Red (8 page)

He had wanted to kiss her again, but they'd been interrupted. In truth, he had wanted to do more than kiss her. Much more.

He still did. So bad he ached.

Tugging, inconspicuously, he hoped, at the crotch of his jeans, he turned his gaze back to Carlo and Giovanni. Was it true? he wondered. Had Carlo and Sara done it?

He scowled, jealousy clawing at him. He didn't want to believe it, but Gina and Sara were friends, good friends. They were the same age and had gotten into the business about the same time. He couldn't imagine either of them lying about this.

That meant his brother had had sex. Something he had only fantasized about.
“Like father like son,”
Gina had said. Photography wasn't the only arena where his father was a legend. For years, Jack had listened to the models whisper behind their hands about what a great lover Giovanni was. Carlo, it appeared, was following in his father's footsteps.

An hour passed. While Giovanni worked in earnest, Carlo milled around the studio, talking and laughing with people on the set. Jack never took his eyes off the other boy, anger and resentment building inside him. These were his friends, people he had grown up with. He hated that Carlo seemed to have fitted in so quickly, he hated that everyone seemed to like his half brother. He told himself he had no reason to feel betrayed, but he did, anyway.

Carlo stopped beside Gina and bent close to whisper in her ear. The model tipped her head back and laughed, and Carlo placed his hand on the small of her back. He leaned close again, and as Jack watched, he moved his fingers a fraction lower.

Jack saw red. Gina was his, and he wasn't about to let this come-lately son of a bitch make a move on the girl he wanted. He thundered across the studio, not bothering
with stealth, forgetting about Giovanni, about his mother and the fact he wasn't even supposed to be here.

Jack reached the two in moments and stopped beside them. “Take your hand off her,” he said, fisting his fingers.

Carlo turned slowly and met Jack's eyes. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Jack glared at Carlo. “Take your hand off her. Now.”

Carlo's mouth tipped up in a lazy, amused smile. “Fuck you. I don't hear her complaining.”

Jack took a step closer, his blood boiling. “She doesn't have to, I'm complaining for her.”

“Jack,” Gina whispered, paling.

Carlo narrowed his eyes. He swept his gaze over Jack, recognition dawning in his eyes. “So you're the bastard.”

Anger charged through Jack, but he held on to it. “And you're the dickhead.”

“I wondered when we would meet.” Carlo arched his eyebrows arrogantly. His English was perfect, but he spoke with a slight accent. The accent made him seem more mature, more sophisticated than Jack. Jack felt ten years younger instead of only one. He hated that.

While Jack struggled for a comeback, Carlo laughed softly. “Dad told me about you. He said you were…an embarrassment.”

Jack wanted to lunge at him. He fought to control the urge. He took a step closer to the other boy. A full head shorter than his half brother, Carlo was forced to tip his head back to keep Jack's gaze. “That may be, but I could kick your ass.”

“You Americans, always such cowboys. I've never understood it.”

“You Italians, always such pussies. I've never under
stood it.” They'd attracted attention, and a growing group gathered around them. Jack ignored them and curled his hands into fists. “Come on, I'll take you on right now.”

“Dannazione!”
Giovanni shouted, striding across the set, his face red with rage. “What the hell is going on?” A nervous titter moved through the crowd, even as it parted for him. He stopped in front of Carlo. “What are you doing?” he demanded again, turning his furious gaze on his son. “Explain yourself, Carlo.
Immediatamente!
”

Carlo paled, his cool arrogance disappearing. “Nothing. I wasn't doing anything.” He cleared his throat. “I was just talking, and this…this boy started a fight.”

Giovanni turned to Jack, his expression thunderous. “What are you doing here? You don't belong here.”

Those words hurt more than any others could have. Jack slipped his fingers into the back pockets of his blue jeans and shrugged as if he didn't have a care in the world. “Hanging out. What are you doing here?”

Giovanni swore. “How dare you two disrupt this shoot.”

“You're right,” Carlo said quickly. “I'm sorry. My behavior was unforgivable.”

Jack angled up his chin. “Seems to me, you're the one who's disrupting this shoot. We were just…talking.”

“You impertinent little shit.” The photographer swept back the hair that fell across his forehead. “Get out! I don't want to see you again. Not ever. You understand?”

“No problem,
Dad.
But you get this. One day, I'll be kicking you off my set. One day, you're going to see what a big mistake you made.”

Giovanni hesitated, surprise flickering across his expression. Then he swore. “Tank! Escort this…
bastardo
out.”

“Jack!”

Jack turned to see his mother pushing through the crowd, her expression stricken. He swore silently.

“What's going on?” She stopped beside him and looked from him to Giovanni to Carlo and back. “What are you doing here?”

Jack opened his mouth to explain; Giovanni spoke first. “I should fire you right now, Sallie. If I ever see your boy on my set again, I will. And if I fire you, nobody else will hire you. Got that?”

“You leave my mother out of this, you son of a bitch!” Jack faced the older man, his fists clenched. “I came on my own, and this has nothing to do with her.”

“It has everything to do with her, because you're her son. Think of that the next time you decide to tangle with me.” Giovanni clapped his hands. “Show's over. Everybody back to work.”

Tank grabbed Jack's arm. He shook off the beefy man's hand. “I don't need any help,” he said tightly. “I'm going.”

He turned and walked away, aware of his mother's distress and his half brother's amusement. Emotions churned in his gut, and he muttered an oath. He hadn't meant to lose his cool. He hated that Carlo had gotten the best of him, hated that—

“Jack, wait!”

Jack stopped at the front door and turned. Gina hurried to catch up with him, her progress slowed by her gown's narrow skirt.

When she reached him, she glanced over her shoulder, then returned her gaze to him. “Outside.”

They stepped through the door and sunshine spilled over them, almost blinding after the artificial light of the studio. She smiled. “I just wanted to, you know, tell you
that I liked what you did in there.” She lifted her shoulders. “I'm…flattered that you got into a fight over me. It was cool.”

One corner of Jack's mouth lifted. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She moved closer and laid her hands on his chest. She tipped her head back to gaze provocatively up at him. “I'm sorry you have to go, though.”

He placed his hands on her hips, instantly aroused. “Come with me.”

She made a sound of disappointment. “I can't. You know that.”

He inched her closer. He wanted to kiss her, and he knew in his gut that she would let him. But he also knew it would ruin her mouth and get her in trouble. Instead, he trailed a finger over her collarbone and down to the place slippery satin ended and warm flesh began. She shuddered.

“Meet me later,” he murmured.

“Where?”

“You tell me.”

She thought a moment. “My house. Bring your books. I'll tell my mother you're helping me with my French.”

“I don't know dip about French.”

She smiled, slow and sexy, and his pulse went crazy. “Don't worry, Jack. I'll teach you.”

She turned and walked to the door. When she reached it, she turned back to him. “Eight-thirty. I'm in the book.” Without another word, she turned and walked inside.

B
y the time Jack got home, the rush of adrenaline and anger that had enabled him to boldly face down Giovanni had evaporated, leaving in its wake shaking hands, a runaway heart and legs that felt like rubber.

Jack fell onto his bed and struggled to draw in a deep, even breath. He couldn't put his mother's face, her stricken expression, out of his mind. Giovanni had blamed her for her son's actions. He had threatened to fire her, had warned that if he did, no one else in the industry would hire her.

The last hadn't been an idle threat. He had seen the cold determination in the photographer's eyes. Giovanni didn't care about Sallie Gallagher or her livelihood; he wouldn't think twice about ruining her professional reputation.

And, Jack knew, it wouldn't take much.
Getting fired once could do it.
The fashion industry was a small one, one in which everyone knew everybody else's business. He'd seen people from every area of the business have to fight their way back after having screwed up once. Time was money, the client's money. And clients paid astronomical day rates for models and photographers and support personnel. One major shoot could cost upward of a hundred thousand dollars. Everyone had to do their job, do it well and quickly.

Jack glared at his ceiling, at the long, thin crack that ran diagonally across it. Dammit. He'd really messed
things up for her. He hadn't thought further than himself, hadn't considered the consequences of his actions or that they might affect anyone else. It had never even occurred to him. It did now.

Gina.
He squeezed his eyes shut, arousal charging through him. She had told him to “catch her later” and had promised to teach him French.

French.
Did that mean what he thought it did?

Tonight could be the night. It could happen, he could lose his virginity.

He sat up and dragged his hands through his hair, his head filled with images of Gina: Gina smiling at him; Gina, her body outlined by clinging satin; Gina, her lips moist and parted. He sucked in a sharp breath. He'd been waiting his whole life for this opportunity. He wasn't about to miss it.

Four hours later, Jack glanced at the stove, at the pot of Ragú spaghetti sauce that bubbled there. He had made a salad, Italian bread was buttered and ready for the oven.

Where was she? He looked at the clock and frowned. Almost six-thirty. At five, everyone connected with a shoot either went home or on overtime. And overtime was avoided at all costs.

So, where was she?

Even as the question moved through his head for the dozenth time, he heard the front door open.
Show time.
He took a deep breath, suddenly feeling six instead of sixteen. “Hey, Mom,” he called. “I'm in here.”

She came into the kitchen. Without looking at him, she dropped her purse on the counter and reached for the mail.

He cleared his throat. “Hi, Mom.”

She lifted her gaze from the mail and fixed it on him. She didn't smile. “Hello, son.”

He swallowed hard. She was still angry. And she was hurt. He felt like a complete jerk. “I made dinner.”

“I see that.” She returned her attention to the mail. “It looks good.”

She said nothing more, and he shifted from his right foot to his left, her silence damning and uncomfortable. Unable to take it another moment, he cleared his throat again. “I'm sorry, Mom. I really am.”

She met his eyes. “Are you?”

He hung his head and stubbed the toe of his Nike against the tile floor.

“I can't tell you how upset I am by this.” She made a sound of frustration. “What were you thinking of? Disobeying me that way, behaving like that at a shoot? You know better.”

“I'm sorry,” he said again, folding his arms across his chest but hiking his chin up stubbornly. “I didn't think. I just…reacted.”

“Do you see now why I didn't want you there? Do you understand?” She crossed to the stove and stared at the pot of sauce for long moments, then turned to face him once more, her expression troubled. “Did you get it out of your system, Jack? Do you think you can leave it alone now?”

“What do you mean?” He drew his eyebrows together. “Get what out of my system?”

“Carlo, Giovanni, the whole thing. This obsession you have isn't healthy. I sympathize, I do. But—”

“Obsession?” he interrupted. “You think I'm
obsessed
with them? Great, Mom. Just great.”

“What do you expect me to think?” She crossed to
stand before him and looked him directly in the eye. “Why do you want to be a fashion photographer?”

“It has nothing to do with
him.
” He glared at her, so angry he could hardly speak. “I…I just like it. It's cool.”

“Oh, Jack.”

“I hate when you say my name like that, as if you pity me.” He spun away from her, crossed to the refrigerator, then faced her once more, fists clenched. “What do you expect me to feel? Shouldn't I be curious about my half brother? Shouldn't I wonder about him? Is that so weird? Maybe you'd understand if your mother had put you in the same position. But she didn't, did she?”

Sallie flinched at the blow. “You have to let your anger and your hurt go, Jack. You say I can't understand them, but I think I can. You have to let them go.”

She crossed the room and stopped in front of him. She reached out to touch his cheek, but he jerked his head away. “Don't let your anger at Giovanni, or me, control your life. If you do, it'll ruin it.”

She didn't understand, Jack thought. He wasn't hurt, he wasn't even angry. He hated Giovanni. And he was going to show him what a big mistake he had made.

“You know about that. Right, Mom? About ruining lives.”

She took a step back from him, looking as if he had slapped her.

Remorse barreled through him, but he knew it was too late to take back his words.

“How have I ruined your life?” she asked softly. “By having you? By loving you?”

“I'm sorry,” he said softly, stuffing his hands into his front jeans pockets. “I didn't mean that.”

“But I think you did. And that's why I'm worried.”

“Mom—”

“No.” She held up a hand. “No more. Not now.” She glanced at her watch and sighed. “There are some things I need to discuss with you, but I can't now. I'm going out tonight.”

“Out?” Jack repeated, surprised. His mother rarely went out at night. She spent so much time on location out of town that when in town, she enjoyed being home.

“I'm meeting an old friend.” She slipped out of her vest and hung it on the back of one of the chairs set up around the small oak table. “You've never met her. She got out of the business right around the time you were born.”

“She was a makeup artist, too?”

“She did hair. She opened her own salon fifteen years ago and has done quite well.”

Jack frowned. Something about his mother's tone bothered him. “Why are you meeting her?”

She met his gaze, drawing her eyebrows together. “I told you, she's an old friend. Besides, it's not your place to question me. I'm the parent here, and you're in big trouble.”

“But Mom—”

“No buts.” She crossed to the phone. “I'm calling Mrs. Green next door to let her know I'm going out and to ask her to check up on you.”

“Check up on me?” Jack squared his shoulders, outraged. “I'm sixteen, not twelve.”

“Then act it.” She picked up the phone. “You're not to leave the house. No television tonight, no phone, no stereo.”

No Gina.
He took a step toward her, hand out in entreaty. “But, Mom, I wanted to ask if I could go—”

“No way.” She punched out the neighbor's number, then propped the phone to her ear with her shoulder. “You're grounded.”

Grounded?
He bristled. She had never done that to him before, and he didn't like it. Not one bit.

When she got off the phone, they ate dinner. Quickly and without conversation. They straightened up the kitchen together, then she went to freshen up. While she did, Jack thought about Gina, about her invitation and about the evening's possibilities.

The evening had no possibilities, he reminded himself glumly. He was
grounded.
Swearing under his breath, he dragged out the phone book and looked up Gina's number.

He found it, picked up the phone, then returned the receiver to its cradle without dialing. He wasn't going to cancel his date.

Mrs. Green never heard a thing. He called the woman early, told her he wasn't feeling well and was going to turn in. Although only eight, it sounded as if he had awakened her.
Some watchdog.
He slipped out of the apartment and headed down the street to Tony's, the Italian restaurant where he worked. Danny, one of the other busboys, had offered to lend Jack his wheels before. Tonight, Jack was going to take him up on his offer.

With a promise to have the car back by midnight, he started off. Gina lived in the Hollywood Hills, located in the foothills of the Santa Monica Mountains. He found her house without a problem, though it took longer than he had expected.

Grabbing the stack of textbooks—none of them
French—he started up her walkway. He prayed she was here and wasn't too mad that he was late.

Gina opened the door before he had a chance to knock. She wore a pair of tight-fitting jeans and a chambray shirt, tucked into her denims and unbuttoned at her throat. He moved his gaze over her, his chest tight. “You look…great.”

“Thanks.” She smiled. “I thought you weren't coming.”

“Sorry. It was tough getting out tonight.”

“Your mom's really pissed, huh?”

“You could say that.” Gina stepped aside so he could enter. He looked around. The house was modest in size but very nice; the wall across from the door was covered with framed copies of Gina's ads and magazine covers.

“My mother's wall of glory,” she murmured, following his gaze.

He returned his gaze to her. “Where is she?”

“Out with her boyfriend.” Gina made a face. “The guy's a sleaze ball.”

Her mother was out?
Jack's pulse began to thud. “She didn't mind that I was coming over?”

“She didn't know, and she won't be home till late. She never is.” Gina grinned and motioned with her head. “Come on.”

She led him to the back of the house, to a large, comfortable room outfitted with leather furniture, light oak paneling and wall-to-wall bookshelves. “This was my dad's room before he left. I spend a lot of time in here.”

“Your dad left?”

“A couple years ago. He's living in Laguna now with his girlfriend.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Mom says it's a case of arrested development. Sharla isn't much older
than I am.” Gina shuddered. “I have friends older than she is.”

“I'm sorry.”

Gina shrugged and plopped down onto a big couch. She patted the seat next to her. “Sit by me.”

He swallowed, his throat dry, and realized he was nervous. He berated himself silently. He would bet Carlo was never nervous. He would bet that by now, Carlo would have already gotten his hand in her pants.

Disgusted with himself, Jack crossed and sat on the couch. He turned to face her, and threaded his fingers through her silky blond hair. “You're so beautiful,” he murmured.

She flushed, pleased. Cupping the back of her head, he drew her toward him and kissed her, slowly and deeply. She sighed and wound her fingers in his hair.

He ended the kiss, but didn't release her or move away. “I've been fantasizing about doing that since the last time.”

Her lips curved up. “Then why don't you do it again?”

Jack didn't have to be asked twice. He caught her mouth, then her tongue. Gina didn't waste any time. Their lips pressed together, she unbuttoned his shirt. When she'd pushed it off his shoulders, she started unbuttoning her own.

He pushed her hands away, and with shaking fingers did it for her. Within moments, she was nude from the waist up. Jack gazed at her perfect breasts, at their soft fullness, at her nipples, standing straight out, begging for his mouth, and he struggled to get his breath. He thought he might explode just looking at her.

“You can touch them,” she whispered, straddling his lap.

With a groan, he cupped her breasts, then buried his
face in them. She smelled like flowers and felt like heaven. He breathed deeply, his heart thundering in his chest, the pulse in his head.

She rocked against him, her soft pelvis to his hard one, his arousal painfully evident. He sucked in a ragged breath and shifted his hips. “Oh, God, Gina…” He groaned and moved against her again.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and nipped his earlobe. “Did you bring a rubber?”

His heart stopped, then started again with a vengeance.
He'd blown it! Shit, shit… How could he have been such an idiot?

Groaning, he dropped his head against the couch back. “I didn't…uh…think that we were—”

“Going to do it?”

“Yeah.”

She rested her hands on his shoulders. “You're a virgin, aren't you?”

Jack flushed, thought about lying, but figured he wouldn't get away with it. He nodded. “Are you?”

“Nope. Lost it at fourteen. To my uncle.”

“Your uncle?” Jack repeated, swallowing hard. “Did he, you know?”

“Rape me?” She shook her head. “Nothing like that. And it's not as bad as it sounds. He's my father's brother by his father's second marriage. He was only twenty-four.”

She leaned into him and her breasts pressed against his chest. It felt so incredible, he thought he was going to die. “Does that bother you?” she asked.

“That you did it with your uncle?”