Red by Erica Spindler Page A

out.”
    â€œJack!”
    Jack turned to see his mother pushing through the crowd, her expression stricken. He swore silently.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” She stopped beside him and looked from him to Giovanni to Carlo and back. “What are you doing here?”
    Jack opened his mouth to explain; Giovanni spoke first. “I should fire you right now, Sallie. If I ever see your boy on my set again, I will. And if I fire you, nobody else will hire you. Got that?”
    â€œYou leave my mother out of this, you son of a bitch!” Jack faced the older man, his fists clenched. “I came on my own, and this has nothing to do with her.”
    â€œIt has everything to do with her, because you’re her son. Think of that the next time you decide to tangle with me.” Giovanni clapped his hands. “Show’s over. Everybody back to work.”
    Tank grabbed Jack’s arm. He shook off the beefy man’s hand. “I don’t need any help,” he said tightly. “I’m going.”
    He turned and walked away, aware of his mother’s distress and his half brother’s amusement. Emotions churned in his gut, and he muttered an oath. He hadn’t meant to lose his cool. He hated that Carlo had gotten the best of him, hated that—
    â€œJack, wait!”
    Jack stopped at the front door and turned. Gina hurried to catch up with him, her progress slowed by her gown’s narrow skirt.
    When she reached him, she glanced over her shoulder, then returned her gaze to him. “Outside.”
    They stepped through the door and sunshine spilled over them, almost blinding after the artificial light of the studio. She smiled. “I just wanted to, you know, tell youthat I liked what you did in there.” She lifted her shoulders. “I’m…flattered that you got into a fight over me. It was cool.”
    One corner of Jack’s mouth lifted. “Yeah?”
    â€œYeah.” She moved closer and laid her hands on his chest. She tipped her head back to gaze provocatively up at him. “I’m sorry you have to go, though.”
    He placed his hands on her hips, instantly aroused. “Come with me.”
    She made a sound of disappointment. “I can’t. You know that.”
    He inched her closer. He wanted to kiss her, and he knew in his gut that she would let him. But he also knew it would ruin her mouth and get her in trouble. Instead, he trailed a finger over her collarbone and down to the place slippery satin ended and warm flesh began. She shuddered.
    â€œMeet me later,” he murmured.
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œYou tell me.”
    She thought a moment. “My house. Bring your books. I’ll tell my mother you’re helping me with my French.”
    â€œI don’t know dip about French.”
    She smiled, slow and sexy, and his pulse went crazy. “Don’t worry, Jack. I’ll teach you.”
    She turned and walked to the door. When she reached it, she turned back to him. “Eight-thirty. I’m in the book.” Without another word, she turned and walked inside.

9
    B y the time Jack got home, the rush of adrenaline and anger that had enabled him to boldly face down Giovanni had evaporated, leaving in its wake shaking hands, a runaway heart and legs that felt like rubber.
    Jack fell onto his bed and struggled to draw in a deep, even breath. He couldn’t put his mother’s face, her stricken expression, out of his mind. Giovanni had blamed her for her son’s actions. He had threatened to fire her, had warned that if he did, no one else in the industry would hire her.
    The last hadn’t been an idle threat. He had seen the cold determination in the photographer’s eyes. Giovanni didn’t care about Sallie Gallagher or her livelihood; he wouldn’t think twice about ruining her professional reputation.
    And, Jack knew, it wouldn’t take much. Getting fired once could do it. The fashion industry