Read Online Can't Get Enough by Sarah Mayberry - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sarah Mayberry
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running
until O–one hundred. Rescue team is in place, and setting up. Estimated
extraction time per car—half an hour to an hour." Jack suppressed a
smile at Ted's military-style reporting. This was probably about as
exciting as it got in Ted's line of work.
"Right. So, when can we expect to be, uh, extracted?"
"Car six has only two occupants, and, as such, is a low priority at this stage," Ted said evasively.
"How long, Ted?" Jack insisted.
A pause.
"Let me check on that for you. Hold on."
He rolled his eyes.
"Because I have so many other places I can be right now," he muttered.
"What's he saying?" Claire asked, hope in her voice.
"Don't get excited," he warned her just as Ted picked up the receiver at the other end again.
"Best estimate is between three to five hours, Mr. Brook."
"Thanks, Ted. Don't be a stranger."
Jack put the receiver down and turned to face Claire. She was standing
now, and he saw how short she was without her high heels on. Tiny,
really—she barely came up to his armpits.
"Three hours is the minimum, I'm afraid."
He watched her closely, worried she might flip out again.
"Relax, I'm not going to freak out again," she assured him. "In fact, this little experience may have cured me for good."
They sank down into their opposing corners again, and he made a special
effort to avoid looking at her as she settled. It didn't stop him from imagining her thighs again, of course, but it gave him the illusion of self-control….
Silence took over again, and he replayed the small moment before Ted had picked up the phone. What had really happened then?
"Before, when I was talking about the air-conditioning, you said something," he prompted, watching her Page 34
face carefully.
She was all surprise, widening her eyes innocently as she tried to remember. Pity she sucked as an actress.
"Did I? I don't remember," she said.
"Right. And you never inhaled, either."
His challenge hung between them for a moment, then she shrugged.
"Fine. You want it, you got it. When you broke up with Judy Gillespie
from Accounts, she told everyone about how you made her turn off her
air-conditioning when you stayed the night, even though she got heat
rash if it got too warm. I didn't believe it at the time." He just
stared at her, his mind numbed for a moment by this revelation. She
raised her eyebrows at him, obviously expecting an answer.
"Nice to know my private life is public property," he finally managed
to say. She laughed, one of those short, sharp mocking laughs that
women use to cut men off at the knees.
"And what's that supposed to mean?" he squawked. He sounded more than a
little defensive, and he forced his shoulders to relax.
"Come on. You've dated more than half the eligible females in the
building. You think they don't talk about you, compare notes? You think
they don't warn every new woman who joins the company?" Compare
notes?For a moment he felt exposed and vulnerable, and then he reminded
himself that he had nothing to be ashamed or worried about. He prided
himself on the fact that no woman left his bed unsatisfied. If half the
women's magazine complaints he'd read over the years were true, he was
doing okay.
"Yeah? What do they say?"
He could see his cockiness got under her skin, and he felt on firmer ground now.
"You want the truth?" she asked, daring him.
How tough could it be? Maybe a few complaints about him breaking up
with some of them, but most of his office flings had been just that—two
adults satisfying a mutual curiosity. He was confident he could handle
a bit of woman-scorned bitterness.
"Sure. Hit me."
Her expression should have warned him. She actually looked wary, almost as though she was afraid of what she was about to say.
"They say that you're fun and adventurous, but as soon as anything
serious develops you run scared. Also, that you're afraid of
commitment, afraid of feelings and impossible to talk to. That even
though you're good in bed, they never really felt as
until O–one hundred. Rescue team is in place, and setting up. Estimated
extraction time per car—half an hour to an hour." Jack suppressed a
smile at Ted's military-style reporting. This was probably about as
exciting as it got in Ted's line of work.
"Right. So, when can we expect to be, uh, extracted?"
"Car six has only two occupants, and, as such, is a low priority at this stage," Ted said evasively.
"How long, Ted?" Jack insisted.
A pause.
"Let me check on that for you. Hold on."
He rolled his eyes.
"Because I have so many other places I can be right now," he muttered.
"What's he saying?" Claire asked, hope in her voice.
"Don't get excited," he warned her just as Ted picked up the receiver at the other end again.
"Best estimate is between three to five hours, Mr. Brook."
"Thanks, Ted. Don't be a stranger."
Jack put the receiver down and turned to face Claire. She was standing
now, and he saw how short she was without her high heels on. Tiny,
really—she barely came up to his armpits.
"Three hours is the minimum, I'm afraid."
He watched her closely, worried she might flip out again.
"Relax, I'm not going to freak out again," she assured him. "In fact, this little experience may have cured me for good."
They sank down into their opposing corners again, and he made a special
effort to avoid looking at her as she settled. It didn't stop him from imagining her thighs again, of course, but it gave him the illusion of self-control….
Silence took over again, and he replayed the small moment before Ted had picked up the phone. What had really happened then?
"Before, when I was talking about the air-conditioning, you said something," he prompted, watching her Page 34
face carefully.
She was all surprise, widening her eyes innocently as she tried to remember. Pity she sucked as an actress.
"Did I? I don't remember," she said.
"Right. And you never inhaled, either."
His challenge hung between them for a moment, then she shrugged.
"Fine. You want it, you got it. When you broke up with Judy Gillespie
from Accounts, she told everyone about how you made her turn off her
air-conditioning when you stayed the night, even though she got heat
rash if it got too warm. I didn't believe it at the time." He just
stared at her, his mind numbed for a moment by this revelation. She
raised her eyebrows at him, obviously expecting an answer.
"Nice to know my private life is public property," he finally managed
to say. She laughed, one of those short, sharp mocking laughs that
women use to cut men off at the knees.
"And what's that supposed to mean?" he squawked. He sounded more than a
little defensive, and he forced his shoulders to relax.
"Come on. You've dated more than half the eligible females in the
building. You think they don't talk about you, compare notes? You think
they don't warn every new woman who joins the company?" Compare
notes?For a moment he felt exposed and vulnerable, and then he reminded
himself that he had nothing to be ashamed or worried about. He prided
himself on the fact that no woman left his bed unsatisfied. If half the
women's magazine complaints he'd read over the years were true, he was
doing okay.
"Yeah? What do they say?"
He could see his cockiness got under her skin, and he felt on firmer ground now.
"You want the truth?" she asked, daring him.
How tough could it be? Maybe a few complaints about him breaking up
with some of them, but most of his office flings had been just that—two
adults satisfying a mutual curiosity. He was confident he could handle
a bit of woman-scorned bitterness.
"Sure. Hit me."
Her expression should have warned him. She actually looked wary, almost as though she was afraid of what she was about to say.
"They say that you're fun and adventurous, but as soon as anything
serious develops you run scared. Also, that you're afraid of
commitment, afraid of feelings and impossible to talk to. That even
though you're good in bed, they never really felt as
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