My Front Page Scandal. Carrie Alexander

so was he. Although his label as a quitter had accustomed him to the scowls, profane insults and pitying stares, he was not prepared for his angel of mercy to give him the bum’s rush.

      At the same time, the shameful, niggardly part of him that had prompted his current state of disgrace said that he deserved no more.

      THE CAB DROPPED them off at the scene of the accident. David’s motorcycle remained at the curb, although a bystander had stood it up. “Small miracle,” he said to himself, rubbing at the scratches that marred the shiny metal of the sleek, expensive Honda. The only major damage was a large dent in the front fender.

      Unsure of what to do or say, Brooke studied the facade of the department store as if she hadn’t been working there ever since college. Stone steps led to the stately four-story stone building. Above a thick, carved lintel were the pitted letters that had spelled out O.M. Worthington since the store had opened as a haberdashery at the turn of the twentieth century. On either side of the double doors were her babies—the display windows. Not large, not ostentatious, but her own private gallery of sorts. She hadn’t had the guts to go as far creatively as she might like, but with Alyce Simmons’s support, she believed that her time was coming. The Gaultier display was only the beginning.

      “Where are you headed?” she asked David, without looking at him. “Back to the hotel?”

      “Maybe.”

      “Remember what the doctor said about watching for signs of concussion.” He’d be all right on his own, she reassured herself. She had her own mess to clean up inside the store.

      And out. Her fingers spread over the butter-soft leather of the minidress in an involuntary caress. Despite the scolding conscience that said she must return it as soon as possible, she was reluctant. The dress was outrageous, far beyond what she’d normally wear, which made it more freeing than anything she’d ever put on.

      Maybe too freeing, considering her lack of underpants. She’d been on edge about that all night. Particularly when the paparazzi had reappeared and she’d feared they’d snap a Britney-crotch shot of her, and even more particularly when David had caressed her thigh. She’d shocked herself when her impulse was to let him continue.

      Yet another impulse ignored. She’d slammed her thighs shut so fast she’d almost snapped his hand off at the wrist.

      “What’d the doc say?” David pinched the bridge of his nose. “I forget. My memory’s spotty.”

      “Are you…?” She took a quick glance. Of course he’s teasing. He had an impish quality, although nothing in his broad, muscled body or square-jawed face was the least bit elfin. The long, tousled hair, maybe—but mostly it was about attitude.

      That, and his dancing, roguish eyes. They seemed to look right into her and know that there was a Brooke, a long-hidden Brooke, who wanted to come out and play.

      “Nice try.” She slipped off the jacket and held it out to him.

      He came closer to snag it. “Please.” This time, sincerity underwrote every word. “Don’t go back to work.”

      “I have to. I left things in a state. The window’s half undone.”

      He tried the charming, off-center grin. “You promised to look after me.”

      True.

      He gave her a head bob. “C’mon.”

      She was leaning that way. Literally—her body swaying toward his as if he were the magnetic north pole. “Something tells me you don’t have health care on your mind.” Neither did she.

      “Spend the night with me, Brooke. I’ll take you to all my favorite places in the city. We’ll stay up ’til dawn. It’ll be an unforgettable experience.”

      More than he knew.

      Her heart raced. The need to say yes bubbled inside her like an underground brook. But she couldn’t do it, not this way—the window a mess, him dizzy with pain and high on medication, her gone completely out of her mind, lacking inhibitions or panties.

      She wasn’t there. Not yet.

      “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just can’t.”

      His battered face fell. The genuine disappointment touched off her sympathy and underlined her longing. Her throat ached, for both of them.

      “I have to return to work.” She gestured. “I’m responsible for changing the window and it must be done tonight.” Brooke took a couple of steps away from him, her feet heavy in the strappy shoes. “I’m sorry. I really am. Some other time, maybe…”

      She thought he was going to let her go without another word, but before she’d reached the corner, she heard his footsteps pounding up behind her. Her heart leaped as she spun to face him.

      But he didn’t try to stop her. Instead, he dropped his jacket around her shoulders. “Here, you’ll need this.” He wrapped the heavy, faded denim tightly around her body. His arms were bars of steel, hugging her. “It’s chilly out here.”

      Their noses met. She tingled all over with the type of fever chill that would normally send her to bed. Not a bad prescription for tonight, either.

      “But you’ll be even colder on the motorcycle.” Her voice was barely audible. “Maybe you shouldn’t be driving in your condition.”

      “I’ll be okay.” He shifted, his body slowly dragging against hers, radiating heat even through the denim. Touched his tongue to her bottom lip, took a small lick. A thrill shot through her. “I can drive. You’re a good tonic for recovery. Plus, I’ll be extra careful, because I’m coming back for you tomorrow.”

      He couldn’t be serious. Perhaps “tomorrow” was the equivalent of “I’ll call you.”

      She didn’t know how to respond, but that didn’t really matter since she couldn’t speak. David had placed his lips near hers. She closed her eyes and waited for a kiss that didn’t quite come.

      He held her lip between his teeth, ever so gently. Both of his closed around it and he nibbled. She could not move, except to close her eyes with a sound of surrender that came from deep in her throat. His tongue ran back and forth, laving the stimulated flesh he held so delicately.

      Back and forth, back and forth. How could he be so patient?

      Her nostrils flared, taking in air. She was trying not to pant like an animal. Her tongue had never felt so sensitive in her mouth, flicking and furling in anticipation.

      With a long, warm, sucking pull, he released her lip. His face tilted back and he paused for so long she became certain that she’d collapse to the sidewalk with frustration if he didn’t complete the kiss.

      The puckish grin returned, the one that lit up his eyes. “Dang, girl, you’re making my head swim.”

      She shook her head at him. “Dang, girl? Where are you from?”

      The grin dropped away, but he answered lightly enough. “A lil’ do-nothing, go-nowhere town in Georgia.”

      “Ah, a Southerner.” As if she couldn’t tell by his accent. “I’m a Bostonian, through and through.”

      His gaze skimmed her dress, what there was to see of it. “I like the northern states.”

      Out of the weak, wobbly mess that was her mesmerized body, her nipples sprang up like bullets. “But you left the city.”

      “Like a skunk running from its own stink.”

      She smiled at his exaggerated accent. “And now you’re back…?”

      “Visiting friends,” was all he said. He squeezed and released her. “Let me get my bike. I’ll walk you to the door. This might be a ritzy neighborhood, but you still can’t be wandering around alone in that dress.”

      Brooke nodded, surprised