She froze. This was not a neighborly kiss. It was... it was...
She kissed him back. His mouth was warm, leisurely, intent. Without putting a hand below her waist, he had her yearning to wrap herself around him.
"Kerry, what the hell is this about?"
Ohmigod, it was Troy! She spun around, feeling horribly guilty. He stood in the back gateway, his giant SUV looming over Hal’s fence. "I... I thought you weren’t going to be back until late tomorrow."
"I washed out of the tournament. The damned referee called every disputed shot in favor of the local guy." Hands on his hips, Troy surveyed Kerry, more baffled than angry. "I got your message, and decided to come by when I couldn’t reach you. Why don’t you have your cell phone on?"
He seemed more upset about that than the fact she’d been kissing a strange man. "I really didn’t think I needed my cell phone on a Saturday night, Troy. It’s not as if I’m a doctor on call."
Probably wanting to defuse the tension, Hal stepped forward and offered his hand. "Hi, I’m Hal Gordon."
"Troy Wilhelmson." Automatically Troy shook hands. "Why were you kissing Kerry?"
"She was looking very pretty," Hal said. "Have you had dinner yet? I can toss another filet mignon on the grill and have it ready in a couple of minutes."
"Thanks, but I haven’t time for dinner. I just came to get my girl." Troy gave her his golden boy smile. He really was gorgeous—tall, blond, broad-shouldered, athletic.
He was also totally clueless. Brilliant at number crunching, but unable to figure out why another man might kiss her. Exasperated, she asked, "Don’t you even wonder if I’ve been cheating behind your back?"
"Of course you haven’t, Kerry. Hell, when would you have the time?" Troy laughed at the thought. "C’mon back to your place. Since I got blown out of the tournament early, I’ve got lots of energy left." He gave her a cheerful leer.
She suppressed a sigh. They hadn’t had much sex lately because he’d been so busy. Why tonight, when she wasn’t in the mood? "I’d rather stay a while longer. It’s been ages since I’ve had a day off. Why not take Hal up on his offer of dinner? The food was great."
"You know I don’t eat red meat. Terrible for the cholesterol levels. Come on home now, honey." He wrapped an arm around her waist and gave her a smacking kiss. Marking her as his property. "Later I’ll tell you about a great new fund based on derivatives that I heard about. We can make a bundle if we move fast."
She pulled away, thinking that he didn’t kiss half as well as Hal, and at the moment, she wasn’t particularly interested in derivatives or any other form of financial shell game. "Troy, do you know where I was born? Where I grew up?"
He blinked at her. "Is this a trick question?"
"Not really. I’m just curious if you know anything about me."
Baffled again, he said, "You’re Kerry Roland, the smartest, prettiest female broker in my office."
She was also the only one who was single. How much of her appeal for him was based on her availability?
That insight triggered another one that was even more shocking: Her attachment to him wasn’t much different. Even though she’d occasionally fantasized about athletic blond children, she wasn’t in love with Troy. Take away their mutual employment, and was there a real relationship? Testing her theory, she asked, "What did I do before I became a broker?"
He frowned. "Real estate, wasn’t it?"
She sighed, knowing she couldn’t blame him for being gorgeous and clueless since that’s what he’d always been. While working herself to exhaustion at her job, she’d been slothful about personal relationships, which were far more important. "I didn’t work in real estate. Troy, it’s time to call off our relationship, if an office partnership with occasional sex can be called a relationship."
"It was a trick question! What the hell’s gotten into you, Kerry?" He swung around and glared at Hal. "This is your fault, isn’t it? You’ve been screwing around with my girl."
"No," Hal said, unintimidated, "but I can’t say the thought hasn’t occurred to me. Kerry is a terrific, bright, warm, funny woman."
This was becoming more surreal by the second. Afraid Troy might slug Hal, Kerry said hastily, "My breaking up with you isn’t about Hal. It’s just that today got me to thinking about what I want."
"Is this one of those biological clock things?" Troy asked suspiciously. "I thought you were a real career woman."
"I’d thought so, too, but I’m not sure that being a broker is the career I want. I don’t find financial work very interesting, and I’ve been too busy to even notice."
"You don’t like being a broker?" he exclaimed. "But you’re so good at it!"
"I used to be a good cook, but that doesn’t mean I wanted to be a professional chef." Suspecting her analogy was weak, she offered her hand. "I’m sorry, Troy, I know this must seem like a bolt from the blue to you. I hope we can stay friends."
At that, Troy exploded. "I hate it when women say that! Why the hell would I want to be friends with a woman I’m not fucking?" He pivoted and swung a massive fist at Hal. "I don’t care what Kerry says, this is your fault!"
She shrieked, "Hal!"
Too late. With a series of swift, graceful moves, Hal laid Troy out in a bed of pink impatiens.
While Kerry gaped, Troy climbed to his feet, saying with grudging admiration. "Damn, you’re good, Gordon."
"I’ve studied martial arts for years." Hal grinned. "A very handy skill for a public school teacher."
"You’re a teacher?" Troy brushed off crushed pink petals. "Kerry’s gone off the deep end for a loser? Hey, if you want her, help yourself."
Kerry’s temper snapped. "I am not yours to dispose of, Troy!"
Ignoring her—hadn’t he always except when he was horny or wanted an audience?—Troy stalked out the back gate. A moment later, the SUV engine roared to life, and he was gone.
Kerry watched the retreating lights, shaking at the knowledge that she’d just ended a two-year relationship. She was never the one to end a relationship. Though maybe it was a skill she should have developed earlier.
Hal circled Kerry’s shoulders with one arm and guided her to a lounger, pulling her down to sit next to him. "I’m really sorry. I’ve admired you for a long time, but I didn’t intend to wreck your life. It’s going to be tough to work with him now."
She sighed. "I need to get out of that office anyhow since I don’t enjoy the work. The money is nice, but I don’t even have time to spend it."
"If you’re going to be looking for a new job, the Baltimore County school district still has vacancies for the upcoming school year."
She thought of the kids she’d taught in the past, and clear, warm certainty spread through her. Of course. She was a teacher. Why had she let herself forget that?
"I should probably take a few days to get my head straight, but going back to teaching is the best idea I’ve heard in years." She smiled wryly. "I owe you one for slowing me down enough to realize I hate my life."
"Money’s nice, but the one truly priceless commodity we have is time. We need to spend it wisely and well."
She focused on Hal’s face. There was something powerfully attractive about a man who actually had thoughts beyond sports and profits. Had it only been a few hours ago they’d really started to get acquainted? She felt they’d known each other for years. "I think I need lessons in how to use time well. If I ever knew how, I’ve forgotten."
He kissed her. "This is a pretty good use of time."
Lovely as the kiss was, she reminded herself that she’d made enough relationship mistakes for one lifetime and pulled back a little. "Am I wrong to think you’re the type who prefers serious involvement to casual flings?"
He brushed back her hair tenderly. "You’re not wrong. The first time I saw you, I thought ‘I want to marry a girl just like that one.’"
"Even if I’m too thin?"
"That can be fixed with a little time and ice cream." He kissed her again
.
She relaxed into his embrace, feeling as she’d come home.
Some activities really were best done slowly.
The End
Page forward for excerpts from the
THE STARTING OVER SERIES
full-length novels
Stirring the Embers
Phoenix Falling
An Imperfect Process
Excerpt from
Stirring the Embers
The Starting Over Series
Book One
by
Mary Jo Putney
New York Times Bestselling Author
Twenty-five years ago
A piercing wail shattered the dawn air. The waiting crowd, safely restrained behind barriers, began to buzz with anticipation. In the command post, Kate Corsi danced excitedly from foot to foot. "Now, Papa?"
Sam Corsi laughed. "Not yet, Katie. That's just the two-minute warning siren."
She tried to stand still, but two minutes seemed like forever. She'd always known that her father's business was blowing up buildings, had even seen movies of his work. But this was different, her very first live shot. She tugged restlessly at the ribbon that held back her blond hair. "Can I push the button?"
"If you're good, someday I'll let you set off the blast, but not this time." Sam Corsi ruffled her brother's dark hair. "Someday the business will be Tom's, and he has to learn what it's like to control so much power."
Tom put one arm around Kate in an apologetic hug. "Your turn will come, short stuff."
The countdown by Luther Hairston was progressing. When he saw Kate watching, he closed one dark eye in a wink without stopping his steady counting.
"All right, Tom," Sam Corsi ordered. "Put your finger on that button and wait for me to say 'now!' Don't push it before I tell you to."
Looking a little sick, Tom set his finger on the button. But Kate knew he wouldn't make a mistake. He was the smartest big brother in the world.
Seven, six, five, four, three, two....
"Now!" her father barked.
Tom pushed so hard his fingertip whitened. Nothing happened, and for a terrible moment Kate's heart stopped.
Then machine-gun sharp bangs rattled from the tall building across the street, and clouds of dust rolled from the empty windows in the lower floors. Next came deep, deep booms that shook the bones. Walls pitched inward and the huge structure slowly collapsed into its base. Kate shrieked with joy.
Her father swooped her up to his shoulder for a better view. "Take a good look, Katie. This is Phoenix Demolition at work, and we're the best!"
Kate bounced in his arms. "Someday I'll blow up buildings, too."
Sam chuckled. "Demolition is no place for girls. Tom will run the company. If you ask nicely, maybe he'll let you work in the office."
"The times are changing, Sam," Luther said. "That lively little girl of yours might make a fine PDI engineer when she grows up."
"No daughter of mine is ever going to work demolition."
Kate sniffed. Papa was stubborn, but so was she. She'd make him let her into the business.
Because Katherine Carroll Corsi wanted to blow up buildings.
Stirring the Embers
The Starting Over Series
Book One
by
Mary Jo Putney
~
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Stirring the Embers
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Page forward and continue your journey
with an excerpt from
PHOENIX FALLING
The Starting Over Series
Book Two
Excerpt from
Phoenix Falling
The Starting Over Series
Book Two
by
Mary Jo Putney
New York Times Bestselling Author
Rainey had been jubilant when her agent called to ask her to read for the part of Marguerite St. Just in The Scarlet Pimpernel. Though she loved making small, quirky movies and had built a decent career with them, Pimpernel was the big-time: big budget, big names, and a rousing classic story.
She immersed herself in the script for days before her audition, until she knew exactly who Marguerite was. She even booked sessions with a dialect coach to help her create an alluring French accent, and a movement coach to teach her to curtsy and dance in proper eighteenth-century style.
As she arrived at the studio, one of Hollywood's hottest young female stars was leaving the audition room. Well, she hadn't expected the competition to be easy.
As always on such occasions, the room was full of people evaluating her as if she were a slab of overdone steak. She recognized the film's director, two producers, a famous casting director, and half a dozen executive types.
The director, Jim Gomolko, looked as if he'd bitten into something sour when he told her to go ahead with the test scene. But she'd come prepared. Dressed in a flowing dress with a period flavor, she curtsied gracefully to the executives, using her carefully practiced French accent as she thanked them for their kind consideration.
An expressionless male assistant fed her lines as she performed the scene where Marguerite first meets Sir Percy. She began the scene coolly, for as the most acclaimed actress in Paris Marguerite was used to men wanting to bed her. She'd learned to keep admirers at a distance.
Yet there was something about this Englishman, a hint of steel beneath his languid manners and wicked wit. As the scene progressed she gradually realized that this was a man of surprising depths and passions, one who could keep a woman intrigued....
When she finished her reading, the executives were nodding approval. Gomolko said, "I want you to read again with someone else, Ms. Marlowe."
One of the suits spoke into a cell phone and five minutes later Kenzie Scott ambled into the room. Rainey caught her breath, electrified. Though Scott was rumored to be on board for Pimpernel, her agent had told her the deal wasn't set yet.
Rainey had kept her fingers crossed because she was a great admirer of Kenzie Scott's work. And—well, of his looks, too, she was only human. But even more, she respected his acting. Though she preferred his early work, before he'd become a major star, he brought depth and nuance to even the most macho action roles.
He looked across the room at her as if she was the most fascinating, desirable woman he'd ever seen. Every cell in her body kicked into overdrive. Tall, dark, and charismatic, he was almost supernaturally handsome. He was often mentioned in the same breath with Cary Grant, and not only because of his chiseled features and the faint cleft in his chin. The real similarity lay in his easy, aristocratic British charm. On screen he could project strength, intelligence, wit, vulnerability—all at once if the role called for it. Those qualities were strikingly vivid in person.
Kenzie bowed, a perfect Georgian gentleman despite his khakis and polo shirt. "Mademoiselle St. Just, your performance tonight was brilliant."
With a pang of regret she realized that the admiration in those amazing green eyes was because he was in character. Since he was working from memory, she slid into Marguerite. Recklessly she tossed her script over her shoulder, pages fluttering to the floor while she prayed she'd remember her lines.
She responded to Kenzie's dazzled Sir Percy by playing the scene ardently instead of the coolness of her first reading. They were from different nations, different ways of life. To a loyal daughter of France, this languid aristocrat was all she was taught to despise, while she was an actress, a woman to be bedded, not wed. Yet they both were caught up in a blazing attraction too powerful to deny, no matter how much it cost them.
When they finished the scene, the executives were sitting upright in their chairs. One of the producers muttered, "Jesus, who knew she was so hot?
Gomolko made
a rueful face. "You were right, Kenzie, she's Marguerite. You've got your deal. Do you want the part, Ms. Marlowe?"
"Yes!"
"I'll contact your agent right away to work out the details."
As she stammered her thanks, the room erupted with excited talk, leaving her and Kenzie in a small zone of privacy. Now that they weren't acting together, she felt shy with him. Reminding herself that soon they'd be rolling around on a mattress together, she asked, "What did Gomolko mean about the deal?"
He smiled, tanned skin crinkling around his eyes. "I told him I wouldn't take the part unless you were cast as Marguerite."
No wonder the director had regarded her with misgivings—he'd been afraid he might have to choose between the actor he wanted and an actress he didn't want. "Then I owe you quite a thank-you. Why did you want me in particular? We've never even met."
"I've seen most of your work, and knew you were right for Marguerite."
She groaned. "Please don't tell me you saw Biker Babes from Hell."
He laughed. "That movie proved you could handle Marguerite's adventurous side. But I was already convinced. You should have won that Oscar for Home Free."
She thought of the awards ceremony wistfully. Attending dressed to kill and not showing a shred of disappointment when she didn't win had been a major test of acting skill. "There was a strong field of nominees."
"You were the best." He touched her hair with gossamer delicacy. "This red-gold is your natural color?"
She shivered, a little breathless. "Yes, but usually I play drab, worthy brunettes."
"The time has come for you to play a glamorous woman of the world, Raine."
"People who know me well call me Rainey."
He repeated that in his beautiful deep voice. He'd trained at RADA—the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in London— which gave him an unfair advantage, she thought dizzily. Earlier he'd been Sir Percy admiring Marguerite, but his expression now made it clear he hadn't insisted on her for this movie solely because of her acting.