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Chapter 1
Gage McVicker jogged up the stairs to his apartment, figuring he had just enough time for a shower before catching the eight fifteen subway to work. As he was toweling dry, he noticed the light blinking on his answering machine. When he heard the message, he grinned, picked up the phone and punched in the number.
"Hello, sweetheart," he said in a deep, gravelly voice.
"Baby, when you going to let me in your pants?" the woman on the other end of the line challenged him.
"I might consider it, but I don't have any on at the moment."
"Well, hell, I'll be right over!" The woman's voice held a laugh.
"Ah, Ginger, you're too much woman for me to handle."
"I doubt that, sugar, but we can find out any time you want." Ginger Jacobson was the office manager of the temporary employment agency where he was registered and had taken an instant liking to Gage when he had filled out his application papers. She was black, from the Bronx and the sexual banter they exchanged was just that.
She had done a thorough background check on him and was probably the only one at the agency who knew who Gage really was. She had sat him down and asked him point-blank what the hell he was up to. Once Gage told her his reasons for working menial jobs, she had become his best friend in New York City.
"What's up, Ging?" Gage dressed as he spoke, glancing at the clock. He needed to get to work.
"Have you had enough pecking at the keyboard for now?" she asked, referring to Gage's secretarial job with a large insurance company. "I've got a gig I think is right up your alley."
"Yeah?"
"How'd you like to sell women's shoes at Saks?"
"Christ, Ginger, Iknow I said I'd do just about anything, but women's shoes?"
"Just think of all those lovely ladies' ankles you can caress, sugar." Ginger thought with his looks, he must have been a gigolo in another life, and she felt duty-bound to try and help him out with the ladies.
"Forget it," said Gage.
"Well, there's still that male stripper job." He could hear the laughter in her voice.
"Thanks, but no thanks."
"Oh, wait, something's popping up on e-mail." There was a pause and Gage could hear her humming as she read through the listing.
"Oh, yes, this is just right for you."
Gage wasn't sure he liked the sounds of that. "What are you up to, Ginger?"
"Voyager Publishing. Ever hear of them?"
"Who hasn't? They're one of the biggest conglomerates in New York." Even if Gage wasn't immersed in the business world at present, he read voraciously and kept up with the business market.
"They publish all those hot, hot romance books."
Gage could almost hear Ginger smack her lips.
"They also have a large sporting division, as well as publishing general fiction."
"Well, I wouldn't know about that, but this job might be just what you need for your change of pace."
Over the past months, Gage had had a dozen or so jobs all over the United States. In changing jobs and locations often, Gage had hoped to find that elusive spark that would get him fired up again. It had been too long since he had known enthusiasm or excitement. It felt like forever since he had glimpsed a challenge tough enough for him to sit up and take notice.
"Okay," he admitted. "I'm game."
"Report to personnel Monday morning, sweetie pie," she said. "I think this is just the ticket for you."
* * * *The mailroom!
Gage was going to have a talk with Ginger. Corporate mailrooms belonged to corporate presidents' sons who had to learn the business from the ground up. Gage certainly didn't fall into that category.
It had been eight months since he walked out of SGM Enterprises, the company he had founded when his computer game business took off. He had been egotistical and damn proud of his accomplishment, using the initials SGM to name the company after himself--Stephen Gage McVicker. After ten years of creating games of intrigue and violence, he finally realized he had lost some part of himself in the process.
The millions SGM netted every year couldn't make up for the feelings of isolation and depression Gage had felt. He had friends, partied with a fast-moving group in Boston, and owned a home there, along with a cabin in Colorado. But something was terribly wrong with his life.
He shrugged off his musings over the past as he tossed yet another priority mail envelope into the overflowing cart for someone named Keva Monroe. It had only taken him part of the morning to memorize all the different departments and the names of most of the people who worked in the twenty-story building.
His brain just worked like that, he had told Campbell, his supervisor. It wasn't until later that he overheard Campbell tell another employee that "according to his placement officer, McVicker has a brain disorder and is slow sometimes."
No, Gage decided, he wouldn't talk to Ginger. He would beat her butt!
After lunch, he began deliveries to the upper floors. Gage didn't consider himself claustrophobic, but he couldn't wait to get out of the confines of the basement. As he moved from floor to floor in the mammoth granite and glass building, he was impressed with what he saw of Voyager Publishing. The offices were tastefully decorated and everyone appeared busy and knowledgeable. As a former businessman, he knew that a pleasant environment meant productive employees and it appeared people liked working here.
He walked out of the elevator into the foyer of the tenth floor suite of offices with the last of his deliveries. Keva Monroe certainly got the most mail, he thought, as he pushed the heavy cart through the double glass doors. That's as far as his thinking went as he looked toward the receptionist's desk.
Legs of an unimaginable length rose from black high heels up to a red miniskirt that covered a lushly curved bottom. He sucked in a breath. The woman was bent over the desk, her back to him, and all Gage could do was stare. He couldn't see her face or breasts, but her waist curved in sharply from her hips and he couldn't imagine the rest of her not looking just as spectacular. Without thinking, he gave a low whistle.
Highlighted brown hair slid over her shoulder as she turned to look at him. Oh, yeah, Gage thought, the rest of her definitely went with the long legs--baby blue eyes, finely arched eyebrows, petite nose and skin that could only be called peaches and cream.
She frowned at his whistle, but then gave him the once over in turn. As he watched her gaze move up his body, he could see a change in her expression. If he wasn't mistaken, the lady was interested. She slowly straightened and turned more fully toward him.
"Do you know anything about computers?" she asked in a voice full of frustration but nevertheless, deep and sultry.
Was his cover blown? It took Gage a minute to realize she wasn't challenging him; she was simply asking a question.
"I'm just the mail boy," he answered, not exactly lying.
A slight smile quirked the corner of her mouth. "Boy, you are not. Male--definitely."
The room suddenly seemed charged with an electrical current, leaving Gage with no time to figure out what had sucked the oxygen out of it. He began to think he would be content to be a temp the rest of his life if he could run into secretaries who looked and acted like her. He wondered if she could take it as well as dish it out, and hoped he wouldn't be calling Ginger for another job before the day was done.
"Wow, do you know what I'd like to do with those legs?"
He was pleasantly surprised when she smiled, a light blush staining her cheeks.
"I have found they are very useful for supporting the rest of me. Is that what you had in mind?"
"No, I had in mind me being between them," Gage replied.
She took a step back and a small frown creased her brow. "I could have your job for that comment, you know."
"You don't want it. A woman as beautiful as you, doesn't belong in the basement."
She shook her head, laughing lightly. "You don't know when to quit, do you?"
"Sweetheart, I'd quit this job in a heartbeat, but quit looking at you--never. Tell me it's not against company policy for a secretary to have dinner with a guy from the mailroom?"
The smile disappeared but Gage swore she looked disappointed, not angry. "I'm sorry, that's just not possible."
Gage moved closer, using the mail cart as a pretense. She looked as though she couldn't believe he would be so bold. Then, almost as if she wanted to prove she wasn't afraid of the sexual energy darting between them, she stood her ground as he started taking the mail from the cart.
Gage couldn't help but inhale her fragrance as he stacked another pile of envelopes on the desk corner. With the next group he grabbed, he stepped deliberately close to her. His arm brushed her breast; she didn't move. He dropped the envelopes and stepped back, this time deliberately bumping into her. He almost groaned out loud as her soft breasts pressed into his back.
"Excuse me," he mumbled, bending to get the last of the mail from the cart.
"I think you're deliberately trying to provoke me, Mr.--"
"McVicker," he replied. "Gage McVicker."
"Well, Mr. McVicker, I think you had better return to the mailroom before my secretary comes back and catches you trying to seduce me. Even though she works in the romance department, Gloria can be rather strait-laced."
Her secretary? Gage groaned. That meant this gorgeous woman he had been hitting on was actually Keva Monroe, senior editor of the romance division. Gage suddenly felt thirteen and gauche, like the time he'd tried to make out with Mary Jo Novotny in the back row of the movie theatre.
He knew when it was time to tactfully retreat, but something had happened when he walked into the tenth floor suite and he wasn't about to let it die without pursuing it. Even if she was a senior editor and he worked in the basement mailroom.
* * * *"That man is gorgeous," Keva said to herself, leaning against her secretary's desk as Gage McVicker walked out the door. What the hell is he doing in the mailroom? The instant he walked into the office, she had experienced an awareness she couldn't ever recall having.
His hair was a bit long, curling about his ears and nape, but it had been his eyes that really captured her attention. They had undressed her on the spot, making her feel like his hand caressed her as his gaze moved from her legs, clear to the top of her head.
He could be a cover model with those eyes, she had thought at the time. They were dark brown and hungry--not what she would call bedroom eyes at all--and yet, they had so easily pulled her into the sensual web he had woven.
Probably the strangest part of the whole encounter was that she hadn't been the least put off by his forwardness. In fact, she had enjoyed the sexual banter far more than most of her recent conversations with Jason.
Keva returned to her own desk and looked at the remaining queries she had yet to go through before the end of the workday. Gloria, her personal assistant, had opened them all and stapled each envelope to the back of the letter before making a pile on Keva's desk. A nice big pile. With a sigh, she began reading.
Megan and Jerome spend four straight days in bed before Megan decides she's not satisfied with him as a lover, so she goes back to Casey, whom she had never quit seeing.
Keva tossed the poorly written query letter into the reject basket on her desk, shaking her head. Even though she edited erotica, the stories still had to contain romance because of the relationship between hero and heroine, not because of the sex act.
As one of the senior editors at Voyager Publishing, she was trying to maintain an open submissions policy because she knew how tight the market was and she wanted aspiring authors to have access to a big publishing house. But from the volume of mail she was receiving, and the number of really bad plot treatments, she wondered if it were time to accept material only from agents.
"How about an orgy of monstrous proportions?" She laughed as she read the first line of the next letter. The author probably thought she was cleverly disguising the innuendo. She had even enclosed a condom in a florescent purple foil packet. There goes another one, she thought as she put the letter in her out-basket, but the purple packet slid off. She flipped it over between her fingers, wondering if Jason would find it funny.
"Ms. Monroe, Mr. Stamford is on line one."
Speak of the devil. She sighed, picking up the phone.
"Hello."
"Keva, where are you? We were supposed to meet the Hamiltons at the club for lunch and tennis at two. You know how important this deal is to me." Jason's voice sounded pissed, which seemed to be the case more times than not lately.
"I told you I wouldn't be able to make it. I'm backlogged with manuscripts and deadlines."
"You've got five assistant editors working for you. Get them to take over your crap pile or whatever you call it. You have more important things to do."
"Slush pile," Keva replied in a tight voice when she heard the condescension in his voice. She loved her job; loved the challenge of finding that one luminous writer in a pile of nondescript novels. The stress of deadlines, editorial meetings, even breaking in new authors to the world of publishing was what kept her going.
"Jason, we'll talk tonight. I can't get away right now."
"Right. We'll talk, if I can fit you into my schedule." The phone clicked in her ear.
Keva glanced at the foil packet she had been fiddling with during her conversation. So much for that idea, she thought, dropping it into her desk drawer as she stood. It was time to put an end to Jason's controlling macho attitude. Why couldn't she find a man who thought of her first? Someone who liked what she did and who was proud of her?
"I'll be back in a few," she told Gloria as she walked past her desk. She needed a breath of fresh air, so she walked across the street for an iced cappuccino. As she sat contemplating the fountain in the small park by her office building, Jason's curt comments floated back to mind. She had been dating him for six months, and had thought they could be happy--well, maybe comfortable--together.
Jason was a rising star in the stock market and worked for a brokerage firm dealing only with the largest companies in the world. When had the focus of her world narrowed so much that "who was who" in the best circles and "who had the most money" were the criteria for a relationship? At least that seemed to be the one thing Jason considered important.
For the most part, he refused to talk about her work. He didn't want to know what she was reading, how many books she'd put on the market that month, and he especially didn't want to hear about the sometimes kinky sex games her authors wrote into their plots. Oh, he wasn't a prude, but their lovemaking was just your ordinary in-bed-with-the-lights-out sex and Keva had come to the conclusion that something was missing.
Where was the sizzling awareness in just seeing him from across the room? Where was the heart stopping anticipation when he reached for her? Had they ever been so caught up in each other that they literally tore off their clothes and screwed on the floor, the couch, or against the wall, without worrying about protection or whether they were sweaty and smelling of sex afterward?
Normally, Keva wasn't given to daydreaming since she read about make-believe lives every day, but lately, she wondered what it would be like to have her fantasy fulfilled. She glanced around her, scanning the pedestrians. Maybe it was time to do a little real-life fantasizing.
She spied a man walking away from the park. Nice butt, she thought, but when he turned sideways to stop at the newsstand, she grimaced. Thick-rimmed glasses, receding hairline, and a paunchy stomach. Geez, how could someone look so different from front to rear?
She took a sip of her cappuccino, eyeing the crowd. There, she thought, picking out a good-looking guy who stood to one side of the fountain, hands in pockets. He had wavy blonde hair and broad shoulders. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes, but Keva thought it gave him an air of mystery. Now there was a man to start a woman's juices flowing. What would it be like to just grab someone and have a night of hot sex? Did everything have to be preplanned, negotiated, and scheduled?
Maybe a one-night stand was too risky, but perhaps she could find someone who didn't need to see her pedigree before having an affair. She glanced back at the blonde. Mmmm, maybe.
Just then, another man, this one dark-haired with a beard, walked briskly up to the blonde. Before Keva could blink, the two embraced and kissed before linking arms and wandering off in the opposite direction from where she sat.
She shook her head. It would appear she had been out of the dating scene long enough that her instincts were rusty. She would never have guessed. She finished her cappuccino, stood and tossed the cup in the waste receptacle.
"Ah, New York," she muttered. "You've got to love it."
* * * *Gage took some money from the small pocket of his running shorts to pay for the paper. He wiped his brow with the sleeve of his T-shirt as he opened the door to Simon's just as it started to rain.
"Good morning, Simon," he called across the space to the owner. "The usual."
In the time Gage had lived in New York City, he had developed a routine of sorts. After an early morning run, he stopped at Simon's for coffee and a bagel before heading back to his apartment to shower and change for work. On the mornings when the coffee shop wasn't busy, Simon would sometimes sit and visit with Gage.
Simon Lockhart was a friendly man who had lived his entire life in New York. He had told Gage the only time he had left was for his stint in the service, and after going through boot camp down south, decided he'd never leave the city again.
Gage had found in his travels that places like this existed everywhere. Cozy, out-of-the-way cafés and diners, where the people were friendly and chatty. Since he had begun his quest, he had spent a lot of time in just such places, trying to find that elusive something missing from his life.
"How's that daughter of yours?" he asked as he paid for his breakfast.
"She's doing fine. I expect her young man will be coming to talk to me one of these days." Simon grinned as he handed Gage his change. "I just have to decide whether to make him squirm before I say yes."
Gage laughed, shook his head, and walked over to his favorite booth. He propped his feet on the seat across from him. He read the funnies, slowly drinking the strong black coffee he loved. After the funnies, he turned to the financial news. Even if he wasn't involved in business at the moment, he kept up with the latest market trends.
He thought back to the day when he had decided to leave SGM Enterprises. He had thrown a duffle bag of clothes in the trunk of his car, and left his cell phone, corporate credit cards and Rolex watch in his safe deposit box at his bank. But while he intended to take off on a road trip of discovery, he didn't intend to starve or live out of his car. He had plenty of money in his personal account and an ATM card.
In the time since he had left Boston, he'd been a fry cook at a little café in the middle of nowhere in Texas, dealt blackjack at a casino in Vegas, and even did a stint on road construction in Kansas before finding his way to New York City.
He'd faked his resume, only including the jobs he'd had since leaving his company. Although he used his real Social Security number, he'd started using his middle name, Gage. He didn't have any business cards, he took the subway to work, and he lived in a modest apartment in midtown Manhattan--if anything in midtown could be considered modest.
"Just once, I'd like to have an orgasm when he does." A woman sighed.
Gage instantly quit reminiscing as the conversation in the booth next to him captured his attention.
"You mean, you never have?" a sultry voice asked.
"Well, have you? I mean, guys seem to think they're doing you a favor by screwing you at all, much less seeing to your pleasure."
Gage figured the two women either didn't notice him sitting directly behind them, or they didn't care who overheard their conversation. On the pretense of shuffling his paper, he peered around it to catch a glimpse of them--a blonde and a brunette.
"I mean, even when we do it more than once a night, it's always at his insistence." The blonde spoke this time.
"If you don't like it, tell him to leave. After all, it's your apartment."
"Oh, don't get me wrong, I like the sex. It's just that I never feel quite satisfied afterward." There was another sigh. "Now, if I could find a man who could fulfill my fantasies, well, guaranteed I'd have shares in the Trojan® market."
Gage choked on his coffee. He was getting hard just listening to the two women talk, and that hadn't happened in quite some time. In fact, he hadn't even had a date since he left Boston. The quest he was on didn't include screwing any woman who tried to catch his eye, and there had been plenty. After all, even if he was living by his wits, with a little help from the local ATMs, he did still have some standards.
The one regret he'd had in leaving was Tiffany. Sex with Tiffany had been great, but she hadn't understood his need for something more than golf at the country club and dinners at Julien's.
Gage didn't think she would have felt the way these two women did. After all, if he had learned anything in his thirty-five years of living, it was that making a woman scream in the throes of a climax was a real turn-on.
The women giggled at something one of them said, and Gage tuned in again to their conversation, not feeling the least bit guilty about eavesdropping. After all, they were in a public place, and the women weren't exactly whispering.
"What would be your fantasy? I mean, if you could have or do whatever you wanted without anyone knowing or criticizing you for it?" The blonde had asked the question, her voice slightly higher than the brunette's.
"Hmmm, let's see. He wouldn't have to be really big. Well, at least not in height," the brunette murmured. "I think I'd like someone with muscles, but with a lean waist and hips so he fits between my thighs just right."
A sigh.
Gage was getting harder by the minute.
"What would this fantasy man do?"
"Everything." The brunette drew out the word, her voice low and full of longing. Sexual vibrations reached across the café booth and shimmered down Gage's spine.
"Oh, geez, look at the time," the blonde said. "I've gotta get to the office, or I'm in trouble. Quick, what's one thing you would have in your fantasy--something to keep me awake today while I'm transcribing old Mr. Grimble's boring dictation."
There was a pause and Gage wondered what exactly the brunette was thinking if she only had one shot at this fantasy thing. He was thinking a little ménage a trois, but then he hadn't been invited to play their game. He tried to calm his racing pulse.
She chuckled before she spoke. "Okay, Francine, here's something to think about instead of old Mr. Grimble. Lock me in a cabin for the weekend with fantasy-man and he can have me anywhere, anytime, anyway."
The two women walked by his booth to the cashier. Gage sat perfectly still, his flimsy running shorts tented quite gloriously, the blood pounding through his veins. Knowing he wouldn't be able to stand up for some time, he signaled Simon to bring over the coffee pot, even though he didn't need the caffeine to be wired.
The brunette's words kept racing back and forth across his brain like a marathon ping-pong tournament.
Anywhere, anytime, anyway.
Shit! He should have asked for her phone number. Even as he thought that, a vision of long legs and a red miniskirt covering a lush bottom came to mind. Ms. Keva Monroe, with her baby blue eyes and sharp wit, took up residence in Gage's brain and refused to leave. He could recall her scent; the way her eyes flashed and the soft, tempting feel of her.
In the past eight months, he hadn't thought too much about sex. He was looking for something more elusive. But now that it had been brought into the realm of his consciousness, he wondered how long it would take him to forget it. From the throb in his groin, he suspected quite a while. He signaled Simon for yet another refill.
* * * *Keva padded barefoot through her plush Manhattan apartment, wine glass in hand. She realized how happy she was now that Jason was no longer in the picture. She had gotten so tired of making excuses as to why she couldn't go with him to evening events with clients. She loved her job, but Jason always acted like it interfered with his life.
She walked out onto the balcony, scanning the skyline. Sometimes, she wondered what it would be like just to be some regular guy's girlfriend. A vision of brown hair and mysterious eyes instantly came to mind. What did Gage McVicker do on a Friday night after a hectic week in the mailroom? Go out for a beer with his cronies; date a high school sweetheart? She wondered if he liked to dance.
He looked like a country music fan. She tried to envision him dressed in tux and tails attending the opera, but just couldn't see it. She pegged Gage McVicker for a down-to-earth, blue-collar worker who had gotten through high school only because he played football.
But that didn't mean she couldn't fantasize about him. The sparks had flown the other day when he had delivered mail to her office. She couldn't get his broad shoulders and lean waist out of her mind. She had seen the obvious interest in his eyes, had heard it in the sexy, deep timbre of his voice, and had felt it in the shimmering electricity that had leapt between them when he had deliberately backed into her. Since that day, she had dreamed about him and found herself checking the outer office several times a day trying to catch a glimpse of him as he delivered mail.
Now, what should she do about this craving she had developed? She took another sip of wine, stretching her long legs out in front of her. As though providence was looking out for her, this mailman had been dropped handily in Keva's own backyard.
It would be a pity to waste him, and she decided to give herself a chance at some real fun. She wasn't sure exactly how to go about doing that, since her adult life had been spent with an always politically proper crowd, but she intended to find out. Perhaps a discussion with Mr. McVicker was in order. She was sure he had some ideas about how she could have a good time without being in danger.
* * * *Gage punched the intercom button when he heard his name called.
"Report to the tenth floor, Ms. Monroe's office."
It was probably a good thing he really didn't need this job, Gage thought as he stepped off the elevator and walked toward the double glass doors. Regardless of Ms. Monroe's initial reaction the other day, he had wondered if she would end up calling Campbell and getting him fired for sexual harassment. When nothing happened, he began wondering if maybe she was more interested than she had appeared.
He had spent the last several nights thinking about her and the incredible number of manuscripts she received. A very large number of people seemed to write romance. Romance meant sex, and that made him recall the overheard conversation by the two women in the diner--anywhere, anytime, anyway. He groaned just thinking about it.
But he didn't even recall what the two women looked like. Instead, he had fantasized about making love to Keva Monroe. While that had made his nights pleasurable and hurried his steps to the Voyager building in the morning, he now worried that her summons meant he would no longer be delivering her mail.
Her secretary wasn't at her desk, but then it was noon, so Gage tapped lightly on the door to her office. At her command, he opened the door and walked in.
Again, he was struck by her long legs, this time barelegged beneath a gauzy, midcalf skirt that looked to be almost transparent. Strappy sandals and a sleeveless sweater completed her casual attire, but she still gave the appearance of someone in command of her surroundings.
"Ms. Monroe?" he asked to catch her attention.
"Hello, Mr. McVicker. Please close the door behind you." She turned from the window, her gaze raking him from head to toe.
"Is that wise?" He wasn't sure what game she was playing, and it wasn't that he didn't want to play, too. He just couldn't figure out where she was going with her request.
"Could you deliver ... I mean, are you allowed to leave the mailroom to deliver documents across town?" She glanced nervously between him and her desk. Gage frowned, wondering why she would be nervous if what she intended was business. Perhaps it really wasn't.
"They quit chaining us to the walls a couple centuries ago," he replied dryly.
She laughed, the sound light and musical. "I'm sorry, that did sound rather rude. It's just that ... well..." Again she paused, fingering an envelope on her desk.
Gage moved closer, catching a whiff of her spicy perfume. "What is it you really want?"
She cocked her head as she looked at him. "How do you know?" The question was breathy and Gage was close enough to notice her dilated pupils, the pulse beating rapidly at her throat and how her nipples peaked beneath her sweater.
He was standing right in front of her now, not more than a foot away. "It's an ancient hunting instinct man has managed to retain through all efforts to civilize him."
"Oh, well, I..." She couldn't seem to collect her thoughts and Gage decided to take control of the situation. If she didn't actually want what he offered, she would have to tell him.
He took the last step that brought them chest-to-chest. Wrapping one arm around her back, he slipped a hand beneath her hair to the base of her skull. With a light massaging touch, he gently pulled her toward him.
"You have a secretary to deliver your mail, Ms. Monroe. I somehow doubt that was what you really wanted me for, was it?" He kissed the corner of her mouth, the tip of her ear, down her throat.
"No, you're right." She gasped at his advances, but she didn't fight him at all. "I thought perhaps you might consider modeling for a book cover." She managed to get the words out as Gage continued his kissing forays across the scoop neck of the sweater she wore.
"Model, for a romance?" He paused, sliding both hands down to her luscious bottom and pulling her tight against him. Then he added, "Maybe we should see how well I do between the pages where the action is."
* * * *
