Night Whispers (3 page)

As for her instant reaction to him, well, that wouldn’t be a problem. She’d always thought Mitch was attractive, but had grown used to it over the years. His admiration gave her a little boost of pleasure because she’d wanted it so much at age sixteen. It was a powerful moment, that was all. Not to be regretted, certainly, but also not to be repeated.

Besides, Mitch looked utterly exhausted. His movements were slow, and his eyelids drooped. She imagined his foul mood was caused by fatigue from a couple of days of traveling across the world. That would explain his strange behavior since he’d gotten home.

He seemed to sense her hesitation. “You’ll save me a lot of trouble. I mean, it felt weird having Fred move into my home, and I would hate to rent the apartment to a stranger.”

Kelsey nodded, her decision made. “All right, I’ll stay.”

Mitch released the breath he had not even realized he’d been holding. “I’m glad.”

“Me, too.” Kelsey smiled brightly. “I promise, I’ll keep out of your hair. And you will not regret this yard.”

If the yard was the only thing he came to regret about Kelsey living in his house, Mitch figured he’d be getting off lightly.

“W
HAT IS THE REAL DEFINITION
of sexiness?”

Lady Love paused for a moment, letting listeners think about tonight’s topic. She always opened her show with a hook, getting them interested enough to stay tuned even though it was ten o’clock on a work night. One of the greatest compliments she’d ever been paid was when a caller told her he always got in trouble for being late to work, because he just couldn’t turn off her show until it ended every night.

“Sometimes people confuse good looks with sexiness. I’m sure all of us have seen photographs of the beautiful people of the world, or stopped on the street to watch some physically perfect person walk by. No question, physical beauty works to attract us. But be honest. Ladies, who makes your knees shake, your lips quiver and your heart beat like it’s going to explode from your chest…a man so gorgeous he’s prettier than you are? Or is it a man exuding confidence? The one who has that look in his eyes, that look that tells you he’s undressed you mentally and already brought you to mind-blowing fulfillment?”

She took a deep breath, purposely exhaling across the microphone, knowing that, in apartments or cars around
Baltimore, her audience was doing the same thing. She let the tension build, let them fantasize a little, then continued.

“Gentlemen, you know what I’m talking about. A perfect model type might catch your eye, but be truthful…she’s easily forgotten. So what kind of woman gets under your skin, like an itch you can’t quite reach? Is it the brunette sitting at a nearby table who eats a piece of fruit like she’s making love to it? Is it the woman in the tailored suit, the one with the glasses and businesslike hairstyle, who’s got a curve in her hips and a long, slow stride that makes your mouth water?

“Sexiness…not just good looks. Is it the walk, the sigh, the mouth, or the steady stare? It’s all in the eye of the beholder. So, tell me what
you
see as sexy. Call me. This is Lady Love on WAJO and I want to hear from you.”

Kelsey Logan leaned back in her seat and spun a George Michael CD that fit tonight’s topic perfectly. Leaning back in her chair, she listened to the music and allowed the lyrics to enhance her mood. She studied the fluorescent tube light above her head and thought about her own definition of
sexy
. One male image came to mind—strong, confident, intelligent, with lips that made her weak just thinking about them. Lady Love’s definition of
sexy
lived right downstairs from her. She smiled. By the time the song ended, Kelsey was well prepared for tonight’s
Night Whispers
.

F
OUR HOURS LATER
, when the show was over, Kelsey wearily slipped out of the booth, nodding to the late-night deejay who would run the graveyard two-to-six shift. He barely looked at her. She sighed in resignation. The guy still hadn’t gotten over the fact that the station manager,
Jack McKenzie, had given her the ten-to-two slot for
Night Whispers
, even though she was a rookie intern with only small-town radio experience.

Kelsey still couldn’t quite believe it herself. She’d figured, when she came to Baltimore, fresh off a two-year stint as the morning personality at a tiny little country-western station in Virginia, that she’d have to work hard to eventually achieve big-city success. She’d been as stunned as everyone else when she’d received instant rave reviews after filling in for a vacationing deejay a few months before.

And it had all started with Mick Jagger’s lips.

She still laughed when she thought about it. She’d been trying so hard to be good—trying to stay within the boundaries the regular night guy had left in his notes. Just spin the CDs, he’d said, no cutesy stuff, no stupid voices, no jokes.

Why she suddenly had the urge to invite callers to vote on Mick Jagger’s lips, she’d never know.

It had been just one remark, one question. She’d just air-guitared her way through “Satisfaction” and, when it was over, had leaned into her mike and said, “What is it with this guy’s lips? I can’t decide…are they sexy as sin or repulsive as hell?”

Dozens of callers had flooded the phone lines, debating her question. Inspired by their comments, Kelsey had gone on to propose other provocative topics. And
Night Whispers
had been born. The show had begun airing in its regular slot two weeks later and she’d never looked back, never even paused to take a deep breath.

Every night, listeners clogged the phone lines, anxious to get on the air to talk about the sexy subjects Lady Love
introduced. Brian, her producer, said it was because the city was full of closet exhibitionists who liked the anonymity of the radio. Of course, Brian would know about those things. He freely admitted that once he’d firmly slipped out of his own closet, he’d met plenty of flamboyant people.

Leaning against the doorjamb, she watched as Brian tidied his workstation, then tugged an expensive khaki raincoat over his immaculate silk dress shirt. The man’s taste in clothes was remarkable. She’d never seen anyone, male or female, with as keen a fashion sense or as true an eye for color. He could, and did, wear every shade imaginable. Except, of course, for pale pink. Because, he’d explained, for a gay man, it was so redundant.

“Great show, doll,” he said as he joined her in the hall outside the studio.

“Thanks, Bri. As usual, I couldn’t have done it without you. Have you got Jack’s approval for the rest of this week’s shows?”

“Done. He gave me some grief about the erotica bit. We have to be real careful with the callers that night.”

Kelsey shrugged. “When don’t we have to be careful?”

Brian cinched his belt tight around the waist of his raincoat. “You know how station managers are…covering their own butts while we take all the risks.”

She paused, giving him a sultry grin. “Taking risks is such fun, though, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely, Lady Love. Absolutely.” He hooked his arm in hers as they left the building.

K
ELSEY HAD THE NEXT NIGHT
off and took advantage of the extra time to get some chores done. She stood in the
basement Saturday afternoon, finishing up laundry while mentally going over some show ideas. She was completely lost in thought.

“Is it really necessary for you to hang your panty hose on the doorknob?”

Kelsey screeched and dropped the bottle of liquid laundry detergent she’d been carefully pouring. It careened off the corner of the washing machine, tipped end over end and splashed to the floor. A bright blue sticky trail led to a plate-sized pool next to her foot.

“You scared me half to death!”

Ignoring Mitch, she grabbed a towel from a stack of clean clothes on top of the dryer and began mopping up the detergent from the basement floor. He had surprised her. Kelsey hadn’t seen Mitch very much in the week since he’d been home. She’d tried to be quiet, knowing he was sleeping a lot the first few days. Then he’d pretty much locked himself in his apartment to work on his book.

“You’re using one of Fred’s towels.”

She didn’t look up from her task. “Your point being?”

“You might ruin it.”

“Oh, no.” She sighed dramatically. “Oh dear. How will it ever come clean? All this terrible mess staining his towel. What could possibly be harder to get out of terry cloth than…laundry detergent?”

Kelsey peeked through her lashes at Mitch and saw the corner of his mouth twitch. His shoulders shook, and the grin widened until she saw the dimple in his left cheek.

“You’re such a brat.”

“Nice to see you, too,” she said as she dropped Fred’s towel into the laundry sink.

“About the panty hose…”

Snagging the offending items out of his hand, Kelsey stuffed them into the laundry basket and gave him a saucy grin. “Good thing you didn’t come in a couple of hours ago when I washed my…other unmentionables.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen ladies’ underclothes, Kels.” He narrowed his eyes. “Yours included.”

“I don’t wear little pink unicorns anymore.”

No, he didn’t imagine she did. Mitch tried very hard to dash the image of Kelsey wearing a black silk teddy from his mind. But he failed miserably. It didn’t help that he had been thinking about her in that red bikini for the past week.

She certainly wasn’t dressed enticingly now. She wore a pair of faded jeans, torn at the knees, which had obviously seen better days. A thick, shining ponytail bounced with her every move. A huge cartoon mouse covered the front of her T-shirt. But she still managed to look incredibly sexy.

Mitch had been avoiding her. He could admit that to himself, not that he’d ever let her know. For days, he’d locked himself in his study, ostensibly working, but often just listening for her footsteps above his head. She didn’t make much noise, and sometimes Mitch didn’t know if she was even home. Except at night. She kept late nights. Her bedroom was right above his and he heard her when she got into her creaky bed at around three in the morning. It was as he had feared. Sometimes he swore he could hear her breathing and the rustling of her bedcovers as she made herself comfortable.

Bath time was the worst. Kelsey seemed to scorn showers, but nearly every evening, at around six, she’d run a bath. From the length of time the water ran, he’d say it was a very deep bath. Soft strains of music would sometimes drift down through the pipes, and often an hour
would pass before he’d hear the tub drain. Sometimes he’d close his eyes and picture her, with her hair up on her head and a few loose tendrils hanging down, leaning back in the claw-foot tub wearing nothing but a thick coat of bubbles.

“Carry this for me, will you?”

Kelsey pressed one laundry basket into his arms, then walked up the basement stairs with the other one. In the kitchen, Mitch set the basket on the table, casually lifted her slacks and started folding. She did the same.

“How’s the book coming?”

Kelsey knew Mitch was writing a textbook on the inherent changes in post-Tiananmen Square China. His first anthropology textbook, which had just been released a few months ago, was already in use at various colleges. That had surprised some folks back home to no end. Many people couldn’t forget his teenage reputation as the resident hooligan.

He shrugged. “Just scratching the surface.”

“You know, I still can’t picture it. You, a college professor and now a textbook writer. When I first met you, I figured you would do something adventurous or daring with your life.” She shook her head in wonder. “It’s just that, I don’t know, you seem so different. I guess I saw you being something like your parents, the big-shot archaeologists, but more along the lines of Indiana Jones, whip and all.”

“And instead,” Mitch said with a wry smile, “you find I’m just a boring, conservative bookworm.”

Kelsey eyed him speculatively. He might be able to fool some people with that reclusive writer bit, but she knew him too well. She saw the dangerous gleam in his eyes and the sardonic smile on his lips. The way he held himself, all
coiled and ready for action, and the way his voice dropped to a whisper when he was angry spoke volumes. He might have learned some self-restraint, but inside Mitch Wymore there still lurked a potential hell-raiser.

“Yeah, right. And I’m a debutante,” she drawled.

She read the laughter in his dark blue eyes as he looked her over, head to toe, his gaze lingering on the haphazard ponytail and the wisps of hair dangling over her forehead.

“Come on. What’s the story? How did Mitch the bad seed end up like this?”

“Why are you so surprised? I’ve always loved reading, writing and researching. Never had much problem in school…at least not academically. I’ve inherited that from my parents.” He pulled a chair out and sat down at the table.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she muttered, disgust lacing her voice, “I heard all about it. Doctorate by twenty-six. Gag me.”

He grinned. “You did ask. Anyway, I taught for a while, found I didn’t much like being restricted by class schedules and grading papers. Writing seemed a perfect alternative.”

“Yeah, but why textbooks?”

“Well, I’d been writing articles for journals, magazines,
National Geographic
and the
Smithsonian
, that kind of thing.”

If anyone else had said something like that, they would probably be accused of bragging. But Kelsey had known him long enough to know that Mitch wasn’t touting his accomplishments. He merely stated fact.

“Anyway, I called a publishing company to complain that they kept updating texts and raising the prices so high my students couldn’t afford to take my classes. I made some contacts at the company, found myself asking ques
tions about how these texts were written. Sounded interesting. I liked the idea of travel and research and writing, and tying it all together with academia.”

“Think you’ll ever go back to teaching?”

“Probably. I did give some guest lectures at the university in Beijing, since I was working closely with one of their professors. I might teach a class here next semester, just to keep my foot in the door. But thanks to a nice little trust fund from my grandfather, I’m not tied down to a nine-to-five job. And that’s the key, because maybe next time the company will need something on the tribes of the Amazon and I’ll be off again.”

It all made sense, in his annoyingly logical way. She
had
always pictured Mitch ending up a world explorer like his parents. But their careers had cost him a real family life during his childhood, and had instilled in him a need for security. It appeared he’d found a way to do his adventuring in spurts, allowing him to also be the academic, the writer…the loner.

That was the part that bothered her. Mitch seemed very much alone. “Do you see much of your parents?”

“Not really. They’re wrapped up in their newest project outside Cairo. But they were here last Christmas. It was the first holiday we’ve spent together in about ten years. I have to admit, it was nice seeing them.” He chuckled. “I think they’ve finally stopped worrying I’m going to end up in jail.”