Read Online One More Kiss (Affair Without End Book 2) by Susan Ward - Free Book Online
Authors: Susan Ward
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him still in bed in spite of the lateness of the hour we went to bed. Jack usually is up at the crack of dawn. He loves to watch the sunrise. He gets this faraway look and I know sunrise is a ritual with some kind of inner significance to him. I don’t understand it and I’ve not asked. Life has taught me that sometimes it’s better not to know everything, to let a man have a secret or two, and not to try to understand him completely.
Warm from his body and still wondrously lush in the aftermath of his passion, I cautiously slip from Jack’s arms and out of the covers. I pause beside the bed, staring down at him. He’s such a beautiful man. His golden waves are a little longer than the last time I saw him and his strongly molded features hold an endearing softening in sleep. His affection for spending as much time outdoors as possible shows in the firm line of his muscles and the golden tan of his long limbs. Everything on him is deliciously made: the sculptured chest, the narrow hips, even that morning wood after a night of sex, tempting me to return to bed.
I grab, from the floor, the shirt he wore to perform in last night and walk into the living room, tugging it over my head. I sink down onto the chair in front of the desk and start to rummage through all the advertisements until I find the room service menu. What to order for breakfast? I’m scanning the options and my eyes stray to the leather stationary binder on the desk in front of me.
Oh my, I’m supposed to call Sandy Harris today. How could I have forgotten that? It’s the first real line on a job I’ve had in the four weeks since I graduated college. I look at the clock. It’s early. 9 a.m. Saturday. Too early? Sandy Harris is probably not even working, though he did ask me to call him today. I should at least call and try. I don’t know if I’ll have a moment after Jack wakes.
I spring from the chair and hurry to the bedroom door. Carefully and quietly, I close it. I plop heavily onto the sofa and reach for the phone. The butterflies in my stomach go into overdrive as I dial in the number. It would be nice to have one problem, the job thing, fixed. I curl the phone cord around my arm, pinching myself with it to keep me calm while I listen to the ring.
Four. Five. How many times should I let it ring before I hang up?
“Hello.” The voice is low, male, and familiar. Sandy Harris. I’d recognize his voice anywhere. An image of him—blond haired, green eyes, deep California tan, sloppily dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, wearing UGG boots with a Rolex watch—flashes in my mind. An Orange County rich beach bum through and through. He wasn’t at all what I expected an industry mogul to look like. It made it so much less intimidating during the interview, that he looked so unthreatening.
My entire body straightens and tenses. “Hello, Mr. Harris. It’s Linda Cray. I hope I’m not calling too early, but I thought…”
“Linda,” he exclaims exuberantly, cutting me off. “No, no, no. It’s fine. I’ve been wondering if you’d call since I was expecting a call yesterday.”
My cheeks burn. Oh shit. I never asked Doris when she took the message. Have I blown my only lead on employment? “I’m sorry I’m calling you a day late. You see…” What to say that doesn’t sound too lame? “…I’ve been traveling. Only got back to LA late last night.”
Sandy’s genial laughter floats through the receiver. “Working the job thing, huh?”
I bite my lip, uncomfortable in the lie. “You could say that. Or you could say it’s working me.”
I tense. Damn, a wisecrack. Sandy’s laughter floods the line again. I shake my head, warning myself not to be too lame, too anxious or, worse of all, too desperate.
“So, what can I do for you, Mr. Harris.” I’m pleased. My voice sounded calm, in control that time.
A long pause. Then, “I wanted to discuss a potential employment opportunity.”
Potential? What the hell does that mean?
Warm from his body and still wondrously lush in the aftermath of his passion, I cautiously slip from Jack’s arms and out of the covers. I pause beside the bed, staring down at him. He’s such a beautiful man. His golden waves are a little longer than the last time I saw him and his strongly molded features hold an endearing softening in sleep. His affection for spending as much time outdoors as possible shows in the firm line of his muscles and the golden tan of his long limbs. Everything on him is deliciously made: the sculptured chest, the narrow hips, even that morning wood after a night of sex, tempting me to return to bed.
I grab, from the floor, the shirt he wore to perform in last night and walk into the living room, tugging it over my head. I sink down onto the chair in front of the desk and start to rummage through all the advertisements until I find the room service menu. What to order for breakfast? I’m scanning the options and my eyes stray to the leather stationary binder on the desk in front of me.
Oh my, I’m supposed to call Sandy Harris today. How could I have forgotten that? It’s the first real line on a job I’ve had in the four weeks since I graduated college. I look at the clock. It’s early. 9 a.m. Saturday. Too early? Sandy Harris is probably not even working, though he did ask me to call him today. I should at least call and try. I don’t know if I’ll have a moment after Jack wakes.
I spring from the chair and hurry to the bedroom door. Carefully and quietly, I close it. I plop heavily onto the sofa and reach for the phone. The butterflies in my stomach go into overdrive as I dial in the number. It would be nice to have one problem, the job thing, fixed. I curl the phone cord around my arm, pinching myself with it to keep me calm while I listen to the ring.
Four. Five. How many times should I let it ring before I hang up?
“Hello.” The voice is low, male, and familiar. Sandy Harris. I’d recognize his voice anywhere. An image of him—blond haired, green eyes, deep California tan, sloppily dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, wearing UGG boots with a Rolex watch—flashes in my mind. An Orange County rich beach bum through and through. He wasn’t at all what I expected an industry mogul to look like. It made it so much less intimidating during the interview, that he looked so unthreatening.
My entire body straightens and tenses. “Hello, Mr. Harris. It’s Linda Cray. I hope I’m not calling too early, but I thought…”
“Linda,” he exclaims exuberantly, cutting me off. “No, no, no. It’s fine. I’ve been wondering if you’d call since I was expecting a call yesterday.”
My cheeks burn. Oh shit. I never asked Doris when she took the message. Have I blown my only lead on employment? “I’m sorry I’m calling you a day late. You see…” What to say that doesn’t sound too lame? “…I’ve been traveling. Only got back to LA late last night.”
Sandy’s genial laughter floats through the receiver. “Working the job thing, huh?”
I bite my lip, uncomfortable in the lie. “You could say that. Or you could say it’s working me.”
I tense. Damn, a wisecrack. Sandy’s laughter floods the line again. I shake my head, warning myself not to be too lame, too anxious or, worse of all, too desperate.
“So, what can I do for you, Mr. Harris.” I’m pleased. My voice sounded calm, in control that time.
A long pause. Then, “I wanted to discuss a potential employment opportunity.”
Potential? What the hell does that mean?
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