Drew Milan watched, fascinated, as a leggy woman with unruly dark brown hair that reached halfway down her back twisted herself underneath the producer’s desk. As he continued perusing her body, he noticed her long, slim legs encased in skintight leather boots. Holy shit, are those a sexy pair of boots! Kill me now, and I’ll go with a huge freakin’ smile on my face. He was a leg man, and this angel had been dropped from the sky especially for him. He must’ve done some good deed he couldn’t remember to have had this good fortune bestowed upon him. The question was, what she was doing crawling around under the equipment?
She started to back out, and Drew felt his cock thicken as inch by inch of glorious legs unfolded themselves. Finally managing to pull himself out of his reverie, he cleared his throat. The woman jerked and turned around, revealing a large set of light brown eyes, a small nose set into the middle of a long face with a pointed chin, and an incredible set of full, luscious lips.
“Can I help you?” The woman blushed furiously, her pale skin flushing bright pink.
* * * * *
Knowing instantly that this Adonis of a man was retired hockey player Drew Milan, the host of the show Jamie MacMahon was producing, she silently berated herself for blushing like a schoolgirl as she struggled to her feet and swiped at the dust coating her skirt. If I’d known I was going to be crawling around under the equipment first thing, I would’ve worn jeans.
A quick inspection of his barrel chest and huge biceps, both highlighted nicely by the skintight polo shirt he was wearing, confirmed he still kept himself in shape, even though he’d retired a few years back.
He appraised her openly, his gaze raking up and down her body. Not used to such unconcealed interest on the part of men -- especially those she worked with -- she wasn’t sure how to react. She attempted to ignore his heated stare. “Um, hi, Mr. Milan, I’m Jamie MacMahon.” You’re babbling…
“Jamie?” he repeated.
“Yes, your new producer.”
“Oh!” He looked dumbstruck. “I was under the impression my new producer was a man.”
Great. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Milan. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
He grinned, and his whole face transformed before her eyes. Oh, he still had a strong square jaw and high-slashing cheekbones that highlighted his closely cropped, jet-black hair, but his smile lit up the whole room. Blue-gray eyes the color of the sea during a rainstorm softened to a light aqua. Her breath caught in her throat, and her pulse began to thunder. She covered her heart, and Drew’s gaze followed the movement before returning to her face.
“I’m not disappointed. I’m surprised, but I’m most definitely not disappointed. And call me Drew. Mr. Milan makes me feel like an old man, and I shudder to think a beautiful young thing like you thinks I’m an old man.” His eyes blazed as he stared at her.
My God -- he’s blatantly hitting on me. Maybe he hits on every woman he meets, the same way I imagine what a gorgeous pair of shoes would look like if I were wearing them.
She coughed delicately into her hand. Old? No. Unbelievably hot, yes. And wow, his voice was mesmerizing -- rough yet sensual. Forcing herself to keep her focus on the job, she glanced at the studio behind her. “Well, Drew, the show is about to start. Anything I need to know other than what’s on the show log?”
He shrugged. “Not really. Gonna be a light show tonight, so keep the calls coming. I don’t like yammering on and on just to fill dead air.”
“I don’t think I expect a lot from my producers, but apparently the guys upstairs disagree. Anyway, I’ll be gentle, I promise. Well, unless you don’t want me to be.” Throwing her a cheeky wink, he sauntered into the studio, sat, and picked up his headphones.
Jamie considered actually fanning her face, knowing she must be badly blushing. Glancing at the clock, she hurried to sit. They still had about ninety seconds until the syndicated sports show they aired from three to seven p.m. ended. There was a short ad sequence after that, and then they were on. She put the studio in queue so she could speak to him without it going on the air. “Do you need a countdown?”
“Just because I was a hockey player doesn’t mean I can’t count,” he chided her. “I had to read a scoreboard, you know.” He was separated from her by about ten feet and a pane of glass, but she could easily see the taunting smile playing on his lips.
Jamie blushed yet again. Dammit! “That’s not what I was implying.”
“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’ve got it.”
Taking a focusing breath like she’d learned in her yoga class back in Buffalo, Jamie detected a hint of the scent he’d left behind -- something that screamed “male.” It sent her imagination into overdrive, wondering what wonderful things he could do with that maleness. She’d seen his headshot in the main reception area when she’d come in for her interview but had no idea he was this gorgeous up close. She had a feeling he would wreak havoc with her peace of mind, and she wasn’t at all sure she was ready for his undoubtedly overwhelming presence. He had reduced her to a mass of shivering need within minutes.
Just last night she’d read that he’d come by the less than flattering nickname “The Beast” during his playing days in the NHL. Apparently he’d been a tough character on and off the ice, and with his hulking frame, the nickname certainly seemed accurate, but not in an entirely bad way -- more like in a bad-boy way. Jamie shuddered. She was nervous as hell, and the undercurrent of sexual tension wasn’t helping matters.
Drew tested his mic, startling her from her lascivious thoughts, and she automatically adjusted the toggle switch a bit. Next she made sure all the other mics in the studio were off and went about getting everything else prepped, falling into the relative comfort of the routine of her job. The show was set to start, and after the mortifying way things had begun, she prayed she could get through it without screwing up.
She picked up the first call, asking the caller his name and hometown and logging them into the program, along with a brief synopsis of what he wanted to discuss. By the time she switched off the syndicated show and started the feed from the studio, she’d queued three callers and took a minute to peruse the show sheet while Drew did his opening. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she settled back for the remainder of the four hours.
* * * * *
Drew did his best to clear his mind and give all his attention to the show, turning toward the monitor set off to the side of the table in the studio, which showed the lineup of queued callers. He took a lot of pride in doing a quality show, just like he had when he’d given his blood, sweat, and tears to his team during his playing days.
Jamie had lined up calls already. Good girl. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all, as long as I can keep my head in the game and not listen to what my little head wants to do.
She’d given him information on the topics the callers wanted to cover, which by itself was better than the last yahoo he’d been assigned. It had taken that guy nearly half an hour to stop hanging up on calls by mistake. He wasn’t sure what all her abbreviations and shorthand meant but figured he could muddle through until the first commercial break and then ask her to spell out more things.
He quickly introduced the show and went straight to the first caller. “Hi, you’re on The Beast is Back.”
“Yeah, hi, Drew. Brevelich can’t get a shot through to the net to save his life. What’s his problem? Do we need to make a trade?”
Drew chuckled. “I can tell you from personal experience, it’s not nearly as easy as it looks on TV. That being said, Brevelich has been struggling this season, and I wouldn’t be surprised to see a trade, either now or at the trade deadline. The main problem is the salary. The team is pretty near the salary cap already, so they’ll have to trade body for body. Thanks for calling.”
After he’d taken a few more calls, the first commercial break came, and Drew turned off his microphone, pushing it away. He watched for a few moments as Jamie worked, programming all the commercials and the sports score report, which Drew’s colleague Brad had recorded earlier in the night. When she slowed down, he pressed the intercom.
“Show’s going pretty good, don’t you think?” she asked without looking up.
“Yeah, so far, so good. One thing, though…” Look at me. I just need a little fix.
Jamie’s gaze flew up, and he clearly read the alarm in her eyes. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, no. It’s just that I can’t figure out what some of these notations mean.” One side of his mouth kicked up. “I don’t get your system of shorthand.”
Jamie laughed; the sound echoed richly in the studio, and his chest constricted. Why had that happened? Shaking his head, he returned to the conversation in time to hear her say, “I use a couple of different abbreviations consistently. I’ll write them down for you, along with what they mean, and you can have it at the next break. How’s that?”
“Great.” Turning back to the microphone, he pulled it toward him and got ready for the next segment. He felt a little lecherous for lusting after her. She had to be at least eight or ten years younger than him, but his body wouldn’t listen to reason -- it wanted what it wanted. He imagined Jamie, naked and sprawled out in front of him, spreading those long legs of hers to reveal her pussy to his greedy eyes. He felt the tension of his arousal coil within him. Hmmm -- wonder if the table in here is sturdy? He discreetly pushed down on the table in front of him to check out how much weight it could take. Solid. To think he was actually checking out something like that told him how badly he needed to get laid.
She’d been there all of an hour. Drew shook his head. He was already losing his mind.
© Cassandra Carr,
Talk to Me
Publisher: Loose Id, LLC
Genre: Erotic Contemporary
Radio producer Jamie MacMahon is in over her head with ex-hockey player-turned host Drew Milan. She’s attracted to the man who earned the nickname “the Beast” during his playing days from the moment they meet, but he’s her boss and she loves her new job. She’s made plenty of mistakes with men and loathes the thought of being yet another plaything for Drew, a man who sleeps with women but doesn’t date them.
Drew doesn’t want to lose a great producer and knows Jamie deserves a real relationship, but can’t stay away from the sizzling chemistry they create every time they’re together. Jamie’s insecurities and the very real prospect of having to leave a great job if this thing doesn’t work out clash hard with Drew’s fears about opening his heart and the possibility of losing his first competent producer. Nothing's going to get resolved if one of them won't say it: "Come on, baby, talk to me."
Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: D/s elements, fetish, spanking, strong language ("dirty" talk).