Read Online Friends and Lovers Trilogy 02 - Charmed by Beth Ciotta - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Beth Ciotta
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was a sure-fire ticket to happy land.
The woman faltered in the face of his silence, her cheeks blooming a deeper shade of red. “Not that I would. Eat him up … or anything.” She tugged at the hem of her T-shirt. “I mean he’s taken. By you. And besides he’s not my type, if you catch my drift.”
Rudy grinned.
Both elbows on the table, she cupped her chin in her hands and sighed. “Do you know how lucky you are, Rudy?”
He looked around the room, sized up the lonely singles trying to hook up, and acknowledged the swell in his heart. “Damned lucky. Sometimes it seems too good to be true.”
She smiled, but it was a winsome expression, one that compelled him to raise a subject he knew she hated.
He leaned forward and rested a calming hand on her bouncing leg. “So what is your type, honey? What are you waiting for? What are you afraid of? Trust me, I’ve been around, and they’re not all schmucks like Terry. You just have to open your heart. Be willing to take a chance.” God knows he was doing that with Jean-Pierre.
“Do you hear that?” she asked, blowing over his questions. “I
love
that song!” A remix of a Bill Medley/Jennifer Warnes tune blared over the state-of-the-art speaker system, and before he knew it she was out of her seat and halfway to the dance floor. “Tell Jean-Pierre I’ll be back!”
Rudy groaned, wondering how he was going to keep an eye on her when she’d disappeared into the throng of writhing bodies. Unless he joined those writhing bodies on the dance floor. Those mostly male, mostly shirtless, toned, writhing bodies. The old him would have jumped at the chance to get up close and nasty with a few of those tasty cakes. The new him hustled to the bar in search of Jean-Pierre. This was definitely a team effort.
Lulu refused to let Rudy dampen her night with his soul-searching questions. She’d almost blurted that Murphy was her type, but that was ludicrous. The man carried a gun. He was so not her type. Okay, he was extremely handsome. And charismatic. And … fine, sure, a little … a lot sexy, but that didn’t mean he was Mr. Right. Mr. Right would have to meet specific requirements, and she was certain Colin Murphy would crap out. He was, after all, Alpha and Irish, and the combination equaled old-fashioned and family driven. Not that that was a bad thing. In fact, under normal circumstances that would be a very good thing. Too bad her circumstances weren’t normal.
She palmed her sweaty brow. Why was she even giving that man a second thought? He represented trouble and she wanted no part of it. She shoved him out of her mind and focused on her dance partner, a non-threatening, skinny red-headed guy with kind eyes and great moves. She was footloose and fancy-free. She was having the time of her life!
A re-mix of the theme from
Dirty Dancing
roared over the speakers. She loved this song. Loved the movie. Loved the way shy, innocent, Baby’s eyes were opened to an exciting world by Johnny Castle, that older, oh-so-sexy dance instructor.
She shut her eyes and a vivid image of Murphy exploded behind her lids. She envisioned his arms around her waist, his thigh wedged between her legs. Imagined them swaying, grinding … the heat of him, the scent of him … primal, intoxicating …
She forced her eyes open to maintain her balance and lost herself in the chaotic lighting, pulsing music, and mingling scents of fragrant hair gels and body colognes. Her senses tingled. Absolutely, she’d never felt this way before. She twirled, gyrated, and bopped. Her partner, a guy named Jim, was here with Harry, but Harry didn’t like to fast dance. Jim was gay, which was perfect, because she could dirty dance to her heart’s content, and he wouldn’t care. He was into dancing, not her body. She wanted to feel sexy, but she didn’t want to have sex.
Sofie would call her crazy. But she just wanted to know that part of her, the sensual part, was still working. She didn’t need
The woman faltered in the face of his silence, her cheeks blooming a deeper shade of red. “Not that I would. Eat him up … or anything.” She tugged at the hem of her T-shirt. “I mean he’s taken. By you. And besides he’s not my type, if you catch my drift.”
Rudy grinned.
Both elbows on the table, she cupped her chin in her hands and sighed. “Do you know how lucky you are, Rudy?”
He looked around the room, sized up the lonely singles trying to hook up, and acknowledged the swell in his heart. “Damned lucky. Sometimes it seems too good to be true.”
She smiled, but it was a winsome expression, one that compelled him to raise a subject he knew she hated.
He leaned forward and rested a calming hand on her bouncing leg. “So what is your type, honey? What are you waiting for? What are you afraid of? Trust me, I’ve been around, and they’re not all schmucks like Terry. You just have to open your heart. Be willing to take a chance.” God knows he was doing that with Jean-Pierre.
“Do you hear that?” she asked, blowing over his questions. “I
love
that song!” A remix of a Bill Medley/Jennifer Warnes tune blared over the state-of-the-art speaker system, and before he knew it she was out of her seat and halfway to the dance floor. “Tell Jean-Pierre I’ll be back!”
Rudy groaned, wondering how he was going to keep an eye on her when she’d disappeared into the throng of writhing bodies. Unless he joined those writhing bodies on the dance floor. Those mostly male, mostly shirtless, toned, writhing bodies. The old him would have jumped at the chance to get up close and nasty with a few of those tasty cakes. The new him hustled to the bar in search of Jean-Pierre. This was definitely a team effort.
Lulu refused to let Rudy dampen her night with his soul-searching questions. She’d almost blurted that Murphy was her type, but that was ludicrous. The man carried a gun. He was so not her type. Okay, he was extremely handsome. And charismatic. And … fine, sure, a little … a lot sexy, but that didn’t mean he was Mr. Right. Mr. Right would have to meet specific requirements, and she was certain Colin Murphy would crap out. He was, after all, Alpha and Irish, and the combination equaled old-fashioned and family driven. Not that that was a bad thing. In fact, under normal circumstances that would be a very good thing. Too bad her circumstances weren’t normal.
She palmed her sweaty brow. Why was she even giving that man a second thought? He represented trouble and she wanted no part of it. She shoved him out of her mind and focused on her dance partner, a non-threatening, skinny red-headed guy with kind eyes and great moves. She was footloose and fancy-free. She was having the time of her life!
A re-mix of the theme from
Dirty Dancing
roared over the speakers. She loved this song. Loved the movie. Loved the way shy, innocent, Baby’s eyes were opened to an exciting world by Johnny Castle, that older, oh-so-sexy dance instructor.
She shut her eyes and a vivid image of Murphy exploded behind her lids. She envisioned his arms around her waist, his thigh wedged between her legs. Imagined them swaying, grinding … the heat of him, the scent of him … primal, intoxicating …
She forced her eyes open to maintain her balance and lost herself in the chaotic lighting, pulsing music, and mingling scents of fragrant hair gels and body colognes. Her senses tingled. Absolutely, she’d never felt this way before. She twirled, gyrated, and bopped. Her partner, a guy named Jim, was here with Harry, but Harry didn’t like to fast dance. Jim was gay, which was perfect, because she could dirty dance to her heart’s content, and he wouldn’t care. He was into dancing, not her body. She wanted to feel sexy, but she didn’t want to have sex.
Sofie would call her crazy. But she just wanted to know that part of her, the sensual part, was still working. She didn’t need
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