Authors: Cassandra Carr
Talk to Me
by Cassandra Carr
Loose Id, LLC
First published in 2011
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To my mother, for teaching me to love writing;
To Nick, for telling me to do what I love;
To Miranda, for helping me make this a better book.
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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
especial y 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. Final y managing to pul himself out
of his reverie, he cleared his throat. The woman jerked and turned around, revealing a large set of light brown eyes, a smal nose set into the middle
of a long face with a pointed chin, and an incredible set of ful , 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 stil 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—especial y 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.”
“Jamie?” he repeated.
“Yes, your new producer.”
“Oh!” He looked dumbstruck. “I was under the impression my new producer was a man.”
. “I'm afraid not, Mr. Milan. I'm sorry to disappoint you.”
He grinned, and his whole face transformed before her eyes. Oh, he stil 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 fol owed the movement before
returning to her face.
“I'm not disappointed. I'm surprised, but I'm most definitely
disappointed. And cal 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
, his voice was mesmerizing—rough yet sensual. Forcing herself to keep her focus on the job, she glanced at the studio behind her. “Wel , Drew, the show is about to start. Anything I need to know other than
what's on the show log?”
He shrugged. “Not real y. Gonna be a light show tonight, so keep the cal s coming. I don't like yammering on and on just to fil dead air.”
“I don't think I expect a lot from my producers, but apparently the guys upstairs disagree. Anyway, I'l be gentle, I promise. Wel , 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 actual y fanning her face, knowing she must be badly blushing. Glancing at the clock, she hurried to sit. They stil 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.
! “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 al 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 hel , and the undercurrent of sexual tension wasn't helping matters.
Drew tested his mic, startling her from her lascivious thoughts, and she automatical y adjusted the toggle switch a bit. Next she made sure al the
other mics in the studio were off and went about getting everything else prepped, fal ing 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 cal , asking the cal er 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 cal ers 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
Drew did his best to clear his mind and give al 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 cal ers. 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 cal s 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 cal ers 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 cal s by mistake. He wasn't sure what al her abbreviations and shorthand meant but figured
he could muddle through until the first commercial break and then ask her to spel out more things.
He quickly introduced the show and went straight to the first cal er. “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 tel 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'l have to trade body for body. Thanks for cal ing.”
After he'd taken a few more cal s, the first commercial break came, and Drew turned off his microphone, pushing it away. He watched for a few
moments as Jamie worked, programming al the commercials and the sports score report, which Drew's col eague 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
happened? Shaking his head, he returned to the
conversation in time to hear her say, “I use a couple of different abbreviations consistently. I'l 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 pul ed 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 actual y checking out something like that told him how badly he needed to get laid.
She'd been there al of an hour. Drew shook his head. He was already losing his mind.
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