Julia London (8 page)

“Me, too!” She
laughed again.

She talked excitedly about it as they walked down the street to a
restaurant. Kelly hardly noticed—she just walked through the door, still talking as Parker
opened it, then fell into a seat the maître d’ showed her to, exhausted and thrilled and
suddenly very happy to be with the one guy in all of New York she never thought she’d
like.

It didn’t hurt that he was sharing in her excitement, oohing and aahing at
all the right moments, hanging on her every word—and looking so incredibly handsome while
he did it.

They ordered lunch, and Kelly told him how long she had wanted this, how it
was so great because ESPN was in Connecticut, still close to New York, which she loved,
and how this was a dream come true.

“I know how you must feel,” he said.
“It’s sort of like getting the call that they are bringing you up from the minors.” And he
went on to tell her about the day he got The Call. Even now, ten years later, he still
sounded excited and grateful and proud.

“It will probably be a big
adjustment for you,” he said. “You’ll have to work all the time to get a show like that up
and running.”

Kelly laughed. “I work all the time as it is, so that’s nothing
new.”

“Oh come on—surely you don’t work
all
the time. No one works
all
the time. What do you like to do when you’re not working?”

“I don’t know,”
she said, thinking about that. “I work out. I read a lot.”

“Anything
else?”

“Like what?”

“Like, I don’t know,
guys
? Do you date? Do you have
friends? Do you eat the young in your family for breakfast?”

She couldn’t
help laughing. “Only occasionally and always fried. Yes, of course I have friends, Parker.
Hard to believe, I know, but some people actually
like
me.”

“Guys?”

“Guys?”

“Do
guys
like you,” he reiterated.

“Hey,” she said
with a laugh and forked a huge bite of cheesecake they were sharing in celebration of the
ESPN call. “
Guys
like me. At least I think they do. Okay, honestly, it’s been a
while since I had time to date, so I’m not really sure anymore. It’s my hours,” she said,
by way of explanation. “What about you? Friends? Dates who aren’t groupies?
Kids?”

“No kids. Tons of friends. Lots of dates, too, but no one steady in about
five years.”

“Aha,” she said and pointed a fork with a hunk of cheesecake at him. “You’re
the old wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of guy.”

“I most
certainly am not,” he said, taking the fork from her hand and eating the hunk of
cheesecake. “I will have you know that I enjoy the company of a beautiful woman because I
am a man. Men like women. But that does not make me a slut.”

“Sure, Romeo,”
she said, and snatched her fork back, took another piece of the cheesecake, and popped it
in her mouth.

“I’m serious. I don’t date a lot because most women I meet want to go out
with me because I am quasi-famous or rich, which seems to be my best assets as far as they
are concerned.”

“Wow,” she said, realizing, for the first time, that there might possibly be
a downside to being Parker Price on any given day. “So what do you do with all those
freeloaders when you date them? Take them to the museum?”

He laughed. “I have reserved that
for my dates who are culturally challenged,” he said, putting down his fork. “I don’t
know. Dinner, I guess. Or maybe catch a show. And if we hit it off, maybe a
nightcap.”

“Uh-huh. At your place.”

“No. At a nice, quiet
club.”

“Huh,” she said. “That actually sounds like a nice date. But not one I’d go
on.”

“Why not?”

“Too boring.”

“Oh yeah? What would your ideal date
be?”

“Well, if I were going out with someone like you, for example, I’d probably
take him to the batting cage and give him a few pointers,” she said with a
wink.

Parker laughed. “God help me the day I get batting tips from
you.”

“Then, if a guy like you actually started to improve his batting, I’d
probably take him to a Yankees game so he could see the big boys play.”

“Oh, now that’s
a low blow,” he said, slapping a hand over his heart.

“Better than
Broadway,” she said.

“Depends on one’s perspective.”

“Museums aren’t
that great, either—”

“Uh-uh,” he said instantly, shaking his head and signaling for
the check. “You agreed and you owe me. We’re going to a museum.”

“Great,” Kelly
said with a playful sigh and polished off the cheesecake.

But actually, today, even a museum
sounded good.

Parker couldn’t believe the amount
of crap a two-hour morning radio show apparently generated, based on the stuff Kelly was
carrying. She had a bag hanging off both shoulders, plus she had an armload of binders.
When she suggested they drop off the stuff at her apartment, he couldn’t agree fast
enough.

Of course she lived in a walk-up. Parker was impressed that, even though she
was carrying what he thought had to be thirty pounds, she jogged up the stairs to the
third-floor of a pre-war brownstone that had been parsed into six apartments. Hers was on
the top floor, where she fit her key into the door and flung it open. He liked fit
women.

Kelly’s apartment was small, but it had twelve-foot ceilings,
floor-to-ceiling bay windows that overlooked the community garden between buildings, and
hardwood floors. She had an overstuffed brocade couch and giant chair in the middle of her
living room—the only room in the place, save the bedroom—and a fireplace that had been
bricked off but still had a very cool brass
mantel. The kitchen was
small but larger than what was typical in New York, and she had new
appliances.

“Make yourself at home, and I’ll be right with you!” she called,
disappearing into the bedroom.

Parker put her laptop on a small table near the kitchen and
walked into the big living area. There was a small TV in one corner, but at the angle it
sat, he had the impression it was seldom used. She was an avid reader, too, judging by the
many ways books had been stuffed into her built-in bookcases. A row of pictures along the
mantel caught his eye, and he wandered over to have a look. There were pictures of Kelly
with a dog and with a woman who looked a lot like her. Another was of a family gathering
of some sort, a picture of her at a bar with a bunch of people.

But no
guy
. Excellent. No former lover. No guy pal.

“What are you doing?”

He turned
around—Kelly had changed her black sweater and donned a wispy, long-sleeved flowery
pirate-looking shirt through which he could see a very lacy bra, and she’d let down her
hair from the pony tail; it fell in soft blond waves around her shoulders. Damn. Just when
he thought she was about as hot as a woman could possibly be, she turned up the
flame.

“Hello?” she said, laughing a little.

“Just looking at your pictures,” he
said, gesturing blindly to the mantel behind him.

“I should really put up some new
ones. Those are ancient.” She walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and pulled out a
bottle of water. “Want some?”

Parker nodded and followed her into the kitchen. She ducked
behind the refrigerator door and then stood up, smiling brightly, and handed him a water.
When he took it from her, he couldn’t help himself—he let his fingers linger on hers. And
then he drank, watching her.

Kelly—beautiful, self-assured Kelly—flushed a little and put
her bottle back in the fridge, closed the door, stood there looking at it,
opened it again, and took the bottle out. “Water,” she said, as if reminding herself
what she was doing.

“Shall we get going?” Parker asked, enjoying the soft pink of
her skin.

“Yeah. Can’t wait to get to the museum,” she said with a roll of her eyes,
and opened the fridge door, put the bottle of water back in, and shut it. She glanced up
at Parker, smiled, and then tried to step around him. But her kitchen was too small, and
she accidentally brushed up against him.

With the woman’s near-perfect body,
clad in a flimsy pirate shirt and lacy bra holding round, perky breasts against him, his
one hundred percent male body went into full alert at the feel of a woman’s body against
it. Without thinking, Parker put up an arm to stop her from going any
farther.

Pressed up against him, the counter behind her, and stopped by his arm,
Kelly laughed softly and lifted a blistering green gaze to his face. “What are you doing?”
she asked his lips.

“Don’t know,” he answered truthfully and lowered his mouth to
hers.

He couldn’t help it—she was so pretty, so spunky, so sexy. He touched her
lips, lightly and carefully, just enough to taste her. But then the pure male in him
sprang to rapt attention, and he put down the bottle of water he was holding and slipped
his arm around her waist, drawing her in even closer, nipping lightly at her lower
lip.

He expected Kelly to push him away, to slap him. But once again, she
surprised him. She didn’t do any of that, just opened her mouth beneath his and breathed
sweet breath into his mouth. That was it, all the invitation he needed, because he was
suddenly kissing her with every ounce of himself, his tongue in her mouth, his hands on
her body, sliding up and down, over her breasts, down her hips.

When Kelly came
up for air, she said breathlessly, “This isn’t me. I don’t just make out with guys I
hardly know.”

“Me, either,” he said, and kissed her again, swallowing
her laugh.

But Kelly pushed away. “No, seriously, I don’t do this.”

“We’re not doing
anything,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek, the bridge of her nose. “We’re just
saying hi.”

“If this is your ‘hi,’ I wonder what your ‘so long’ is like.”

“Hopefully, you
won’t have to find out.”

“Parker . . .” she reared back, looked at his eyes and then his
lips, her green gaze soft.

“Hey, for what it’s worth, I’m not exactly the guy who starts
off like this, either.”

“Then why are you?”

“Because, Kelly O’Shay, from the
moment we met, I have been thinking about you,” he answered honestly. “I’ve been thinking
about how funny you are, and how you aren’t wowed by celebrity and you don’t think I’m the
guy who can get you or keep you out of trouble. But most of all,” he said, pausing to nip
at her lip, “you’re just so damned good-looking.”

She laughed with surprise. “Really?”
she asked.

“Really.”

“And you’re attracted to me, even after everything I
said?”

“
Especially
after everything you said,” he said sternly.

Kelly grabbed
the collar of his shirt and yanked him close so that her luscious lips were just a moment
from his. “Even when I said you couldn’t hit the side of the Goodyear blimp?” she
whispered.

“Don’t push it,” he whispered in response, “But yeah, even
then.”

“That’s so
sweet
,” she purred, and planted her mouth firmly on his,
flicking her tongue against the seam of his lips.

Somewhere, in the back of his tiny
little man pea brain, Parker didn’t think he’d ever wanted a woman so bad in all his life
as he did right then and there, and grabbed her by the waist, crushing her to him, angling
his head so he could kiss her long and deep.

Kelly purred in
the back of her throat, and that was about all she wrote. He suddenly twirled her around,
pushed her up against the fridge, and started moving down her very curvy, very feminine,
and very sweet-smelling body. Kelly laughed low and huskily as refrigerator magnets went
flying and scudding across the kitchen floor.

He pressed his mouth against her
belly, through the gauzy fabric of her pirate shirt, while he filled his hands with her
breasts, then slid down, to the curve of her waist, and down again, digging his fingers
into the meat of her hips.

“Jesus, Parker,” Kelly said breathlessly. He rose back up,
claimed her mouth again, his tongue tangling with hers, sliding against her teeth, the
plump flesh of her mouth. Christ, she smelled so damn good—he could get high off a scent
like that.

He pressed against her, and Kelly pressed back, moving seductively against
his fly, which was straining to the point of bursting now. He’d had plenty of women in his
arms, but he was convinced in that moment that he’d never held or felt a more beautiful or
sexy woman than Kelly. He was one step away from yanking the pirate shirt from her body
when she suddenly put her hands against his shoulders and pushed.

He raised his
head, his mind swimming out of the fog of wanting her so bad, and looked at her. Kelly was
still up against the fridge. Her hair was all mussed up. Her lips were swollen from their
passionate kisses, and her neck was still wet where he’d kissed her. One long, booted leg
was hiked up against the fridge, too, and her skirt was pushed so far up he could almost
see Nirvana. Her eyelids hung heavy over warm green eyes, and she was smiling. One long,
satisfied little smile stretched across her lips.