Read Online The Rent-A-Groom by Jennifer Blake - Free Book Online
Authors: Jennifer Blake
Tags: Romance, Contemporary
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her.
“Yes, I—must have.” That she had slept so soundly and long while he was close by was amazing. It seemed having him in the next room had made her feel more secure rather than less.
“Overwork leads to sleep deprivation,” he suggested. “Ditto worrying. And stress. Depression. You have something on your mind lately? Other than a canceled wedding, I mean?”
“Nothing special,” she answered, though she turned her gaze toward a table draped in ruffles and the window behind it, where daylight made a bright noon glow at the edges of the draperies.
He was quiet a long moment, staring at nothing while he drank his coffee. Then his gaze focused on her once more. “So what’s on the agenda for the rest of the day? A leisurely brunch on the balcony? A walk around the lake? Golf? Shopping? Museums? You choose, and I’ll make the arrangements. Or the other way around. I’m easy.”
So was she easy, or so it seemed, since she did not refuse immediately to go along with him. The agreement had been that he would stay the night to throw Bradley off the scent. Nothing had been said about the morning after, or the afternoon.
Still, what were a few more hours after spending the night together? How much difference could it make?
Race Bannister had kept his word; he had not tried anything during the night. If he wanted to forget that they had a deal, then so could she. For a little while. Just a little while longer.
They ate on the balcony while sharing the Sunday paper. The warm breeze rustled the masses of ivy and the leaves of the potted shrubs in glazed pots that created islands of privacy along the open space. It lifted the edges of the pink linen tablecloth and brought the scent of new-mown grass drifting up from below. Sparrows winged to join them, hopping around under the table or perching hopefully on the railing. The food was delicious, the coffee perfect. Peace and tranquility and an odd sense of comfort flowed between them.
Gina had not bothered to dress, but only thrown one of the hotel’s white terry-cloth courtesy robes on over her gown. She tried at first to keep it securely belted and closed over her chest and knees, but finally gave up the struggle. Once, she caught Race’s gaze resting on the lace and tiny pearl buttons revealed between her breasts as the heavy robe fell open. The smile he gave her then seemed lazy, almost sleepy, yet she glimpsed hypnotic intensity in its depths before his lashes flickered down to conceal it. He looked away, and did not make the same mistake again.
Talk between them was sporadic and based mostly on bits and pieces culled from the paper. The easy comments were punctuated by long periods of silence broken only by the rustle of pages and the clink of a cup on a saucer.
It was the Sunday comics, after they had pushed back their plates and were finishing the last of the coffee, which brought up the subject of cartoon movies. They fell into a mild argument about the effects of cartoon violence, with Gina maintaining that movies such as Beauty and the Beast or Aladdin were far better for kids than simplistic kick-and-slash shows with heroes like the Ninja Turtles. Race would not be convinced. While admitting the excellence of Disney productions, he claimed that the values of loyalty and cooperation portrayed in the turtle movies made up for their emphasis on action. Besides, he maintained, nobody ever stabbed the turtles in the back, and no giant tiger’s head opened up and swallowed them whole, as happened with Disney animation.
Gina had to laugh and agree. At the same time, she was struck by his knowledge of children’s cartoon fare. The only reason she was familiar with the stories was because of Diane’s son Corey, a pint-sized genius with a passion for electronic gadgets who was usually watching some kid’s cartoon on his portable DVD player while Gina visited her friend. What excuse could a man like Race have?
“Yes, I—must have.” That she had slept so soundly and long while he was close by was amazing. It seemed having him in the next room had made her feel more secure rather than less.
“Overwork leads to sleep deprivation,” he suggested. “Ditto worrying. And stress. Depression. You have something on your mind lately? Other than a canceled wedding, I mean?”
“Nothing special,” she answered, though she turned her gaze toward a table draped in ruffles and the window behind it, where daylight made a bright noon glow at the edges of the draperies.
He was quiet a long moment, staring at nothing while he drank his coffee. Then his gaze focused on her once more. “So what’s on the agenda for the rest of the day? A leisurely brunch on the balcony? A walk around the lake? Golf? Shopping? Museums? You choose, and I’ll make the arrangements. Or the other way around. I’m easy.”
So was she easy, or so it seemed, since she did not refuse immediately to go along with him. The agreement had been that he would stay the night to throw Bradley off the scent. Nothing had been said about the morning after, or the afternoon.
Still, what were a few more hours after spending the night together? How much difference could it make?
Race Bannister had kept his word; he had not tried anything during the night. If he wanted to forget that they had a deal, then so could she. For a little while. Just a little while longer.
They ate on the balcony while sharing the Sunday paper. The warm breeze rustled the masses of ivy and the leaves of the potted shrubs in glazed pots that created islands of privacy along the open space. It lifted the edges of the pink linen tablecloth and brought the scent of new-mown grass drifting up from below. Sparrows winged to join them, hopping around under the table or perching hopefully on the railing. The food was delicious, the coffee perfect. Peace and tranquility and an odd sense of comfort flowed between them.
Gina had not bothered to dress, but only thrown one of the hotel’s white terry-cloth courtesy robes on over her gown. She tried at first to keep it securely belted and closed over her chest and knees, but finally gave up the struggle. Once, she caught Race’s gaze resting on the lace and tiny pearl buttons revealed between her breasts as the heavy robe fell open. The smile he gave her then seemed lazy, almost sleepy, yet she glimpsed hypnotic intensity in its depths before his lashes flickered down to conceal it. He looked away, and did not make the same mistake again.
Talk between them was sporadic and based mostly on bits and pieces culled from the paper. The easy comments were punctuated by long periods of silence broken only by the rustle of pages and the clink of a cup on a saucer.
It was the Sunday comics, after they had pushed back their plates and were finishing the last of the coffee, which brought up the subject of cartoon movies. They fell into a mild argument about the effects of cartoon violence, with Gina maintaining that movies such as Beauty and the Beast or Aladdin were far better for kids than simplistic kick-and-slash shows with heroes like the Ninja Turtles. Race would not be convinced. While admitting the excellence of Disney productions, he claimed that the values of loyalty and cooperation portrayed in the turtle movies made up for their emphasis on action. Besides, he maintained, nobody ever stabbed the turtles in the back, and no giant tiger’s head opened up and swallowed them whole, as happened with Disney animation.
Gina had to laugh and agree. At the same time, she was struck by his knowledge of children’s cartoon fare. The only reason she was familiar with the stories was because of Diane’s son Corey, a pint-sized genius with a passion for electronic gadgets who was usually watching some kid’s cartoon on his portable DVD player while Gina visited her friend. What excuse could a man like Race have?
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