Read Online Just in Time by Rosalind James - Free Book Online Page B

couldn’t help it. His hand went out like it belonged to somebody else and tucked a wisp of hair that had fallen down from its knot back behind her ear, then brushed her cheek. Her skin was soft, and her eyes were, too, that gorgeous mouth had parted, and she was leaning into him a bit, surely.
    And then she pulled away like it was an effort and got out of the truck, and he followed her, and said goodnight, and didn’t kiss her.
    And why was it, he wondered as he walked down the hall to his empty apartment, that doing the right thing had to feel so wrong?
     
     

True Confessions

    Cold Days, Hot Nights at the Roundup
    Faith sat at her little dining-room table, typed the headline, then stared at it for a minute, her fingers hovering over the keys. The weather outside might be frightful , she wrote. Well, it had rained that one day. But the entertainment at the Roundup is always smoking-hot .
    She inserted an image of Sheila, one of the casino’s dancers, riding the mechanical bull in a pair of chaps, a G-string, and nothing else, with Robert, the principal boy dancer, up behind her, looking like he was ready to take over.
    What was she thinking? She’d get fired. Too many sexy pictures, too much looking at a half-naked Will. Too much fantasizing about a half-naked Will. She substituted the PG version, the one where Sheila was wearing a sparkly vest.
    As a valued VIP, you and your guest will have a front-row seat on opening night of our brand-new show , Lassoed. Afterwards, you’re invited to an exclusive backstage meet-and-greet with our talented dancers.
    And you’re not invited to feel up Sheila , she didn’t write. Last time, the dancers had complained.
    “Tell them not to hug me!” Sheila had said, storming into the Marketing Department during what had become the most entertaining meeting Faith had ever attended. “I don’t get paid enough for that, and the next nasty old guy that tries it? He gets a knee.”
    Faith sighed, now, and looked out the window at a slightly unkempt palm. She needed to do some pruning. She should clean the gutters, too.
    Inspiration really wasn’t coming today, if cleaning the gutters sounded better than writing the February copy for the Winners’ Circle. She stared at the palm a minute longer without really seeing it, then opened a new document. Maybe just for five minutes. Just to clear her head.
    The problem was, it wasn’t Sheila and Robert taking up all her available brain-space, or the dirty-old-man members of the high rollers’ club, either. It was Gretchen and Will, from the day before.
    Not really, though. It was Hope and Hemi.
    Hope in a pale-pink bra and a filmy white shirt that was falling open, because Hemi’s hands were unbuttoning it from behind, his mouth just grazing her neck, his jaw dark with the barest hint of stubble. Faith had had to set up a box for Gretchen in order for Will to reach her, had had to keep adjusting angles so Calvin could get the shot, with Charlotte in there redoing Gretchen’s makeup, spraying Will down again to keep his skin glistening while Faith crawled on the floor.
    It didn’t matter that she knew what was really happening behind the scenes. The images were still there, exactly as if they were real. The two of them kneeling, Hemi’s arm, bare now, around Hope, his hand on the zipper of her unbuttoned jeans, his other hand pulling her blond hair back, his mouth near her ear.
    Faith’s fingers were moving despite herself, despite every better intention.
    The elevator stopped on the 43rd floor, and my heart slammed against my chest. Because it was Hemi Te Mana himself getting in, his glance flicking over me just as it had the week before. A predatory glance, my wild imagination provided. Or a dismissive one, more likely. A little smile on his beautiful lips. He’d probably noticed my shoe. Rumor had it he noticed everything.
    “You’re here,” he said, pushing the button for 51. “Looking forward to your interview?”
    Oh, God.