Read Online I’m In No Mood For Love by Rachel Gibson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rachel Gibson
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dickhead,” she said, and didn’t care if her outburst was immature, or the sign of an ignorant mind, or if she’d responded to his baiting. It felt good to take her anger out on him. He deserved it. Or rather, it did feel good until he gave her that wicked grin of his. The one she recognized. The one that reached his green eyes and robbed her of satisfaction.
He took a few steps forward until only an inch or so of thin air separated his chest from the lapels of her jacket. “You were pressed against me so tight, my button fly left an imprint on your bare butt.”
“Grow up.” She tipped her head back and looked up past his clean-shaven chin and mouth to his eyes. “Why would I believe you? You’ve admitted that you lied. We didn’t have sex and—” She stopped and sucked in a breath. “Thank God.” She felt as if a heavy load had suddenly been lifted from her heart. “Thank God I didn’t actually sleep withyou,” she said through a huge gush of relief. She shook her head and began to laugh like a lunatic. She wasn’t a big drunk slut after all. She hadn’t reverted to her old self-destructive pattern. “You don’t know what a relief that is. I didn’t have loud, hot, sweaty sex with you.” She raised a palm to her forehead. Finally, a little good news after the week from hell. “Whew!”
He folded his arms across his chest and stared down at her. A lock of his sandy blond hair fell over his tan forehead. “You walk around so uptight, I doubt you’ve ever had loud, hot, sweaty sex. You wouldn’t know loud, hot, sweaty sex if it threw you down and climbed on top.”
She could practically feel his testosterone-infused indignation. He was right, she hadn’t ever had loud, hot, sweaty sex. But she would probably know if it climbed on her. “Sebastian, I write romance novels for a living.” She reached into the pocket of her jacket.
“Yeah?”
She pulled out her keys. There was no way she would ever let him know he was right about her. “Where do you think I get my ideas for all the loud , hot, sweaty sex I put in my books?” It was one of the most frequently asked questions of romance authors, and one of the most absurd. It was called romantic fiction for a reason, but ifshe were given a dollar for each time she was asked where she got her ideas for the love scenes she wrote, she could supplement her income quite nicely. “It’s all carefully researched. You’re a journalist. You know about research. Right?”
Sebastian didn’t answer, but his wicked smile flat-lined.
Clare opened her car door and Sebastian was forced to take a step back. “You don’t think I just make all that stuff up, do you?” She smiled and climbed into her car. She didn’t wait for an answer as she fired up the Lexus and closed the door. As she drove away, she looked in her rearview mirror at Sebastian standing exactly where she’d left him, looking stunned.
He’d never read a romance novel. Thought they were sappy. For chicks. Sebastian buried his fingers in the front pockets of his jeans and watched Clare’s taillights disappear. How much sex did she put into those books she wrote? And how hot was it?
The back door to the house closed and drew his attention to his father walking toward him. Was that why Mrs. Wingate didn’t like to talk about what Clare wrote for a living? Was it porn, and more importantly, did Clare really research something like that?
“I see Clare left,” his father said as he approached. “Such a nice sweet girl.”
Sebastian looked at his father and wondered if he was talking about the same Clare who’d just called him a lying dickhead. Or the Clare who’d been so relieved that she hadn’t had sex with him, she’d looked like a death row inmate who’d suddenly found God. Like she just might fall to the ground and praise Jesus.
“I know that Joyce put you on the spot in there.” Leo stopped in front of Sebastian and shoved his hat on his head. “I know you
He took a few steps forward until only an inch or so of thin air separated his chest from the lapels of her jacket. “You were pressed against me so tight, my button fly left an imprint on your bare butt.”
“Grow up.” She tipped her head back and looked up past his clean-shaven chin and mouth to his eyes. “Why would I believe you? You’ve admitted that you lied. We didn’t have sex and—” She stopped and sucked in a breath. “Thank God.” She felt as if a heavy load had suddenly been lifted from her heart. “Thank God I didn’t actually sleep withyou,” she said through a huge gush of relief. She shook her head and began to laugh like a lunatic. She wasn’t a big drunk slut after all. She hadn’t reverted to her old self-destructive pattern. “You don’t know what a relief that is. I didn’t have loud, hot, sweaty sex with you.” She raised a palm to her forehead. Finally, a little good news after the week from hell. “Whew!”
He folded his arms across his chest and stared down at her. A lock of his sandy blond hair fell over his tan forehead. “You walk around so uptight, I doubt you’ve ever had loud, hot, sweaty sex. You wouldn’t know loud, hot, sweaty sex if it threw you down and climbed on top.”
She could practically feel his testosterone-infused indignation. He was right, she hadn’t ever had loud, hot, sweaty sex. But she would probably know if it climbed on her. “Sebastian, I write romance novels for a living.” She reached into the pocket of her jacket.
“Yeah?”
She pulled out her keys. There was no way she would ever let him know he was right about her. “Where do you think I get my ideas for all the loud , hot, sweaty sex I put in my books?” It was one of the most frequently asked questions of romance authors, and one of the most absurd. It was called romantic fiction for a reason, but ifshe were given a dollar for each time she was asked where she got her ideas for the love scenes she wrote, she could supplement her income quite nicely. “It’s all carefully researched. You’re a journalist. You know about research. Right?”
Sebastian didn’t answer, but his wicked smile flat-lined.
Clare opened her car door and Sebastian was forced to take a step back. “You don’t think I just make all that stuff up, do you?” She smiled and climbed into her car. She didn’t wait for an answer as she fired up the Lexus and closed the door. As she drove away, she looked in her rearview mirror at Sebastian standing exactly where she’d left him, looking stunned.
He’d never read a romance novel. Thought they were sappy. For chicks. Sebastian buried his fingers in the front pockets of his jeans and watched Clare’s taillights disappear. How much sex did she put into those books she wrote? And how hot was it?
The back door to the house closed and drew his attention to his father walking toward him. Was that why Mrs. Wingate didn’t like to talk about what Clare wrote for a living? Was it porn, and more importantly, did Clare really research something like that?
“I see Clare left,” his father said as he approached. “Such a nice sweet girl.”
Sebastian looked at his father and wondered if he was talking about the same Clare who’d just called him a lying dickhead. Or the Clare who’d been so relieved that she hadn’t had sex with him, she’d looked like a death row inmate who’d suddenly found God. Like she just might fall to the ground and praise Jesus.
“I know that Joyce put you on the spot in there.” Leo stopped in front of Sebastian and shoved his hat on his head. “I know you
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