Naturally Naughty. Leslie Kelly

hadn’t read the article, and couldn’t remember much—only that she owned some trendy new women’s store on the Magnificent Mile. But he definitely remembered her face, and her name—Katherine…Kate—because, with her thick, dark hair she’d reminded him of an actress of the same name. Kate Jackson? No…but something like that. He couldn’t place the last name yet, but he felt sure he would.

      What on earth she was doing in Pleasantville he couldn’t fathom. But tracking her down really shouldn’t pose much of a problem at all. A scan of the newspaper’s Web site archives and he’d be able to find the article easily enough.

      His return to Chicago tonight couldn’t come soon enough.

      K ATE DIDN’T PLAN to spend much time in her mother’s house. Edie had packed up everything she really wanted when she’d moved to Florida a few weeks back. The place was immaculate, the cabinets emptied and the furniture covered. All Kate had to do was go through her own personal belongings and load what she wanted to keep into her SUV for the drive back to Chicago.

      There wasn’t much. Edie was a practical person, not an overly sentimental one. So there weren’t scads of toys or Kate’s first-grade papers to sort through. Just some precious items. Family pictures. Her first doll. The stuffed bear her father had given her for her sixth birthday—that was a month before he’d been killed in an accident involving his truck.

      She carefully packed a carton with those things, rubbing the worn fur of the bear, remembering how she’d once been unable to sleep through the night without it curled in her arms. Leaving it behind when she’d left town had been an emotional decision, not a logical one. She’d left to escape her childhood, to escape the burden of her family name and the sadness over her mother’s situation. She’d left everything that might connect her to this place, telling her mother over the years to feel free to get rid of her old stuff. Thankfully, Edie never had. She’d known exactly what to keep. And, judging by the absence of most of her high school junk—with the exception of the programs from plays in which Kate had appeared—what to throw away.

      When she’d nearly finished, Kate noticed the old Arturo Fuente cigar box in the corner of her old room. Opening it, she felt a smile tug her lips as she saw two diaries, an empty pack of cigarettes, the stub of a burned-down candle. Even the tattered, musty Playgirl . Surely her mother hadn’t opened this box—the magazine would have been long discarded, otherwise.

      The memory of prom night descended with the impact of a boulder on her heart. That night had marked the end of teenage illusions. It had enforced adult consciousness, made her see her mother as a woman not merely a parent. Over the years she’d come to accept that moment as something everyone had to go through. While she’d been deeply disappointed, it hadn’t affected her strong feelings for Edie. She loved her as much now as she ever had. And, deep down, she was thankful for having learned the valuable lesson about the fickleness of relationships and the heartbreak of love by seeing what her mother had gone through. It had saved her from ever having to experience it firsthand.

      “Glad you got out, Mom. Now, find some great retired guy down in Florida and grab yourself some happiness.”

      Flipping idly through the Playgirl , she cast a speculative glance at the centerfold. “Not bad.” She liked her men long and lean, though not hairless and smooth-chested like this guy. Though flaccid, he definitely had a decent package, reminding her that it had been a long time since she’d had sex. She’d been surrounded by fake penises of all shapes, colors and sizes for so long, she hardly remembered what a real one looked like.

      “No big loss,” she mused out loud, still staring. She hadn’t been kidding when she’d told Armand a small, clean vibrating one was her preference these days. She enjoyed sex. But it seemed to be an awful lot of work for an orgasm she could give herself in five minutes flat. Okay, so she’d never stayed with a man enough to really fall in love and couldn’t judge how “making love” compared to sex. Frankly, deep down Kate suspected she would never fall in love—since love would have to involve trust and vulnerability. She wouldn’t allow anyone to make her vulnerable, not after seeing what it had done to her mother for a couple of decades.

      So sex it was. And sex alone had suited her fine for some time now. As a matter of fact, her favorite new toy—and a hot seller at her store, Bare Essentials—was a tiny vibrator that snapped to the end of her finger and handled things quite nicely. Small enough to carry in a tiny case in her purse, it was safely hidden in a side pocket right at this very minute.

      She might just have to dig out her small friend tonight at the hotel. An orgasm would help blow off some tension. Though it had been a long time since she’d had sex with a man—more than a year…okay, two —Kate certainly hadn’t lacked for orgasms. “A woman owns her orgasms,” she told the photo. “She can take them anytime she wants and doesn’t need to be gifted with them by some guy with a big dick, a little brain and no heart.”

      Though, she had to admit, sometimes the real thing could be awfully nice. She closed her eyes, thinking of her day. Of Jack. Definitely not a little brain, judging by his quick wit and self-confidence. His friendly charm hinted at a man with a heart.

      And, remembering the way he’d felt pressed against her body, he definitely had a big…“Snap out of it, Kate.”

      But she couldn’t. Closing her eyes, she leaned against her old bed. She licked her lips, remembering how his tasted. She moved her hand to her breast, remembering how his chest had felt pressed against hers. She shifted on the floor, aroused again, her thoughts moving back to what she’d felt that afternoon.

      She’d wanted him. Still did, judging by the hot dampness between her legs. Remembering she had brought her purse with her up to the bedroom, she reached for it, finding the zippered side pocket. Retrieving the vibrator, she snapped it onto the tip of her middle finger, and moved up onto the bed.

      “Maybe it’s been too long since the real thing,” she said. There were benefits to sex with someone else. Touching. Deep, slow, wet kisses that curled her toes…like those she’d shared with Jack this afternoon. And she totally got off on having a man suck her breasts. Her nipples were hard now, just thinking about it. She envisioned a mouth. His mouth.

      But her tiny friend would do for now. She moved her hand lower, down her body, under her skirt. Along the seam of her thigh-high stockings.

      “Jack,” she whispered as she brought the tiny, fluttering device to the lacy edge of her silk panties. “Who are you, really?”