Talk to Me (3 page)

her first in their lives—but that didn't give Alison the right to pronounce that Jamie had no decision-making skil s where men were concerned.

Jamie rose, rinsed her glass, and went into the bathroom to finish getting ready for the day. She made a face in the mirror—talking to Alison

always made her frown. It was like Alison was Jamie's personal Angel of Death for love. It was downright depressing, and it made her question

every move she made, every feeling she had about a man.

She had a feeling Alison was unhappy in her marriage, and that that was one reason why she was so hard on Jamie regarding her dating life.

Whatever it was, it was making their relationship strained, which Jamie hated. A tear fel , and Jamie sniffed. A smal voice interrupted her thoughts:

What if Alison was right? What if she couldn't make good decisions?

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She was slowly but surely driving him insane. On Tuesday, she wore a pair of jeans that molded to her every curve. Her top wasn't revealing, but

his overactive imagination could stil fil in the details about what was underneath—round, high, pert breasts with nipples the color of a ripe berry—

and he loved fruit. He began to envision what it would feel like to squeeze and suck on each succulent mound. Then he imagined pushing them

together while he thrust between them. If he was real y lucky, she would lick the head of his dick as it came through each time. His dick stirred at the

thought, and he had to use every bit of self-discipline he'd learned in years of playing professional hockey to get it to subside.

After the show ended, he strol ed into the producer's booth, determined to be professional. Even after the rough start the day before, Jamie had

proven to be an excel ent producer. Despite the raging lust pounding through his veins, Drew didn't want to lose the first competent producer he'd

had in months.

“Hey. Good show tonight, huh?”

She looked up from the board, nodding and smiling. God, she was so beautiful. Why couldn't she be some pimply faced twenty-two-year-old

guy? This would be so much easier. He ran his hand over the back of his neck. He was sweating. “I'd like to do some new stuff on the show. We've

got good ratings, but I haven't done any new bits in a while. I know you're new, but do you think you could consider some things to try and get back

to me in a few days?”

She bit her lip, and his gaze drifted down and locked on the image.
Dammit! Focus.

“Sure, I can try. I confess I'm only a casual fan of hockey, but I'l see what I can do.”

He couldn't place her accent, but knew she wasn't from the area. “Where are you from?”

Jamie blushed. “Buffalo, so I should know about hockey, but I'm more of a footbal fan than a hockey fan.”

“Ah. Wel , I'l forgive you as long as you come up with a good idea or two,” he teased, grinning. He caught a whiff of her perfume. It wasn't heavy,

like that of many of the women he dated. It was more of a light, floral scent, but not in a grandmotherly way. Just kind of clean, innocent. The shoes

she was wearing sure as hel didn't look innocent, though. They were black and sexy as hel . This was the second time he'd noticed her shoes in as

many days, and considering he was a male ex-professional athlete, he honestly had no idea what about them fascinated him so much.

Jamie chuckled and lowered her eyes, fiddling with her hands in her lap. She raised her head again. “I make no promises, but I'l do some

research and see what I can come up with.”

“Wel , already you're doing better than the last producer I had, so I'm pretty pleased. And you're far easier on the eyes than my last producer. If I

had known I could get a gorgeous woman to produce the show, I would've demanded they hire you long ago.” So much for being professional, he

thought. He was flirting. She was flustered, but he couldn't help himself. He knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but he didn't appear to be

able to stop doing it. She didn't seem mad or disgusted, at least. His cock was standing at attention again. Before she could notice, he cleared his

throat and said, “Anyway, I'l see you tomorrow.”

“Okay. See you then!” She waved and then turned back to the board. After one last, lingering look and a quick adjustment to the front of his

jeans, he left.

Jamie spent al day Wednesday doing research on the Internet about hockey and some of the traditions surrounding it. By the time she got to

the studio, she had a couple of ideas. But one idea in particular she was real y excited about. She was so nervous about Drew liking it that her

stomach was pitching and her heart was pounding by the time he walked in the door.

Before she knew what she was doing, she'd leaped out of her chair and practical y pounced on him. “Hi! I've got a couple of ideas to run by you

whenever you have a minute.”

He backed up a step and smirked at her. “Real y? Wow, that was fast! Let's hear ‘em.”

Her mouth was suddenly dry, and she knew she was blushing. “Wel , I've got a couple, like I said, but the one I thought was the coolest was a

‘Facial Hair Hal of Fame.'” She stopped and looked at him, curious to see his initial reaction.

He chuckled. “'Facial Hair Hal of Fame'? I gotta hear this. Tel me more.”

“Wel , I would find a bunch of pictures of various NHLers to put up on the station's Web site, and you could instruct the listeners to vote for their

favorites, and then cal in to tel you why. I thought it might be funny because of the folklore surrounding the whole can't-shave-the-beard-during-the-

playoffs thing. There are some pretty gnarly-looking guys by the time the Stanley Cup gets awarded.”

Drew laughed again, and she saw the humor and yes, heat, reflected in his eyes. She wasn't sure if she should be happy or afraid she wasn't

the only one feeling this pul between them.

“That sounds awesome! Do you think you can get some pictures up by noon tomorrow? I know that would be during your off time, but then I could

promote it today, and we could do it tomorrow. Then maybe we could do another edition every few weeks.” His voice rose, and Jamie was gratified

to see he seemed to be as excited about it as she was. “If we're going to repeat it, I think we should only put up five or ten at a time—that way, there

should be plenty for multiple bits.”

She felt a huge weight lift off her chest, and she grinned at him. “Sure, I can do that.”

He came closer, put a hand on her shoulder, and squeezed. “Great idea, especial y for your first try. I'm impressed.”

Jamie inhaled. He had just a hint of a smel that was uniquely Drew. He didn't use cologne, so that wasn't it. She couldn't quite put her finger on

it. It was kind of—spicy, almost. Whatever it was made her want to lean over and bury her face in his neck. Not a good idea, she knew.

“I promise, I won't ask you to do stuff during your time off a lot, or if I do, I'l make it up to you.” He gave her shoulder another squeeze and then

trailed his hand down her arm before walking into the studio.

What did
that
mean? She didn't have time to ponder the question further, as the show started just then, and she got busy queuing up cal ers and

setting up breaks. She was starting to get used to the new system, but there were stil a few hiccups. Overal , though, she was happy. This was a

great job so far, and Drew was a good guy to work for. She'd produced for a lot of different types of hosts before, and even though the station's

management might think Drew was demanding, she knew better. He just expected quality work, and real y, why shouldn't he?

She listened to him as he spoke with the listeners and was once again drawn in by the sexy rasp of his voice. Where had he come by that rough

timbre? Was it from screaming at opponents for years? From al the time spent in freezing-cold arenas? Or was it just the way his voice was natural y? There was no doubt why he was in radio—even though he didn't have a traditional DJ-smooth voice, she'd bet there were a number of

listeners, particularly women, who tuned in just to hear the sound of that voice for hours each night. She knew she certainly enjoyed it—way too

much, in fact.

Try as she might, she couldn't keep her thoughts about Drew on a purely professional level. How was she supposed to, when she was spending

twenty hours a week sitting not ten feet away from him and staring at that fine specimen of a man? On top of that, she had to endure listening to his

incredible sexy voice and watch while he caressed the microphone like a lover. She would bet everything she owned that Drew would be a lover

like none she'd ever been with. He smoldered with passion. It was exhausting to struggle against something as overwhelming as his blatant

sexuality.

She'd promised herself and her sister that she wouldn't get involved with him, but there was no way she could stop thinking about what it would

be like to have him completely focused on her as he touched and tasted her. Her nipples beaded against the lace of her bra, and she shifted in her

seat to try to gain some relief from the sudden throbbing ache between her thighs. She was stil trying in vain to get comfortable when the door

opened. She jumped a foot as she turned around in her seat—she hadn't expected anyone would stil be around at this time of night.

“Hi, Jamie, how are you?” Bob, the station manager, asked.

“Fine, but you scared me. I didn't expect anyone to be around this late.” Her pulse fluttered, and a flush crept up from her chest through her neck

to her face. Would he know what she'd been thinking about?

“I was out to dinner with the wife and decided to stop by the station. I wanted to see how things were going.”

He was so worried about them that he was coming back to the station that late at night? She bit her lip. Was there something she should know

about Drew that no one was tel ing her? Or were they concerned about her? About her job performance?

“Fine. Everything is going fine. Drew is doing wel .” She indicated Drew in the booth, who nodded and gave a brief wave to Bob.

“Good, good. So, no problems, then?”

Jamie frowned. “No, none.”

“Um, wel , that's great,” Bob said, shifting his weight from foot to foot, not meeting her gaze. “Wel , in that case, I'l just get back to my wife...”

“Al right. Great seeing you again.” Jamie turned back toward the board, grateful the awkward exchange was over. She didn't buy his

explanation about just wanting to stop by and see how things were going but couldn't exactly cal him on it either.

The show drew to a close, and Drew came back into the booth. “What was that thing with Bob al about?”

“I have no idea. He said he wanted to see how things were going.”

“Right...” Drew paused. “Anyway, great show tonight. I'm looking forward to tomorrow. Should be a great bit.”

They said their good-byes. As Jamie headed for the subway home, she fanned herself. Though it was stil only springtime, it was definitely

getting hotter in that studio.

As he opened the show on Thursday, Drew was thankful he'd at least have some interesting stuff to talk about. Even though Jamie was a

definite distraction, she was also a hel of a producer. She'd given him a couple more ideas for fil ers, and they were real y solid. He hated having to

fil time, but it was a necessary evil, especial y during the off-season. At least when he used her ideas, she unleashed her kil er smile. She could

bring a man to his knees with that weapon, and yet she appeared total y unaware of her al ure.

He introduced the bit on the “Facial Hair Hal of Fame” and began to take cal s. People had very strong opinions about who should be put into

the “Hal of Fame,” which surprised him. In his day, he'd sported a pretty consistent five o'clock shadow. He didn't like having the helmet's chin strap

chafing on his neck, and the stubble mitigated that a little.

Even now, he only shaved a few days a week. He hated shaving and didn't see any reason why he should do it every day—it wasn't like he had

a corporate job. Who cared whether or not he walked around the station a little scruffy? Of course, that thought led him into an internal discussion

about whether or not Jamie liked guys with some beard growth. He imagined lightly scraping his whiskers along the sensitive peaks of her nipples

and nearly wiped out the entire board of cal s because he got so preoccupied.

The “Facial Hair Hal of Fame” ended up going nearly an hour, which was fine by him, since it led to a lot of hilarity, and when the show was over,

he made sure he caught her in the booth before he went home.

“Awesome idea with the new bit. I'm gonna take a closer look at the other ideas you brought me, and we can talk about them over the next few

days. If we can implement maybe one or two new bits a week, I bet we could jack the ratings through the roof.”

Jamie pushed her hair behind her ear, but it promptly fel back again. His hands itched to touch it, to see if it was as soft as it looked. He loved

how wild and untamed it was, and how she hadn't tried to shel ac it into place. Hair like that shouldn't be tamed—it was made to have a man's

hands running through it. He clenched his hands at his sides as the need to do just that got even stronger.

“Anyway, I should let you get out of here. I don't want you thinking I'm some kind of taskmaster.” He leaned against the desk, knowing the action

was in direct contradiction to what he'd just said. Why wasn't he able to just leave wel enough alone?
Go home, Drew.

Jamie rose and began tidying up the area. He watched her work for a few minutes, but when it seemed pitiful for him to continue hanging