Read Online The Rent-A-Groom by Jennifer Blake - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jennifer Blake
Tags: Romance, Contemporary
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known Diane was not enough for an educated guess at the problem. Diane was originally from the Dallas area; she spoke of it often and had actually stayed at the Glass Garden Hotel for her own honeymoon. Near Gina’s own age, Diane was a widow whose engineer husband, her childhood sweetheart, had been killed while working on an offshore oil rig. Diane had little family other than her young son. There was only an elderly aunt, a slightly older brother who was in politics, and a younger sister she worried about because she was mixed up in some kind of ultraconservative, high-achievement cult in California.
Gina’s own parents and siblings were country people who seldom left their Louisiana delta farmlands. Because she and Diane were both virtually alone, they had established an instant rapport. More than that, something had clicked between them in the way it sometimes did with two people; they simply liked each other on sight.
On the strength of that affection, Gina had somehow expected more alarm and concern from Diane, more of the kind of panic she had shown last night. It hadn’t been there. In some peculiar fashion, Gina felt cut off, even abandoned. It was disturbing.
It was also appalling, because she could think of only one reason Diane had stopped caring what happened to her. That reason was directly connected to Bradley Dillman. Yet if Diane had discovered it, then any number of other people could know about it also.
Any number. Including Race.
Yes, but how? And why would he care? He was a rancher and a part-time model.
Wasn’t he?
On the table beside her was the business card he had given her the night before, lying where she had put it before she called Diane the first time. Gina glanced at it, her gaze focusing on the number printed across the bottom. She looked at her phone again. Then she touched the numbers on her keypad.
The model agency seemed to be legitimate; the phone was ringing on the other end. Once, twice, three times. Nobody was going to answer.
Of course they weren’t going to answer. It was Sunday. She should have remembered.
She started to end the call. Abruptly, the fourth ring ended and there came the familiar hollow noise of a line open to an answering machine. Gina snatched the receiver back to her ear.
“Thank you for calling the Humane Society of Greater Dallas-Fort Worth. Please leave your message at the tone —”
She had made a mistake; that had to be it. She broke the connection. She touched the numbers again.
Four rings. An answering machine. The same announcement.
She ended the call with a fast flick of her thumb. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears, see it vibrating the thick terry-cloth of her robe over her chest.
“Gina?” Race stepped through the door from the balcony that she had not heard him open. He came toward her with concern in his face. “Is something wrong?”
Everything was wrong. Every single thing in her life had turned out totally, impossibly, unforgivably wrong.
It wouldn’t do to say so, not now. She couldn’t afford to be that forthright. Or that honest.
Her gaze was open and vulnerable as she met the blue darkness of his eyes. She moistened her lips as she tried to find some answer that might satisfy him, at least for a little while. Then she had it.
“Nothing,” she said. “I just hate answering machines.”
:: Chapter Six ::
“Oh, my stars, was I ever embarrassed! I must have turned three shades of red. But such a man, honey! Not too many strip that well, I expect, though I shouldn’t be sayin’ such a thing. And makin’ his bed on the rug like that is so romantic, like in my favorite romance, Desire Under the Stars , where the hero sleeps on the floor for seventy-five whole pages. Oh, but then! Let’s just say he makes up for it.”
The maid rattled on while she cleaned the suite’s bathroom with quick,
Gina’s own parents and siblings were country people who seldom left their Louisiana delta farmlands. Because she and Diane were both virtually alone, they had established an instant rapport. More than that, something had clicked between them in the way it sometimes did with two people; they simply liked each other on sight.
On the strength of that affection, Gina had somehow expected more alarm and concern from Diane, more of the kind of panic she had shown last night. It hadn’t been there. In some peculiar fashion, Gina felt cut off, even abandoned. It was disturbing.
It was also appalling, because she could think of only one reason Diane had stopped caring what happened to her. That reason was directly connected to Bradley Dillman. Yet if Diane had discovered it, then any number of other people could know about it also.
Any number. Including Race.
Yes, but how? And why would he care? He was a rancher and a part-time model.
Wasn’t he?
On the table beside her was the business card he had given her the night before, lying where she had put it before she called Diane the first time. Gina glanced at it, her gaze focusing on the number printed across the bottom. She looked at her phone again. Then she touched the numbers on her keypad.
The model agency seemed to be legitimate; the phone was ringing on the other end. Once, twice, three times. Nobody was going to answer.
Of course they weren’t going to answer. It was Sunday. She should have remembered.
She started to end the call. Abruptly, the fourth ring ended and there came the familiar hollow noise of a line open to an answering machine. Gina snatched the receiver back to her ear.
“Thank you for calling the Humane Society of Greater Dallas-Fort Worth. Please leave your message at the tone —”
She had made a mistake; that had to be it. She broke the connection. She touched the numbers again.
Four rings. An answering machine. The same announcement.
She ended the call with a fast flick of her thumb. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears, see it vibrating the thick terry-cloth of her robe over her chest.
“Gina?” Race stepped through the door from the balcony that she had not heard him open. He came toward her with concern in his face. “Is something wrong?”
Everything was wrong. Every single thing in her life had turned out totally, impossibly, unforgivably wrong.
It wouldn’t do to say so, not now. She couldn’t afford to be that forthright. Or that honest.
Her gaze was open and vulnerable as she met the blue darkness of his eyes. She moistened her lips as she tried to find some answer that might satisfy him, at least for a little while. Then she had it.
“Nothing,” she said. “I just hate answering machines.”
:: Chapter Six ::
“Oh, my stars, was I ever embarrassed! I must have turned three shades of red. But such a man, honey! Not too many strip that well, I expect, though I shouldn’t be sayin’ such a thing. And makin’ his bed on the rug like that is so romantic, like in my favorite romance, Desire Under the Stars , where the hero sleeps on the floor for seventy-five whole pages. Oh, but then! Let’s just say he makes up for it.”
The maid rattled on while she cleaned the suite’s bathroom with quick,
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