into a stone.
“I bet you break a lot of hearts with that voice of yours,” he said.
“What voice?” she asked. She knew guys liked her curves. She had the kind of hourglass figure that had been immensely popular fifty years ago, with full breasts, a tiny waist and full hips. But no man had ever noticed her voice.
“That soft, sexy one. You have a bedroom voice,” he said, his own dropping an octave. His words sounded like a line. Which they probably were, considering his reputation. Disappointed in a way she didn’t want to admit to, she pulled her hand free.
Taking a step backward, she put a good amount of distance between them. What kind of a thing was that to say to a woman?
“Don’t get creeped out. I’m not coming on to you.” He ran his hand through his thick hair and tipped his head to the side, studying her. He had a square jaw and laugh or sun lines around his eyes. His skin was tan even though it was winter. Lauren didn’t think he was hitting a tanning bed, which meant he had to be spending some serious time outside. Maybe cross-country skiing?
“It sure sounded that way.” At work she was kind of asexual. Most of the men here treated her like a kid sister or just one of the guys. The radio world was insular, safe. And Lauren was reminded once again that this man wasn’t part of her world. And she didn’t want to be attracted to Mr. Love ’Em and Leave ’Em.
“I was giving you a compliment,” he said, shaking his head.
“Men aren’t supposed to say stuff like that in the workplace.”
He shook his head. “This is what’s happened to society with all that damned political correctness. Men are programmed to notice women and to be attracted to them.”
“That’s a given.”
“So we agree,” he said, arching one eyebrow.
“To what?”
“That I was acting true to form.”
She laughed. She couldn’t help it. He was charming, and she wanted to stand in the hall all morning and enjoy sparring with him. And she had no doubt they’d be sparring.
“Don’t even try to pretend you were just being nice. You were caressing my hand.”
“So I like pretty women.”
“I could tell. I’m not interested in being part of your flock.”
He threw his head back and laughed. Lauren had to smile. Too many men took themselves too seriously. “Well, nice meeting you, Mr. Montrose.”
“The pleasure was all mine, Lauren.”
She walked away without looking back. She didn’t care what the new guy said, she was keeping her distance from Mr. Jack Montrose. He was just the kind of man she’d have gone after. And that meant only one thing—he wasn’t the right one for her.
Jack watched Lauren’s swaying walk until she disappeared around the corner. He felt the old familiar stirring—that longing for something more. Normally he felt little more than light affection and lust for the women he dated. But Lauren had brought something hungry to life in the depths of his soul. The part that he’d buried since his brief marriage had ended more than fifteen years ago.
Lauren Belchoir wasn’t what he’d expected her to be. His brother had been singing her praises since he’d hired her two years ago. But Ty had a fatal weakness, and it was women. All women. He was the kind of man who loved hard and fast, burning a swath through single women in a blazing flame that reminded Jack of their father’s life.
Their dad, Diamond Dave, had lived fast and furious, riding his motorcycle and performing daring stunts, challenging Evel Knievel for supremacy in bravery and courage. Unfortunately fate had caught up with Diamond Dave, leaving him paralyzed from the waist down after a stunt. That had changed the dynamic in Jack and Ty’s parents’ marriage and they’d never been the same.
But Jack had written off Ty’s affection for Lauren Belchoir as a crush. God knew his brother had enough of them. Like their father’s daring, Ty’s approach to relationships was more likely to cause him to crash and burn than discover real love.
Lauren was Jack’s fantasy woman—but he’d had his share of sex trophies over the years. Lauren was curvy and stacked, but her smile was sweet and her eyes gleamed with both humor and intelligence. And that was what really drew him. She had an unconscious grace when she moved that said she was at ease in her body.
Though he’d been on his way out of the building, he went back down the hall. Ty was coming off the executive elevator as Jack approached. With him were a man with thinning hair and about twenty extra pounds and a tall, thin woman with white-blond hair and an inner radiance.
“Hey, big bro, come and meet the team that’s going to save us in the ratings.” Ty was only an inch shorter than Jack’s own six-foot frame. Unlike Jack’s dark coloring, which came from their father, Ty had sandy blond hair and resembled their mother.
“Jack Montrose, meet Ray King and his producer, Didi Sera.”
“It’s a pleasure,” Jack said, shaking their hands. “Where are you two from?”
“New Orleans.”
“Orlando.”
They both spoke at the same time.
“Which is it?” Jack asked. The Orlando market was much more prestigious than New Orleans.
“Both actually,” Ray said with a shrug of his shoulders. “First Orlando, then more recently the Big Easy.”
“Are you a DJ, Jack?” Didi asked.
“No. I own a record label and dabble in other business interests.” He’d always preferred living out of the public spotlight. He’d grown up surrounded by his father’s notoriety and that had been enough to convince Jack that the quiet life was for him.
“Speed Demon Records is one of the more successful indies,” Ty said. Ty had always looked up to Jack. And Jack had felt the burden of being both older brother and father figure to Ty, because their own father had been too busy proving he hadn’t lost his manhood when he’d lost the ability to walk.
“Single?” Ray asked.
Ty glanced at Ray but didn’t say anything.
“Yes.”
“Did you speak to Lauren?”
“Yes,” Jack said.
“So are you going to do it?”
“Do what?”
“Nothing,” Ray said, when Didi nudged him.
Jack looked at Ty. “I need to speak to you privately for a moment.”
Ty nodded and turned to Ray and Didi. “I’ll be up in a minute and we can finish going over the details.”
Didi and Ray left the hall. Jack waited until the door closed behind them before he turned to his brother. “I want to know more about Lauren Belchoir.”
“Why? You said you’d heard enough about her.”
Jack wished they were twelve and nine again so he could get Ty into a headlock and force the answers he wanted out of his brother without having to answer a bunch of questions. But those days were gone, and Jack firmly reminded himself that mature men didn’t have to beat up their younger brothers to get answers. “I ran into her.”
Ty rubbed his chin. Jack knew he should never have brought up the subject. But the summer scent of her hair lingered with each breath he took and the remembered feel of her hand in his still made his palm tingle.
“She’s a good worker, never late, hardly ever calls in sick. She bakes cookies for holidays and will work overtime without complaining.” An unholy mirth shone from Ty’s eyes.
“I’m