built-in VCR, nice but nothing to
rave about. But her stereo system, now that was state-of-the-art! Ty perused
her collection of tapes and CDs.
"I see you like some of the same music I do," he shouted
over his shoulder.
"You don't have to yell; I'm right here." She'd come
into the room so quietly he hadn't heard her.
"Sorry. I thought you were still changing." His gaze,
when he turned, traveled lingeringly over the super-long, shapely expanse of
her legs. His eyes widened and seemed to grow darker, becoming more midnight
blue than indigo. He coughed to clear his throat, and said huskily, "I'll
take you up on that iced tea if you don't mind. I haven't made my way past the
living room yet."
"So I see." Jess headed for the kitchen, with Ty
trailing behind. She walked to the refrigerator, retrieved the pitcher of tea,
turned around and bumped smack into him. He was peering over her shoulder into
the refrigerator.
"If you're that hungry, I can make you a sandwich," she
said, pushing past him to the cupboard where she kept the glasses. "Or we
can leave now if you prefer."
"No, I'm fine." His head was half-buried in the fridge
as he inventoried its contents.
Jess didn't know whether to be perturbed or to laugh. "Uh,
Ty. What are you doing?"
"Finding out what kinds of foods you like."
"Oh. Well, move, will you, so I can get to the ice
cubes?"
Instead, he opened the freezer and handed her a tray, getting a
look at the frozen goods inside.
"Real ice cream," he commented. "And not a diet
entree in sight. It's going to be fun going out for a change with someone who
isn't counting calories. I hate sitting down to a dinner of country fried
steak, mashed potatoes with gravy, creamed peas, and rolls slathered with
butter, while my date is munching on a plate of rabbit food. It makes me feel
guilty, and takes a lot of the enjoyment out of the meal."
"You certainly won't have that problem with me," she
assured him, passing him a glass of tea. "If it isn't chock-full of
calories and fat, half the taste is gone. And if it's made of chocolate, get
out of my way or I'll mow you down to get at it. I sincerely pray that I never
become overweight, because my willpower in that department is totally
nil."
By now, Ty was out of the freezer and had spotted her cappuccino
machine. "Wow! Look at that!" He tugged open a cupboard door, then
another. "You have real food in here, too, and pots and pans that actually
look used, and a mixer, and a Crockpot, and a food processor. Tell me you cook,
honest-to-God cook, and I'll marry you tomorrow."
Jess shook her head, amused at his overblown enthusiasm.
"Down, boy! Down! Let's not get carried away, here. Besides, you'd be the
last man I'd choose to marry."
Ty blinked in surprise and tendered a frown. "Why? You've
already admitted that you think I'm handsome, I'm semifamous and make good
money, and"—he winked—"I've never had any complaints in the bedroom.
All in all, most women would consider me a prize catch."
"I'm not most women," she reminded him, "and if
you'd think about it for a minute, you'd know why I'd be nuts to marry you. Do
you really suppose I'd want to go through the rest of my life with the name of
Jessie James?"
Ty roared with laughter, as once again she caught him off guard.
"Oh, that's choice!" he hooted.
"To you, maybe, but not to me."
"But you do cook?" he urged, nodding toward a rack of
cookbooks he'd just noticed.
"When I have time," she told him. "When I'm not on
assignment somewhere and living out of a suitcase."
"Do you do that much?" he questioned. "Travel, I
mean."
"I try to hold it to a minimum, but often there's a story I
want to research, something that just won't gel via phone or computer, or some
event or incident that needs that hands-on touch. Then I drive or fly to
wherever it is and get the scoop firsthand. Sometimes being there—seeing,
touching, smelling, experiencing it up close, getting face-to-face interviews—
makes the difference between a so-so
rave about. But her stereo system, now that was state-of-the-art! Ty perused
her collection of tapes and CDs.
"I see you like some of the same music I do," he shouted
over his shoulder.
"You don't have to yell; I'm right here." She'd come
into the room so quietly he hadn't heard her.
"Sorry. I thought you were still changing." His gaze,
when he turned, traveled lingeringly over the super-long, shapely expanse of
her legs. His eyes widened and seemed to grow darker, becoming more midnight
blue than indigo. He coughed to clear his throat, and said huskily, "I'll
take you up on that iced tea if you don't mind. I haven't made my way past the
living room yet."
"So I see." Jess headed for the kitchen, with Ty
trailing behind. She walked to the refrigerator, retrieved the pitcher of tea,
turned around and bumped smack into him. He was peering over her shoulder into
the refrigerator.
"If you're that hungry, I can make you a sandwich," she
said, pushing past him to the cupboard where she kept the glasses. "Or we
can leave now if you prefer."
"No, I'm fine." His head was half-buried in the fridge
as he inventoried its contents.
Jess didn't know whether to be perturbed or to laugh. "Uh,
Ty. What are you doing?"
"Finding out what kinds of foods you like."
"Oh. Well, move, will you, so I can get to the ice
cubes?"
Instead, he opened the freezer and handed her a tray, getting a
look at the frozen goods inside.
"Real ice cream," he commented. "And not a diet
entree in sight. It's going to be fun going out for a change with someone who
isn't counting calories. I hate sitting down to a dinner of country fried
steak, mashed potatoes with gravy, creamed peas, and rolls slathered with
butter, while my date is munching on a plate of rabbit food. It makes me feel
guilty, and takes a lot of the enjoyment out of the meal."
"You certainly won't have that problem with me," she
assured him, passing him a glass of tea. "If it isn't chock-full of
calories and fat, half the taste is gone. And if it's made of chocolate, get
out of my way or I'll mow you down to get at it. I sincerely pray that I never
become overweight, because my willpower in that department is totally
nil."
By now, Ty was out of the freezer and had spotted her cappuccino
machine. "Wow! Look at that!" He tugged open a cupboard door, then
another. "You have real food in here, too, and pots and pans that actually
look used, and a mixer, and a Crockpot, and a food processor. Tell me you cook,
honest-to-God cook, and I'll marry you tomorrow."
Jess shook her head, amused at his overblown enthusiasm.
"Down, boy! Down! Let's not get carried away, here. Besides, you'd be the
last man I'd choose to marry."
Ty blinked in surprise and tendered a frown. "Why? You've
already admitted that you think I'm handsome, I'm semifamous and make good
money, and"—he winked—"I've never had any complaints in the bedroom.
All in all, most women would consider me a prize catch."
"I'm not most women," she reminded him, "and if
you'd think about it for a minute, you'd know why I'd be nuts to marry you. Do
you really suppose I'd want to go through the rest of my life with the name of
Jessie James?"
Ty roared with laughter, as once again she caught him off guard.
"Oh, that's choice!" he hooted.
"To you, maybe, but not to me."
"But you do cook?" he urged, nodding toward a rack of
cookbooks he'd just noticed.
"When I have time," she told him. "When I'm not on
assignment somewhere and living out of a suitcase."
"Do you do that much?" he questioned. "Travel, I
mean."
"I try to hold it to a minimum, but often there's a story I
want to research, something that just won't gel via phone or computer, or some
event or incident that needs that hands-on touch. Then I drive or fly to
wherever it is and get the scoop firsthand. Sometimes being there—seeing,
touching, smelling, experiencing it up close, getting face-to-face interviews—
makes the difference between a so-so
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