One of the Boys (New Jersey) Read online

  Pet had encountered prejudice before and usually dismissed it with a shrug of her shoulders. But Dane Kingston's treatment of her was not something she could forgive and forget.

  "Dane Kingston is an autocratic, overbearing brute," she declared.

  "Pet!" Charlie tried to shush her with a silencing frown.

  "No, I'm going to say what I think. I don't like him, I've never liked him and I never will like him," she stated forcefully. "If he was here I'd say it to his face."

  "Then maybe you should turn around," an icy voice suggested.

  A cold chill ran down her spine. Pet turned her head slowly, her gaze stopping when it found the gold buckle of a belt around the trim waist of the man standing behind her chair. Traveling by inches, her gaze made the long climb up his muscled torso, past the set of huskily built shoulders, beyond the tanned column of his neck and the thinly drawn line of his mouth finally to reach the smoldering brown of his eyes.

  Her pulse thundered in her ears, reacting to the male aggression of his presence. Pet's seated position intensified the impression that he was towering over her. Perhaps if she hadn't felt so threatened she would have acknowledged that he was a ruggedly attractive man. His dark hair was thick and full, inclined to curl while seeking its own style and order. The sheer force of his personality was enough to make her erect barriers of defense, rather than be absorbed by him.

  "I believe there's an old saying that eavesdroppers never hear good about themselves, Mr. Kingston." Her voice was tight with the effort to oppose him.

  The atmosphere around the two tables became so thick a knife could have sliced it. Someone coughed nervously while Lon shifted uneasily in the chair beside Pet. She continued to wage a silent battle of wills with Dane Kingston, refusing to be the first one to lower her gaze, but with each second it was becoming increasingly difficult to meet the iron steadiness of his eyes.

  Andy cleared his throat. "Er—why don't you join us for a beer, Mr. Kingston? We can squeeze another chair in here."

  "Miss Wallis can give me hers," Dane challenged, a mocking glint in his dark eyes. "I'm sure she's tired by now and ready to get some rest."

  "Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not tired—and I have no intention of giving you my chair," she defied him. "Besides, I haven't finished my beer." She turned to pick up her glass as an excuse to look away from him.

  "Here, you can have my chair, Mr. Kingston." Someone down the Way started to rise.

  "Don't bother, I'm not staying," he refused the offer. "I only came by to remind you that we'll start setting up the equipment at six o'clock tomorrow morning. You'd better be thinking about breaking the party up and getting some sleep."

  His statement was met with a few grumbles and self-pitying moans, but the advice was generally taken good-naturedly. By all but Pet, who felt she was capable of knowing how much sleep she needed without being told when she should go to bed.

  "Good night." Dane included everyone in the group. "Don't forget, I expect you to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning—or you'll wish you were."

  "Right, boss."

  "Sure."

  "Good night."

  The replies crowded on top of each other, drowning themselves out. Relief drifted through Pet now that Dane Kingston's unwelcome presence had been removed. She sipped at her beer, but it had grown flat and tepid.

  "I feel as if I'm in a dormitory again, complete with curfew," she griped. "Do you suppose he's going to do a bed check and make sure we're all tucked in for the night?"

  "Would you like me to tuck you in, Miss Wallis?" his voice came back to mock her.

  She jerked around to find he was only a couple of steps away from the table, clearly close enough to have heard her ill-tempered complaint. She could have screamed in frustration, but managed to restrain her anger.

  "No, thank you." She had to grit her teeth when she spoke.

  "If you change your mind, let me know," Dane taunted deliberately, but his eyes were cold.

  This time Pet watched him walk out of the lounge so she wouldn't put her foot in her mouth again. When she turned back to the table, the others eyed her askance, certain she had taken leave of her senses by being so antagonistic. There was a definite possibility that they were right.

  "You're asking for trouble," Charlie murmured the warning.

  "He rubs me the wrong way," Pet declared with a discouraged sigh.

  "We noticed," was the dry response.

  Dane's appearance had the desired effect of breaking up the gathering. After he had left, gradual stirring began. Drinks were finished and cigarettes snubbed out in the ashtrays. Chair legs scraped the floor as they were pushed back to allow their occupants to stand. Although she hated to think she was obeying Dane Kingston's instructions to have an early night, Pet followed along with the group as they left the lounge for their rooms.

  "It must be nice to have a room all to yourself, Pet," Charlie remarked. "You don't know how lucky you are. I have to bunk with Andy and he snores like a freight train."

  "Wait until you have to share a bathroom with Lon!" Joe laughed. "It takes him an hour to comb his hair in the morning."

  At a fork in the hotel corridor, Pet turned to the left while the others started right. "This is where I leave you guys. Good night."

  "Where are you going?" Lon stopped, although the others wished her goodnight and continued on to their rooms.

  "My room is down this way," she explained, dangling the room key she had taken from her shoulder bag.

  "How come you're down that way when all the rest of us are down this way?" he frowned.

  She lifted her shoulders in an indifferent shrug. "Maybe because I have a single room." The question had crossed her mind when she had arrived, but it hadn't seemed important. It didn't now.

  "Good night, Lon." She turned to walk down her corridor, the silken straightness of her long blond hair swinging softly below her shoulder blades.

  "Wait a minute, I'll walk with you." He hurried to catch up with her. Nearly the same height as Pet, Lon had the advantage of only an inch. As he curved an arm around her waist, his smile promised all sorts of pleasures.

  "I can manage myself, Lon." She firmly removed his hand from her waist. "I don't need to be escorted. I won't get lost."

  "I just wanted to be sure you got there safely." He looked affronted that she had taken his interest wrong.

  "I'll tuck myself into bed. Good night, Lon," Pet repeated, and let her long legs carry her swiftly away from him.

  He paused indecisively before he retreated to the fork in the corridor. Halfway down the hall, Pet reached her room. She had to wrestle with the doorknob before she could persuade the key to unlock the door.

  The single room was small. The bed was a little wider than a single, covered with a quilted spread in a blue-flowered print. There was one blue green chair, the same color as the carpet, and a short built-in dresser with a mirror on the wall behind it. A proportionately small television was bolted to an extension of the dresser. The bathroom was about the only thing that was normal size.

  Kicking off her flat shoes, Pet dropped her bag and the room key on the bed, and started to move away. On second thought she reached into her bag to take out the pack of cigarettes and her butane lighter, then walked to the single chair. She turned and sank into the seat in a single fluid motion.

  Shaking out a cigarette, she snapped the lighter and held the flame to the tip. She glanced at the television, but didn't bother to turn it on. After exhaling the cigarette smoke, she leaned back in the chair to reflect on the lousy beginning of this production.

  If she had kept her mouth shut and resisted the urge to vent her opinion of Dane Kingston, he would never have overheard it. Chances were that he had probably forgotten the hostility of their previous meeting. Now she had resurrected it all again when it had been better off buried.

  She didn't like him. But just because she didn't like him, she didn't have to tell him that to his face. if you
didn't like people you avoided them—or were civil if you had to be around them. But you didn't declare war, which was virtually what she had done.

  A sigh broke from her throat. She was usually such an even-tempered person, patient and in control. So why was it that Dane Kingston had the ability to make her lose her cool—to use an outworn vernacular?

  The ashes began to build up on the end of her cigarette. The nearest ashtray was on the dresser. Rising to her feet, Pet walked over to lay the cigarette in the glass container. She opened the dresser drawer where she had put her nightgown after unpacking, and laid it on top.

  There wasn't much point in staying up since it was after ten. It would be a long day tomorrow, even if Dane Kingston had reminded her of it. She began unbuttoning her khaki blouse and tugging the hem loose from the waistband of her matching slacks.

  A knock at the door stopped her action with only two buttons left to unfasten. "Who is it?" Pet called.

  "Dane Kingston," was the muffled reply.

  She didn't for one minute believe that it was the producer. Some members of the crew had a weird sense of humor. It was more than likely somebody's idea of a really funny practical joke. Irritation surged through her in a quick rush.

  "Oh, go away!" she grumbled.

  But the person simply knocked again. She had started to tell him she wasn't in the mood for jokes when she decided it would be much more fun to turn the tables on the gagster.

  "I'm coming." She deliberately put an inviting lilt in her voice and discreetly buttoned a couple of buttons, but left the top ones undone to permit a provocative glimpse of the shadowy cleft between her breasts.

  She sauntered to the door, not bothering with the safety chain as she turned the knob and pulled the door open. "Have you come to tuck me in, Dane?" she murmured sexily.

  But it was Dane Kingston standing in the hallway!

  Chapter Two

  STUNNED, PET HELD the sultry pose she had unconsciously adopted, one hand on her hip and her forearm resting along the edge of the opened door. His dark gaze made a slow and insolent appraisal of her. It was only when he had finished that she recovered from the shock of finding him at her door. The blood rushed to her head, filling her senses with a hot awareness of the situation.

  "I thought you were one of the boys—Lon or Charlie." She was instantly defensive.

  "Coming to tuck you in?" He cocked his head to one side, a suggestive glint in the hard brown eyes, but the smile, touching his mouth was anything but pleasant or amused.

  Anger flared at the gibe. "If that's why you're here, Mr. Kingston, I'm neither amused nor interested!" Pet flashed, and stepped back to slam the door in his face.

  But it was stopped short of the frame by a large hand moving swiftly to block it. For a fleeting second Pet leaned her weight against it, but she wasn't any match for his superior physical strength. As soon as she realized how undignified she must look, she straightened to simply block the opening.

  "What do you want?" She let her exasperation show.

  "I want to talk to you," he stated with a crispness that indicated the subject was not personal.

  "You've talked to me. Now please leave. I want to get some sleep." She remembered the buttons and hurriedly began to fasten the strategic pair near her breasts. "As you pointed out, we have to be up early and work long hours tomorrow."

  "This will only take a few minutes of your precious time, I promise you." Dane Kingston mocked her sudden show of concern for plenty of rest. "Are you going to invite me in? Or do we have this discussion in the hallway where anyone can overhear?"

  The flat of his hand was still resting on the door. Pet guessed it would take only one push of that muscled arm to wrench it out of her hand. He could shove his way into her room if he wanted, and there was very little chance that she could prevent it.

  "Aren't you worried that someone will see you come into my room at this hour of the night?" she taunted.

  "No one that knows either of us. All the rooms for the crew are down the other corridor." There was a humorless curve to his mouth. "So you needn't worry that your reputation is going to be irretrievably damaged by this visit."

  Damn! He made her look so foolish and unadult. "I was more concerned about yours," she retaliated, and spun away from the door, admitting him by moving away.

  "What did you come to see me about?" She came quickly back to the point of his visit since she hadn't been able to get rid of him.

  "Tonight—" he began, then stopped. "Do you always leave cigarettes burning in the ashtray? Don't you know that's a dangerous habit?" he criticized.

  "I only do it when someone knocks on the door. Maybe you would prefer that I answer with a cigarette dangling out of my mouth," she retorted, and walked over to crush it out. "My mother always told me that didn't look ladylike."

  "Do you think it looks ladylike to be one woman sitting in a bar at a table with a dozen men?" He put biting emphasis on her term.

  Pet turned to stare at him, seeing the disgust in his expression. Although she was tall, he still had the height advantage, being easily another six inches taller. It was rare that she had to look so far up to anyone, so it was equally disconcerting to have it be Dane Kingston.

  "I don't see that it's any concern of yours." She had managed to recover from her initial amazement.

  "It should be a concern to you," he countered.

  "I work with those boys," Pet reminded him. "Most of them are married with families. Joe Wiles is a grandfather. Why is it a crime to sit around a table and have a drink with them?"

  "Do I have to spell it out to you, Miss Wallis, how out of place you looked sitting among all those men?" His eyes had narrowed to dark brown slits. "Since you appear to have some interest in your reputation, may I suggest that you leave the drinking and the talking to the men?"

  Pet was astounded by his suggestion—and angry. "What am I suppose to do on my off hours? Sit alone in my hotel room while the guys are in the bar having a good time? If that's your idea, you'd better think again," she informed him in no uncertain terms. "If I want to have a beer with the boys, I will."

  "In case you haven't looked in a mirror lately—" he grabbed her by the elbow and turned her around to face the wall mirror "—you don't happen to be one of the boys!"

  But it wasn't her own reflection that her turbulent sea-green eyes saw in the mirror. It was his, standing tall and dark beside her, overpoweringly masculine beside her willow-slim frame and wheat-tan hair. His innate virility aroused raw feelings of femininity in her. Pet tugged her elbow free of his hold and took a quick step away. She was used to feeling strong and independent no matter what man she was with, not weak at the knees.

  "So what do you expect me to do—remain cloistered for the next couple of weeks or however long it takes to finish this special?" she demanded. "I'm not a nun! I like to laugh and socialize and—wait a minute!"

  She turned on him roundly, a thought suddenly occurring to her. "Is there some significance to the fact that my room is in this corridor while the boys all have rooms in the other one? Was this your idea? Or is it just because this is a single?"

  "When the hotel reservations were made, attention was paid to the fact that you are the only female member of the crew outside of wardrobe and makeup," he admitted smoothly. "It didn't seem wise or proper to put an unattached female in a room next door to a couple dozen men."

  "Then you're responsible for my being separated from the others," she said, feeling anger rather than appreciation for this thoughtfulness.

  "Yes."

  "Am I supposed to thank you for this?" Pet challenged. "Do you have any idea how hard I've worked to be accepted by them? To be treated as their equal? Now I'm in a different wing. You're saying I shouldn't socialize with them at all. What's next? Do I eat at a different table?"

  "I suppose you wouldn't have objected to sharing a room with 'one of the boys,'" Dane jeered.

  "I suppose next you're going to insinuate that I wouldn
't be safe if I spent a night in the same room with Joe Wiles. For heaven's sake, he's a grandfather!" Pet went a step further. "He's old enough to be my grandfather." She went to brush past him and escape from the narrow path between the bed and the dresser to the wider space near the chair, where there was breathing room. "You certainly don't have a very high opinion of the members of your own sex!"

  Dane stopped her, catching her by the arm and whipping her around to face him. Centrifugal force catapulted her against him, the solidness of his brawny frame bringing her to an abrupt halt. The air left her lungs in a rush at the unexpected contact with his body. As she was not a lightweight herself, the impact rocked him slightly. His large hands spanned her waist to steady both of them, the imprint of his fingers burning through the khaki material into her flesh.

  Conscious of the masculine power of his thighs and the steel band of muscles flexing in his arms, Pet tried to collect her scattered wits and slip out of this accidental embrace, but her limbs wouldn't respond to the signals her brain sent out. She felt her heart skipping beats in sheer sexual attraction. Her mind reeled from the possibility that she could be physically attracted to the man.

  "You're a stunning Amazon." His low voice had a harsh edge to it. "Any normal, red-blooded American male—regardless of his age—would get ideas in his head if he spent a night alone in the same room with you. Don't tell me you aren't aware of that?"

  The warmth of his breath fanned her face and hair like an intimate caress. Its potency was drugging. Fighting it, Pet abruptly turned her head to face him and make a retort. But in turning she discovered his head had been bent toward her, and in consequence her lips brushed the angle of his jaw. The resulting sensation was a shivery tingle that ran through her nerve ends, leaving them quivering for more. She twisted out of his arms as if she had been jolted by an electric prod.

  "I'm quite aware of it. I didn't mean to imply that I wanted to share a room with one of—" That phrase "one of the boys" was becoming overused. "But I certainly don't think I have to be in an entirely different wing of the hotel from them."