Stephanie Bond - It Takes a Rebel

“Coming.” Jack stepped out of the fitting room, adopting an innocent expression.

At the sound of the door clicking open, Alex looked up…and the pen slipped out of her suddenly loose hand. At first glance she feared he was naked, then realized with no small amount of relief that he was covered by a minuscule amount of stretchy black fabric. Sexual awareness zipped through her.

At last she dragged her gaze from him and pretended to study her papers. “I…don’t recall seeing that particular…garment…on the list.”

“They were on the pile,” he said, shrugging. “This modeling stuff is new to me. Am I supposed to turn around or something?”

Alex swallowed. Perhaps if she didn’t have to look him in the eye… “That…would be fine.”

He turned to stand with his back to her. The underwear left nothing to the imagination. “You can turn around now,” she said, struggling for composure.

He didn’t move, and she suddenly noticed that his breathing was as erratic as hers. He lifted a hand to scratch his temple. “Gee, boss, I don’t think that’s such a great idea right now.”

Dear Reader,

Every woman has one in her background—that sexy bad boy who revved up her engine but wasn’t exactly marriage material. Rough, tough and unconventional, complete with motorcycle and to-die-for looks, they were the stuff our dreams were made of…and gave our fathers nightmares!

Well, meet Jack Stillman, a bad boy you can fall in love with, heart and soul. He’s a former star athlete floating through life minding his own business until he meets Alexandria Tremont, heiress to a retail store chain, who suddenly holds his future in her prim little hands. Will Jack change his roguish ways for the love of a woman? Settle back to laugh, cry and root for Jack and Alex as they discover that the things in life they rebel against most are the very things they need to be happy.

I’d love to hear from you. Write to me at P.O. Box 2395, Alpharetta, GA 30023 and let me know if I’m keeping you entertained. Please watch for my next book, Too Hot To Sleep, a Temptation Blaze title available in June 2000. And don’t miss my Christmas 2000 Temptation novel featuring a spin-off character from It Takes a Rebel.

Thanks for supporting the wonderful world of romance—please tell a friend about the powerful love stories you find within the pages of Harlequin Temptation.

Much love and laughter,

Stephanie Bond

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to my editor, Brenda Chin,

who “gets it” and challenges me to be a better writer.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue

“JACK, ARE YOU LISTENING?”

Jack Stillman jerked his attention back to his brother’s voice on the phone. “Hmm? Sure, bro.”

“I’m counting on you,” Derek said in that patronizing big-brother tone that Jack hated.

He rolled his eyes, leaned back in his desk chair, and propped his feet on the corner of the desk. “Stop worrying, I can handle things until you get back.”

“I’m not worried about your ability,” Derek said dryly. “It’s your dedication that keeps me up at night.”

Jack frowned. “Your new bride should be the only thing keeping you up at night.”

Derek chuckled in a way that told Jack he hadn’t spent every minute of his honeymoon worrying about the ad agency. “Just remember—”

“I know, bro, I know. The gal from the IRS office will be by this afternoon, the phone bill needs to be paid, and I have an appointment with Al Tremont tomorrow morning at ten. I have everything under control.”

“Since we need to make a good impression on this IRS agent, you might not want to call her ‘gal.’”

He sighed, loath to spend the afternoon with some dried-up hag who wanted to scrutinize his W-4’s.

“Is the office straightened up?” Derek asked.

Jack glanced at the pizza box sitting on his desk from yesterday, and the cartons of leftover Chinese from the day before. On the other side of the room that housed both his and Derek’s desks, the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf had collapsed, the timing of the mishap probably hastened by his overuse of the mini-basketball hoop on the side, he conceded. Twice he’d thought about straightening the mountain of reference books and papers on the floor, then changed his mind. And he hadn’t gotten around to sorting the mail in the two weeks since Derek had left. He raised the lid on the pizza box and lifted the remaining stone-cold slice to his mouth for a bite. “The place looks peachy,” he said through a mouthful of rubbery cheese.

“Good. Then tell me you dressed up.”

Jack looked down at one of the short sleeve floral shirts he’d acquired during his extended vacation in Florida, then opened his top drawer and withdrew a black and white striped tie from the wad of spares he kept there for emergencies. “Tie and everything,” he said, flipping up the collar of his shirt and fashioning a loose Windsor knot.

“And you got a haircut?”

He ran his hand through his dark shaggy hair and grunted what he hoped passed for affirmation.

Derek sighed in relief, so he must have sounded convincing. “And you have ideas drawn up for Tremont?”

Jack shot a look in the direction of his sketch pad, then flicked a chunk of pepperoni from the blank top sheet. “Some of my best work ever.”

“Great. What did you come up with?”

“Uh, I’ll call you and go over the presentation when I get everything back from the printer.”

“You’re the artist,” Derek said with a little laugh. “I’m nervous about you meeting with the IRS woman, but I have to admit, I’m sure you’ll do a good job with Tremont. This account could put us in the big league, you know.”

Jack winced and rubbed his stomach. Guilt and cold pizza did not mix. “I know, Derek, I won’t let you down.” He checked the clock on Derek’s desk—he’d lost his own watch in a poker game in Kissimmee—and straightened. The IRS gal would arrive in another hour. “Listen, bro, gotta run.”

“Call me on my cell phone if the agent has questions you can’t answer.”

“Sure thing. Give Janine a kiss for me, and make it French, okay?” He hung up before Derek could reprimand him, bit off another chunk of pizza, then winged it toward the overflowing trash can. After wiping his hands on his cut-off denim shorts, he pushed himself to his feet with an aggrieved sigh. Might as well get the darn bookshelf fixed.

He stretched tall into a mighty yawn, then padded barefoot to the closet they used as a supply room. He’d have time to slide into his deck shoes before the broad got there. Jack shook his head at the neat shelves, the bins of miscellaneous office supplies and the various tools. His brother had inherited their mother’s penchant for order, while he had inherited their father’s tendency toward turmoil.

God rest his father’s sweet soul, the old man was still doing them favors. Paul Stillman, ever the generous spirit, had once stopped on New Circle Road to assist a motorist, only to discover the man was none other than Alexander Tremont, owner of the Tremont department store chain. Tremont had been on his way to a meeting at his flagship store in Lexington, Kentucky, and their father had given him a lift. When the two men hit it off, Tremont had promised the Stillman & Sons agency a chance at his business once his contract with a high-powered agency had run its course.