Hot and Bothered(20)

                Haven’s only hope was that Saturday night with Jewelry Marketing Guy would turn out better than the last six or eight dates. Maybe Jewelry Marketing Guy would be so smart, so thoughtful, so interesting, so brimming with pheromones that she would want to sleep with him on the first date. Then she wouldn’t need to imagine stripping Mark out of his formfitting new wardrobe, thrusting her fingers into his thick, scrumptious hair and pressing her mouth—actually, her whole freaking naked body—against his.

                “Do I have to wear this stuff all the time?” Mark turned to ask her the question. Sullenly.

                It was probably a good thing that he was still a pain in the ass. A hot, trouble-making, pain in the ass.

                “Not when you’re locked in your own apartment.”

                He sighed. “I hate you.”

                His eyes told her he didn’t.

                “I’ll wear this home,” he told Judy. He was in a gorgeous fine-knit striped V-neck sweater and butt-snugging jeans. Haven wanted to beg him not to wear those clothes out of the store. To have mercy.

                He went to the men’s room while Haven paid for his things. She’d bill the whole lot back to Jimmy, and Jimmy would take it out of Mark’s tour earnings. God forbid Mark screw up again, because Haven had no idea who’d foot the bill if he torpedoed his chance to be part of the tour.

                Judy handed Haven Mark’s shopping bags, plus an unmarked plastic bag. “The clothes he wore in here,” Judy said. “Unless you want me to just throw them in the trash right now. Or burn them.”

                Haven took the bags. She felt a peculiar tenderness for the ratty jeans and the tortured jacket, and on top of that she had a totally perverted desire to pull out the T-shirt and see if she could detect Mark’s scent in it. Not the expensive hair-care products and fabric sizing from today, but the real Mark smell of coconut, leather and clean male sweat.

                “Nah,” she told Judy. “I’ll give it to Goodwill.”

                “They might not want it. That jacket—”

                “I know,” Haven said fervently.

                While she waited for Mark, she tucked the plastic bag of his clothes into one of the shopping bags, where it couldn’t tempt her.





                                      4

                HAVEN DIDN’T HAVE a thing for celebrities. She liked to think that was a good trait in an image consultant, because she didn’t freeze up or go all fangirl around them. She didn’t fetishize fame or worship actors or read about British royalty with stars in her eyes. They were people just like anyone else, who had to do their jobs plus manage all of that expectation and public scrutiny.

                Just people.

                And, Haven would also have said about herself, Haven had believed about herself, that she didn’t have a thing for musicians. As a teenager, she’d never screamed or launched herself onto a stage or pulled off her top because some hot musician had thrust his pelvis in her direction.

                However, she was reconsidering her position, watching Mark Webster play the guitar at Village Blues.

                She’d tried to get Elisa to come out with her, but Elisa had muttered something smug about a night in with her boyfriend who’d been on the road too much. So here Haven was, sitting by herself at a little table in a dark club that was lit by a meandering string of white Christmas lights. She was sipping a glass of decent red wine and trying hard not to make eye contact with the motley assortment of men who made pre-makeover Mark look like a fashion plate.