a set, but then they’re gone in three months, off on another project. No family. I’ve got Ty. Period. And now I don’t even have him.” Something about Becca pulled the truth out of him faster than five tequila shooters. “I’m scared shitless.”

“Oh. Oh, Jack.” Pity coated her voice like cough syrup down a raw throat.

“It’s no excuse for being such a jerk. Especially not to you. But right or wrong, it’s the reason.”

She surged closer to nestle her head against his chest. “I understand. And I’m sorry you’re...lonely.”

Becca soothed his rough edges faster than five shots of tequila. Whipping off his glove, Jack stroked his hand down the silken sheet of her hair. “I don’t need to get out of Dodge to get away from you, Becca. All I want to do is cancel every single rehearsal and hang out with you. But I do need to go look for Ty. Find him before he gets tossed in jail. Again. Or worse.”

“That’s why you want to leave.”

“People have a hard time saying no to Ty.” His hand stilled. “God knows you never did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Forget it.” Dwelling on the past wouldn’t fix the present. “Suppliers are going to sell him drugs. Star-struck wanna-bes will laugh at his antics. I’m the only one who says no to him. And I can’t go after him. Not yet. No, I’m stuck in my hated hometown doing Ty’s job. Other people in our production company are covering for me, scrambling to reschedule all the projects over the next year.” Jack shook his head. “So many people are affected by Ty’s backslide.”

“If all your projects for a year are canceled, what will you do?”

“Not sure. We’ve been partners for so long it feels weird to even contemplate working solo while Ty gets his act together. My entire life feels upside down.”

She threw herself backward across his lap. “Maybe you could embrace the upside down.”

That tugged a smile out of him. Faintly, he could hear another verse of “Good King Wenceslaus” starting. Man, those people never stopped singing. “I’m all for some outdoor fun. But do you really want Marty Ecklund to stumble upon us with my hand up your shirt?”

“God, no!” She laughed. “Not everything is about sex. I meant that you should take this opportunity to try something different. Something you and Ty never would’ve done together. Come on, even in the best partnerships, you don’t agree one hundred percent of the time. What’s the last thing he thumbs-downed that you wanted to do?”

Jack didn’t have to dig deep at all for the answer. “A historical. Not a big, flashy costume drama. More a slice of life about the women left behind by the knights of the Crusades. This indie script that fired me up the first time I read it.” And the third, and the fifth. “But Ty hates history.”

“I remember. He tried to cheat off of both of us for two years straight in American and European history class.”

“Ty wouldn’t even listen to me pitch it. I tried a couple of times. Even dangled the hook of a shot at another shiny statuette for his mantel at him. Didn’t do any good.”

“Is it still available?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t want her to ask how he knew. How much this thing got its claws into him that Jack kept tabs on it. So he wiggled back under the tree and started sawing at it again.

“You need to grab the silver lining in this whole, ugly mess. Say yes to the exciting challenge of doing something new. By yourself. For yourself.”

Hell. He’d been so mired in the downside of not having a partner that Jack hadn’t bothered to see the obvious advantage. Becca opened his eyes to the prospect. It was freeing. Adventurous. Kinda felt like an African rhino being lifted off his chest. Then the tree creaked and started to lean.

“Shit!” Jack rolled out as fast as he could. Luckily, the pine fell in the opposite direction with a final snap of its trunk. Becca’s laughter pealed through the icy air. A smattering of applause started, then grew louder. His cast ran toward him, cheering. Even the pain-in-the-ass deputy mayor was clapping and smiling at Jack’s achievement.

Huh. No divas, no personal agendas, no Hollywood types. Just a cast coming together as a community to celebrate. It didn’t suck. They formed a circle around his felled pine and began to sing “O Christmas Tree.” And he had to admit, for this one moment, it was kinda nice to have his own personal soundtrack.

Marty offered his hand to pull Jack up. “You ready for the next one?”