Naturally Naughty by Leslie Kelly Read Free Book Online Page B

cracked-tile floor, the only sound other than the top-of-the-lungs belting coming from the theater. He barely spared a glance at the lobby, beyond noting that someone had been painting and cleaning up.
    When he pushed open the door to enter the auditorium, he paused, figuring it would be dark and his eyes would need to adjust. Somehow, though, probably because there was repair work going on, the electricity worked. The theater wasn’t dark at all down in front where work lights washed the stage with light. In the audience area, a few side fixtures made things visible.
    He could see the rows upon rows of burgundy crushed-velvet seats. The thin, worn carpeting in the aisle hadn’t changed, its pattern remained virtually indistinguishable after decades of wear. A pair of vast chandeliers still hung suspended over the audience—not lit, obviously. Even fifteen years ago when he’d come to see movies in this place, the chandeliers had been strictly decorative. The town was too cheap to electrify them, so they remained a sparklingly dark reminder of another era.
    Finally he turned toward the stage, at the bottom of the theater, where the organist had played in the silent picturedays. And he saw her. Kate. Singing as though there was no tomorrow.
    Jack began to smile. Then to chuckle. He approached the stage, remaining quiet. She still hadn’t seen him, so he took a seat a few rows from the front, watching her performance.
    Lordy, the woman could not hold a tune. But what she lacked in pitch, she made up for in volume. The rafters nearly shook and he finally recognized the song. Vintage Pat Benatar. She even had the rocker’s strut.
    No, she couldn’t sing, but damn, the woman had some moves.
    “I would definitely like to hit you with my best shot,” he murmured, knowing she couldn’t hear over her own voice.
    Her legs looked impossibly long beneath her short ivory skirt as she gyrated. She was bent at the waist, holding an imaginary microphone and singing into her fist. Her thick, dark hair fell forward, curtaining her face. From here, he had a magnificent view of the curve of her ass and hips as she bent lower, with parted legs, rocking on her high white heels. Then even lower, until the hem of her skirt rose higher, revealing the top of one thigh-high stocking.
    Jack swallowed hard, knowing another inch or two and he’d be seeing whether Kate favored bikinis or thongs. Deciding to alert her to his presence, he prepared to stand. Before he could, however, she tossed her head back, and stood upright to finish the song. She thrust her chest forward. He shifted in his seat, watching the silkiness of her sleeveless blouse brush against the pronounced curves beneath.
    When she finally finished, he simply had to applaud. She heard, obviously, and looked down toward the seats like a kid who’d been caught shoplifting bubblegum. “Who’s out there?”
    Jack rose to his feet, still bringing his hands together in a slow and lazy clap. “We meet again,” he said as he walked down the aisle to greet her.
    “Oh, no, did you hear me?” She looked thoroughly disgruntled as she narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms in front of her chest.
    He climbed the steps leading up onto the stage. “Yep.”
    She cringed. “For your information, I know I can’t sing. So don’t even try to pretend you don’t think I sounded like a howling female cat in heat.”
    Hmm. Interesting image—a female in heat. Particularly with the flush of color in her face, the sheen of sweat on her brow and the clinginess of her damp clothes against her amazing body.
    She looked aroused. Sultry. Alive. He’d love to hear her purr. “You didn’t sound like a cat.”
    “Well, then, a mutt braying at the moon,” she continued with a surly frown. “Don’t humor me.”
    “Not humoring you. Honey, you really can’t sing. But, boy, you obviously know how to dance.”
    The compliment didn’t ease her frown. Instead she practically glared. “So, are you