He'd been telling himself ever since she'd laid that wet one on him the other day that it hadn't truly fried every circuit in his brain. But he'd been fooling himself. Because her lips were soft-God, so soft and sweet-and the interior of her mouth was sweeter still, tasting like green tea and hot, willing woman.

It was that last thing, her willingness, that nearly pushed him over the edge and made him want to lay her back on this uncomfortable little love seat and punch that compliance into overdrive until both of them were revving full throttle.

Instead he geared himself down. Deliberately he kept his kiss brief and restrained. And when he came up for air he told himself that the entire performance had merely been for show.

But he knew better. And he could have kicked his own butt around the block. So much for his big claim of professionalism anytime, anyplace.

"Well, that did the trick," P.J. murmured cheerfully. "It appears the Porn Twins have finally taken the hint."

He looked over to see that the blondes had indeed moved their attention elsewhere. Then he turned wary eyes back on P.J.

And little by little the tension in his shoulders eased. Thank God she at least seemed to believe he'd kissed her with the sole purpose of getting the blondes off his back.

The Twins had been called back for their appointments by the time Nell came out. Whistling when he got a look at her, Jared rose to his feet. "Wow. You look:fabulous."

She did. Her dark hair had been cut short to feather around her temples, forehead and nape, and it stuck up on the crown in soft, modish spikes. She had beautiful skin and the highlights around her face not only accentuated it but made her eyes look bluer.

"Muyfabulous," P.J. agreed. "You look so hip."

Nell laughed. "Oh my God, I do, don't I?" In an age-old feminine gesture, she touched her fingers to her hair. "I thought I was going to wet my pants when Rachel chopped off my braid, but I really like it." She gave her head a shake. "It feels so light."

"Did you remember it, by the way?" he asked her, noticing that her hands were empty.

"Hmm?"

"Your braid. I saw your beautician-Rachel, is it?-set it on the counter in front of you. Did you forget to grab it?"

"Oh. No." She smiled up at him. "They're keeping it for the Locks for Love program."

He must have looked as blank as he felt, because P.J. said, "Nell donated it to a charity that makes wigs for cancer victims."

"Whoa." Leaning down, he kissed the tour manager on the cheek. "You are one classy lady."

Their next stop was a department store makeup counter and while it was hardly the activity he would have chosen to while away an hour he discovered he didn't really mind the time spent there. Nell's quiet delight in her haircut and the changes wrought by some lipstick, blush and mascara were endearing, and he liked the way P.J. was equally delighted for her friend. In fact, the entire day, from what he could tell, seemed to have been designed with Nell in mind.

Not that P.J. didn't throw herself wholeheartedly into a shopping spree of her own. She, too, bought lipstick, two cosmetic brushes and some eye stuff. Given their hand-to-mouth existence back in the day, he had to admit he got a kick out of seeing her with money to burn and clearly enjoying the hell out of spending it.

He was still in a pretty mellow mood when the women moved their shopping bender up to the second floor. Nell stopped in the misses section but after a quick low-voiced consultation, P.J. kept going.

He followed her to the junior department where he stood out of the way with his hands in his pockets and watched as she shuffled hangers on the round stands boasting markdown signs of fifty to seventy-five percent off. "Country music must not pay as well as I thought if you're reduced to shopping the clearance rack," he said wryly.

P.J. barely spared him a glance. "You try finding summer stuff in the summer," she said and selected a skirt that started out denim but then exploded at the hipline into three short flounces of frothy, lightweight material with bits of lace and lines of ribbon appliqued all over them. "Their fall lines are already out."

"Yeah, I've never understood that not being able to buy the clothes you need in the season you need it."

"Me, either." She gathered an amazing number of separates off the sale racks, shoved them into his arms, then led him to the lingerie department where she selected slinky little camisoles and tank tops in a rainbow of colors. Carrying those herself, she led him back to the misses section in search of Nell.

"Looks like you found a few things," she said to her friend when they met up, indicating the armload Nell clutched to her breast.

"There's an advantage to being a size fourteen."

"Aside from being a nice, warm armful, you mean?" Jared asked and the elated smile she flashed him tugged up the corner of his own mouth.

"Yes, aside from that, you honey-tongued devil." Cheeks flushed, Nell turned back to P.J. "He makes me feel desirable and totes your stuff. This shopping with a man riff ain't half bad." Then her brows furrowed slightly as she indicated the jumble of clothing in her arms. "What do you think of my selections?" she demanded. "Am I headed in the right direction?"

P.J. inspected Nell's choices one by one. "This one looks too baggy," she decided of a dark, shapeless dress, and Nell put it back on the rack. "Ooh. I like this jacket and these three tops. And I see you hit the lingerie department, too."

"Damn few tank tops to be found otherwise," Nell agreed.

"Tell me about it." P.J. vetoed one other selection and applauded the rest.

"I'll give these a try then." Nell reclaimed the hangers containing the clothes that had survived the cut and nodded at the fragile tops in P.J.'s hands. "What about you? You ready to try some stuff on?"

"Yep." P.J. headed down the aisle, crooking her finger at Jared over her shoulder. "Come, boy."

Nell's head whipped around as if to assess his reaction to her friend's insolence. He merely tugged a lock of hair falling over his forehead and murmured, "Yes, ma'am."

"Oh my," Nell said. "This just keeps getting better and better."

A moment later P.J. indicated a nice overstuffed chair situated outside the women's dressing room. "Have a seat," she invited. "You might as well get comfortable, because this is gonna take a while."

He kind of enjoyed himself at first. P.J. insisted they could use a man's perspective and he liked seeing the flush on Nell's cheeks and her pleased expression every time she came out to model an outfit that he approved.

P.J. modeled her picks, as well. And for a while he got a charge out of watching her parade out of the dressing room to twirl in front of him, then turn this way and that to assess every angle in the triple mirror situated not far from his chair.

After twenty minutes of being constantly asked to endorse her choices, however, he'd had enough. He'd been trying to ignore his attraction to her ever since he'd signed on for this job, but his determination to hold himself aloof only worked as long as he manned the ramparts, maintained the defenses. And somewhere between the salon and this comfy chair outside the women's dressing rooms, he'd let his guard down.

Big mistake. Because now P.J. had begun modeling those damn little underwear tops and spandex pants. And he was starting to sweat.

"Do these make my butt look too big?" she asked, twisting to look at her reflection in the mirror. The fingers of her right hand splayed atop the anatomy in question, which pulled her elbow back and thrust her breasts forward.

"You're kidding, right?" His gaze was all over the full curve challenging the stretch in the little black capris that she eyed so critically. "You've got a great ass." His fingers flexed, tempted almost beyond bearing to reach out and palm a handful.

"That's what I'm always telling her," Nell called from inside one of the dressing rooms. "J-Lo's got nothing on our girl."

"You think?" She turned around and looked at him uncertainly. "Then it's this top. I look like a boy, don't I? Damn, I've been waiting my entire life to grow a decent rack, but some things never change."

"Jesus, P.J." But tearing his gaze away from the sweet little cupcakes pressing slight but insistent curves in the cherry-red satin chemise, he looked into her eyes and saw genuine anxiety.

It was crazy. She was a rising star in an impossibly tough industry. She brought fans to their feet every night and this very evening she was to be awarded a prestigious plaque. She was loaded with talent, she was pretty:yet the insecure little girl he'd once known still lurked inside of her.

He rose to his feet, took her by the shoulders and turned her back to face the mirror. The top of her head barely reached the hollow of his throat and she looked dainty and feminine against his more muscular frame. Reaching around, he smoothed her top from just beneath her breasts to the exquisite garment's hem. "Trust me," he said in a low voice as the material pulled tight against her tits, "these are sweeter than sugar. There's not a man on earth is ever gonna mistake you for a boy." The satin under his hands was slippery smooth, the flesh beneath that warm and alive. He watched his hands in the mirror as if they belonged to someone else as they cupped the slight bottom swells, watched his thumbs as they swept like windshield wiper blades from her outside curves to her nipples. He observed those nipples shoot from soft quiescence to hard little bullets beneath the luxurious red fabric. "Not any man with blood in his veins," he reiterated, pressing the stiff crests between the sides of his index finger and the pads of his thumbs.