Hot Spot (15 page)

He took a bite of the burger, chewed for several seconds and then laughed for no apparent reason. After he’d swallowed, he said, “I was just thinking about the upside of field reporting. No personal trainer breathing down your neck. The down side is that most of the places you end up, you couldn’t get a meal like this not even for a thousand bucks.”

“What do you eat when you’re way out in the desert or jungle?”

“MREs just like the military.” At her blank look, he added, “It’s the new name for rations—Meals Ready To Eat. New name, same bad taste.”

She made a face.

“You don’t mind. Not when you’re in the middle of the action. So much happening all around you, your adrenaline rocketing so high you don’t care much about anything else.” He looked out toward the sidewalk, past the people rushing to or from lunch. His mind was far away, wrapped around some fond memory he hadn’t shared. “You’re right there, right in the middle of history being made.”

“It does sound exciting,” she said, and he looked back at her as if he’d forgotten she was there, as well. She took no offense. She understood, even appreciated his fervor. That kind of passion was something everyone deserved. At least once in their lifetime.

“I’ll show you some footage of me reporting the Gulf War.” He shrugged, looking somewhat embarrassed. “If you want. No big deal.”

“I’d love to see it.” Her heart thudded. Was he kidding? He’d all but said he wanted to see her again. “In fact, I think it’s only fair you do, if you want to see my work.”

He grinned. “Deal.”

“Deal.”

They continued to eat and talk, as if they’d met years ago instead of just last week. It got to the point where she barely noticed the stares. But when they were almost done, a woman and her daughter approached him for an autograph, and Madison watched him graciously abandon his lunch and take the pen.

She wasn’t sure she could be as cordial. They could’ve waited until he was done eating. But she didn’t say anything, didn’t even smile when the woman gave her a curious look.

Instead she finished her fries, battling anger that so many people seemed to think Jack was public domain. Were they raised by wolves, for goodness’ sake? How could he stand it? Everyone seemed to want a piece of him.

Including her.

The unwelcome thought made her stomach roil. She pushed it aside. Their relationship was different. Professionally, the idea was that they mutually benefited. Personally, she wanted nothing from him. At least, nothing more than he wanted from her.

As soon as the woman and her daughter left, Jack said, “Sorry about that.”

“You don’t need to apologize. These people and their lack of manners appall me.”

“Now that’s something I won’t miss.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I’m out in the field.”

“Yeah, but you’ve gotta come back sometime,” she said wryly.

The way he avoided her eyes stirred her curiosity.

“You are planning to stay with the morning show, right?”

“I don’t know. Probably. Like I said, I’ll be signing a new contract soon.” He winked. “So who knows?”

“Don’t look now,” she said, watching two women who’d apparently spotted them and actually come off the street hurrying through the open restaurant in their
direction. “But I think you’re about to get assaulted for another autograph.”

“Ah, hell.” He quickly signaled the waitress for the check. “We’d better get out of here. I assume you have more shots to take.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Madison watched silently as he courteously signed autographs for each of the women and listened patiently about how they were from Nebraska, a town not far from where he grew up. She only half listened while mentally replaying their earlier conversation. The passion in his voice echoed in her head. He wanted back in the field. No doubt about that. And he had no intention of coming back to the morning show. He may not know it yet. But she did.

M
ADISON SAT
at the head of her double bed, her legs drawn to her chest, arms wrapped around them, taking up as little room as possible, afraid to move for fear of disturbing the dozens of photographs of Jack she had laid on the bed. The rest covered the cheap tan carpeted floor, her tiny oak dresser, the bulletin boards nailed to her walls.

But she didn’t want to use the larger sparser living room like she normally would. Couldn’t bring herself to share any of these yet. She had two roommates, one a flight attendant and the other a buyer for Macy’s. They each had weird or busy schedules and rarely saw each other, which worked out great. But tonight of all nights, Bethany was home.

So Madison had hibernated with all her treasures surrounding her. If someone walked in on her, she’d easily be accused of stalking. Jack’s face was everywhere. Smiling Jack, brooding Jack, playful Jack and her favorite…Sexy Jack.

Her gaze drew to the one positioned at the foot of her bed. Propped up slightly, she immediately found his eyes, lion’s eyes, dark golden with such raw and feral
desire, her heart pounded. His lips were ever so slightly parted, his full lower lip nearly three-dimensional and his jaw and chin shadowed with stubble.

She’d taken that photograph of him in the parlor suite as he gazed down at her. Her! He was looking like that at her. Madison Marie Tate. Holy Moly.

She hugged her legs tighter, closed her eyes, remembering that day less than a week ago as if it were happening now, as if she could feel his mouth on her lips, his palms cupping her breasts, his cock driving into her, hard, fast, furious. She opened her eyes, barely able to catch her breath, and there he was in front of her, stealing every ounce of common sense she possessed.

What was she going to do? She knew exactly which pictures she should submit. The one that would surely win her the cover. That was painfully obvious. But could she? And it wasn’t just about him. In fact, because of his hectic schedule, she hadn’t seen him since the weekend, but he’d called three times and not once asked about the pictures.

Of course, she knew which ones he’d veto if asked. And they had a deal. But that wasn’t even her dilemma. She’d created her own problem. Yeah, she still wanted the cover. But did she really want it as badly as she had before?

She gazed again at the picture at the foot of her bed. This was her Jack. The man who’d ignited something in her she hadn’t known existed. It didn’t matter that their relationship was fleeting. He’d secured a place in her heart forever.

Did she really want to share that Jack with the world?

“B
RING ME A CUP
of black coffee, would you, sweetheart?” Larry said, presumably to Lana, before he entered Jack’s office and closed the door.

“Christ, Larry, don’t call her sweetheart.”

“What?”

“And get your own coffee. I get mine.”

Larry stared at him as if he’d grown an extra nose. “Aren’t we chipper today?”

He sat in a leather chair across from Jack’s desk, automatically patting his breast pocket for his cigarettes, even though he knew he couldn’t smoke in Jack’s office. That meant he was nervous. Jack didn’t blame him. The older man wasn’t going to like what he had to say.

“All right, give me the bad news first.” Larry slumped in the chair, his jowls sagging like a basset hound’s.

No sense sugar coating it. “I have two changes I want made to my contract.”

Larry sighed heavily. “Tell me it’s for more money. They’ll give you more money.”

“You know better.”

“Yeah, unfortunately.”

A brief knock at the door preceded Lana’s entrance. Smiling, she carried in two mugs of coffee and set them on the desk in front of them.

“Thanks, Lana.”

“No problem.”

“See?” Larry immediately picked up his mug and winked at her. “She doesn’t mind.”

“Lana, do me a favor,” Jack said, and she stopped expectantly at the door. “Next time this guy asks you for coffee, tell him to get it himself.”

Battling a smile, she wordlessly let herself out, closing the door behind her.

Larry muttered a mild oath. “With the mood you’re in, I’d rather discuss this another day, but we’re running out of time.”

Jack looked him sternly in the eye. “There’s no discussion. I want a fifty-fifty split.”

“What? Fifty percent of your time away reporting stories?”

Jack nodded.

“You’re crazy. They won’t go for that. They won’t even go for twenty.”

“And I don’t want them sending me to Paris to cover Bastille Day or to London for the Queen’s birthday. I want real assignments. The grittier the better.”

“Jack, read my lips. I’m telling you they won’t do it. No way. Forget it.”

He stiffened. The hell he’d forget it. Maybe he wouldn’t get the fifty, but he wouldn’t settle for less than forty. “Maybe they have a new anchor in mind.”

“You’re not serious.” Larry looked pale and shaken. “Come on, have you stopped to think about how much you have to lose?”

Jack nodded solemnly. He’d thought about little else for the past week. With the exception of Madison. He’d thought a lot about her, too. Maybe too much. Not just about the sex, which was beyond incredible. Her passion had inspired him. Reminded him of how he used to feel about his work. How he needed to feel again.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t concerned, even a little scared. Larry was right. He had a lot to lose. But he had more to lose if he didn’t go for it. He’d be lost himself.

M
ADISON ANSWERED
her cell phone, her pulse already starting to pick up speed. She knew it was him from the Caller ID.

“Hey,” she said casually and hurried to the dark room for privacy and quiet. The client hadn’t arrived yet, but Shelly was reading one of her tabloids out front.

“Good morning.”

The deep timbre of his voice never failed to send a shiver down her spine. For some reason it sounded more seductive on the phone. Which didn’t make sense, unless it was because on the phone she wasn’t distracted by his beautiful hazel eyes or his muscular chest.

“You sound as if you just woke up.”

“I’m hurt. You obviously didn’t watch my show today.”

“I taped it. I’ll watch it later.”

He laughed. “Right.”

Little did he know that was the absolute truth. All week she’d been taping the show each morning and watching it at least twice, skipping commercials and segments that didn’t include him. She was nuts. Certifiably. She didn’t care.

“I was wondering if you were doing anything tonight?”

She smiled. “What do you suggest?”

“Dinner.”

“Eating is always good.”

“My place?”

“You’re cooking?”

He chuckled. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“I’m a takeout kind of gal myself.” Actually, a candy bar or two made a great lunch, a granola bar when she got disgusted with herself and tried to be healthy.

“I have a better idea. Let’s meet at Hush.”

“For dinner?”

“We’ll stay there, spend the night in one of the suites and order room service. Tomorrow’s Saturday. I don’t have to get up early.”

“That’s crazy.” She cupped her hand over the phone, hoping Shelly hadn’t heard her voice go up a couple of octaves.

“Why?”

“It’s way too expensive.”

“I make a lot of money, remember?”

“Show-off.”

“You know better.” His voice lowered. “What good is money if I can’t spend it on someone I care about?”

She bit her lip, thrilled at his words, but struggling not to give it too much weight.

“Anyway, this will be a kind of celebration.”

“For?”

“I’ll tell you tonight.”

She heard commotion out front and knew her clients had arrived. “I have to go.”

“Tonight then?”

She hesitated. Of course she was going to see him. But it seemed like such a waste of money. Still, she couldn’t exactly ask him to her place…

“Come on, Madison,” he said coaxingly, “aren’t you curious about the toy chest?”

Her breath caught. “What time?”

J
ACK WAITED FOR HER
in the bar, the one where they’d first met. The place was crowded with Manhattan’s beautiful people, being Friday afternoon and Hush being the hot spot of the hour. Fortunately, a couple of popu
lar stage and screen actors were also there, so at least Jack wasn’t bombarded for autographs or small talk.

However, a blond woman who looked barely old enough to be in the bar had approached him when he first sat down. She’d been annoying and pushy, and he politely told her he was waiting for someone. After that, it didn’t take long for her to lose interest.

He took a sip of his scotch, checked his watch and glanced over his shoulder hoping Madison would be early as usual. It was hard not seeing her all week, harder than he’d anticipated. He’d talked to her every day, though, and three times today. Each time he’d remembered something else he needed to tell her. Surprisingly she hadn’t, in true Madison fashion, told him to get a life.

Someone bumped into him from behind and, annoyed, he turned around. It was Madison. She gave him a funny look, reared her head back and said, “Do I know you from somewhere?”

A couple sitting next to him looked over in amusement.

He shook his head. “Uh, no, I don’t believe so.”

“Hmm, I could’ve sworn we’d met before.” She planted herself on the stool he’d saved for her. “Buy me a drink while I mull this over.”

The couple’s gazes locked in amazement, and the woman looked as if she were about to spit out her drink.

“What would you like?” Jack wouldn’t have minded playing along, but he wanted so badly to kiss her. So he did. A brief touching of lips, mostly friendly, nothing nearly satisfying, but enough that her eyes widened and color blossomed in her cheeks.

“Um, do you think that was wise?” she whispered,
sliding the couple a worried glance. They’d caught on and returned to their own business.

“Did I embarrass you?”

“Of course not. I was thinking of you.”

“Screw ’em,” he whispered back, a second before he kissed her again. This time he lingered, tasting the peach flavor that coated her lips.

She broke contact first. “For a guy who didn’t want his picture taken in this hotel, you sure are pushing the envelope.”

He had to laugh. “You’re right. Look what you’ve done to me.”

“Me?”

Not quite ready to tell her this was his first step in asserting his independence, he simply smiled. And then he bumped his leg on something and looked down. It was her briefcase. All by itself. He frowned. “Where’s your overnight bag?”

“Everything’s in there,” she said, indicating the briefcase with a nod of her head.

“Everything?”

“You said we’re having room service.” Her lips curved in a teasing smile that managed to be sexy as hell. “I figured I didn’t need to bring much. And a briefcase is so much less telling.”

He caught her meaning, and a warmth spread throughout his chest. Her concern wasn’t for herself but for him. “I hope you made room for the photographs I asked you to bring.”

She nodded slowly. “I brought eight of my favorites just as you wanted. I also brought a dozen I took of you. The final cut, so to speak.”

“Good.” He’d been trying not to think about those. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to see them. What he did want was for her to get that cover she was convinced she needed. And she was right. Being awarded a cover for
Today’s Man
would be a major career boost.

The bartender took her order while Jack’s thoughts had taken a detour, and he was sorry he hadn’t asked her if she wanted to go up to the suite instead. Of course, that would have defeated the purpose of asking her to meet him here. He didn’t want her to think their relationship was only about sex, or that she was his dirty little secret, good for behind closed doors but nothing more.

“When did you get here?” she asked, turning to face him, her denim-covered legs bumping his knees. She started to move them but he put a hand on her thigh.

He didn’t want her angling away. He liked looking at her, liked getting lost in her warm brown eyes. “I got to the hotel about half an hour ago, got checked in, took my stuff up and then rushed down here about ten minutes ago trying to beat the crowd.” Glancing around, he saw that few tables were left and nothing at the bar. “Happy hour starts earlier than I remember.”

“Fridays tend to be like this. Everyone seems to get a half hour head start on the weekend.” She cocked her head to the side and gazed thoughtfully at him. “You get up so early, I guess your happy hour starts at about noon, huh?”

“Yeah, right.”

“What do you do after the show?”

“Research, pretape interviews, phone interviews, prepare for the next day, that sort of thing.”

“When do you nap?”

He smiled. “I go to bed early instead. Pretty boring, huh?”

She grinned back. “I thought all you celeb types partied the night away.”

“Not morning-show staff. You might try in the beginning but you learn quickly that four in the morning comes damn fast.” He recalled his early days, young and brash and full of himself—he’d tried to do it all, any A-list party and he was there.

“Of course it has nothing to do with getting old.”

“Definitely not.” He gave her a mock glare. “What do you do in your free time? Besides visit psychics.”

Her glare was genuine. “Hilarious.”

He started to laugh and then a crazy thought struck him. “Do you think she was talking about me?”

“Who?”

“Madam Zora.”

Her martini arrived and she quickly took a sip, glancing sideways at him. After a longer sip, clearly not keen on discussing the subject, she put the glass down and started on her olive.

He snorted. “You thought about it, too.”

“That’s ridiculous. You know better.”

He didn’t know what to believe. “Come on. What you told me…It’s not so far out there.”

She shoved her hair back with a shaky hand and moistened her lips. “Do you know how crazy this sounds?”

“Yeah, but it’s possible. There is evidence that some people have a kind of sixth sense. The police and FBI have used them. Who’s to say Zora isn’t one of those people.” He paused, fascinated with how nervous she
was getting. “Her accuracy is the reason she’s become so popular.”