Morning Man (14 page)

Galloping in on their theme “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy,” the twosome brought their innuendo-laced banter to the popular west-side watering hole, whipping up the countrified crowd into a beer-soaked barroom frenzy. Collins’ and Cook’s racy repartee and flirty PDA left fans in attendance wondering, “Are They or Aren’t They?”

No reason to speculate any longer, Columbus–this radio double act is definitely hot to trot. And judging by this sizzling candid, it looks like a certain stud in this one-horse town got saved this weekend.

Bonnie scrolled below the text, revealed a dark, grainy cellphone photo of Tack and Dayna playing tonsil hockey in the parking lot.

Dayna’s jaw dropped, her stare frozen to the screen. “Oh, shit.”

After a moment, he fell back into his chair again. “So what? It’s just some dumb schmuck’s blog. And besides, all publicity for the station is good publicity,” he reminded Bonnie. “Everything else is none of anyone’s damn business.”

“We didn’t sleep together,” Dayna volunteered out of sheer embarrassment, the disclosure prompting Tack to turn his head and scowl.

“It doesn’t matter whether we did or didn’t, or we will or won’t. What we do on the air and what we do in private are two completely separate matters.”

Bonnie flipped the monitor around again. “I realize you’re both consenting adults, Tack,” she said all too calmly. “But I have invested a considerable amount of my station’s budget to ensure your show is a success and you’re not going to ruin everything because you can’t keep the one-eyed snake in its cage.”

His nostrils flared. “What exactly are you getting at?”

Bonnie leaned on her desk. She may have been small in size, but her heavyweight glower gave her the presence of a Mack truck. “You two sleep together, and it’s all over.”

“What kind of bullshit is that?” he snapped.

“You have a chemistry that can’t be forced or faked. It’s hot. It’s combustible. And it’s obvious that there’s a real attraction between you, God bless.”

“Sorry,” Dayna said, shaking her head. “You’ve lost me.”

“You think it’s a coincidence that the billboards are provocative? They were intended to capture your spark. People want to hear you toy and tease and tantalize each other. But you two hit the sheets and, bam, suddenly that spark is extinguished for good.”

Dayna quietly fumed. “That’s totally ridiculous. As if we are completely incapable of being entertaining without sexual tension.”

“Sam and Diane on
Cheers
,” Bonnie spouted. “Everyone was rooting for them to get together, and remember what happened when they did? Suddenly, not so funny anymore.”

“
Cheers
is a far cry from
Wake Up with Tack and Dayna
,” she countered.

“
Moonlighting
? Bruce Willis took a roll in the hay with the blonde dame and the show’s ratings plummeted like a stone. That was the end of everything.”

Tack grabbed the back of his neck and squeezed hard, leaving a red handprint that took several seconds to fade. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I’ve got a huge chunk of this station’s advertising budget riding on the fact that I’m not,” Bonnie said. “You must keep that edge.”

Dayna gulped. “How long are we talking here?”

“I’m not a fool, dear, and pictures speak a thousand words. Eventually, you two will do whatever comes naturally. I’m only asking you to hold off for eight weeks before getting it out of your systems. Just get me to the end of the summer book.”

With a steep degree of uncertainty, Dayna looked over at Tack. Big, broad, beautiful Tack whose long, slow kisses made her go mindless with lust. Although she’d planned to teasingly keep him at bay a little longer, she had a week, maybe two of prolonged foreplay in mind. Eight was going to be sheer hell. “And just how do you think you’re going to control what we do on our own time outside the station?”

“I’ve already thought of that,” Bonnie said, shuffling papers around her ink blotter. “Originally, I hoped you’d offer to do this solely based on the honor system but then realized it might be asking too much. I still remember what it’s like to be young and itchy too. So, I’ve come up with a financial incentive that oughta do it.”

He grumbled. “This better be fucking unbelievable.”

“Fifteen hundred dollars a week split between you,” she said. “I’m setting aside twelve grand to be paid in full
if
you can stay out of bed between now and Labor Day.”

As stunned as she was by the bucket of cold water they were being doused with, Dayna was shocked by that seriously rich offer. A sudden infusion of cash would mean she was only eight weeks away from moving out and getting as far away as possible from CJ. “That’s mighty generous, isn’t it Tack?”

“How can you even consider agreeing to something so ludicrous?”

“Come on, it’s only eight weeks. And besides, I think you know there’s a lot that each of us could do with that kind of money.”

A smile came up on Bonnie’s round face. “I don’t care what you do with it. Make a bed of small bills and fornicate your brains out on it. But not until after you bring in my summer ratings.”

* * * *

“Can I see you a moment?” Tack grabbed Dayna’s arm in the hallway and hauled her into the music library. “Are you out of your mind?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Eight weeks?”

“Yeah, I know. It does sound like a long time.”

“It’s the whole damn summer. I don’t know if I can do that,” he said, feeling a dull throb poke at his temples. “What if Bonnie’s wrong? What if we just do it and no one knows?”

“But what if she’s right, we do it and then everybody knows?” She leaned against the stacks and sighed. “It’s twelve thousand dollars, Tack. I don’t know what kind of shape your bank book is in, but I would be willing to lick the cheese between Dub’s toes to get my hands on a fraction of that,” she said. “I need to move into my own place. Six grand would do very nicely in getting me back on my feet again.”

“If it’s just about the money, I told you that I’ll lend you whatever you need.”

“And I already told you I can’t do that. I need to do this on my own.”

He scowled. “At what cost?”

“Eight weeks is just…” She bit down on her bottom lip while she calculated. “Like, less than sixty days. Come on, you can handle that, can’t you?”

“No, I can’t. And no amount of cash is going to make me suffer from blue balls for eight fucking weeks, either.”

She met his eyes with a glare. “Look, Collins, you aren’t in that deep yet. Sure, we had fun Friday night and there’s obviously a connection between us worth exploring but if this is going to be too painful or difficult for you, then cut your losses now.”

“Cut my losses?”

“Bonnie only stipulated that you and I don’t sleep together. She didn’t say you had to become a priest. I don’t care if you screw a hundred women this summer. Hell, I’m sure you can name off a dozen groupies who’d love to give you a hand–”

With a sudden rush of blood roaring through him, he seized her shoulders and crushed her against his chest, lustfully possessing her with his mouth. She resisted for a moment before softening with a sweet gasp, her lower lip sliding under his tongue as she opened up to him. He put everything he had into it and as their kiss deepened, she grabbed a fistful of his t-shirt and greedily tugged him closer, pressing her abdomen tight to him. The full-body contact sent a shock of electricity through his veins. When she finally pulled back, all hot-cheeked and heavy lidded, a smile crept up on her moist, kiss-plumped lips. He held her so close he could feel her heart pounding on top of his. “Don’t you dare kiss me like that and then say you don’t care if I’m with other women.”

Her hips continued to grind against the front of his jeans. “So, okay, maybe I do care.” She heaved a sigh with a resigned gust. “But just so you know, I don’t expect you to totally abstain from sex for eight weeks. You’re not tied down to me.”

“Shut up or I swear, I’ll kiss you again,” he said, pretending to sound fierce.

She reached up and stroked his face. “Don’t think this is easy on me either.” Her body rubbed up on him while she pressed her supple lips against his rapidly-pulsing neck. “Since Friday night, all I can think about is how badly I want to feel you beside me, below me, on top of me,” she whispered. “Sliding inside me.”

With a surge of passion, he grabbed her curvy bottom with both hands, pushed her up against the stacks and branded her with a searing kiss that left them both breathless again. “Fuck,” he grunted in frustration, pressing his burning forehead to hers.

“Is that, fuck yeah, we can do it?” She asked with a hopeful smile, strumming his chest with her hand. “Or is it, fuck this, I’m outta here?”

Tack squeezed his eyes shut, knowing he would have to summon superhuman strength to be able to hold back for eight more seconds, let alone eight weeks. It would mean the longest dry spell he’d had in years and he questioned what kind of hold Dayna Cook already had on him to make him even consider such a preposterous arrangement. But then he saw her gazing up with those gorgeous long lashes and dark shining eyes, and by the lurch in his chest, he knew he was a goner. “It’s fuck, I must be crazy.”

Her face lit up. “I promise, Tack, I’ll make it worth your while after Labor Day.”

“Damn right,” he grumbled to himself as he stepped away from her. He tucked his arms behind his back and started pacing. “All right. If we’re going through with this, we’d better set some ground rules right here and now.”

She nodded. “I totally agree.”

He stared down at the carpet while maintaining a strict, business-like back and forth stride. “Kissing full on the mouth is perfectly acceptable.”

“Absolutely, no question, yes.”

“And you’ll still let me cop a feel every now and then,” he added, “so I don’t go completely mad from wanting to touch you.”

“With you one hundred percent. Cop away.” She playfully thrust out her chest.

He stopped patrolling the floor and put a finger in the air. “No, wait. I want to amend that to include mutual petting.”

She rolled her eyes. “That sounds a little sketchy, but okay, I’ll take it under consideration. Anything else?”

He dropped his sight line below his belt and smiled. “How about…”

“Now come on, that’s definitely cheating.”

“Not according to Bill Clinton, it’s not.”

She shook her head. “Sorry, but that’s completely out of the question for now.”

He chuckled. “Figured you’d say that, but I had to throw it out there anyway.”

Dayna tapped her finger against her chin as if lost in thought. “Now that we have all that messy sex stuff settled, I’d like to propose one of my own provisions. How about we go on a date or two? And I don’t mean just to the Roadhouse.”

He hooked his thumbs in the front belt loops of his jeans. “Well, golly, Miss Cook,” he spoke in his best backwoods bumpkin twang, “You mean, like takin’ you a-courtin’ to the picture show?”

She laughed. “Not if you’re going to talk like Alfalfa.”

“Sugar, you don’t have to make that a stipulation. It’s a given.”

“It is?”

“Of course it is. I may not get you naked, but I’m still counting on getting to spend some quality time with you,” he said. “Do you really think I’m one of those guys who only hang around until they get what they want?”

“Well, now that you mention it…” She clucked her tongue.

He shook his head. “You have so much to learn.”

“Try me,” she said.

He tenderly caressed her cheek, dropping his voice to a soft murmur. “If you didn’t already mean something special to me, do you really think I’d even consider going along with this cockamamie pact? You’re an extraordinary woman, Dayna. I’d be a fool to turn down any chance to be with you.”

Her big brown eyes brimmed with tears and he instinctively knew it had been a very long time since she’d been reminded of how precious she was. He’d make sure to change that.

“Now don’t go getting any silly ideas about making me fall for you, cowboy,” she said, her voice trailing off to a whisper. “You’re still a radio guy after all.”

“Of course not. I know you’d never let that happen anyway.”

She closed her eyes and her chin settled snugly into his cupped hand. “No, never.”

Chapter 9

Dayna tossed aside the sofa cushions with a thud. She reached for the handle and heaved upward to free the mattress hidden beneath, the frame’s stubborn spring coils groaning until they finally relented and released. Once both pillows were in place, she readied her sleep mask, shrugged off her robe and crawled into bed. She reached for one of the magazines she kept within arm’s reach and settled in to look for show fodder.

“Day? You still awake?” CJ called out before his foot hit the bottom stair.

“Mm-hmm,” she mumbled, flipping through the heavily-perfumed pages.

“Look what I found.” He showed her a photo from their vacation to New Orleans.

She studied the image of them laughing, wildly drunk on hurricanes and draped in brightly-colored Mardi Gras beads as parade floats rolled through the French Quarter. She fondly recollected the happy but distant memory as if watching a familiar movie scene. “This was taken just before we jumped into the fountain.”