First You Kiss 100 Men...

Chapter Two

Then there’s the matter of expediency. Sometimes one of the partners in a kissing couple is a bit more…hesitant, shall we say?…than the other. Hesitation does not necessarily signify reluctance, but it sure can add to the frustration level.

Back at Oltmeier-Matthews, the receptionist got up to lead her to Hunter Matthews’s office.

‘‘Please don’t bother,’’ said Julie. ‘‘I want to surprise him.’’

With the ukulele strap slung over one shoulder and her purse over the other, she headed down the right corridor past a glassed-in meeting room toward the man who had wrecked her carefully laid plans.

The secretary’s desk outside his office sat vacant. Except for the fact that it was devoid of papers and folders, she might have assumed that the employee had stepped away momentarily. A deep voice floated to her from the inner office—a voice that only hours ago had set her heart aflutter, but now filled her with an urge to use her ukulele as a weapon over his head.

‘‘Yeah, Pete, I told you I’d look into it. Don’t worry, I’ll make it a priority. But I still think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill.’’

Taking the musical instrument in hand, Julie pushed the office door open, stepped inside and pointed the neck of the ukulele at him.

‘‘You used to be like a big brother to me,’’ she announced. Well, not really like a brother, but she wasn’t about to admit that she’d once had a long-term teenybopper crush on him. ‘‘Is that any way to treat family?’’

‘‘Pete, I’ll have to call you back.’’ Hunter hung up the phone and rose from his chair. Then he untwisted the coiled cord and moved the phone an inch so that it was exactly catercorner to the edge of his desk. ‘‘Two singing telegrams in one day? What’s the occasion this time?’’

‘‘I’m not delivering a telegram. In fact, thanks to you, that part of my life is now history.’’ Standing across the room from him as she was, Julie thought it prudent to raise her voice so she could be heard. But given her frustration level at the moment, her raised voice quickly turned to something nearer a shriek. ‘‘What possessed you to go to my employer and tell her I was delivering kiss-o-grams and that you happened to ‘get lucky’? You made it sound like I was hiring myself out to deliver more than just a song and a greeting.’’

If he was ashamed, he sure didn’t show it. He should have been avoiding her gaze. He should have been bowing and scraping and apologizing profusely, but instead he stood there like a statue of some gorgeous Greek god and studied her face with unwavering attention.

‘‘I’m sorry,’’ he said, taking a step closer. ‘‘That’s not what I intended to do.’’

She gave him a point for appearing sincere, but the road to you-know-where was paved with good intentions. An overly honest conscience raised the point that it was she who had deliberately bent the company rules of not fraternizing with customers. Hunter’s role had merely been to bring it to her employer’s attention. But that didn’t stop her from venting her frustration over this setback in her career plans.

‘‘Then what, may I ask, were you intending to accomplish by telling my boss I was doling out kisses indiscriminately?’’ She’d been very discriminating when she’d favored him with an early birthday kiss, but there was no way she could have made Mrs. Quarles understand that.

‘‘I’m not really sure,’’ he responded, in a much quieter tone than she’d been using. He seemed truly perplexed.

‘‘You’re not sure why you wanted to ruin my career? Or you’re not sure why you set me up to look like a wanton woman?’’ It seemed as though her blood was boiling in her veins. Her face felt hot, her chest was tight and her vision became blurred as she tried to stare him down through the tears that had pooled in her eyes. Anger, she reminded herself. Stay focused on the anger, and don’t think about how much it hurts to have your career opportunities slashed and burned by one reckless conversation. She took a deep breath to fortify herself for the final salvo. ‘‘You owe me big-time, Mr. Hunter Matthews. And I want you to pay up now.’’

She heard a rustling sound behind her, but was distracted when he stealthily approached her. Positioning his body close to hers, he reached toward her.

For the space of a millisecond, Julie thought that he might take her in his arms and kiss her again. And during that slow-motion fraction of time, she wanted him to do it.

Time had treated him well. Gone was the lean teen physique, and in its place was a body enhanced by firm muscles and a tailored suit. Further magnifying his physical appeal was the lithe confidence with which he moved—confidence gained from maturity and experience. It was an exhilarating combination, and Julie was not immune to it. He’d been a potent package before he’d left for college. Now he was absolutely stupendous….

Lifting her chin in anticipation, she took a breath to steady herself. Of their own accord, her eyelids lowered, and she ran her tongue over her parched lips.

His hand briefly touched her arm as he moved her slightly to one side, and her knees became like pudding. Then the contact was broken as he leaned past her to grab the door. Mmm, privacy.

‘‘Sorry about the disturbance, folks. Everything’s under control now.’’

Julie’s lashes fluttered open. Folks? She turned just before he pushed the heavy wooden door shut and saw a half-dozen curious faces smiling at them. Most of them were the same people who’d watched as she sang to Mr. Oltmeier this morning.

With a barricade between them and their audience, they were alone again. But having been jolted out of her momentary distraction, and disappointed that the situation hadn’t gone according to her secret wishes, Julie refocused her attention on the matter at hand.

‘‘You owe me a job.’’

‘‘That would never do.’’

‘‘I don’t think you understand how important the Merry Messengers job was to me. Losing that position is going to severely and negatively impact my career plans.’’

He had the nerve to laugh. ‘‘You delivered singing telegrams. What kind of stepping-stone is that? Were you hoping to someday deliver singing and dancing telegrams?’’

Julie crossed her arms over her chest. ‘‘Of course not,’’ she retorted. ‘‘I’ve already been a dancing banana.’’

Too late, she realized she had only provided him more fuel for his entertainment. Looking at it from his point of view, she supposed it did sound silly to tie her career plans to a ridiculous part-time job, but she couldn’t tell him the real reason she needed the Merry Messengers gig. For one thing, it sounded disreputable to say it provided her with plenty of men to kiss. For another, claiming she needed kissable men to report about in her test column would betray the terms of the agreement she’d made with Mr. Upshaw.

‘‘Just give me a job working here, and I’ll let bygones be bygones.’’ Maybe she should just drop the matter now and look for employment as a waitress, but this was a matter of principle. He owed her. Besides, it would be so cool to do the Dick Tracy thing. As for the column, she’d have to find another way to meet potential kissers.

‘‘I told you I can’t do that.’’

‘‘Why not? I saw a TV news magazine report about private investigators, and it showed how you spend days or even weeks following people around. Certainly a couple of extra eyes, ears and hands could help lighten your load.’’

Once again, he closed the distance between them. This time, though, he wasn’t reaching for the door. He touched her chin with the crook of his finger, and Julie couldn’t help wanting him to finish what she’d started in her mind a moment earlier.

Hope resurged in her heart as his finger trailed upward along her cheek. Brushing a tendril of hair away from her face, he stroked the curve of her ear. As he leaned toward her, his dark eyes heavy with passion, she felt as though her lungs were paralyzed by his heady nearness. Her body braced for what was to come, and the memory of the last kiss sent a warmth throughout her that pooled in the pit of her femininity.

He was so close she could feel his breath on her face. Her lips parted in readiness. And then it came. Apollo had landed. Unfortunately, it missed the mark and ended up on her cheek instead. A dry, brotherly kiss.

Disappointment flooded her soul and found release in the form of a heavy sigh.

‘‘That’s why we can’t work in the same office.’’ Hunter leaned back and tucked his hands in his pockets, a wry smile on his handsome features. ‘‘Something happened between us this morning…something I’m not ready or willing to explore. I’ve accomplished too much here to risk it with an office fling.’’

The cynic in her wondered if his reluctance for romance had anything to do with his former fiancée. No one knew why they’d broken up years ago; he was too much of a gentleman to talk about it. But that didn’t stop people from speculating that Yvonne had been at fault. In fact, Hunter’s silence on the matter may have contributed to that assumption. And they all hated her for breaking his heart.

All except Julie. Although she’d hated to see him hurting, she’d been secretly glad that he would not be marrying. Not that she could have taken advantage of his availability; she’d been in college at the time and certain that someone as handsome, successful and mature as Hunter would not be interested in anyone like her.

And now he’d made that perfectly clear. Julie straightened her spine. ‘‘Don’t flatter yourself. I have something to say about the matter, too.’’

‘‘Yes, and you’ve already said plenty.’’ He picked up the ukulele she’d set on the chair earlier and handed it to her. ‘‘I’d be happy to give you a good reference, though.’’

‘‘Your technique in discussing my work with employers leaves a lot to be desired.’’

To his credit, he looked remorseful about his role in her dilemma.

‘‘So are you going to hire me or what? I have bills to pay and…career goals to accomplish.’’

Hunter paused, rubbing his thumb over the little scar beside his mouth.

Definitely a good sign. Julie grinned at his response.

‘‘What? Why are you smiling? I haven’t answered yet.’’

‘‘Yes, you have. You always did that thing with your scar before you caved in and let me tag along on dates with you and my sister.’’

He conceded with a nod of his head. ‘‘I’ll have to work on that.’’ A moment passed before he added, ‘‘By the way, how’s Charlene? I haven’t seen her in ages.’’

Since their mutual breakup thirteen years ago, to be exact. Julie hadn’t understood at the time why her sister had not been torn apart over their peaceable parting. Charlene had explained that their relationship had run its course, and she soon moved on to another boyfriend, but Julie had thought at the time that if she’d been in her sister’s shoes, she would have been devastated.

‘‘Charlene married Nathan Kleinschmidt. They just had their first baby, a girl, last month.’’

Becoming an aunt had been a momentous event for Julie. Not only did her tiny niece give her someone to dote on, but little Evie had also stirred a long-held desire for a child of her own. Seeing the baby watch her mother’s face with an expression of pure love had triggered a need in Julie, a longstanding need that she’d only recently recognized. A need to be cherished.

Each time one of her former classmates had married, Julie had sat at the wedding, watching with envy the expressions of pure adoration the grooms had bestowed on their brides. Julie wanted to be looked at like that. She wanted to be the center of someone’s universe. And the birth of her niece had opened a flood of feelings that had been growing for a long time.

‘‘Please give them both my congratulations,’’ Hunter said.

He studied her for a long moment, and Julie felt like she was nine years old again.

‘‘As it happens, I am temporarily short on staff and could use you to fill in for about a month. I can’t promise anything permanent, but it should keep you going until something else comes along.’’

Then he named a salary that was higher than her pay—even with tips—had been at Merry Messengers.

Working at a private investigation agency wouldn’t give her much opportunity to meet new people, unless, of course, they happened to be lurking in a bush near hers. But it would keep food on the table, and maybe she could introduce herself to some of the people in the nearby offices.

‘‘Deal,’’ she said, holding out her hand to seal their arrangement. Julie did an admirable job of pretending not to notice the strength in his large hand, or the way his long fingers wrapped around her own. ‘‘You won’t regret this.’’

‘‘No offense,’’ he countered, ‘‘but something tells me I will.’’

If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought she was all set to attend a funeral…except no mourner would dare show up at such a solemn event looking as sexy as that.

The snug black turtleneck shirt would have shown off her trim figure, if not for the tailored, black leather jacket, which was zipped at the bottom. Then there was the skirt—also black and made of a touchable fabric—that slit enticingly over her left thigh. Sheer black hose and a pair of backless shoes finished off the ensemble. The only spot of color on her was the bright red lipstick that called attention to her wide smile.

Hunter fought to quell his physical response to the sight of her. Trying to focus on more professional matters, he led her to Trudy’s desk. ‘‘This is your station. Active client files are in the bottom-right credenza drawer, the procedure manual is in the top right and stationery and supplies are on the left.’’

She looked perplexed. ‘‘This area is so open. How am I supposed to get any work done without some privacy?’’

Now it was Hunter’s turn to be puzzled. ‘‘This is the most effective arrangement. Since you’re my right-hand staff, I’ll need you to be accessible at all times.’’

Julie shrugged and tossed her black purse into the knee well under the desk. ‘‘I suppose it’ll do. I’ll be on the road most of the time, anyway, so it’s not like I’ll be shackled to it.’’

Hunter flexed his hand. If he were at his own desk, he’d be working the grip exerciser that he kept in the bottom drawer. It was a great stress reliever, and he had a feeling he’d be using it a lot during the next month. ‘‘On the road?’’

She tilted her head, and a lock of soft brown hair fell forward over her shoulder. ‘‘Guess I’ll have to study up on the lingo. Maybe you call it being ‘in the field.’’’ When he failed to respond in the affirmative, she tried again. ‘‘‘Research,’ perhaps? Or ‘on stakeout’?’’

A groan escaped his throat. He hadn’t spelled out that her duties involved only secretarial work, so she had filled in the blanks with a glamorized image of what she assumed her job would be. ‘‘Sorry, Julie Beth, but there will be no stakeouts for you.’’ Remembering some of her childhood antics, he gave a little laugh. ‘‘Besides, I doubt that someone who used to be known as a Mexican jumping bean would be able to sit still during the long boring hours on stakeout.’’

‘‘I’m not a child anymore.’’ She crossed her arms at her waist, inadvertently drawing his attention to her flat stomach and the gentle curve of her hips. ‘‘I’ve grown up, in case you haven’t noticed.’’

A man would have to be blind, deaf and paralyzed not to notice. Hunter took a moment to indulge in the awareness of those changes. For one thing, her voice had deepened from a childish soprano to a sultry alto. The youthful roundness had vanished from her freckled face, leaving delicately defined features that seemed at once expressive and mysterious. The changes in her body had been the most noticeable, but now that he considered her, he could see that even her attitude was different. She was still exuberant like the little girl who used to shadow his steps, but there seemed to be an underlying focus to her actions, as if she had somehow managed to harness her boundless energy and use it for a predetermined purpose. Such a potent combination could be either dynamic or disastrous.

She sat on the edge of her desk, the slit in her skirt parting in invitation, and kicked off her shoes in an ages-old habit that she had apparently been unable to conquer. To his annoyance, Hunter’s thoughts led him to imagining her shedding other items of clothing. He flexed his hand again and chastised himself for his wayward thoughts. Julie was, after all, to be his secretary for the next month. It wouldn’t do to start their time together by harboring after-hours thoughts.

Her gaze left his as she smiled at someone behind him. Hunter turned to see that one of his investigators, Ben Irving, had slowed his steps and seemed to be considering joining them. But a glare from Hunter helped him change his mind, and Ben continued on his way toward the file room, glancing over his shoulder at Julie. If Hunter’s reaction was any indication, this was going to be a long, stress-filled month.

‘‘I think I’d make a good P.I.,’’ Julie persisted. ‘‘Just give me a chance, and you’ll see.’’

A chance to do what? Wreck the cases he’d worked so hard to bring to fruition? Although Mark, one of his investigators, was honeymooning with Trudy, Hunter had no intention of turning Julie loose on Mark’s cases. Those he would handle himself. ‘‘That’s a very tempting suggestion,’’ he lied, ‘‘but your duties will be primarily secretarial. My assistant is out on a month-long honeymoon, and I’ll need you to keep things going smoothly until she returns.’’

Why did that last statement give him a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach?

‘‘But I’m not cut out to be a secretary. I can handle detail work if it’s for something I like doing, but typing and filing for someone else leaves me cold. I’m much more suited to surveillance work, and I’m good at it, too.’’ Julie pointed a manicured finger at him. ‘‘I used to spy on you and Charlene all the time, and you never caught on.’’

Hunter couldn’t help laughing. ‘‘I knew you were there. Your favorite hiding places were behind the sofa or the drapes. And sometimes you lurked inside the TV cabinet.’’

‘‘You knew?’’ She seemed truly amazed, as if he were some kind of genius for having detected her whereabouts.

‘‘Of course. You always took off your shoes, and your stinky feet gave you away.’’

Julie slid off the desk and slipped her shoes back on. ‘‘My feet didn’t stink!’’

To her chagrin, his only response was an amused chuckle, and then he launched into describing her job duties. Secretarial duties.

She interrupted his litany about filing procedures and telephone protocol. ‘‘Perhaps, as you said, my spying technique could have used some work, but I was only a kid then. With a little coaching, I’m sure I could do much better now.’’

‘‘Forget it. Now, over here is the information on how to do Internet searches and—’’

‘‘Maybe I’ll ask Mr. Oltmeier about letting me track down the bad guys.’’ As a teen, Hunter had lorded his seniority over her, telling her what to do as if she had no choice in the matter. But she had quickly learned that going over his head to Gran or his mother had often garnered the results she wanted. Such as permission to accompany him and her sister to the ice-cream parlor for a sundae. ‘‘His name is first in Oltmeier-Matthews, you know.’’

There, let him deny that.

Without speaking a word, Hunter merely raised an eyebrow. The gesture told her in no uncertain terms that such one-upmanship tactics wouldn’t work here.

‘‘All right, I’ll do the stupid desk work. But I don’t have to like it.’’

He flashed her a smug smile. ‘‘Good girl.’’

‘‘But I have a few terms of my own.’’

If she didn’t set firm limits right from the start, he might get the idea she was still a little kid that he could order around at will. And she wasn’t about to let that happen. He tried the raised eyebrow thing again, but she didn’t let it get to her this time.

‘‘First, I don’t want you talking to me like I’m still a child. I’m an adult now, with a college education, and I expect to be treated accordingly.’’ She neglected to mention that her degree was in theater costuming. No need to undermine herself by offering too much information.

‘‘Fair enough,’’ he agreed.

‘‘And don’t call me Julie Beth. It’s just Julie now.’’

‘‘Done.’’ He extended his hand and gripped her fingers in his warm grasp. Julie felt a tingle surge all the way to her toes. ‘‘Welcome to Oltmeier-Matthews.’’

He released her hand much too soon. She stood there feeling awkward, wishing she had pockets in which to thrust her hands, the right one of which seemed to still burn from Hunter’s touch.