Pillow Talk. Kathleen O'ReillyЧитать онлайн книгу.
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“So no dinner for guys in black hats, huh?”
“Nope.” Jessica rocked back on her heels, looking rather proud of herself.
Adam studied her for a long time, wondering about all that pent-up energy, and then finally shook his head. “Now you’ve done it. You’re an insurmountable challenge, Barnes.”
For a heartbeat their gazes were locked. He could see it in her eyes: the challenge, the excitement. She loved the game just as much as he did.
“Just don’t get any ideas about surmounting, if you get my drift, Taylor.”
“Hey, you get your mind out of those dark, sexy places you don’t want to go to, and I’ll do the same.”
She stared him down, the glasses tapping against her thigh. “You’re no threat to my peace of mind…only to my career ambitions.”
He laughed softly. “I’m going to go have dinner, Barnes. You’re welcome to join me.”
She turned and walked away, a cocky swing in her hips. “In your dreams, Taylor.” She tossed the words over her shoulder.
“There, too, Barnes. There, too.”
Dear Reader,
All through my life I’ve been lucky enough to count among my friends some of the most extraordinary women in the entire universe. Some of the friendships have lasted forever, while others are more recent, but in the truest sort of friendships, years are simply relative and most often just get in the way. There is no stronger bond than the friendship between women. It is forged through the hot steel of shared suffering and stupid mistakes, and then cooled over time until only the bond remains. The years pass, marriages and children struggle and pull at the friendship, but it never breaks. Like the indomitable will of women, it will endure. Always.
Kathleen
P.S. I love to hear from readers. If you’d like to write, my address is P.O. Box 312, Nyack, NY 10960, or visit my Web site: www.kathleenoreilly.com.
Books by Kathleen O’Reilly
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889—JUST KISS ME
927—ONCE UPON A MATTRESS
HARLEQUIN DUETS
66—A CHRISTMAS CAROL
Pillow Talk
Kathleen O’Reilly
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Contents
1
JESSICA BARNES studied the bride critically. Perfect. The warm, sparkling, spring afternoon was a rare thing in Chicago. White flowers covered the arbor, not one dead blossom in sight. The musicians hadn’t missed a note. The slim branches from the weeping willow trees danced in the gentle breeze. Absolutely perfect.
Yup, there was nothing like seeing fairy-tale happiness to make you feel like crap. “Do you think she’s put on weight since college?”
Safe on the far side of the garden, far away from the white, flower-strewn tent, the four friends shook their heads. It was a sad day for them all.
Mickey was the most practical. “It’s the dress. All those ruffles. I don’t know why women don’t understand the illusion of substance that ruffles project.” She shook her head and made a note in her PalmPilot.
Jessica considered her own well-stocked closet, completely ruffle-free. She didn’t have the fashion sense of Dior, but she managed.
Beth sighed, her eyes still locked on the groom. A long, wistful sigh that she did so well. “He looks pretty good. Kenny never looked that good.” Kenny was Beth’s ex. An ex they’d never liked, but that was the sort of thing you didn’t tell your friends. Subtle hints, yes. Life-damaging proclamations, no.
Cassandra, never one to confess weakness, studied her nails. Ten perfect ovals trimmed in Scarlet Nights. “He asked me out once, but I said ‘no.’ I was in my medical-students-only stage.”
“Kenny asked you out?” Beth’s wide blue eyes looked horrified.
Cassandra exhaled, her white sheath lifting gracefully. “No. Charles, the groom.”
“She looks happy,” Mickey put in, veering the subject away from No-Account Kenny.
Beth swallowed one bite of the wedding cake before licking the crumbs from her lip. “She’s glowing.”
That met with a long, jealous silence. They might as well just brand the lot of them with a scarlet L.
“Who needs love?” Cassandra asked, and then took a healthy drink of champagne.
Beth never took her eyes off the happy couple. “I do.”
With a bit more violence than finesse, Jessica speared the olive in her drink. This was an argument they’d had many times. “No, Beth, you don’t. You’re a single woman with your independence, you can stay up as late as you want, let the laundry stack up, go to happy hour whenever you choose. What’s not to love?” Just to prove her point, she swallowed the olive whole, a gesture her freshman-year fiancé had