Read Online Friends and Lovers Trilogy 02 - Charmed by Beth Ciotta - Free Book Online
Authors: Beth Ciotta
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and drank deeply.
Oblivious to his troubled thoughts, Jean-Pierre scooted closer and draped his arm across the back of Rudy’s chair. “This is nice, no? This working together?”
“No.” The man’s naturally seductive voice coiled Rudy’s stomach into a delicious knot. Until he’d met Jean-Pierre, he’d never thought a French accent all that sexy. Maybe it wasn’t the accent as much as the man.
Damn,
he was turning into a sap.
Jean-Pierre eased back, the glow of the table’s singular candle illuminating his chiseled features. “No?”
Genuine hurt shone in his partner’s long-lashed eyes and Rudy instantly regretted his gruff tone. He set down his glass and dragged a hand down his neatly-trimmed goatee. “We’re not working together, Jean-Pierre. I’m chauffeuring specialty entertainers to and from Oz as dictated by Rivelli. You’re designing costumes for Flying Monkeys’ cage dancers and Ruby Slippers’ drag queens. In the two weeks since we started, we’ve barely crossed paths.”
“You misunderstand,” the younger man said. He paused, stroked the stem of his own wine glass in a sensual manner. Then again Jean-Pierre could sneeze and Rudy would find that sexy. “I meant that it is nice that we are working together to make our dream come true.”
The bed and breakfast lodge in Vermont. Rudy had once mentioned that he wanted more than a toss in the sack; he wanted Christmas in Vermont. A meaningful relationship. Jean-Pierre had taken the notion a step beyond, suggesting they relocate someplace quiet and start their own business. Somehow—amazing since neither possessed the required experience—they’d come up with the idea of opening a bed and breakfast retreat. Of course, at the time they’d been tipsy on sangria and delirious from an all-night movie fest.
Since then Rudy had been struggling to keep his freelance chauffeur business afloat. He’d been ready to drop his Tae Kwon Do class and gym membership when Jean-Pierre had dragged him into a meeting with Anthony Rivelli, the former casino executive who’d established the glitzy wardrobe policy at the Carnevale. The policy that kept Jean-Pierre up to his neck in costume creations and alterations.
“Okay,” Rudy conceded, easing his clenched jaw. “Maybe I did need the steady work.” Rivelli had put him on Oz’s payroll. With the exception of an occasional run to Manhattan, most of his bookings were local. Shame washed over him. Instead of bitching, he should be thanking Jean-Pierre for the cake job. But, dammit, pride and the feeling that it was too good to be true caused him to stumble. “You, however, already work full time at the Carnevale. You’re going to run yourself ragged with this second job.”
“Moi?” Jean-Pierre flashed a cocky grin. “I have the energy of ten men,
mon amour
.”
“Tell me about it.” Jean-Pierre Legrand had the lasting power of the damned Energizer bunny. The man was tireless on multiple fronts. Rudy felt a familiar stirring south of his belt. And more importantly in his heart. He could envision his best friend, Afia, shaking her finger at him, saying,
“When are you going to get it through your thick head that this is the real thing?”
Well, damn.
“I’m acting like a bitch tonight, aren’t I?”
Jean-Pierre smiled. “We’ll leave after Virginia Hamm does her set. I promised Anthony I would check out her costumes. He thinks she can do better.”
“Meaning you can do better.”
The man winked. Modesty was not his strong suit.
Rudy sipped his cabernet, his gaze drifting toward the lively dance floor. Though he and Jean-Pierre were sitting alone, they hadn’t come alone. “Virginia doesn’t go on until 1:00 a.m. It’s not even midnight and we’ve already been here for two hours.” He nodded toward the whirling dervish in the pink high-top sneakers dancing with a couple of Ruby Slippers’ regulars.
Been there, done them,
he thought while draining his glass.
Dammit.
“I’m
Oblivious to his troubled thoughts, Jean-Pierre scooted closer and draped his arm across the back of Rudy’s chair. “This is nice, no? This working together?”
“No.” The man’s naturally seductive voice coiled Rudy’s stomach into a delicious knot. Until he’d met Jean-Pierre, he’d never thought a French accent all that sexy. Maybe it wasn’t the accent as much as the man.
Damn,
he was turning into a sap.
Jean-Pierre eased back, the glow of the table’s singular candle illuminating his chiseled features. “No?”
Genuine hurt shone in his partner’s long-lashed eyes and Rudy instantly regretted his gruff tone. He set down his glass and dragged a hand down his neatly-trimmed goatee. “We’re not working together, Jean-Pierre. I’m chauffeuring specialty entertainers to and from Oz as dictated by Rivelli. You’re designing costumes for Flying Monkeys’ cage dancers and Ruby Slippers’ drag queens. In the two weeks since we started, we’ve barely crossed paths.”
“You misunderstand,” the younger man said. He paused, stroked the stem of his own wine glass in a sensual manner. Then again Jean-Pierre could sneeze and Rudy would find that sexy. “I meant that it is nice that we are working together to make our dream come true.”
The bed and breakfast lodge in Vermont. Rudy had once mentioned that he wanted more than a toss in the sack; he wanted Christmas in Vermont. A meaningful relationship. Jean-Pierre had taken the notion a step beyond, suggesting they relocate someplace quiet and start their own business. Somehow—amazing since neither possessed the required experience—they’d come up with the idea of opening a bed and breakfast retreat. Of course, at the time they’d been tipsy on sangria and delirious from an all-night movie fest.
Since then Rudy had been struggling to keep his freelance chauffeur business afloat. He’d been ready to drop his Tae Kwon Do class and gym membership when Jean-Pierre had dragged him into a meeting with Anthony Rivelli, the former casino executive who’d established the glitzy wardrobe policy at the Carnevale. The policy that kept Jean-Pierre up to his neck in costume creations and alterations.
“Okay,” Rudy conceded, easing his clenched jaw. “Maybe I did need the steady work.” Rivelli had put him on Oz’s payroll. With the exception of an occasional run to Manhattan, most of his bookings were local. Shame washed over him. Instead of bitching, he should be thanking Jean-Pierre for the cake job. But, dammit, pride and the feeling that it was too good to be true caused him to stumble. “You, however, already work full time at the Carnevale. You’re going to run yourself ragged with this second job.”
“Moi?” Jean-Pierre flashed a cocky grin. “I have the energy of ten men,
mon amour
.”
“Tell me about it.” Jean-Pierre Legrand had the lasting power of the damned Energizer bunny. The man was tireless on multiple fronts. Rudy felt a familiar stirring south of his belt. And more importantly in his heart. He could envision his best friend, Afia, shaking her finger at him, saying,
“When are you going to get it through your thick head that this is the real thing?”
Well, damn.
“I’m acting like a bitch tonight, aren’t I?”
Jean-Pierre smiled. “We’ll leave after Virginia Hamm does her set. I promised Anthony I would check out her costumes. He thinks she can do better.”
“Meaning you can do better.”
The man winked. Modesty was not his strong suit.
Rudy sipped his cabernet, his gaze drifting toward the lively dance floor. Though he and Jean-Pierre were sitting alone, they hadn’t come alone. “Virginia doesn’t go on until 1:00 a.m. It’s not even midnight and we’ve already been here for two hours.” He nodded toward the whirling dervish in the pink high-top sneakers dancing with a couple of Ruby Slippers’ regulars.
Been there, done them,
he thought while draining his glass.
Dammit.
“I’m
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