One Kiss, Two Kiss, Red Kiss, Now You Kiss Page 5

  The hours dragged slowly for Jill as she found herself with virtually nothing to do. That evening she was eager to greet Greg when he brought up dinner for them. She was so happy to see him that she didn’t even mind his teasing her about Mrs. Hathaway’s disastrous breakfast.

  For the next few days Jill was restless, but not quite strong enough to leave her apartment. Thankfully, Evelyne, her vibrant friend, came over one afternoon to visit, armed with a gallon tin of caramel corn, a two-pound box of See’s scotchmallows and Bordeaux chocolates and a six-pack of strawberry soda. The combination sounded nauseating, but it had always been one of their favorite snacks in college.

  “This will probably make me sick,” Jill decided, but that didn’t stop her from digging into the candied corn.

  Evelyne idly studied her long, scarlet-painted nails. “If all that glop in the hospital—not to mention Mrs. Hathaway’s deadly cooking—didn’t kill you, this certainly won’t,” she pronounced with a shake of her dark curls. “How is your gorgeous writing partner taking care of you?”

  “Just fine.” Jill opened a can of soda. “He’s been nice enough to curtail his busy social life to bring me dinner and even lunch a few times. He also stops in to check on me a couple of times a day, and he’ll be taking me to the doctor tomorrow.”

  “Honey, he’s acting more than nice,” Evelyne hooted in her slow Southern drawl. “That guy has always had the hots for you.” She laughed, noticing Jill’s puzzled expression. “Don’t play dumb with me, sweetie pie. That man wants to jump on your bones—bad.”

  Jill’s eyes widened to deep blue saucers at her friend’s blunt statement before she burst into unrestrained laughter. “Now I know you’re not playing with a full deck. Greg is too busy with his various ladies.” She shook her head. “For once, my friend, your sixth sense is way off.”

  Evelyne gave her a rapid denial. “I am never wrong,” she declared haughtily.

  Jill rolled her eyes. Evelyne’s gift of sensing episodes in the near future was an accepted fact between them, even when it caused problems.

  “Remember that time we went skiing over Christmas vacation? I still say you rigged that slope to dump me,” Jill accused good-naturedly, chewing on a rich piece of candy.

  Evelyne remembered that time only too well. She had told Jill to stay off a particular slope when Jill had left that morning to ski with friends. Unfortunately, Jill didn’t listen and ended up breaking her leg.

  “Everyone knows how much you hate to be wrong,” Jill told her.

  “How can I hate something I’ve never been?” Evelyne’s dark amethyst eyes sparkled. One hand pushed the tousled curls off her nape. With her perfect features and ivory skin, she looked as if she should be a model instead of a professional makeup artist. She was a freelance consultant, working in various department stores doing makeovers and demonstrating the proper way to use the high-priced cosmetics. Evelyne’s professionalism had earned her the right to pick and choose her jobs, and if she wanted to, she wouldn’t have a single day off that year.

  “Then I wish you had told me about Dr. Genet’s propensity for coeds.” Jill brought up an old argument.

  The dark-haired woman chuckled. “No way. After all, you were there for an education, and he certainly wanted to give you one!” The two women choked with laughter at the reminder of the lecherous psychology instructor from their college days.

  Jill and Evelyne had met in college, when they were assigned to the same dormitory room. They had hit it off instantly and were inseparable from that time on. Evelyne had been so blasé regarding her second sight that Jill soon accepted her friend’s tendency to move off into another world as simply an everyday occurrence. They left the University of Arizona with degrees in English and struck out in unrelated fields. Jill soon discovered that her typing and shorthand skills found her more jobs, but her need for challenges couldn’t keep her interested longer than six months. She used to laugh, stating that no one else could have the lengthy resume she did. Writing was the only area where she felt happy and comfortable, since it presented her with a new challenge every day.

  Evelyne studied Jill with her usual intent gaze. “I found a good hairstyle for you in a magazine I was glancing through the other day,” she commented. “All you need is about six inches cut off and the remaining hair permed. You’d never have to worry about all that weight when you wash it, and the drying time would be minimal.” She nodded. “Yes, I can see you in it.”

  Jill groaned. “Just like the time you could see me in that black dress for Sheila’s party? The people who didn’t know me thought I was a hooker!”

  “Call girl,” Evelyne corrected her. “And you were the hit of the party. What more can you ask for? Think about all the men who called to ask you out.”

  “Sure,” she responded. “And I bet I could have made a fortune to replace the unearthly amount I paid for that dress. I haven’t worn it since.”

  Evelyne stayed for another hour, then explained she had to leave to get ready for a date. She paused at the door.

  “Don’t let first impressions disappoint you,” she told Jill, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of her lips as if she was privy to a humorous secret.

  “What?” Jill frowned, not understanding her remark.

  Evelyne’s smile widened. “Some things are just better the second time around.” She blew Jill a kiss and left.

  “What are you talking about?” Jill hurried to the top of the stairs, but her friend merely waved and bounced out the door. “Evelyne, come back here and explain your mumbo-jumbo!” She flushed when Greg appeared at the foot of the stairs. Jill was suddenly aware of her tousled hair, apricot loose ankle length dress and bare feet.

  Greg looked up and felt his mouth go dry. Jill might have looked disheveled, but she also looked incredibly sexy.

  “Having a slumber party?” he asked finally, wincing at the stupidity of his question.

  Jill grinned, now back on familiar footing. “Slumber parties last all night and tend to have more than two people.”

  “Not the ones I’ve been to,” he countered, turning away. “They never had more than two people.”

  Jill returned to the living room, puzzled by the abrupt change in Greg. She also remembered the look in his eyes when he gazed up at her and wondered if his expression has been what she thought it was—desire.

  Greg walked back into his office and sat down. He braced his elbows on the chair arms, his fingers forming a steeple, the fingertips pressed against his lips. He found it difficult to forget the alluring picture Jill had made standing at the top of the stairs. His writer’s brain told him she was the perfect image of a woman waiting for her lover, and his overactive imagination told him what would happen once the two lovers closed the door behind them. He groaned silently, cursing the suddenly tight fit of his jeans.

  Greg’s brows drew together in confusion. More and more he was thinking of Jill as a desirable woman with delectable curves, bedroom eyes and hair the color of tawny silk. This was not something he could continue thinking about and still manage to work with her successfully. What had brought about the abrupt change? Sure, they had always been aware of each other in the physical sense, but they also knew that that kind of attraction could prove dangerous. Maybe that was why they always made sure to have someone around to keep them occupied. Greg wondered if this wasn’t a good time to make up with Rita.

  He shook his head and turned to the computer with the dark screen that silently mocked him. He decided it was as good a time as any to begin plotting the next book.

  Early that evening Jill paid dearly for her food orgy with an old-fashioned stomachache. She lay in bed loudly asking when death would come to take her away.

  “I hadn’t realized I had been renamed. You couldn’t come up with something a little more cheerful?” Greg called out. He stopped in the doorway, then hurried into the bedroom. “Jill, what’s wrong? Is it your incision?” he demanded, dropping down on
one knee beside the bed. “Talk to me or I’m calling the doctor.”

  Jill managed a weak smile. “He’d only tell you to give me an antacid and call him in the morning.”

  “Give it to me in plain English,” he insisted.

  She closed her eyes. “It’s a combination of strawberry soda, my favorite See’s chocolates and caramel com.”

  Greg groaned, but not in sympathy. His expression clearly said that Jill fully deserved what she got. “No wonder you’ve got a whopper of a bellyache. I’ll get you something for it.” He got up and went into the bathroom to rummage through the cabinets until he found what he was looking for. He handed Jill a glass of the fizzy water and helped her sit up to drink it.

  “After all the sugar you consumed, you’d better get some protein into your system.”

  “I don’t want to look at food,” Jill moaned.

  “Like it or not, you’re going to have to eat something a bit more healthy than you previously had.” He left the room quickly.

  Jill lay still, waiting for the seltzer to take effect. She wished she had told Greg that eating would just make her sicker. He soon returned carrying a tray with a bowl and a small plate on it.

  “Chicken noodle soup and soda crackers,” he announced. “I also cut you a small piece of cheese for you to nibble on first. That should help your stomach.”

  Jill took several experimental bites of the sharp cheddar until she realized her stomach wouldn’t revolt before attempting to finish the slice. She had to admit it did help and felt ready to tackle the soup. Greg had also made her a cup of hot tea and sat in the nearby chair while she ate her dinner.

  Jill found the warm soup comforting to her abused stomach, and the bowl was empty before she knew it. She declined seconds, deciding she wasn’t going to tempt fate.

  “Don’t you realize you’re poisoning your system eating all that junk food?” Greg remonstrated.

  Jill shrugged, feeling more confident now that her stomach had settled down. “I remember you making a large dent in the fruitcake I made at Christmas, and it didn’t seem to affect you,” she reminded him.

  “I didn’t sit there and eat the whole thing.”

  “No, just half.” She smiled sweetly.

  Greg exhaled a sharp breath of frustration. “Jill, you can’t afford to put further stress on your stomach muscles. Getting nauseous from junk food is pretty stupid.” Jill wrinkled her nose in disgust. He glanced down at his watch. “I’m meeting someone in an hour for dinner, so I’d better start getting ready. Do you need anything?”

  “No, thank you.” Jill hesitated, unsure whether to say what was foremost on her mind. She decided to go for it. “Greg, are you and Rita back together again?”

  Greg thought about the fast talking he had had to do to persuade his ex-girlfriend to go out with him again. He knew that what had truly changed her mind was the mention of Maxwell’s Plum, an exclusive restaurant with prices to match the decor. What she didn’t know was that he planned to have a long talk with her regarding her cryptic words on the night of Jill’s surgery.

  Jill saw the strained expression in Greg’s eyes and easily guessed the identity of his dinner partner.

  Her comforted tummy didn’t feel so good anymore.

  “Have a nice dinner,” she told him, wishing she could tell him he could do so much better than the alluring and very vain Rita. The trouble was, she doubted he’d listen to her. She lifted her eyebrows comically. “Give me all the gory details tomorrow. Also, don’t forget my doctor’s appointment is at eleven. You promised you’d drive me.”

  “You don’t have to worry; I’ll be here,” he promised. “Good night, Jilly Bean.”

  I could kill Randy for coming up with that ridiculous nickname, she thought, glaring at Greg’s retreating figure. She slumped under the covers, looking as if she was going to spend the rest of the night pouting, but that wasn’t her style. It wasn’t long before she remembered the book she had been reading earlier and that she had just gotten to a good part. Soon she was engrossed in the story of a forties-style private detective searching for his girlfriend’s killer. Jill didn’t want to stop to think that she was also wondering what Greg would be like as a date.

  Greg was bored. Considering how desirable Rita looked in a clinging wine silk dress and with her hair slicked back in a sleek knot, he still found it difficult to keep his attention on her, and she made it apparent she was aware of his inattention and wasn’t happy about it.

  By the time they entered her elegant high-rise apartment, neither person looked very happy.

  Rita poured two measures of brandy and handed one to Greg.

  “I’ve been offered a promotion in our New York City offices, effective after the first of the year,” she announced without preamble, seating herself in the pale gray plush chair adjacent to the burgundy couch where Greg was seated.

  He looked up with surprise. “Is this for the vice-presidency?”

  Rita nodded, sipping her brandy. She was presently head of the marketing department of an international computer firm, and her dream of the vice-president’s office seemed finally to have come true.

  “I’m glad for you, Rita,” he said sincerely, aware of how much the promotion meant to her.

  Her smile was deadly. “I’m sure you are, in more ways than one.” A manicured nail circled the rim of her glass. “Perhaps you’ll finally see the light, so to speak.”

  By now Greg’s patience had come to an end. Rita’s sly comments had dug into his skin all evening, and he was determined to find the cause for them. He set his glass on the chrome and glass coffee table, then swiveled to face Rita. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

  For a brief moment regret dimmed her eyes. Then a stronger emotion took over as she steeled herself to say the words that had been eating at her for weeks. She didn’t hesitate before speaking.

  “It’s quite simple, really. I’d say that each time you make love to me, you’re actually making love to Jill, and I’m sure you were the same with your other women before you met me. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she doesn’t do the very same thing with the men she’s been with. The time has come for both of you to face the facts and become lovers.” After she dropped her bomb she sat back, waiting for the fallout to settle.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  For the longest time Greg sat on the couch staring at Rita. He found himself unable to come up with a scathing retort or think of one word that would be appropriate to the situation. If he cared to be honest with himself, he wouldn’t bother arguing with the truth. He mumbled an excuse, escaping as quickly as possible. He noticed that Rita didn’t try to persuade him to stay.

  Instead of returning home Greg headed for a nearby pub owned by an old friend of his and Jill’s.

  Since it was near closing time, Mahoney’s was almost empty of customers. A burly-looking man with bright red hair streaked with gray cropped close in a crew cut and a pair of blue eyes to rival Paul Newman’s greeted Greg with a brief wave of his hand before filling two steins with beer and handing them to the waitress.

  “Long time no see.” He walked the length of the bar, expertly mixed bourbon and water, and set it in front of Greg. “What’cha been up to?”

  Greg sipped his drink, allowing the alcohol to warm his throat and stomach before he spoke. “I had to rush Jill to the hospital with a hot appendix ten days ago. I’ve been playing nursemaid since then.” He took another sip of the potent drink.

  John “Tank” Mahoney saw the new signs in Greg’s manner, the same way Rita had.

  “That’s a duty I sure wouldn’t turn down.” His voice was gritty from too much whiskey and too many cigars. His broad, homely face showed a wide grin. The moment Greg finished his drink, a fist the size of a small ham grabbed the glass and refilled it, this time with more bourbon than water. “Those hospital gowns might be ugly as all get out, but the backless part makes up for it.” He raised his eyebrows with a broad grin.

/>   “Damnit, Tank, she’s more trouble than she’s worth,” Greg grumbled, not sure if he was talking about Jill or Rita. Probably both.

  “All broads are trouble,” the large man pronounced before shouting out, “Last call, people! The bar closes in ten minutes.”

  Greg sat at the bar nursing his drink while Tank set up the last drinks ordered.

  The bar had no band, only a jukebox with records from the forties and fifties. There were no plush booths offering privacy to the customers, only plain wooden tables and chairs. The walls were decorated with foreign battle flags and photos taken during World War II and the Korean War. When Sergeant Major Mahoney had retired after thirty years in the Army Tank Corps, he was determined to have his own bar. His dream had been fulfilled, and the pub was well known for the excellent liquor served and no trouble allowed. No one was about to tangle with a man who more than resembled his nickname and, when thwarted, displayed the temper of a wounded grizzly bear. Over the past few years Greg and Jill, semi-regulars in the bar, had become good friends with the crusty-natured man.

  Twenty minutes later Tank locked the front door and returned to the bar, where Greg stood still nursing his second drink. The older man shook his head at the sight of his friend’s morose features.

  “Why don’t you just bed the broad and have done with it?” Tank suggested, drawing himself a beer and downing it quickly.

  The younger man grimaced at his blunt words. “I don’t think Rita would appreciate being called a broad,” he countered mildly.