Red (14 page)

“I had an appointment down the street,” he said. “At Tyler Creative. I thought I'd stop in and see what's happening with my favorite girls.”

“Absolutely nothing's happening.” Brianna pouted.
“Where have you been keeping yourself, Jack Gallagher? It's been dull as death around here without you.”

Sallie's son,
Becky Lynn realized. She moved her gaze over him, surprised. He didn't look like his mother. Sallie was quietly attractive with soft features and nondescript coloring.

Not her son. Nothing about him could be called quiet. Or nondescript. He was big, at least six foot four, and possessed a strong, distinctive face. He filled the doorway, the room, with a kind of ferocious energy, a vitality that made her feel small and threatened.

He strode into the room as if he owned the moment and everyone in it. Not arrogantly, not possessively. But as if he understood he had everyone's undivided attention.

And he did.

He tossed his portfolio on the table and bent over Brianna's hand, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I haven't been able to bear being around you since you hooked up with old what's-his-name.” He brought her hand to his mouth. “You broke my heart.”

“You bastard,” Marty said cheerfully, lighting a cigarette. “I thought I broke your heart.”

“I wouldn't break your heart, Jack.” Foster blew him a kiss. “I promise.”

“Just say the word—” Brianna lifted her face to his, her voice husky “—and old what's-his-name is history.”

“He can't afford you,” Marty snapped, sounding jealous. “Now me, I don't need so much to be happy. A little wine, a lot of sex, a few empty promises, more sex.”

These women weren't kidding, Becky Lynn realized, stunned. Not Marty or Brianna. Both women, although completely different types, acted as if they adored Jack
Gallagher, as if they would do anything for him—or with him. They were practically fighting over the man.

Joy burst into the break room, Linda right behind her. “Jack! We heard you were in here.”

First Joy kissed him, then Linda. Then Joy again.

“Our clients are soaking, so we can't stay.”

“But we just had to say hi.”

“Don't stay away so long next time.”

“Promise?”

Jack laughed, promised and soundly kissed each woman again. Brianna and Marty looked on, obviously annoyed. Foster watched, his expression amused.

Becky Lynn curved her arms around herself, uncomfortable. What would she do if he tried to touch or kiss her? The memory of the night Ricky and Tommy had brutalized her, filled her head. Her palms began to sweat, her pulse to thrum. Fear choked her.

Jack Gallagher wasn't a boy. He was a man, a big man. He could overpower her. He could hurt her.

Becky Lynn told herself she had nothing to fear; she told herself she was overreacting. She took a step backward, anyway, intent on escaping before he noticed her.

No such luck. He turned his gaze to her; dimples cut his cheeks as he flashed his quick, beautiful smile her way. “Hi.”

Her heart began to pound; the inside of her mouth turned to ash. She took another step backward, using everything she had to keep her fear from showing. “Hello.”

“I'm Jack.” He crossed to her, still smiling. “Sallie's son.”

He had eyes like his mother's, an almost startling blue, framed by dark lashes. But where his mother's eyes were
kind, his were keen, his gaze sharp with intelligence. This man could see right inside her, she thought. He could see everything she was—and wasn't.

“Yes, I know.” She clasped her hands together. They shook. “The photographer.”

“That's me.” He smiled and swept his gaze over her. “Who are you?”

“That's our very own Blossom,” Foster drawled. “Visiting us from way down yonder in Mississippi.”

Jack arched his eyebrows. “Your name's Blossom?”

“No,” she corrected stiffly, tired of Foster's sarcasm. “My name's Becky Lynn. Excuse me, I have work to do.”

She angled past him. He caught her hand, stopping her. She lowered her eyes to his hand, large and strong as it curled around her own. He was too big, too strong, to fight off. He could overpower her without even trying.

“Don't run off on account of me, Becky Lynn. I'll be good, I promise.” He looked at her, into her eyes, and smiled. “Besides, I have some influence with the boss.”

Suddenly light-headed, she tugged her hand free of his. Acutely aware of all eyes on her, she squared her shoulders. “It was nice meeting you. Goodbye.”

Jack watched the girl—Becky Lynn—hurry off, one corner of his mouth lifting with wry amusement. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten such a cold shoulder from a woman, if he ever had. This girl had looked at him as if he were the devil himself.

Behind him, the hairdressers hooted with amusement. He turned to face them, grinning. “I think she likes me.”

“It's not you.” Marty sauntered across to the table and opened Jack's portfolio. “That's just her way.”

“You'll have to take your charm elsewhere, Jack.” Foster laughed. “Our Blossom doesn't open up to anybody.”

Jack shifted his gaze to the doorway through which Becky Lynn had disappeared. He drew his eyebrows together in thought, then swung his gaze back to Foster. “I wonder why?”

Foster shrugged and tossed his disposable coffee cup into the trash. “Don't know, don't care.” He checked his watch. “I'd better get back at it. Nice seeing you, Jack.”

Brianna checked her own watch, groaned and stood. “That's it for me, too.” She stood on tiptoe and fitted her mouth to his. Her breasts pillowed seductively against his chest. “Call me, Jack. I'd love to get together.”

Jack returned her kiss, murmured that he would, then watched her go. Marty was right, he couldn't afford Brianna, but what she wanted to do wouldn't cost a cent. And it just might be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

“These are wonderful. They're new, aren't they?”

“Mmm.” Jack crossed to stand behind Marty. He looked over her shoulder, studying the photos in question. “Good enough to get me a gig. Tyler Creative's art director went nuts over those shots.”

“That's great, Jack. Just…great.” She turned to face him. Tipping her head back to meet his gaze, she laid her hands on his chest. “They're incredible shots. Very sexy in a macho kind of way.”

“You think so?”

“Uh-huh.” She wet her lips and slid her hands to his shoulders. “I like that, you know that sexy…macho…thing.”

His pulse stirred, his manhood with it. It wouldn't take
much, just a nudge, and she would be his. He could have her here, now. She would find a place where they wouldn't be disturbed.

She had a pretty body, boyish but still soft. A pretty face. Her breasts would just fill his palms, her mouth would open greedily under his.

His body hardened, and he swore silently. Marty wanted sex. But she wanted more, too.

And the “more” he couldn't give her.

He caught her hands and squeezed them. “This isn't a good idea, Marty. In fact, it's an extremely bad idea.”

“What?” She leaned seductively into him. Her nipples were erect and poked against her thin spandex top. She would like to have them stroked and teased, he thought. She would like to have them kissed, would like to have him draw the peaks into his mouth. Her breasts, although small, were extremely sensitive. He could tell by the way she rubbed herself against him, could tell by the way her breathing changed as she did, could tell by the heat that came into her eyes.

He drew a ragged breath, completely aroused. “Sex, you and me.”

“Why?” She moved her torso against his again. “Don't you think I'm attractive?”

He lowered his hands to her hips and drew her pelvis to his. He was rock-hard and ready. “Oh, yeah, I think you're attractive, Marty. Sexy as hell. But I also know that unlike Brianna, sex isn't all you want. Twenty minutes from now, you'd hate my guts because it would be over.” He looked her straight in the eye. “And it would be over, Marty.”

He shifted his hands so they cupped her backside.
Arousal shot through him, and he wondered where the hell this streak of chivalry had come from. “If I'm wrong, don't move a muscle because I'm right here and I'm ready. But if I'm right…”

He let the thought trail off and Marty hesitated a moment, then pushed against his chest. He released her and she spun away from him, but not before he saw that her eyes were bright with tears.

“Thanks a lot,” she said softly. “For nothing, you shit.”

Jack watched her stalk out, then made a sound of disgust. Great. He'd tried, for maybe the first time in his life, to be nice, to be a gentleman, and got called a shit. If he had acted like what she had accused him of being, he would be in the storage closet right now, screwing his brains out. Damn.

He swore again and closed his book, then zipped it shut. Nice guys did finish last. He had the ache in his groin to prove it.

“Oh…I thought you'd left.”

Becky Lynn stood just inside the door, frozen like a deer caught in the sudden glare of headlights.

“Just leaving now.”

“I need—” she pointed to the storage closet “—supplies.”

A picture of him and Marty going at it in the closet filled his head, and he lifted his lips. Becky Lynn here would have had a heart attack.

He picked up his portfolio. “I'm not stopping you.”

“I…I know.” She angled her chin up, as if preparing for a battle, and skirted past him, putting as much physical distance between them as possible.

He drew his eyebrows together, suddenly annoyed. “I don't bite, you know.”

She looked back at him, startled. “Excuse me?”

He tossed his book back on the table and crossed to where she stood. “I don't bite. I don't have some contagious disease. As far as I know, I don't smell. So what's the deal?”

She stared blankly at him a moment, then shook her head. “Nothing. No deal. I'm busy, that's all.”

She turned her back to him, opened the storage-closet door and stepped inside. He watched her, mystified. “Have I done something to offend you?”

She shook her head but didn't look at him. He could see her counting and selecting bottles and jars. She wanted him to go away, to leave her alone, and she wasn't even being subtle about it.

He would be damned if he was going to give in so quickly. He leaned against the doorjamb. “How long have you been at The Image Shop?”

For a moment, she said nothing, and he wondered if she would even reply. Then she cleared her throat. “Two months.”

He frowned, waiting for her to say something else, to give him a bit of background or an explanation for having come all the way to California from Mississippi. None came.

“Do you like it here? At The Image Shop?”

“Yes.” She turned, her arms loaded with products. “Excuse me. I need to pass.”

He stepped forward to help her, and she took a step backward, her expression panicked. He stopped, confused. “I was just going to offer to help.” He gestured to her loaded arms. “You look like you need it.”

“I don't. Thank you.”

“You're being silly.” He made a sound of impatience and reached a hand toward her. “You have more than you can carry.”

“Don't!” She jerked backward, bumping into the metal shelves. With a sound of surprise, she swung sideways and the bottles tumbled from her arms, spilling across the tile floor. One of them broke open and gooey pink lotion oozed onto the white tile. The smell of watermelon filled the air.

“Oh, no.” She grabbed some paper towels from the shelves behind her, bent down and began to mop up the mess.

He helped himself to some towels and squatted beside her to help. “Hell, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.”

She didn't reply or look up, and he wadded the sweet-smelling towels into a ball, feeling, ridiculously, like an ogre. “Sometimes I'm a little too pushy. I didn't mean any harm. Really.”

“A
little
too pushy?” his mother said from behind them. “In that case, given to understatements, as well.”

Jack glanced over his shoulder at his mother. She stood just inside the walk-in closet, her eyes on him, her expression both amused and exasperated.

“Hi, Mom.” He grinned, stood and crossed to her. “Becky Lynn and I were just getting acquainted.” He tossed the wet towels into the trash barrel just outside the door.

“I see that.” She shifted her gaze to Becky Lynn. “I hope he wasn't bothering you too much. I used to look forward to his visits—” she met her son's gaze again “—until I realized how less productive the staff was when he was around. He walks in and immediately there's a commotion.”

“Gee, Mom, I love you, too.”

“He wasn't bothering me, Sallie.” Becky Lynn stood, the bottles of products once more in her arms. “I better go put these out.”

She scurried past him and his mother, and Jack watched her go. He drew his eyebrows together, and met his mother's gaze once more. “She's a bit skittish.”

“A bit.”

Jack arched an eyebrow. “What's her story?”

“I don't know.” Sallie tucked her hair behind her ear. “A runaway, I suspect. In some sort of trouble.”

He looked at his mother affectionately. “Another stray, Mom?”

“She works hard,” Sallie said as they exited the storage closet, closing the door behind them. “The Shop's doing well, I can afford to pay an extra pair of hands.”

Jack looked in the direction Becky Lynn had gone, wondering about her again. “She has an…odd face, doesn't she?”

“You're getting that look in your eyes, Jack.” Sallie shook an index finger at him. “Stop it right now. You need to leave her alone.”